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Ketkar smiled. He had read the speech several times, but that part always hit home in his heart. A Chinese calling an Indian his brother. And not a politician posing for photos at some summit. A soldier. A common man. It was the entirety of the message summed up in two simple words. Shenzu need not mention any proposal for troops. That was for others to handle. His job was to pave the road for others to follow.
And they would follow, Ketkar knew. The last part of the speech left no question in his mind.
"Let us come together," Shenzu said. "All of us, not just China and India"--as if such a thing had already happened, as if their alliance was already sealed--"but all nations. We will need everyone's help, everyone's hand, everyone's might. China is where the war began, but a united Earth is where the war will end."
They cheered him. They rose to their feet. The Chinese ambassador came to the lip of the stage and shook his hand.
Ketkar cued the house lights. There would be no Q&A session. End with a bang, when the mood was high. Shenzu was escorted off by aides. So sorry, Captain Shenzu has other duties. Then the doors were opened, and the reporters released.
The microblogs lit up immediately. The vid had played live all over the world, and everyone took to the nets. Women were asking if the PC was single. Someone found photos of Shenzu's adorable children, and those spread like wildfire. Sima's photo was passed around as well. Someone put his head on the body of the PC in the yellow jumpsuit with the caption: WANT SOME DUCK SAUCE WITH THAT, BUG FACE?
But the posts from the citizens of China were the ones that got the most bounces and reposts. Vids of women crying, giving heartfelt thanks. Their deceased sons and husbands in the military will not have died in vain. Children cheered. Celebrities echoed the cry for unification. And on and on in a deluge of unstoppable support--all of it linked with the net tag: EARTHUNITED.
Ketkar returned to his temporary office in the hangar and waited. It was only a matter of time now. He looked again at the maps. He would accompany Mazer, Wit, Shenzu, and a team of PCs to the doughnut tower where a large cache of goo was stored. Destroying it would be their first mission in China. A sort of ceremonial kickoff event with plenty of pyrotechnics.
He would likely lose Mazer, Wit, and Shenzu after that. The Chinese would insist that they help with the operation's development. Ketkar would almost insist upon it. He had greater faith in their strategic thinking than his own or anyone else's in either military. That would put the three of them in a war room somewhere instead of in the thick of the fighting, but the operation already had its share of martyrs. What it needed now was minds.
Messages from his superiors flooded his in-box. They all praised him for the press conference. The subtext was obvious: Remember me when you're promoted, Ketkar. I am your true friend. Let us rise together.
Ketkar deleted them after reading the subject line. They were from parasites and careerists.
It wasn't until later that he received the message he had been waiting for, an encrypted one that would self-delete after he had read it. It was the only message that matte
red, the one that would cement his future.
There were only two words: Well done.
And to Ketkar's great surprise, Ukko Jukes had included a smiley face emoticon.
CHAPTER 14
Dragon's Den
Bingwen and the MOPs were standing on a dusty two-lane road ten klicks southeast of Dragon's Den when the truck arrived to pick them up. All around them was death and rot. The road they were on cut through the center of a valley filled with rice fields, and the Formic gas had killed everything here a long time ago. Paddy frogs lay belly-up in the muck, their skin sun scorched and dry as a raisin. A bloated water buffalo lay half submerged in the mud, decomposing amid a cloud of flies. The rice crop lay withered and black atop the standing water, the surface of which glistened with a toxic oily film. The sight of it all made Bingwen grateful for his radiation suit, which kept out the gag-inducing smell of decay.
The truck parked directly in front of them, and the Chinese soldier behind the wheel hopped down, moved to the back of the truck, and lowered the gate for them to board. He wore a biosuit, and when he turned back, Bingwen saw that he was only a boy. Fourteen at the most, not even old enough to drive. The suit was probably the smallest size available, but like Bingwen's it hung limp on the soldier's narrow shoulders like a rubber blanket.
Were boys lying about their ages now to enlist? Bingwen wondered. The influx of Indian commandos was alleviating the burden on the Chinese military, but maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe China still needed anyone willing to join the fight.
Bingwen doubted the military would take him, however. He was small for an eight-year-old, and even the most lenient of recruiters wouldn't believe him a day over ten.
A young Chinese lieutenant got out of the cab on the passenger side, and Bingwen knew at once that there would be trouble. The lieutenant was tall and thin with a hard, tight line for a mouth and suspicious eyes that darted between all of the MOPs in an instant. A sidearm was holstered at the waist of his biosuit, and his hand rested on it as he approached. He spotted Bingwen and crinkled his nose.
"I was told to bring in soldiers, not boys." His English was good, but his accent was heavy.
"He's part of our unit," said Deen.
"A boy among a group of men. One can't help but wonder what you used him for."
Bingwen didn't understand the lieutenant's meaning, but it was clearly offensive. Deen smiled in that way he did sometimes when he wanted to throttle someone.
"What's your name, Lieutenant?" Deen asked pleasantly.
The lieutenant put his hands on his hips. "Li."
"Well, Lieutenant Li, we're MOPs. We've spent the last two weeks blowing up transports and skimmers and about three hundred Formics, give or take, without any word from our commanding officer. So when he calls us out of the blue and tells us to meet him at Dragon's Den, we obviously stop what we're doing and come. He's even going to send a truck to pick us up. Great, says I. But then you show up, and something tells me you didn't read your orders very closely because you're being difficult."
"I was told to pick up MOPs, not children."
