Spooker
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Grass Eaters 3 | 54 | White Flag III
🕑 Added 2025-02-26 16:47:01 +0000 UTCTRNS Crete, Vdrajma (2 LY)
POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)
“We have a problem.”
“A problem, exec?”
“A problem of plenty.”
“Ah. The prisoners.”
“We’ve taken on too many prisoners. Our efforts at extracting updated information from them have been fruitful, but now we have too many of them on the Crete, and the other ships don’t have the facilities to take many more of them.”
Carla sighed. “Yeah, it’s obviously part of an organized plan as we initially suspected. We have so many prisoners that it’s going to start cutting into our long-term mission sustainment.”
“This can’t be… like an actual viable… tactic for them, can it?” Speinfoent asked in disgust. “It’s a short delay for us, but it’s not like they’ll come out ahead with this, right?”
She paused for a moment, and instead of answering his question, she asked, “You know what humans used to do in war? Before close air support. Before automatic rifles. With gunpowder weapons that took minutes to load every time they fired. You know how they used to fight?”
Speinfoent looked at her quizzically. “Before aircraft?”
“Yeah.”
He shook his head. “Those times were so far away in the past, in our history. Tens of thousands of years ago by now. Some of those stories recount factions of Malgeir troops, fighting against mythical creatures and with magic.” The Malgeir officer paused. “Obviously, I doubt the reliability and authenticity of those records.”
“Well, for us, it was quite recent in our history. Only a few hundred years. And our records are good enough,” Carla said. “In those times, when they had old gunpowder weapons, they would line all the infantry up in formations. The infantry would stand, shoulder-to-shoulder, and they would march towards the enemy lines at even pace until they got close enough. Then, they would stand upright and firm, and they’d take turns firing their weapons at each other.”
“Without taking cover?”
“Most of the time.”
“And people actually did that?” he asked skeptically. “Just walk up and stand there shooting at each other?”
“People actually did that.”
Speinfoent coughed. “That sounds… excuse me, but that sounds quite stupid. With our modern understanding of war, at least.”
“It sure does on first thought, doesn’t it? But they weren’t stupid. The soldiers stood firm, because that was how they could maintain order and discipline. Which they needed to survive a cavalry charge. That was more important than reducing their profile by taking cover, which isn’t as bad as it sounds because their weapons were inaccurate due to lack of widespread rifling anyway. Additionally, because most of their weapons had to be loaded from the muzzle, they couldn’t be lying on their bellies at all. There were a few exceptions, and some units did experiment with irregular formations, but our most successful historical units did exactly that: line up to shoot at each other until one side broke.”
“Huh. I guess that makes sense.”
Carla shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”
Speinfoent squinted at her. “Huh?”
“It doesn’t make sense at all. It’s a stupid way to fight.”
He pointed a claw at her. “But— but you just said—”
“I told you why they did it that way. And what I said was: those soldiers weren’t stupid. But it was dumb to fight that way. That’s why the people of the time invented new weapons, new tactics, and then they stopped fighting that way.”
“But without those…”
Carla nodded. “Yes, without those advancements and new weapons and tactics, it was the only way they knew how to fight.”
“Well, that’s just pedantry.”
“No, it’s perspective.” Carla pointed out at the main computer screen simulating the mission sustainment numbers and data on the additional prisoners being housed in the hangar. “This… is a stupid way to fight.”
Speinfoent looked at the tally of Znosian ships that had surrendered. He nodded. “Ah, but it’s the only way they could, given our advantages.”
“Precisely. But we don’t have time to sleep on our advantages.”
“No?”
“When some of our people invented machine guns and used them against armies that didn’t have them, it usually ended very badly for the people on the other end of their barrels,” Carla said. “But… not all the time.”
“Ah, I understand, Admiral. So… what are we going to do with all these prisoners?”
She sighed, looking back at the screen. “Too bad we can’t just throw them all out the airlock.”
Speinfoent looked around surreptitiously. “Can’t we?”
