Leo Frankowski & Dave Grossman - The War With Earth.pdf

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PROLOGUE
The War With Earth
Leo Frankowski
and
Dave Grossman
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This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this
book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is
purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2003 by Leo Frankowski & Dave Grossman
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions
thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-7434-3615-6
Cover art by Mark Hennessey-Barrett
First printing, July 2003
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Frankowski, Leo, 1943-
The war with Earth / Leo Frankowski & Dave Grossman.
p. cm.
"A Baen Books original."
ISBN 0-7434-3615-6
1. Mines and mineral resources—Fiction. 2. Life on other
planets—Fiction.
3. Space warfare—Fiction. I. Grossman, Dave. II. Title.
PS3556.R347W37 2003
813'.54—dc21
2003006199
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my lovely wife, Marina, my beautiful daughter,
Katia, and to the Ancient City of Tver, Russia, the "City of Beautiful
Women," where I am building my castle, and have made my home.
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank Edward Dunnigan and Jackie Britton for their
suggestions and their proofreading of this manuscript, and my remarkable
partner, Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman, for always being at my side,
even though we live half a world from each other.
Baen Books by Leo Frankowski
A Boy and His Tank
The War With Earth (with Dave Grossman)
The Fata Morgana
Conrad's Time Machine
PROLOGUE
An Amphibious Attack
on Baden-Baden Island
Rail guns and X-ray lasers being what they are, military doctrine is that if you can see
it, you can kill it. If they can see you, you are dead.
The art of war has become the art of not being seen.
Thus it was that I was in my tank, crawling along the bottom of the ocean, leading
three squads of the Kashubian Expeditionary Forces against the invaders from Earth.
They had picked the most isolated spot on the planet for their beachhead, a group of six
uninhabited islands under the jurisdiction of the smallest nation on New Yugoslavia, the
German Enclave.
New Yugoslavia's turbulent seas protected us from both enemy sonar and almost
everything in the electromagnetic spectrum. Oh, a deep-scan radar might have found us,
if it was looking down from low orbit, but rail guns from both sides had taken out
everything in orbit long ago.
Anyone using a high-flying aircraft in wartime is simply suicidal.
We had been down here for seven of the planet's short, twenty-hour days, and we had
been having a fine enough time of it. The fiber-optic communication cables we trailed
behind us were finer than a human hair, and needed constant patching in these seas. We
had lost contact with our main forces three hours after we left, as expected, but we were
in touch with each other. Keeping us connected was the job of three semisentient aquatic
drones, and not my worry. Connected, we had the bandwidth we needed to live together
in Dream World, a sort of virtual reality.
Since all of our tanks had the diamond semiconductor upgrade, they could keep us in
Dream World at thirty times normal speed. To us, the week had seemed like almost six
standard months. Having one's lifespan effectively expanded by a factor of thirty was one
of the fringe benefits of the job.
A dozen of my people had been raw recruits when we started, and this gave them the
time they needed to get through basic training, and then to see a good deal of simulated
combat.
Of course, they weren't told that it was simulated. Dream World was convincing
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