Cyborg Corps Complete Series Boxed Set

by J. N. Chaney

  “Thanks,” transmitted Baker as he righted himself and shook gore from his gauntlets. “What happened to your armor?”

  “Long story,” replied Warren. “But suffice it to say we know how to kill rocket tanks. It’s not easy, but it can be done.”

  “That’s good,” he replied, stepping forward to stand beside him. “So, looks like we’ve got to start over. You got my back?”

  “Yeah, are you injured?”

  “No, I’m good. Armor’s busted up, but I’ll be good until we get to the base. Can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the place.” With that, he stepped forward and hovered his palm a centimeter in front of a woman’s chest. She closed her eyes and shook with fear. Her rust-colored uniform was filthy, and her face displayed several scratches as if she’d been running through thorny bushes recently. Warren hadn’t noticed any nearby, and the little visible blood on her face had already dried, so it must have happened elsewhere.

  Baker sent him a quick message indicating the woman was clear. Warren performed the same examination, then sent her to a spot about ten meters away to stand in the middle of the road and told her to sit. It would help give him time to respond if it turned out he was wrong. If she stood back up, she would be rewarded with his complete and undivided attention.

  They repeated the process several more times. Gunfire erupted from somewhere to the north.

  “The Ghost is made dead,” replied Lukov. “It is unfortunate, but the human is made dead, too. Am returning to you. Thirty seconds.”

  “I’m sending everyone that both Baker, and I have cleared to the middle of the street,” Warren told him. “Head to the other end of the line and start checking from there so you two can meet in the center. I don’t like being out in the open, and I especially don’t like these full-humans being out here like this.”

  Thirty seconds, Lukov appeared, hurried to the other end of the line, and started checking the civilians. Meanwhile, the three other cyborgs arranged themselves into patrols and began poking through the forest nearby. When Warren inquired one told him they were checking to see if anyone had tried to hide anything out there, or if there might still be one or two others who were too afraid to come in.

  BOOM!

  Trees nearby exploded. People scrambled as chaos descended on the orderly situation. Warren had managed to stay on his feet, but several of the humans screamed and writhed in pain.

  “Rocket tanks!” shouted Baker. “You said you had a way to kill ‘em? Well, boss, now’s the time to demonstrate.”

  “Get the walkers out of here!” returned Warren. The reinforcements he knew would show up were finally here. “They can’t punch through the tanks’ armor. Load everyone up and get them out of here. How many grenades you got left?”

  “Two,” he responded as he began issuing orders for everyone to load back into the hovercars.

  BOOM!

  The next rocket landed on the other side of the road. Warren wasn’t sure if there were any more injuries, but the first hovercar, loaded with non-cyborgs, buzzed to life and hurried down the road. Warren’s next message was to the rest of the cyborgs in the base to expect the civilians. He said they should be taken to the gap in the fence line, processed to make sure none were Ghosts, and hurried to safety. The two priorities were still the war computer and the power plant. They’d need both if they wanted any chance at surviving long here.

  Baker tossed a grenade to Warren. He caught it and put it in a sling over his shoulder, then he hurried to where he thought the rockets had come from. Small arms fire peppered the dirt and trees all the way around him, so he began to cut left and right as he sent some quick instructions to the other cyborgs on how to accomplish what they were about to do.

  A bullet grazed Warren’s thigh. He ignored the slash of pain and focused on the tank-shaped shadow in the distance. It looked like the enemy had discovered a parallel road and were using it to sneak up on the Reotian force. It had worked, and they’d brought plenty of infantry to protect all four of their tanks.

  When they saw him, a small group of the soldiers took cover behind trees. He noted a handful went prone and the rest rushed forward a few meters before taking cover or concealment. Several began shouting, moving their squads and fireteams into formation and, one at a time, giving them orders to advance.

