Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  But he knew what he had to do.

  “Commander Jeries…let’s get out of here, as quietly as possible.” He was anxious, worried about escaping, but he was sure what he had to do.

  “Yes, sir…what speed should we go for?”

  Deacon sat for a few seconds and thought. He wanted to get out as quickly as possible, but he knew that the faster he maneuvered, the more chance he would get picked up. And suddenly, that was a terrible prospect. It had been bad enough before, the idea of being identified and probably killed, but it was worse now. He had information, even if it wasn’t the Regent, it was something. Something valuable.

  The more he thought about it, the clearer it became to him. He came to believe he had found the Regent, and that made getting to a transmission point the most important thing he could do. By any measure.

  “Ten percent, Commander.” A pause, and then, “I know that is slow, but that may in fact be the Regent, and if we get picked off…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Everybody understood, whether they believed it was the Regent or not.

  But Deacon was surer that ever…and his worries were solely focused on getting out of the system, and someplace he could transmit the details to Earth-2. He was convinced now, and while he didn’t know Max Harmon very well, he was positive the planetary dictator would also be sure.

  The Regent was there.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III

  Earth Two Date 02.10.63

  Gosnard ignored the pain. He ignored the losses, too, the hundreds of his people he knew were dead. He just stayed focused, grimly, darkly, on the matter at hand…winning the fight, or losing it.

  He was wounded—almost everyone still fighting had been hurt in some way. But his people had fought well. He reminded himself that they were not warriors, that he was not a soldier. At least none of them had been a couple months earlier. But as he sat there, battling—and watching his remaining people fight—he questioned how much more they could have achieved if they had been lifelong troops.

  He stared straight ahead, checking for a target. For a while, they had been easy to find, but now he could tell that the enemy’s numbers were becoming as much an issue as his own. The fighting had been going on for three days, without a stop, and most of those who had gone in—on both sides—were out now.

  He had been almost ready to yield a couple times—almost—but he could tell that the enemy was feeling the pinch of numbers as acutely as he was. His plan had been to save his people, but he knew that was mostly a lost cause. The vast majority of those who had lived on the planet were dead, and only a few remained. Now, he thought one thing only, and he was prepared to call it a victory if one of his people survived…as long as all the robots were gone.

  He caught some movement up ahead. At the start of the battle, he would have opened fire already…but all the fighting had taught him many things, not the least of which was, he needed to be more patient. He could expend hundreds of rounds and not hit anything…and truth be told, though his people weren’t out of ammunition yet, they weren’t heavily loaded down with it anymore either. They had to be more careful with it than they had been, and to Gosnard’s relief, most of his people seemed to be doing just that. He wasn’t sure they wouldn’t still run out, but his gut told him one side or the other would go through all its combatants first. And he still had no real idea whether that would be his scattered survivors or the enemy’s.

  His eyes fixed on the spot, seeing movement again. It was just some brush—one of the few areas around that still had some plant growth—but now he was sure there was something out there. His mind reached out, and he imagined that it could be one of his own people…but then he decided it was too far out for that. At least probably.

  He hunkered down as still as he could, raising his gun slowly, and pointing it in the direction of his presumed enemy. He tried to remain as still as he could, even breathing slowly. He was alone, at least ten meters from his nearest compatriot, and he knew that meant he would face the enemy alone. That told him he would almost certainly lose…unless the bot was damaged already. There was a good chance of that, though, and if it was banged up enough, maybe—just maybe—he could take it down.

  Before it did the same to him.

  He heard gunfire in the distance, most of it to his south. For a while, perhaps a day and a half, the shooting had been very heavy, but now it was more focused. He knew more than half of his people from three days ago—and probably a lot more—were dead now, but so were a lot of the bots. In truth, he had no idea whether his people had a chance or not. But he didn’t need it. He was going to fight to the death regardless. Even if he’d been willing to surrender, and he honestly wasn’t sure what he would have done if that had been an option—the enemy didn’t take prisoners, and even if they did, death was almost certainly a better option.

  He saw another bit of movement up ahead, and it told him the enemy was coming closer. He breathed deeply, and then he held his breath, straining with his ears to hear…anything. Then, a second later, he opened fire.

  He pulled the trigger, firing on full auto, spraying the area he believed held the enemy. He knew the bot would return fire almost immediately, but he stayed where he was for a few seconds, emptying his clip before he dove to the side.

  The enemy did fire, and he could hear the area he’d just vacated inundated with projectiles. He wasn’t there, though, and he realized he hadn’t been hit, missed probably by a second, and quite possibly less.

  He rolled around, realizing that his movement was sending data to the enemy, that his chance of getting hit was increasing and not decreasing. But he put it out of his mind. He knew well enough that the fight now taking place would go on until he or the bot was down.

  He had slammed another clip into his gun, and now his eyes flashed around quickly, trying to get a fix on the enemy. The bot was still firing, and he traced backwards, as well as he could, and then he fired.

