Absolution

by Peter Smith

  His father was alive. Sean’s eyes went to the piece of metal that was sticking out of his father’s thigh, embedded in the artificial muscle that was flexing and writing to force the jagged piece of shrapnel from itself. The medical sensors showed that there was no blood detected and his father’s BP was fine.

  Sean gripped the piece of metal, being careful to not slice through his glove and into his palm on it’s sharp edges. With a firm pull he removed it from the smart material that covered his father’s thigh and moments later a white foam filled the space where the shrapnel had torn into it.

  That material would serve as a sealant keeping the suit air tight and able to perform in Nuclear, Biological and Chemical engagements. The only downside was a portion of his father’s suit could not perform its visual adaptation. At least until it hardened and the nearby adaptive molecules that provided color changing re-linked to fill in the area above the foam.

  He looked at his father’s still form and then patted the side of his helmet, “Dad, you gotta wake up.”

  A string of explosions tore into the surrounding forest, and the concussion from the nearby blasts buffeted Sean around. He threw his body over his father’s, shielding him from any threats. He knew though, that if one of those shells got a direct hit, or landed within a meter or two, nothing he could do would protect either of them from being torn to pieces.

  His father groaned and Sean slipped off, “What the hell happened?”

  Sean laughed, relieved, “Eva caught you checking out another woman.”

  His dad let out a sound of pain as he rolled onto his side and pushed himself into a seated position, “That’s bullshit, ain’t no woman hotter than her. Plus, she would have finished the damn job.”

  “You ready to move old man?”

  His father nodded, “Yeah, just got my bell rung.”

  Sean stood, stretching out his hand for his father to take, “Then lets get the hell out of here before they get a lucky shot in.”

  With his father back on his feet, they charged through the explosions from the artillery that was being directed against their location. The only reason they were still alive is because most of the Russian artillery had already repositioned to fire on the Marine lines further to the west. It was likely that they were only being attacked by a single battery, which while not a good thing, meant that the entire forest wasn’t being saturated with high explosives and within that fact lay their chance at survival.

  They both ran as fast and as hard as they could, not slowing down for anything until they reached the lake and threw themselves into it. With some strong swimming and an overland trek, they’d be able to join the Marine lines in short order.

  15

  General Kellen

  Outskirts of Berlin

  James released a bellow of rage that reverberated within his helmet, his knife descending centimeter by centimeter. Spittle left his mouth and spattered the inside of his visor, left to dry and affect the clarity of his display. His arms quaked as the Russian commando fought back with every ounce of his own strength and that of his eco-skeleton. The servo motors of the enemy armor squeed under the pressure as they resisted the impending fate of their owner.

  The tip of the knife indented the fabric at the edge of the ceramic plate that protected the commando’s heart. Kellen put the entirety of his upper body weight into the hilt of the blade. His enemy thrashed beneath him, trying to use their hips to dislodge him from above.

  A new scream joined his own and the cacophony of noises within the bunker. The pressure on Kellen’s wrists intensified as the Commando’s gauntlets attempted to crush his bones. The Russian’s legs began to spasm as the tip of the knife slide through the ballistic fabric meant to stop bullets and other shrapnel.

  Blood welled up and stained the material. He could hear the screams of the soldier through both of their helmets. Then the resistance let up, and the knife slipped in faster, piercing the man’s heart. The knife plunged quickly into the chest as his opponent's arms gave out and all struggle ended. Kellen pulled the blade out, twisting it as much as the armor plating on the outside would allow. He quickly swiped it across the man’s throat, making certain to kill them so he couldn’t be a threat later.

  With the enemy beneath him dead, Kellen scrambled for the pistol that had been knocked from his hand when the wave of Russian Commandos had breached the bunker. He wrapped his hand around the grip of the gun and spun around, brining the muzzle to bear upon another Russian Commando. They were swinging their rifle around to shoot Captain Dyer in the back. Kellen’s focus was on the visor of the enemy soldier, the artificial muscles in the arms helping him to maintain his aim, especially as the pistol recoiled within his grip. A tight grouping of three bullets, beyond the accuracy most humans could achieve, punched through the visor of the Commando. Their helmeted head snapped backward and their body fell to the ground as if they were a puppet whose strings had been sliced.

  “Clear!” A member of the command staff security shouted.

  James pushed himself upward, a hand stretching out to help him. James took Dyer’s offered grip and went to his feet, “Thanks.” He said.

  “Thanks for saving my life.” Dyer responded.

  Kellen waved the gratitude away, “If you die, I have to learn another name for the next Liaison that Dawson sends me.”

  Dyer let out a laugh, “Can’t argue with that logic.”

  Kellen looked around and saw that Charles Dreyfus, the leader of the French Legacy Forces, lay dead in a corner, the top of his head blown off, “Fuck.” Kellen said and motioned toward one of his staff, “Inform Commandant Martel she’s now the head of all French Legacy Forces.”

  “Guy survived ‘The Fall’ but he couldn’t survive this.” Dyer said, shaking his head.

