Invasion: Journal Three (Shockwave Book 3)

by Hammer Trollkin

Fierce nodded. “Communal just needed a hand with some coding. Are you guys okay?”

  Tee is considering round two. “Tip-top. Rock, flash-port recon, grab us some footage of the mil-bots. Stay low, the airspace all around Bangor is getting ugly. We need to know how many bots are still running and their route. Everyone, meet up in the conference room.”

  As we gather to plan our next round, I can’t believe the scanner images. “Almost all of them made it through... that?”

  Para has an eye for detail. “There were 148 bots to start. Looks like some that were in the first two trucks are down. I count 118 remaining. Oh, look at that one. He’s not going to make it very far. 117.”

  Roll likes to be, well, Roll. “He’s not going much farther? Why is it a ‘he’, Para?”

  A dazzling smile from Para. “Sorry. It isn’t going much farther. Wait. Look, his brother is trying to weld his track. Nope. He’s still not going much farther.”

  Tee has lost his words. “Uhhh. Action plan? Anyone?”

  Rock is going to move us along. I hope. “They’re crossing the field over to the tracks. Those lead directly to Bangor. How long till the hoppers skid in?”

  Tee is getting regular updates. “Ten minutes.”

  Rock going to guesstimate, a tell from the way he’s rubbing his eyebrow. “They’re making maybe eight miles an hour. It’s going to take them an hour to get anywhere near the nukes. So, no worries, right?”

  Tee is rubbing his stubble. “Pop over for an update, just in case.”

  Rock seemed to shimmer for an instant. “Not good. They’re loading onto railcars. Sybil must have sent a train from the base. Open flatbed cars. They’ll be gunning for anything in their path.”

  Rock shimmered again. “I thought I saw those. Six or seven helodrone gunships have moved in for close air support. Not sure of the designation, but they looked nasty. And there may be an AC-130 Ghostrider too. Just a sec.

  “Yes. There’s a Ghostrider on approach to Bangor. I was wrong. The gunships are taking support positions as an escort to the AC-130, not the mil-bots.”

  Roll looks mesmerized. “A Ghostrider. Those are awesome. Laser cannon, or... it doesn’t matter. Those are awesome. But it would need a crew.”

  Tee is watching the clock. “How long until the bots are loaded on the railcars?”

  Rock should have led with the answer. “They’re loaded, should be under way any time now.”

  My turn. “There’s a bridge over this ravine. Take that out, and we’ve bought some extra time.”

  Tee is on his pid with General Whitehall. “General, those hoppers are going to skid into a hornet’s nest. An AC-130 and 7 gunships, drone models. Is that correct Rock? General, that’s what we’re seeing. Bots are on flatbed railcars, about to move out, six to eight miles from Bangor. Yes general, we can take out the tracks. The aircraft, I’m less certain. I don’t understand the AC-130, with drone gunship support. How did Sybil get a crew to cooperate? Understood. Will do, sir. Roger and out.

  “Team, we’ll need to split up. Alpha will blast the rail bridge. Cloaked. Viz, Rock. And, Communal, would you join them? Perfect. Bravo, we’ll port to the Ghostrider and determine the purpose. It’s just too... odd. If it was just the Ghostrider, I would assume it’s defensive, heading to Bangor in support. But those gunships are drones and have surely been seized by Sybil. Hold.

  “That was General Whitehall. Confirmation. The drones are with Sybil. It doesn’t add up.

  “Questions? Okay. Run comms through QuIM. There’s a lot of active jamming near Bangor. Move out.”

  ***

  Alpha Team untangled under the rail bridge with two of Tee’s big-boy-bombs.

  Communal immediately called out, “Take cover!”

  We were met with a flash and thump that knocked me flat. My ears were ringing as I tried to climb out of a dungeon of confusion and pain to a semblance of alertness. Communal scooped me up and turned his back toward a mil-bot that rolled into view from behind a concrete piling. A flash of energy struck Communal. There was no cover to help us in the moment.

  Communal looked deep into my eyes and decided I was lucid. “Stay behind me!”

  Communal turned and marched toward the mil-bot, the familiar chatter of a SRG going before him. Another flash caused Communal to stagger. Then a hole opened up center of mass on the bot and it sizzled in fried internal components.