  Warren had two grenades—one he still had from his original load-out, and the other given to him by Baker. If he was lucky, he’d be able to take out two tanks by himself. Or he could use one of the grenades now to help clear a path through the enemy’s line.

  “Do you need more of us out there?” transmitted Rigby. “The walkers took out the civilians.”

  “Stay put,” ordered Warren. “Keep the base secure. Protect the war computer and power plant at all costs. If this goes badly, find the Camel and see if you can find the Cyborg Data Cubes. There’s always a chance.”

  “Don’t get dead,” she said and cut the connection.

  Returning his attention to the current situation, Warren looked around the thick trunk he’d taken cover behind. There were sixteen enemy soldiers visible. Each appeared to be armed with a standard Commonwealth rifle, though he was sure they had other weapons. But it was unlikely any were carrying the dangerous EMP grenades, which had proven effective against his kind. Those, he hoped, were reserved for their navy, not ground forces.

  There were five tanks, not four. Three were driving forward, pushing against nearby offending trees, but the closest was still a hundred meters away. The other two were continuing down the road. Warren hadn’t noticed where it connected to the main road he was on, but if it did, the tanks would surely flank him and his team. Even if it didn’t, if they kept him there long, they could cut or knock enough trees down to make their own connection.

  Baker and the rest of the cyborgs had taken cover. A few would pop out now and then, take a shot at their enemy, then duck as a dozen bullets returned for every one they delivered. Warren took another peek, then quickly returned to cover when several soldiers took a shot at him. They weren’t moving anymore. Instead, it looked like they were settling in for a long standoff. More likely, they were just going to sit there all nice and comfortable until the two tanks which had continued down the road came in and flanked them. Then both sides would advance at the same time in a pincer maneuver. It would be impossible to defend against.

  Warren instructed one of the cyborgs to head down the road, take cover somewhere, and give them a heads-up if the enemy found a way to them. Another he sent toward the other end of the road. The pressure the Commonwealth soldiers were putting on them forced him to hurry through the woods from cover to cover. It would take him a bit longer to get there. A third was instructed to head behind their defensive line to make sure nobody snuck up on them from behind.

  “We can’t sustain this,” warned Baker. “They’re going to bring the other half of this trap around unless we get up and do something.”

  They could retreat. It wouldn’t have to be far, but they’d also be ruining their ability to see their enemy clearly. It was difficult to tell how many forces their enemy had, but at least for now, the trees were slowing them down. If they let the Commonwealth take the road, they could use it to head straight toward their new home. That’s what Warren thought he would do, anyway. Maybe leave a single tank and half the infantry behind to keep them busy. Meanwhile, the area the tanks controlled would serve as a staging area for any new reinforcements who decided to show up.

  Glancing at the grenade still in his hand, then the one on his belt, Warren wondered if he still had the courage to act decisively knowing he would die if things didn’t go right. Four hundred years was a long time to be alive. Maybe too long.

  34

  “I thought we were waiting,” transmitted General Kaplan.

  Warren spun his head left and right, searching for reinforcements he hoped would be there. More likely, the general was sitting about twenty kilometers away with his feet up on a makeshift desk. “
That was the plan, General, but as you’ve probably heard, the plan has changed. We had to lean into the advantage as soon as we spotted it. You heading over to join my little party?”

  “I am,” he replied. “In fact, I’m already here. You realize, of course, you’ve left yourself open to a double-envelopment attack.”

  Warren rankled a little at the rebuff but decided not to engage. “Yes, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  “No matter,” General Kaplan said. “You’ve also managed to keep their attention long enough for my forces to move into position. Please ask your people to seek cover. This is going to get a little messy.”

  Warren sent his team a single word: DOWN!

  From somewhere off to his left, maybe 200 meters away, several miniguns opened up. Warren allowed his feet to slip and slid down the trunk of the tree he was taking cover behind. Bullets cracked by, knocking leaves from nearby trees and throwing enough bark into the air to obscure his vision. A few seconds later, it was over.