  Kellen marveled at how the head of James Dawson’s military could feel for the loss of a man who would have happily killed him if not for this alliance. There were many within Kellen’s legacy forces that didn’t agree with his decision to grant amnesty to the Spires that had joined them. They followed his orders because they were good soldiers, but they would have just as happily killed everyone from a Spire.

  But if they were going to defeat enemies such as Trotsky, it would be with relationships of respect that Dyer was showing. Though, if they were going to rebuild the world into something peaceful, the wars would have to end. To do that they would have to see past their differences and move beyond the past. Men like Trotsky couldn’t do that, but Kellen hoped that Dawson and Warin would be able to. Given Dyer’s sentiments, he had reason to be hopeful.

  But that was for another day. Now he had to make sure their movement survived this engagement and given what he had just went through, he had an uphill battle to wage. The sounds of conflict beyond the breached armored doors spilled into the room. The loud report of tanks discharging their main guns, ringing off the concrete walls. Kellen turned to the head of the British Legacy Forces. He was jamming a coagulant injector into a hole over his left bicep.

  “You still in this fight?” Kellen asked.

  The man nodded. Choosing not to speak or maybe not able to because of the pain. Kellen turned around the room and took in the remnants of his command staff. Most were still alive but at least a half a dozen lay on the ground motionless, nearly everyone was wounded, “Secure all sensitive equipment for transport, we fall back to the Berlin Spire. Anything we can’t take with us, destroy with thermite charges.”

  A chorus of ‘yes sir’ and nods were his response. He reestablished his QEC link to the command network and accessed the remaining drone and sensor footage for the area outside of the subterranean bunker. Originally it had served as a portion of the Berlin U-Bahn. However, Gisela Warin, the head of the Berlin Spire, had filled in most of the underground system, leaving certain sections to be reinforced and turned into emergency bunkers. She was concerned about hostile Spire forces using it as a method of transit under her capital city but also saw the utility of keeping
a part of the sturdy construction for her own people in case it proved useful. One of the first steps in their deployment to this region had been for him to take over a bunker as his command center.

  Now he was looking at it from above, the street that ran parallel to the entrance littered with the debris of buildings alongside the road. Bodies and vehicles from both sides of the conflict lay strewn across the space in a tableau of horror.

  His RAI signaled that one of his tank units was near, composed of a single M1-A3 Main Battle Tank with the callsign Hammer 3 and a reduced platoon of dismounted troopers. The highest ranking Marine out of the entire force was the tank commander, who was a full Lieutenant. Kellen sent him a direct message order them to double time their advance and protect the command element as they exfiltrated from the bunker. He received a confirmation with a second and could see the unit pick up it’s pace. He zoomed out and could see other allied forces heading to their location, to provide relief from the Russian attack.

  An alert popped up in his visor, and he activated it. His RAI highlighted a major movement of enemy forces heading directly for them.

  “Shit” He mumbled, their enemy would be on them minutes before the relief force could arrive. If they left now, they could link up with the tank unit advancing on their location before the Russians made contact, but it wouldn’t be possible to make it to the bulk of the reinforcements before they were forced to fight. That wasn’t entirely true, he thought to himself.

  He looked over the eclectically equipped allied forces. The legacy forces were all suited in the latest variant of advanced combat power armor, similar to that had issued to Tier One Operators before ‘The Fall’. They could easily evacuate the area and link up with the main relief force. Members of the British and German Spire soldiers were outfitted with exoskeletons, some even had a standard infantry kit and body armor.

  Even in their exoskeletons, the allied spire forces couldn’t keep up with the synthetic muscle of the legacy forces. Kellen could abandon them. He could get his core command staff to safety and continue the fight and likely be effective at it.

  The Russians were gaining ground, he could see that from the aerial data, but his forces had turned every single street into a grinder. The Russians were paying the price for their gains at a rate that they couldn’t possibly maintain. Finally, if they pushed Kellen’s forces further back, that would put the Russians and their allies within range of the Berlin Spire’s direct fire defensive systems. That would break what little momentum the Russian force had left.

  Trotsky was likely viewing this entire campaign from a similar viewpoint as Kellen. The difference between the two men was that Trotsky thought he was winning. Kellen, though, could already see the inevitability of the situation and how it was working against his counterpart. All he had to do was run out the clock, but he couldn’t do that if he and his staff were dead. He closed his eyes and made his decision.

  He wouldn’t abandon his allies, no matter how convenient it would be. While it might lead to a short-term gain, losing trust between the legacy forces and their allies in the Berlin and London Spire would lead to another conflict in the future.

  As much as he hated acknowledging when Maria Patterson had a point, she was right. A part of him might want to punish all the Spire families, but the if he couldn’t forgive and work with some of them, there would be nothing but perpetual war. His Marines deserved the opportunity to rebuild the lives they had lost, and they couldn’t do that if they always had to wear the uniform.

  He opened his eyes and could see another warning about the approaching enemy. He turned and looked over his frantically moving command staff, “Time’s up, set the charges and get the hell top side.”

  He signaled to his security element, “Sergeant, get up there and make sure we don’t run into any surprises once we get on the surface.”