  I pulled my blaster and turned to look for Rock but was shoved to the ground by Communal. The reprimand never made it past my lips when I realized the shove spared me from a scorching by another mil-bot. That one had rounded a concrete column on the opposite side of the rail bridge. Communal took the hit, energetic shielding flashing, and moved to return fire. A 2-inch tube snapped out of his extended left arm, launching a projectile with a directional charge. He moved so fast, forming a sort of protective bridge over me.

  A large explosion erupted across the upper energetic shielding of the corrupted bot, toppling it and revealing the relatively weak undercarriage. Communal’s SRG chattered again, shattering the bot’s innards, resulting in a satisfying sizzle of components.

  I ran to Rock, who was struggling to get to his feet. He waved me away, pointing toward a curved section of track, and the train bearing down on our position. Communal and I grabbed the big-boys, placing them at the base of the two main concrete pilings.

  Rock was watching the train as well as our progress and called out. “Set the charges for 10 seconds at my mark. 3,2,1... set!”

  We ran to Rock and ported to a safe observation point next to a dilapidated out-building. The bombs erupted just before the train reached the bridge. Locomotive parts plunged into a twisted mess of concrete, rails, and ties. The flatbed cars derailed, spilling mil-bots across an open field. None seemed any worse for the wear as they righted themselves and started rolling toward Bangor. At least we had slowed their progress.

  I looked at a lightly scorched Communal. “You were awe-stounding in that fight, Communal! Glad to have you on our side. But you seemed to react even before the threats appeared. I’ve never seen such reflexes.”

  Communal shrugged. “Our reflexes are reasonable, but not likely any faster than your nanite enhanced system. We are perhaps a bit more tuned to the quantum devise embedded in your IVAS.”

  I was perplexed. My Ivees have a quantum devise? What are you talking about, Communal?

  Communal shrugged again. “Let’s see if Rock understands.”

  Rock glanced over from his bot watch position. “The Ivee specifications that we have access to don’t mention a quantum devise. But it’s pretty obvious they have a quantum glimpse capability, somehow registering high energy readings pushing out from quantum tensor realities.”

  I felt a headache coming on. “Quantum Tensor Realities? Oh, for pity’s sake. And no, I don’t want you to explain with a 10-page mathematical equation right now. Well, not ever, for that matter. How does it work? And spill-it like you learned from your Simple Question Better Answer seminar.”

  Rock is smiling, all the way up to the gleam in his eyes. “Simple Answer Best Answer. Roger that. You’ve experienced the quantum glimpse a bunch of times. Do you remember that massive explosion that should have fried us during the Ringolar Incursion? Our Ivees registered an energy spike, and we had time to port away?”

  I remember all of my... could have been killed... moments. “Of course I remember. I figured the energy spike was a targeting pulse or an exciter to pump the ordnance. Something like that.”

  Rock doesn’t agree. “Nope. The color of the energy spike gives an idea of the energy being recorded. That spike, for example, was a decent percentage of the actual blast. With the IVAS, someone figured out a way to get a peek into the future. The Ivees record a precursor glimpse when in proximity to a large enough burst of energy to ping quantum entanglement tensor fields. If Communal reacted to mil-bot laser fire, the science guys must be refining the tech to be very sensitive. How cool is that?!”

  Co
mmunal seems happy with the assessment. “Way cool!”

  Cool is as cool does. “It seems as though something like that should be front and center in the IVAS stim-training sessions.”

  Rock is noncommittal. “The system is probably in Beta testing or something. We’ll know when we know. It really is pretty obvious though, don’t you think?”

  Sometimes the sticking-out of one’s tongue can be a very good form of communication and not rude or crude at all. If it is done in a refined manner, of course, head cocked with a nice squint to the eye.

  We reported our successful rail bridge adjustment and set out to track and observe the mil-bots until otherwise commanded.

  ***

  Roll is the best at porting to unknown places with inverted Para in tow. Her mass allows him to better feel the quantum shake of what would be a catastrophic untangling. No one wants to become a part of the furniture. They are well practiced, with no other team that I know of able to do what they can do. Fierce is a trained fighter pilot. In a pinch, he could fly the AC-130. Maybe even land it. Beta Team untangled aboard the AC-130 Ghostrider.