“Unfortunately not. Our legal intelligence would throw a fit, report us back to Atlas, relieve us of command, or all of the above. Probably all of the above. Right, legal?” she looked at the ceiling for the digital intelligence that lived in the ship’s computer systems. The computers of the intelligence weren’t actually housed “above” them, but “looking up at the digital intelligence” had become a universal gesture across the Republic Navy out of tradition anyway.
Yes, I will do exactly that.
“Damn, I was hoping you’d be more understanding of the rough position we’re in here.”
Attacks on surrendered captives are generally prohibited by the Republic Navy Code of Justice. The immediate consequence is possible loss of command. The longer-term consequences can include prison sentences, up to life.
“Too bad we didn’t bring your Red Zone terrorists along all the way here,” Speinfoent suggested. “We can just pass these guys off, and they’ll—”
Moving surrendered captives under your care to where they will likely be subject to abuse and murder is prohibited by the Republic Navy Code of Justice. The immediate consequences—
Speinfoent interrupted, “Oh! I have an idea! What if we bring them a couple systems back to Zhulnu, load them onto their shuttles, and let that psychotic Bun State Security administrator who blew up all their own stations deal with the problem. Giving prisoners back is allowed, right?”
“Hm… Does he… have a point, legal?”
Such an action would violate both spirit and law of the Republic Navy Code of Justice. In spirit, your intent is clearly not a genuine attempt at repatriation but rather an attempt to assist in the murder of prisoners. Furthermore, repatriation of prisoners of war against their will during an active conflict is prohibited.
“Fine. We’ll get them to agree to repatriation,” Speinfoent countered.
Their fully informed consent?
“Never mind that. What about proportionality?” Carla asked.
I have already considered your argument about the expected value of your military objectives measured against the murder of prisoners; it is unlikely to succeed on its merits.
“You do realize that these guys just tried to burn down our entire Republic, right? Surely there is some exception in your digital brain when an existential concern like the Buns are involved!”
No one is above the law. You may file a complaint about the validity of my legal analysis with Atlas. Would you like to do so now?
“No. Forget it. In the grand scheme of things, it really is just a minor annoyance. We’ll find some other way to get rid of these guys.”
Legally.
Carla rolled her eyes. “Yes, toaster, we’ll find some other way to get rid of these guys legally.”
Casual specism against digital intelligence is not strictly against the law, but it is highly recommended that you use inclusive language to refer to—
“In your dreams, clanker.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
POV: Baedarsust, Malgeir Federation Marine Special Warfare Team (Rank: High Pack Leader)
Baedarsust sighed at the belligerent Grass Eater holding his plate out expectantly at him in the mess line. At least he’d stood at the back and waited until everyone else had a turn this time. “You’ve already had your lunch dessert portions, Five Whiskers Slurp.”
“You have made an identification error, High Pack Leader Baedarsust. I am not Five Whiskers Sjulzulp,” the combative Znosian officer replied in a slightly higher pitched voice than usual, in a way that only an actual Znosian could possibly be fooled. “I am… Five Whiskers Skveznesklom.”
“Bless you.”
“What?”
“You sneezed. I hope you get well from your illness soon so you do not infect the rest of the ship. Though I will also feel immense relief if you perished from it. Horribly.”
“No, I’m not sick! That is my name! Skveznesklom!”
“Bless you.”
“Again, I am not sneezing! Skveznesklom is my name!”
“That’s— that’s not even a real Znosian name.”
“It is!” Sjulzulp asserted, holding up one of the familiar-looking rectangular POW identity cards in his face. “See? Skveznesklom. See? That’s what it says! Five Whiskers. Znosian Dominion Navy.”
Baedarsust snatched the card out of his paws. “Where did you even get this?!”
“It’s my identification ticket for meals! I have produced it, so you have to feed me now. Your rules say so!” He did a little hop on his short legs to grab his card back, but the taller Malgeir held it up higher just out of his reach.
Baedarsust took out his tablet and scanned the card with a beep.
Issued by: Fiosau, Pack Leader, TRNS Crete.
“You conned Pack Leader Fiosau into giving you another fake identity card?!” he read off the tablet. He looked around the mess hall. “Where is that idiot?!”
