by CJ Williams
Face it, I thought. When all was said and done, I was the simulacrum. I needed to get my head around that fact and not foul up the mission with some kind of idiotic virtual jealousy.
“Understood,” I made myself say. “I’m off now.”
I turned and headed toward the battlewagon at the edge of the forest. Without looking back, I hopped up into the jump seat and got settled in. I leaned against the reinforced bull bars and told Freddi, “Inform the second division commander that additional drones are authorized.”
*.*.*.*
As we emerged from the forest, I had Freddi pull up. I wanted a better grasp of our column as we rolled toward the mudflats. It was a big army and a miracle that I had packed all of this into one Phantom sized spaceship. Good thing it was a troop carrier, I thought once again. The tough part would be putting everything back onboard and getting off the planet.
All things considered, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone keep a set of eyes on the situation in the rear. I jumped down and walked over to one of the infantry Barbicans.
“What’s your designation,” I asked it.
“Unit B2388, Your Majesty. Class, Heavy Machine Gun.”
I cycled my helmet to the command frequency. “Division Two, I am requisitioning B2388 for a special task.”
“Acknowledged,” the commander replied.
I turned back to the solitary Barbican and put my hand on its shoulder. “B2388 I want you to stand right here until I return from my mission. You are relieved of all other duties. Understood?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I am giving you a direct line to communicate with me if the situation here deteriorates. I do not want you to engage in combat or any other activity, just be an observer.”
“Understood.”
“I may have other duties for you as well. I will execute them with an alphanumeric designation. The first one is Command Alpha. Got that?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Command Alpha.”
I took a couple of minutes to give the Barbican the details of what I would need depending on the scenario. I felt better after getting its confirmation. An ounce of prevention and all that.
“Good luck, B2388,” I said in conclusion.
I ran back to Freddi to ride shotgun once again. From the little jump seat, I could see almost the entire mechanized army spreading out all around me.
“Freddi, cut all communications with your Phantom self. I want to go silent on that frequency from here on.”
“Acknowledged.”
The road ahead was clear, but sitting at the head of the column gave me a different perspective. Way back, before I ever got mixed up with the Nobility, I had only seen battlefields from thousands of feet in the air, and the higher the altitude, the more I liked it. I used to drop laser-guided bombs and fire GPS air-to-ground missiles from miles away. Now I felt like the poor grunt with a handheld laser, illuminating an enemy target from a couple hundred yards away.
“Are the shields up?” I asked.
“Shields are up, Commander,” Freddi said.
“Then why are we falling back?” I asked. “I can’t lead an assault from the back of the column.”
“For your safety, Commander. You are particularly exposed by sitting on the front bumper. I am letting the artillery units get ahead; they have bigger shields and an abundance of armor.”
I didn’t argue. It wouldn't help the cause if I took a sniper round through the chest. Of course, the second the heavy armor units took the lead, I wound up eating all the mud and dust they kicked up.
We came to the first water crossing a mile and a half from the tree line. The bridge crossing units dashed ahead and began replicating steel trusses just in front of their treads as they moved forward. Every thirty feet or so they paused to put down a concrete pier and then picked up speed again. The operation was mirrored on both flanks as we created five separate bridge crossings. Freddi and I were the tenth load to roll across one of the resulting structures. I waited on the far side long enough to convince myself that the it would really hold up for the job.
The design wasn’t pretty and the bridge wouldn’t last forever, but it would get the army across the river and back. Freddi and I designed it for exactly that purpose.
“All right,” I said. “It looks good. Catch up to the lead units.”
It seemed about time for us to run into the initial resistance and on cue, I heard the pop popping of plain old gunpowder rounds ahead. Those shots didn’t come from my troops. Our gravity powered weaponry was virtually silent. The locals had finally realized an attacking force was entering the city.
“Attack the spaceport,” I ordered. It was time for our trickery.
Dozens of rovers raced away from our column toward our diversionary target. Seconds later distant explosions signified one of my artillery regiments had started pounding the landing pads.
“The spoofing has started, Commander,” Freddi said.
I could hear the radio chatter in my helmet and after a minute or so, tuned it out. I needed to focus my attention on the terrain ahead. The gunfire in front of us was getting to be more intense than I anticipated from a sleepy urban community.
“Get me to the front,” I said. “Quickly.”
Freddi kicked into high gear and we reached the forward edge of the battle area to find my forces slowing to a crawl, trying to return fire from all sides. “I need air support,” I shouted.
I counted five pockets of hostiles. Three in the town’s residential section, just past the mudflats, and two from guard towers along the spaceport fence. “Division One, have your artillery regiment concentrate on the residential targets. Division Two, put some rockets on those guard towers. All other Divisions, keep moving forward. We can’t get stuck like this!”