  The man nodded and organized what was left of his security force and they rushed toward the staircase that would take them to the street above.

  Dyer and a younger soldier stepped up to him, “YT here says that intelligence has an entire Russian division pouring toward this location, pulling a pincer movement.”

  “And the Russians have themselves some RVs,” The younger soldier, YT Dyer had called him, stated.

  Kellen nodded, “I saw that too.”

  “So what’s the plan, General?” YT asked.

  Dyer nudged the man with his elbow for speaking so directly to Kellen, James waved off his concern, “We’re going to suck them in and end this fight here and now.”

  He grabbed a rifle off of the desk next to him, “Everyone move out!” He shouted and motioned toward the door.

  His staff streamed through the doorway along with what was left of the allied command staffs. Dyer motioned for his subordinate to go and then held back as the British Royal Marine Captain blew past and into the hallway. Dyer indicated the door, “After you General.”

  Kellen smirked and rolled into the hallway, Dyer following closely behind. As they ran up the steps, their power armor allowing them to take multiple at a time, they found themselves in the early morning light. Kellen was grateful for the air filters that kept him safe from NBC threats. They made it so that the smoke and dust of the battlefield wasn’t clogging his lungs and sinuses. Other than the sounds of not so distant battle and the crackling of flames from destroyed vehicles and burning debris, the street was quiet.

  He sent a waypoint to everyone’s system, highlighting on their visors and goggles where they and the smaller batch of reinforcements would meet before their enemy caught up to them, “Don’t stop, keep moving!” He shouted to the group of personnel that had taken up defensive positions around the surface exit of the bunker.

  The group moved down the street, adjusting their speed for those with lesser capable armor or without the benefit of augmentation. Seconds after they left he felt the ground vibrate, and a confirmation appeared in his visor that the demolition charges had detonated. Any sensitive equipment or documents that couldn’t be removed had been obliterated.

  They made good time down the streets of Berlin. This particular part of the city had been abandoned long before the Trotsky alliance had launched its attack. The population for the city still hadn’t bounced back from ‘The Fall’ enough to warrant habitation for every part of the urban area.

  Warin was a relatively benign dictator, but she didn’t enjoy wasting resources so her people, while free to live their lives as they wanted to, were restricted to an inner ring around her spire. This allowed her to concentrate services and security for them. It didn’t hurt that it made it easier for her to monitor them if some of her people decided they didn’t care if their dictator was benevolent or not.

  The engineered population density of Berlin was the only good point so far in this entire battle. So far they hadn’t had to worry about civilian casualties, at least not here in the main city. He had purposely routed their retreat away from small villages in the East to avoid dragging the war through people’s homes. Now though, if they didn’t stop Trotsky’s advance soon, the battle would reach the core of the city and it would be difficult to avoid the death of innocents at that point.

  He continued to monitor the aerial surveillance of the area and as they neared the waypoint, he could see the advanced relief force rolling toward the intersection. He sent a quick text message to the tank commander, advising him they were about to come into view. His security chief was the first around the corner, followed by him. When he rounded the edge of the building, looking down Puschkinallee road and peered to the North West. He could see the platoon of Marines trotting down either side of the road, flanking the M1-A3 with its flat turret and short little snub of a barrel.

  Two cylinders of the Laser Defense System rotated rapidly atop the turret, ready to defend the tank from enemy personnel that strayed too close, anti-tank missile and even other tank rounds. The latter of that list wasn’t destroyed often, but Kellen was aware of more than one occasio
n where the LDS had disrupted the flight profile of an armor piercing SABOT round, preventing it from hitting the armor in a way that would lead to penetration.

  Beyond the relief force was the dramatic white and silver of the Berlin Spire, rising toward the heavens and overlooking the whole of this part of Germany. It was still over four kilometers away, but its sheer size and height made it appear much closer than it otherwise would have. Seeing it glittering over the remains of his civilization caused him to instinctively ball his fists. He calmed himself as quickly as the rage had set in; they were not the enemy anymore, at least not the ones that lived in that tower.

  The relief platoon was stopping at the vertex of Puschkinallee street. The road diverged into two separate ones forming a giant Y, a patch of standalone buildings and park land dividing it. Both streets would serve as avenues of advance for the Russians. His command staff moved behind the tank and the cover of the platoon as those Marines took up defensive positions. The armored behemoth slid silently to a stop, the electric motors that propelled its treads powering down to conserve battery.

  He sent a conference invite to the rest of the command staff and the officer leading the relief platoon, located in the tank. Within seconds everyone was linked in and ready to be briefed, “Alright everyone here’s the situation, in less than a few minutes we’re going to have several dozen enemy armored units coming down this main road. Now the M1 can handle anything that the enemy throws at it, but it’ll be our job to make sure nothing gets in behind it.”

  He motioned toward the Spire in the distance, “The Landwehr Canal separates us from the Berlin Spire, unfortunately we can’t cross since I had the nearest bridges over the canal blown once it looked like our command center was about to fall. The next nearest bridge is on Lohmühlenbrüke.” His RAI presented to the participants in the conference side-by-side images of both bridges as he mentioned them.