“It wasn’t a scam!” Sjulzulp insisted. “I got it fair and square. I— I traded her!” With some effort, Baedarsust’s translator managed to convey both the mild derision and pride the Znosian scoundrel injected into that word.
“Trade?! For what? What did you have that Fiosau could have wanted?!”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Baedarsust stared at the Five Whiskers sternly.
“Fine,” Sjulzulp said after a moment. “It was for a favor.”
“A favor?” Baedarsust asked curiously. “What uh— what kind of favor?”
“A small favor. She says I can’t tell anyone, especially not one of you!”
“Oh. Oh, no. Don’t— don’t tell me it was something weird.”
Sjulzulp looked… almost smug. “It was extremely weird, but I won’t tell you.”
“Actually, now I need to know. I’ll give you an additional portion if you tell me,” Baedarsust offered, scooping up a full spoon of the strawberry jello from the tray.
Sjulzulp’s tongue reached out from between his lips to lick his whiskers. He hesitated for a heartbeat, but no longer. “Two scoops?”
Baedarsust shook his ears. “One is all you’re getting. Or else you find out just how much I care about the Terrans’ rules on gentle interrogations.”
“Fine. I’ll take it.” Sjulzulp leaned in closer to Baedarsust and tip-toed up to his ear. In a lower voice, he whispered, “Pack Leader Fiosau often plays your degenerate card gambling game with the other guards in front of our holding room.”
“I know that. So what? It’s not against our rules, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our duties.”
“And… the other guards… their backs are to me during the game. I signal to her what secret cards the other guards have. If it’s a high number, I scratch my ear. If it’s a low number, I scratch my whiskers. And she made me memorize these card patterns—”
Baedarsust’s jaw dropped. “Unbelievable!”
“It’s true!”
“No, not you! Her! I lost twenty credits to her at game night last week!” Baedarsust exclaimed.
“Oh, yeah, I remember that game. I didn’t help her then. You just sucked all on your own.”
Baedarsust shook his ears again, repeating, “Unbelievable! Enlisting prisoners to help her cheat… that’s just…”
“Disgusting, I know!” Sjulzulp said sympathetically. “Degenerate predators quarrelling amongst themselves senselessly, as if fighting over a scrap of meat.”
Baedarsust rolled his eyes. “The game is for credits, not meat, you idiot.”
“It’s a metaphor.”
“No, it’s a simile. But alright, I see how it is… You — Slurp — you are going to do me a favor,” Baedarsust said, pointing a claw at him.
“No way.”
He pointed a claw at the dessert tray. “Two scoops of jello.”
Sjulzulp didn’t even need to think about it. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”
“Tomorrow, when I go over for game night, give her the wrong signals.”
“The wrong signals?”
Baedarsust nodded. “Yeah, just do the opposite signal for her when you’re looking at my cards. To trick her.”
“But what if she figures out what I’m doing?” Sjulzulp asked in a low voice. “Have you seen her ugly maw? She can swallow me with a single bite!”
“Forget it. Maybe I’ll get someone else who wants more jello to help me out. I’m sure one of the other guys—”
“Fine, fine. Two scoops.” Sjulzulp hurriedly handed Baedarsust his tray, pointing at the jello and holding his arms as wide as he could. “But they have to be biiiiig scoops.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
System State Security HQ, Fsuzve-4
POV: Zdustri, Znosian Dominion State Security (Position: Governor)
“Governor! Governor! The Great Predators are back!”
“What?!” Zdustri screeched in alarm as she struggled to put on her clothes. “Where?”
“They’re in orbit again, and they’re calling us, demanding to talk to you!”
“I thought they were supposed to have gone home!” she complained.
Her attendant scratched his whiskers. “That seems unlikely to be true. They are in orbit.”
“I know that now!”
“Oh, and we still can’t reach Znos or any other systems. Their jamming drones have been elusive.”
“Yes, I know. Anything less obvious to report?” she asked irritably.
“No, Governor.”