I banged my heels against Freddi’s front bull bars and told him, “Get moving! From here on, put us in the lead.”
“Acknowledged.”
Even for a warlike culture, the resistance was stronger than I expected from a bunch of civilians. I wondered if Grey society was one big Spartan-like military.
We traversed another water crossing. The bridge-crossing team had already laid down the girders. It was little more than a creek, and Freddi hardly slowed down. The treaded vehicles didn’t even bother with the trestles. They barreled into the muddy water at full speed and churned across without hesitation.
A huge detonation off to the south resulted in a boiling mushroom cloud rising over the spaceport. It wasn’t a nuke; at least not one of mine. I wondered what caused such an impressive secondary explosion. At any rate, it should garner enough attention to obscure our route to city hall.
“Incoming,” Freddi warned.
“Track the source,” I shouted as shells began landing in our midst.
“We have it,” Freddi said. “Counter fire commencing.”
We had travelled seven miles and the resistance increased with every minute. I had about three more miles of mudflats ahead; two actually; the third mile would be on a perimeter roadway on the back side of an industrial area.
Our shields were getting a workout. Freddi’s front shields glowed with a dull orange from the continuous splashes of incoming rounds.
“How you holding out?” I asked her.
“No problems,” Freddi replied. “In my latest version I had dual shield generators installed so when one of them gets beaten down the backup is ready to go.”
“Let’s pick up the pace. I have a feeling that getting through downtown is going to be a nightmare.”
“Understood, Commander.”
My division commanders were moving forward in as wide a front as possible across the mudflats. I was counting on the hard terrain to give us the speed necessary to strike deep before the Greys got organized.
My air attack drones forced the Greys to keep their heads down, and our artillery reinforced the idea. Ahead of our column, I saw some defenders trying to put up a tank barrier to constrict our advance into a narrower formation. I
f successful, it would clump us together and turn us into sitting ducks.
“Division Two, get some tanks up there and concentrate all fire on that position. Don’t let them establish that barricade.”
The Grey response to our surprise attack was turning out to be a lot more sophisticated than I anticipated. The resistance was not fighting like a civilian population. All around, enemy snipers were popping up and laying down an accurate field of fire.
These guys had either gone through some fairly advanced training or fought in a lot of battles. Their rifles were zeroed in and they hit what they shot at.
Fortunately, we had better shields. And my own snipers weren’t exactly amateurs. When any of my mechs took a shot, one of the Greys fell down. That was good shooting.
Freddi interrupted my thoughts. “Commander, we have been monitoring the Greys’ radio communication. I am afraid I have some bad news as to why their resistance is so effective.”
“Spit it out,” I said, although I didn’t really want to hear the answer.
“First, let me say that our subterfuge has been successful. The local Greys are not aware that you are leading this attack. They think you are from a neighboring state raiding for feedstock. From their cogent orders and coordinated response, I suspect this is not uncommon. Accordingly, every citizen is experienced in military arts. Neighborhood communities train together as one large militia on a regular basis.”
That sucked, but there wasn’t a lot I could do about it now. If I had waited a few days and gathered more intelligence, my reconnaissance drones might have been able to warn me. But the idea I might sit around trying to tweak the strategy while my family rotted in prison was a non-starter.
Frankly, with the military force I had created, I thought this would be a walk in the park. Instead, our little foray was threatening to turn into The Charge of the Light Brigade with me standing in for Lord Cardigan. But we couldn’t turn back now. If I tried to withdraw or regroup, it was a death sentence for all of us, including Annie. We had to push on.
Freddi continued. “Division Two reports the blockade is destroyed. The way ahead is clear.”
“Full speed,” I shouted. I wasn’t sure what a typical Grey versus Grey attack would be, but it probably wouldn’t be a raid on city hall. Our unusual objective might help cause confusion. At this point, any misdirection would be a plus.
Freddi crossed the last water barrier, nothing more than a municipal flood control channel, and then we reached the paved road that led into the city center.
That’s when it got nasty.
The main roads I had planned on using were blocked. Out of the pavement, multiple sets of thick bollards had sprung up. Their close spacing prevented anything but our tiny rovers getting through. It meant all of my vehicles, treaded and wheeled, were dead in their tracks. And without freedom of movement their survival was in doubt.
“Split up,” I ordered over the command channel. “I doubt that every single street has bollards. Check out every road and back alley until you find a path downtown. Pass it up the chain when you find one.”
I ignored the acknowledgements and spoke to Freddi. “That includes us. Take that alley but keep our destination in mind. Imagine you’re a taxi driver with a hot fare. There is always a shortcut even if it takes longer.” She swerved to charge down the alley. Immediately a dozen weapons with all types of calibers opened up.
We were in the old part of the city. The narrow streets and the building’s stone facades looked ancient, darkened by centuries of soot and exhaust. The foundations at street level were almost black and only above the third floor, could I see the faded color of the original stone work.