  We had decided to give the crew the benefit of the doubt, hoping they weren’t part of some dark Sybil fan-club, suspecting they had been entrapped in some way. Tee thought the aircraft would most likely have a crew of nine.

  The team pulled sidearms and made haste to take control of the aircraft. Tee and Fierce pointed their sidearms at the pilots, an incentive to behave and answer questions. The captain made a move toward the radio which prompted Tee to rattle him with a knee to the back of his chair.

  Tee patted the pilot on the shoulder, an opportunity to calm the man and pull some initial information in a quick delve. “Don’t worry, we’re just here for a brief safety check.

  “Para and Roll, collect any pids and disable any other comms.

  “Now, Captain... Baxter, could you explain why you’re flying an AC-130 into Bangor’s exclusion zone?”

  Baxter seemed calm enough. “I am merely following orders, sir. Very simple orders. Fly this aircraft, with this crew, to Bangor.”

  Fierce was curious. “I’m not aware Bangor has a landing field. Certainly not a runway that could accommodate an AC-130.”

  The captain smiled. “No, Bangor has a nice paved airstrip. It’s only 4,000 feet, but we could land this bird on a 3,000-foot dirt runway if it came to that. The strip is just east of the nuclear weapons storage facility. Maps show it as a regular street. And, as you folks seem to know, air-traffic is not allowed in Bangor airspace.”

  The Sensor and Electronics Warfare officer stood up, prompting Para to ease him back down, but he was still chatty. “Captain, sir, I’d like a word in private.”

  The captain was working some switches. “Johnson, right? Sorry, I’m a little slow with learning names. I’m sure you can speak your mind in this company.

  “Shockwave, right? I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

  Johnson looked agitated. “We really don’t have time for this. Look, at risk of being hung for high treason, my name isn’t Johnson. I’m special agent Mike Donahue with the SID.”

  Donohue looked around nervously as he pulled up his sleeve and tapped on his wrist in what looked like Morse code, producing a 3D image much like a personal nanocloud. “Here are my credentials. Undersecretary Trollkin, I believe you are familiar with Stellar Intelligence Division conventions.”

  Tee surprised us a little when he took out his pid, waved it at the image, and looked satisfied. “Hello, Agent Donohue. Okay, you’re with the SID. What’s your story?”

  Donuhue touched his wrist to dismiss the cloud. “First. Captain, we can’t do anything unusual that might tip off Sybil. Has our approach been compromised?”

  Captain Baxter shook his head. “No. Sybil seems to have achieved air superiority for the moment. We’ve been directed to circle the field and come in from the North. I’m taking a nice long arc to be sure we’re mostly out of harm’s way. Well, other than our drone gunship escort. Those are clearly from Sybil, and could accomplish plenty of harm.

  “What do you say... Colonel Trollkin? Shall I comply with Donohue here, and land as instructed?”

  Tee looked hard at Donohue. “This situation is plenty volatile. I’ll need your story, Donohue.”

  Donohue released a heavy sigh. “Sybil knows I’m not Johnson, but thinks I am here to deliver launch codes for a Columbia class submarine that will be docking at Bangor in about an hour.

  “I see your looks. Yes, all active naval ships, their control systems, have migrated from the old legacy networks. But you remember the recent submarine incident, the hyper missile launch targeting Darkside Base.

  “Sybil, apparently, was able to slip code onto another Columbia class submarine. We’re not sure how that escaped detection.

  “For a while, we, the SID, thought the Primer’s had overlooked quantum computing. But we keep running into odd circumstances of Empire use of stealth quantum networking. They can utilize quantum data manipulation and encryption. That’s a concern. But what really has us mystified is, despite that, there is a general scarcity of quantum anything. They can utilize quantum computing, but seldom do.

  “Bottom line, Sybil has control of a submarine, including launch codes. But the wretched machine wants arming codes for the nukes.”

  That brought a stern look from Captain Baxter. “So, don’t give Sybil the arming codes.”

  Donohue is shaking his head. “Sybil doesn’t know it yet, but if her bots gain access to Bangor’s systems, the arming codes will be accessible. The codes were moved from all naval ships, to a central hardened location, impregnable Bangor. With QuIM, it was thought best to keep the codes in one safe place to be pushed out to the subs as the need may arise.”