  He sent a message to Kaplan informing him his team was moving, then immediately ordered everyone forward, except for the flank guards, who remained in place.

  The Commonwealth soldiers were in chaos. Several had been struck. They screamed and clutched at their fallen comrades, and some scrambled for their weapons, but they weren’t sure which way to point them. Cyborgs swarmed them, cutting them down with bullets as often as they broke necks, stomped skulls, or smashed their faces with the butts of their rifles.

  “We are taking prisoners if possible,” Warren transmitted.

  “No, we are not!” countered General Kaplan. “You are here to exterminate these pieces of shit. Give no quarter. Cut them all down.”

  “We are not the Republic,” replied Warren. “And there are pieces moving on this board that you haven’t spotted yet, General Kaplan. Belay that order!”

  “I will not,” he snarled.

  Warren’s troops eased up a bit. Some of the soldiers refused to surrender. Those ones had to be dispatched. The ones who willingly gave up were subdued and stripped of their weapons, then they were placed with their faces in the dirt and their hands behind their heads.

  Four rocket tanks still darkened the forest between the trees. Their pilots must’ve noticed their comrades were being cut down and captured. So they did exactly as Warren had suspected they would do. They launched rockets into the forest. They’d kill their own people, but the Commonwealth had, as far as Warren could remember, always treated people as cannon fodder. Dying for one’s country was, by some cultures, seen as honorable. Whether these people believed in Valhalla or some other special place for warriors who died in combat, he didn’t know. But the way they acted; it was as if being captured was worse than dying.

  Trees exploded all around Warren. He had no idea where anyone else was, but a tank loomed directly in front of him. So, he attacked it.

  Each of the tanks fired another volley of rockets, turning trees into wooden grenades and setting them ablaze. Warren was nearly knocked from his feet and smashed face-first into the tank he’d been approaching. A damage alarm appeared in his HUD, but he dismissed it. So long as he could still see and move, nothing else mattered. He’d figure it out—or not. Recovering, he grabbed hold of an armored plate, then jumped on top of one of the housings covering the tank’s two tracks. He leaped again and landed on top of the cockpit.

  FOOSH!

  More rockets exploded into the forest. Warren ordered the cyborgs still there to take what prisoners they had further into the woods. The fire was growing, and though his own soldiers would likely survive, the rest would not. If nothing else, the smoke would choke them out.

  “Where are the rest of your cyborgs?” transmitted General Kaplan.

  Warren wanted to ignore him, but he got the feeling doing so would infuriate him more than if he spoke the truth. “They’ve got prisoners they’re bringing.”

  “Prisoners? Perhaps you misunderstood me.”

  “I didn’t misunderstand shit,” said Warren. “We’re not the Republic, and I don’t have time to argue.”

  “You’ll make the time, sir,” he replied. Warren spotted him paired up with a cyborg carrying an empty minigun near the far end of the line.

  Maybe ignoring the idiot wasn’t such a bad idea, Warren decided. There were four rocket tanks to take care of, after all.

  Cyborgs swarmed the vehicles. Kaplan’s had taken the rocket tank on the left. Warren was on the next one, and the one to his right was similarly engaged. The last one looked like it was trying to make a run for it, but three cyborgs were already on top.

  “Tell your cyborgs to kill their prisoners and return to the battle!” ordered General Kaplan.

  Warren quickly climbed from the top of the cockpit to one of the pods. He leaned over the edge and promptly began searching for a convenient place to hide a grenade. The gunner must’ve seen him because a rocket fired off and barely missed him. He turned his head and glared at the pair of wide eyes watching him through the cockpit window. He’d already gotten the look he needed, though, so he armed the grenade, quickly stuffed it into one of the tubes a rocket was still occupying, and leaped from the pod—this time being sure to leap far enough away.