Zdustri sighed. She understood the need for regular Znosians to be dumbly compliant, but it was really becoming a major hassle these days. “Connect me to them. Let’s see what they want.”
A few seconds later, the face of the same hideous predator appeared on her screen. Zdustri didn’t give her a chance to start talking and started, “What do you want, Fleet Master Carla?! Did you forget to blow something up last time?”
Carla chittered on her screen and flashed her teeth. “No, Governor, but excellent guess. We have a proposal for you, as you seem to be the most reasonable State Security governor within fifty light years.”
“Your obvious tactic of division won’t work against us,” Zdustri taunted. “You forget. I am a governor of a habitable star system, not a gullible Navy spacer like you.”
“That’s fine. That’s why we’re here to propose a trade.”
“A trade?”
“A trade. That means, an equitable exchange of goods or services,” Carla replied.
Zdustri rolled her eyes. “I know what a trade is, barbarian. What could you possibly have that I would want?”
“We have a large number of your spacers we’ve captured in our cargo hold.”
Zdustri had heard a few months ago that Znos was looking to repatriate any captives they could from the Great Predators. Highest priority directive. Any of them could be a treasure trove of intelligence on this new enemy.
“Our spacers?” she asked, keeping her excitement hidden. “How many?”
“Yes, your spacers. Two thousand of them.”
Two thousand of ours?!
“What do you propose?” Zdustri asked, her face neutral.
“We are offering you all two thousand spacers, in exchange for… fuel,” the abomination said nonchalantly.
Just fuel?! We have plenty of that and no ships to use them on… since you blew them all up.
“How much fuel?” Zdustri asked.
“Enough to fill a couple of our ships.”
“And just how many liters is that?” she asked greedily. Additional intelligence couldn’t hurt.
“Nice try, Governor,” the predator flashed her teeth. “We’ll take one of your medium-sized fuel ships.”
“You can’t fit in our fuel ships, you ugly beasts.”
“That’s fine. Evacuate your people and leave the key in. We’ll just take what we need and dump the rest. You can have the ship back after.”
Zdustri thought it over. They’d probably blow up the fuel ship after, but repatriating two thousand Znosian prisoners was… the mere thought of the contribution this could be to the Prophecy was intoxicating. The Dominion needed these people back. They’d tell State Security all they learned in captivity, how to defeat these Great Predators…
“All two thousand spacers for a medium-sized Dominion fuel ship?” she clarified carefully.
The predator nodded in confirmation. “All two thousand of them. 2,037 to be exact.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Think about it fast, or we’ll take the same deal to your neighbor.”
The line disconnected.
She dialed her attendant. “Can we get through their FTL jamming somehow?”
“No, Governor. I still can’t get through to Znos.”
“So we must exercise our own discretion.”
“Are you going to do the deal… with predators? Giving them fuel ships…”
“I don’t know. There must be a catch. But… two thousand of our spacers? They could know what really happened in the Great Predators’ home system and how they work on their ships! Remember the Navy nine whiskers who retrieved just a couple dozen of them a few months ago?”
“The one who is with the Prophecy now?” her attendant asked.
“I don’t remember, but their bloodline was promoted!” she exclaimed.
“That… seems correct,” he said after a few moments of querying on his console. “Rewarded by the Director Svatken herself. But why would they need to trade for fuel?”
“Who cares?! Predators do stupid things all the time!”
“Maybe it’s a trick.”
“Maybe it is. But maybe… maybe we can trick them back! If they think we’re fooled, they might at least send us a few prisoners to try to ensnare us deeper into the trap. But we know it’s a trick, so we won’t fall for that! And even if it all goes sideways, we’ll still get a few prisoners back.”
Her attendant looked skeptical, but after a few moments of thinking, he admitted, “Yeah, that might work.”
“The nine whiskers who got promoted for a couple dozen prisoners… how good was the promotion?”
He pulled the data up on the computer, and his eyes widened as he read it. “Their bloodline is now marked for grand fleet commander potential.”