  He didn’t shoot another entire clip this time. He had to conserve ammunition. He fired about a third, and then he lunged in a seemingly random direction, glad for the little bit of wooded area he still had to hide in.

  He flashed a quick glance over, just a fraction of a second, and he thought he had seen something, some kind of hit. Then, an instant later, his mind told him there was less fire coming in. The bot had been shooting two guns—which he believed was less than its total armament—but now it became clear there was only one still firing.

  He felt a surge, some excitement that he might win after all. But one gun was enough to finish him, and he struggled to maintain his cool, to focus on the battle. It was difficult, but he managed to do it…mostly. But he was tired, very tired, and even as he pushed, as he dug down for the greatest effort he could, he realized that sooner or later—and probably sooner—his body would fail. All his people would. It was, perhaps, the biggest disadvantage they had against the Regent and its bots. Humans, even Mules, he realized, needed sleep…and the bots could keep going, as long as they had power.

  He fired again, and then he moved. But suddenly there was nothing, no shooting coming from the enemy. He knew it could be a trick, that the foe could be trying to trap him, but it could also be badly damaged. In another time, another place, he might have decided differently, but before he even consciously realized it, he was up, racing toward the bot’s last known location.

  It was fatigue, at least in part, and probably a dozen other things, but he raced across the wooded patch toward the enemy, without hesitation. If the bot had been trying to entrap him—or if there was another one nearby—he almost certainly would have run to his death. But there was nothing…nothing but a badly battered robot, still functional, but with its guns all destroyed.

  He had reloaded as he ran forward, dropping a clip with about a quarter of its rounds still in place, but when he stopped about two meters from his enemy, he acted almost like a robot himself. He didn’t pause, didn’t recons
ider his actions for an instant. He just raised his gun, and he fired, directing the automatic fire directly into the robot’s most vital section. He didn’t pause, didn’t slow his fire until the clip was empty. Then he looked down…and he realized the bot was destroyed.

  He gave himself a few seconds to look at the twisted wreckage, even though on some level he knew that it was dangerous, that if another bot was nearby it could cost him his life. But his luck held, for the moment at least, and a few seconds later he raced through the woods, searching for another bot, for another enemy to kill.

  * * *

  Til ached. He had four wounds, both old and new, and he understood, at least on some level, that he wasn’t going to be able to take much more. He had fought hard, well beyond anything he would have imagined possible just a couple months earlier…but he knew he was near the end. The injuries weakened him, reduced his fighting ability, and eventually—and probably soon—he would just wear out. He might not die, not right away at least, but once he lost his last ability to fight, he knew he wouldn’t endure very long. The bots were moving through the area, killing any of his people who were too injured to move.

  The bots had been hurt too, though. Very badly. Til had started the battle almost consumed by questions about whether the humans had a chance, but now he didn’t really care. It wasn’t that he had given up, so much as he had decided he would simply fight as long as he could, and he would see what happened.

  He’d started the battle commanding about thirty-five percent of the forces, but now, with the troops all scattered around, he had to acknowledge that the combat had turned into every man for himself. His people, some of them at least, were still in the fight, but they were scattered around and spread out widely.

  The ground all around him was covered with small rocks and open dirt. Once, it had been lush forest, as had most of the battle area, but now it was all blasted apart, a few chunks of trees all that remained standing of the once lush woods. Now, it was mostly about elevation, and the battle lines had formed up along two ridges a little over a kilometer apart, each geographical line providing some cover to humans or bots behind.

  He looked up, raising his head just slightly, almost expecting some responding fire. But there was nothing. He knew the enemy was out there, but now he wondered if it was really possible, if his side could actually win the battle. He’d convinced himself early on that there was a chance at least, but sometime over the past few days, that had escaped him. He’d been sure he was going to die, that all of his people were going to. But now, he felt a flash of hope.

  He ducked back down and crawled along the ridgeline. There was fire to the north, some fire at least, but even as he headed toward it, he realized that the battlefield had grown mostly quiet. Whether that was the reduction of his enemy’s forces, or just some kind of trick, he wasn’t entirely sure. He had completely lost track of the enemy’s strength—or his own side’s, for that matter. He was just fighting, struggling to hold back the bleeding from his wounds, and to push forward. His thoughts in that direction stretched out only minutes now, or maybe half an hour. Any more seemed pointless.

  The sound of the fire was a bit louder now. It was three autocannons from the enemy, though whether that was one, two, or three actual bots, he didn’t know. He almost took another look up over the ridge, but he didn’t. He was too close now, and the enemy’s response times were too much quicker. If he was going up, it had to be to fire, not just to inspect the area.

  He took a deep breath, and he pulled out his scanning device. It gave him the location of the others on his side who were nearby, at least those who also had the device. There were two others, about twenty meters away. The line turned just up ahead, and he figured they were closing on the same contact he was. At least, he couldn’t see anything else nearby.