  His feet hit the dirt the same instant his grenade exploded. This time, it ignited several other rockets, which shot awkwardly from their tubes, spitting their half-contained solid fuel in all directions. One hit a nearby tree, detonating at least two others. Most continued into the forest, destroying trees and adding to the already chaotic fire. The last made a wide, arcing sweep, then it soared into the sky and sputtered out, leaving a wide cloud of white smoke behind it.

  As it went out, Warren waited for the inevitable. The cloud prevented him from seeing where the remnants would land. Gravity was a cruel mistress. It didn’t care what you wanted; it served itself.

  “First Cyborg Corps, this is General Clem Kaplan of Second Cyborg Corps. I am the one asking for your assistance in exterminating the Commonwealth forces from this planet. While I appreciate your showing up to do that, it seems your leader, Warren Prescott, has changed his mind and has decided to do things his own way. This is unacceptable.”

  “What are you doing?” Warren asked, already headed to the rocket tank Second Corps was attacking. Either they hadn’t been watching how he destroyed his, they didn’t care, or nobody had a grenade.

  “What you should’ve done,” hissed Kaplan. Then he began speaking to all the cyborgs again. “Your orders are to exterminate every single Commonwealth person of fighting age, soldier or not. Give them no quarter. Show no mercy. They would never show it to you.”

  “Does that include the villagers who took you in?” asked Rigby.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I have already sent some of my cyborgs back to do just that.”

  Rigby opened a private channel with Warren. “He’ll kill our people, too. We have to do something.”

  Each of the remaining First Corps sent Warren a message indicating they were still with him. They would not turn on him. Not today. Not ever.

  “Does anyone else still have a grenade?” asked Warren.

  “I do,” one of the First Corps cyborgs replied.

  “Take care of this tank, would you? I’m taking Baker to stop his cyborgs from wiping out that village.”

  “Understood,” he replied.

  “Where’s the last tank?” someone asked.

  Warren looked around and realized he’d lost track of the one he’d been worried about flanking them. It had to be headed to the base. One rocket could take out the war computer. Maybe two for the power plant. Either happened and all hope would be lost. He couldn’t allow that.

  But Hendrose was in danger, and it was likely he was the only one who could disconnect the Commonwealth AI from the thing and get it running again. Warren also considered him a close friend. He’d risked everything to see his people free and had then volunteered to come along to help keep them free and liberate others.

  H
e didn’t have to be the hero. It wasn’t up to him to make sure all the big things were taken care of. All that was required of him was that he did his best. Nobody had ever asked him for anything more. General Kaplan was a problem here, along with the remaining Commonwealth tanks. Hendrose was in danger, and every second Warren waited put the tech closer to being dead. The war computer—his last hope for bringing back those he needed and missed—was at risk, especially since the tank pilot probably knew where and what it was, and there was no door protecting it any longer.

  “Rigby, you have incoming,” he transmitted. “It’s probably a single rocket tank. There will be dismounted infantry with it. Do what you can. The general’s causing trouble here, but I need to head back to the village. He’s sent some of his cyborgs to kill everyone there. Now that he’s got another place to be, I guess he didn’t need them anymore.”

  “Selfish bastard,” transmitted Rigby. “We’ll be ready for them.”

  “Right,” said Warren. “The only thing I’ve found that works is a grenade in one of their pods. You’ve got to wedge it in nice and tight against an unfired rocket. When it goes, so does the whole pod.”

  “I remember,” she said. “Good luck. Bring them home safe.”

  Though her words sounded encouraging, Warren knew what she was really saying. She was telling him farewell. She never expected to see him again. He wished he had something to say to mark the moment, realizing it might be the last thing he ever told her, but the image in his mind of Hendrose being choked to death or shot seemed to short-circuit the parts of his brain necessary for such things.

  “Let’s go save Hendrose and the villagers,” Warren transmitted to Baker.

  “Anyone else coming?” he asked.

  “No. Not with that so-called General giving us shit. Just you and me.”

  “Sounds like an adventure, boss. Race you there?”