Zdustri said in a hushed voice, “Now imagine what we’d get… for two thousand of them back at once.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)
“We’ll need assurances you’ll stick by the deal, lying predator scum!” Speinfoent mimicked the Znosian governor in a high pitched voice as they hung up. “Send us half of the batch of prisoners first!”
Carla chuckled at the poor imitation. “One of them was going to do the deal, sooner or later. I was afraid we’d need to backtrack at least another dozen systems before we found one who hadn’t been briefed properly.”
“Can’t believe she fell for that hook, line, and sinker,” he continued, wiping tears of laughter from his face.
Carla beamed at him. “That’s the essence of a good magic trick, XO. You tell them to look one way, and while they’re trying to figure out what we’re going to do with their fuel ships, they aren’t thinking about how you could possibly be screwing them over on the other end.”
“What are we going to do with their fuel ships? We don’t actually need their fuel, do we?”
She shrugged. “Dock a shuttle with them, send a couple robots in there, maybe pull their boxes and see what they forgot to wipe. Give their long-range sensors and cameras watching a good show. Leave our jammer buoy here. And while they’re focusing on that…”
“We’re out of here and on our way,” Speinfoent finished for her.
“Exactly. Back on track with our mission after this little detour. Just like magic.”
Speinfoent muttered, “Just like magic.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve wanted to do this one for a while. You wanna see a magic trick?”
Speinfoent’s eyes lit up. “You know magic tricks? Like in your movies?”
“Sure,” Carla said. “Wanna see something cool about my thumb?”
Every human officer on the bridge simultaneously rolled their eyes. A few groans were heard. And every Malgeir officer leaned closer in as Carla enclosed her left thumb in her right palm.
“Now watch closely as I demonstrate the special human ability to detach and reattach certain of our appendages at will…”
“No way!”
“Watch my thumb very, very carefully.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
POV: Sjulzulp, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Five Whiskers)
“Are you paying attention to me, Five Whiskers?!”
“Yes, of course,” Sjulzulp replied, tearing his eyes off the open window to look at the debriefing interrogator.
“Aren’t you going to take full responsibility?” she asked impatiently.
“Full responsibility?” he asked inattentively.
“For being captured!” she snapped. “And whatever— whatever information you gave them in the belly of the beast.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah,” he grunted, still distracted from his daydream. “Sure.”
The predator ship was a lot more fun than he thought it would be, and they didn’t eat him. He almost wished he was back there… Or did he?
“Well?” the seven whiskers called for his attention again.
“I uh— I take full responsibility for uh—”
His interrogator sighed in exasperation as she re-checked his personal history on her datapad. “What’s the matter with you? Weren’t you socialized properly?”
“Yes, Seven Whiskers,” he said. “What you said.”
“What… I said?” She rolled her eyes in impatience as the habitual acceptance of responsibility she was expecting didn’t come, again. “Whatever. Let’s just get this all over with. I’ve got another two dozen spacers to get to before lunch… List the names of all the predator officers that you remember from your time on the enemy ship.”
He hesitated for a moment, tilting his head in thought.
“Anyone you can remember?” she prompted. “Anything?”
Sjulzulp took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Seven Whiskers. I mean, I take full responsibility for my memory. I don’t remember any of them giving me their names. We didn’t interact much with them at all.”
Comments
Spooker
Ah. It got eaten somehow. Fixed now. The line was: “Your obvious tactic of division won’t work against us,” Zdustri taunted. “You forget. I am a governor of a habitable star system, not a gullible Navy spacer like you.” Not the greatest. I think I might have been workshopping it and forgot to put it back in when I didn't find a good reply.
DeWhit
But overall another great chapter!
DeWhit
Hey I just wanted to point out that it seems like there’s a bit of missing dialogue between Carla and the governor. After Carla says the governor is reasonable, the next dialogue quote is also Carla, which seems to imply the governor is supposed to have a response that isn’t there.
Valdis Trautmanis
That's a new one! "Slurp" is actually covering the Allies and being a nuisance to his friendly meighbourhood Gestapo officer 😅 Is he one of the Free Buns or just a natural a-hole? 🤣