  That was good, of course. The enemy lines were thinned out, as badly as his own, but he wasn’t sure who was winning…or if it even mattered. If the enemy won, his people would be wiped out, but if his side prevailed, they might literally be down to the last few survivors. Did that even make a real difference? For a moment, he thought about that, and wondered. But then he decided.

  It damn sure mattered.

  He typed a short message into the scanner, a message to the two others. He wasn’t sure it would get through, or that they would be able to follow his orders…but he told them to attack, in one minute.

  He checked his rifle and did the best he could to inspect his injuries, quickly checking the dressings. He knew there was a good chance he would die, even if his side prevailed. But he was ready for death, mostly at least.

  He glanced down at his timer, seeing that he had fifteen seconds left. He breathed, twice, deeply…and he watched it work its way down to two seconds. Then, he lunged forward, up above the berm and to the side…firing as he did.

  * * *

  Gosnard crawled forward, leading four others toward the enemy’s…last defense? He wasn’t sure. His forces were scattered now, and almost out of ammunition, but the enemy had declined dramatically in effectiveness as well. Who was worse off was still a question, and even though he didn’t know the answer, he sucked some joy from the legitimacy of the inquiry. After all, he realized he hadn’t really expected to win the fight, and now, maybe—just maybe—he was on the verge.

  There were an immense number of questions, of course, not the least of which had been the enemy’s ability to land reinforcements. He had assumed they would have by now, if they had the capacity, but he didn’t know that. The bots were different than humans, and he figured it was at least possible that they would wait until he had wiped out their force before sending another down. Still, he felt some hope…not that he knew he could beat the forces currently on the ground. He had no real idea what they had left, or even what he had. All he could do was keep fighting…until he won or died.

  He turned around and looked behind him, at the four men positioned there. It was a small force, almost an irrelevant one…but it was all he had, and it had taken some effort to put it together. “Are you all ready?” He tried to avoid the realization of exactly what he had, not just the small number, but the makeup. Two of them were young, too young to be out fighting…but the only option to it now was death, and that made the decision a fairly easy one. One of them was an older woman, small, looking nothing like a real fighter. But Gosnard knew he had no one left now but warriors. All his people who hadn’t been at least reasonably comfortable in battle were dead, along with a large number of those who had been able to fight.

  He glanced at the fourth man, who was the only one of them—and he included himself in that—who really looked like a soldier. But they all deserved to be considered that now…whether they prevailed or whether they failed.

  “We’re ready!” The reply wasn’t exactly in sync, but all four of his people responded. He looked at them for a few seconds, seeing their determination—and also their weakness. He felt pride, somewhere among his thoughts. He knew they had all seen death over the past weeks, that they had gutted their way through the fighting, while seeing their friends and family killed…and somehow, they had prevailed while most of their people died.

  Now, they were probably all going to die, too. But most of them had realized that already, and they had made at least a marginal peace with it. One thing was certain, at least among the people he had left. They would fight to the end.

  “Alright…let’s go!” He said it quickly, too suddenly perhaps, at least for most people. But the four he had with him responded at once, and they bounded up over the berm…and raced toward the enemy.

  It was a bad strategy, at least in most cases, but he knew he didn’t have any choice. His people were almost out of ammunition, which meant they had to fight their final battles now. He didn’t have the ability to stay in place, exchanging massive amounts of fire all day, not any longer. He had to force the thing to a conclusion, to the utter defeat of one side or another, and he had to do it now.

 
He raced forward, his head darting around, confirming that his people were spreading out. If they were going to be taken down, at least it wouldn’t be by one burst.

  He fired, a couple shots at a time, more to assure himself he was doing something than because he had any real target. There was shooting from all of his people, but it was the same thing…just a few shots.

  Then, suddenly, he felt a strange feeling, and he saw something. It was two of the normal bots off in the distance…and something else.

  He flipped his switch to full auto, and he fired. All his people did. The two bots were enough to trigger his assault, but something told him the other unit, the one he had never seen before, was some type of command unit.

  He fired until his rifle was empty, then he changed cartridges quickly, almost perfectly. He continued to shoot, even as the bots returned it. One of his people went down—he didn’t know if he was dead or not. He just hunkered into as much cover as he could manage, and he fired. He had already decided it was as good a place as any to use up the rest of his ammo.

  He didn’t know what that strange bot was, but something told him it was important, that it was at least one of the command units…and possibly the leader.

  And he was going to take it down…whatever it took.

  * * *

  AC-230315 looked out, gauging the incoming fire, and the outgoing blasts as well. It was a brutal fight, and a small one. But it was down to a tiny fight now. It didn’t have more than a few bots left. It knew the enemy was battered as well, down to its last fighters…but it started to realize something it had previously barely been able to perceive.

  It was likely to lose the fight.

  It had thought that even before it was attacked directly, with only two combat units—damaged ones—nearby to help defend it. It wasn’t armed itself, though it was durable, and it knew its future, its survival, depended on the bots with it now.