  Tee is getting anxious. “And what are you doing here, playing a Space Force officer?”

  Donohue shrugged. “Sybil knows I’m with the SID. Johnson is just an act for the crew of this aircraft, to keep them in the dark.

  “Sybil contacted us, the SID, claiming she would like several low yield nukes. She claims they are merely for self-defense. If we give her the arming codes for the nukes within the launch tubes of her one submarine, she will spare Bangor. If we don’t give her the codes, she intends to take Bangor, and detonate a nuclear weapon within the storage facility.”

  Fierce has his wide-eyed look. “All those nukes. The radioactive contamination would be unimaginable.”

  Donohue agrees. “We can’t let that happen. Sybil wouldn’t be able to arm and launch a nuclear missile without arming codes, but she is certainly clever enough to detonate one of the bombs in the storage facility at Bangor, even with all the safeguards, and without an arming code.”

  After a stunned silence, Donohue pulled out an ordinary looking briefcase. “This is modeled after the old nuclear football, metal Zero Haliburton case and all, which was always in the vicinity of the U.S. president. It contains the arming codes for the 16 nuclear warheads on the Columbia class submarine currently under Sybil’s control.”

  Donohue held up a hand to silence our objections. “At least, that is what Sybil is going to think. There’s a QuIM enabled quantum keyhole embedded in the code. I’m told the access route is sub-Planck scale, the place of quantum dreams, or some such.

  “When Sybil observes the arming codes, she’s going to get hit with a cyber-attack powerful enough to melt her cybernetic core. At least, that’s the hope. She will certainly lose control of the submarine.”

  Tee was the first to find words. “Apologies for crashing your party.”

  Donahue shrugged. “As far as I can tell, the op is still in play.

  The copilot called out. “Navigation says Sybil just provided landing instructions. Shall I input the course plot?”

  Captain Baxter wants more information. “E-dub, give us a quick rundown on area action, 10-mile radius.”

  The electronics-warfare officer was ready for the briefing. “Airspace is clear, immediate vici
nity of Bangor. We have an open corridor to the runway. It’s heating up due south. Eighty-plus mil-bots moving fast toward Bangor, some within 2-miles. Skidders have landed, releasing mechanized armor to challenge the southern-most mil-bots. Two squadrons, call it 50 aircraft, A-10s are just starting attack runs, strafing the bots. Our gunship escort has moved off to interdict the Warthogs.”

  Captain Baxter had a fatalistic look. “Colonel, if you don’t mind, you and your team strap in. Crew, prepare for landing. Be ready for any contingency. Weapons secure. Do not fire unless fired upon.”

  Tee instructed Roll to section off a small area of the AC-130 hold, then had him port to Alpha team and bring them onboard. Even Communal squeezed into a seat and mostly strapped in, tipping his hat to the wide-eyed air crew.

  Shockwave cloaked as Donohue hit the switch to open the cargo door. He walked out of the aircraft to a waiting bot and an autocar. We stayed cloaked, short-porting to keep up with the speeding car as it drove northwest for a mile or so, to a dock area with a waiting submarine. The raging battle to the south of Bangor brought a raucous din and fouled the air with clouds of noxious smoke. Thankfully, the noise of my coughing fit was contained within the cloaking field. Finally, the car stopped, prompting Donohue to step out, carrying the case that held the nuclear arming codes.

  A voice called out. “Greetings Mr. Donohue. I’m glad you were able to make it. Now, if you would be so kind as to use a cable line to link your data box to my server. This bot will show you. No tricks, or the cost will be very high.”

  Donohue followed the bot to a panel and made the connections as told, then waited with arms folded.

  A blunted shriek informed him that Sybil had decided to download the code. The bot whirling around to gun Donohue down made it obvious Sybil was still alive. And losing control of the submarine would certainly reinforce her determination to take control of the nuclear weapons arsenal. Donohue found himself untangling with Shockwave near the tree line, overlooking the southern vehicle access ramp tunnel leading to the Bangor Base underground weapons transfer bay. We remained cloaked due to the heavy bot security.