It seemed like every face that peered out of a window took a shot right at me. Not that I saw all that many faces. The local citizenry seemed quite familiar with urban warfare. They would peek out and duck back before I could target them for my snipers. Then they would appear in another window and blaze away with their own handguns for no more than a second or two, and then jerk back out of sight once more. It might not be an accurate way to fire, but it certainly kept my attention.
I wanted to shoot back, but that would be shirking my responsibility. I had to lead the battle. I had a great combined military force but unfortunately, my troops had been scattered all over the city. Perhaps I should have kept the force together, but I didn’t want the entire army to get bottled up. Another result of launching the attack with poor intelligence.
I mentally scanned through my status list of active shooters. The majority of my light infantry forces were continuing to make steady progress into the center of town.
Freddi rolled out of the alley onto a main street, but it was taking us east. I needed to go north, into the heart of the city.
“Take the next left,” I shouted. Behind us, my personal guards followed closely. Behind them trailed most of the Third Brigade and then the special forces units that would accompany me once I reach city hall. All of them were Barbicans.
The battlewagon took the left turn at near full speed. I thought we were going to tip over but Freddi stayed upright. I hung on for dear life, not much use to anyone. We had three clear blocks in front of us and then another set of those miserable bollards sprang up. Freddi would never get through them. It meant another dash down another alleyway. One was coming up on the left but it wasn’t headed toward the city center.
We were getting bogged down and that was my worst nightmare. I suddenly realized I was letting my actions be driven by the least capable unit in my force; the armored personnel carrier. As we approached the alley, I made a decision.
“Have the Greys identified us?” I shouted at Freddi.
“Not completely. A couple of reports included comments that a silver human is accompanying the raiding force. It won’t take much time for someone to figure it out.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said. “Keep trying to make your way to city hall. If you can’t, at least stay in one piece. I’ll need you to get Annie out.”
“What are you planning, Commander? You should not go off on your own.”
“I’m not going alone, you are.” I sprang out of the jump seat and said into my command channel. “All royal guards accompany me.”
I hit the ground running, holding my personal shield straight out. Incoming bullets lit it up like a Christmas tree. My arm felt like it was pushing against an industrial jackhammer.
My guards closed around me and I charged between the bollards at full speed. Greys poured small arms fire from buildings on both sides of the street. Our shields were handling it for the moment, but I didn’t want to bank on there being nothing larger ahead of us. And I still had fifteen city blocks to reach city hall.
“All air support drones, cover my approach,” I ordered. “Division One, have your artillery regiment target the buildings between my position and city hall. Do it now.” Few soldiers would have considered that shouted instruction a formal call-for-fire mission, but having a direct mental link with my army definitely gave me an advantage; I didn’t have to explain or justify anything.
Ahead of me, a heavy treaded vehicle rolled out from a side street. The chassis barely cleared the roadway and thick armored plating gave it protection against my guardsmen. The turret featured a huge cannon barrel traversing in my direction.
I was not about to go one-on-one with a tank. Before the barrel lined up, I dashed into a storefront, scattering four-footed shoppers and drawing the attention of several dozen guards, all armed.
The row of storefronts was like a strip mall. It did not have solid construction between the shops. I pointed at the north wall. “Barbicans, make a hole in that wall and keep pressing ahead. We’ll go around the tank through these shops.” I wondered if the big gun would fire into a crowd of its own people.
The Barbicans hit the wall three abreast and left an opening the rest of us ran through firing at anything that moved. We made a mess of the stores, knocking over displays and shooting at any
one who stood in our way; and there were plenty. It seemed that for every bullet we fired, at least three times that number came back. I feared it would get worse before it got better.
“All rovers,” I announced on the command channel. “Converge on city hall.”
As we reached the end of the shops, we came on a big picture window. I realized we were crashing through a tobacconist shop. The décor was earthy and the advertising displays featured posters of Greys smoking humongous pipes. It looked so ridiculous I would have laughed had I not been jamming my shield against a shop keeper’s face while he tried to drill me with a handgun bigger than my Colt. He went down and I was already checking out the cross street ahead.
We blasted through the display windows and onto the sidewalk. When we crossed the boulevard all we saw was a solid brick building. No alleyway available there, so we charged to the right, down to the corner. Turning left at the intersection would keep us pressing toward city hall.
The tank had followed our progress and blasted away as we approached the main street, but in the gunner’s haste he aimed high. A chunk of the brick building exploded and dropped a shower of shattered masonry on our heads. It didn’t slow us down, but if a round like that landed in our midst the battle would be over.
“Take out that tank!” I shouted. One of my Barbicans collapsed into its Gatling Gun form and blasted away. That gave the tank something stationary to fire at and my Barbican exploded into a million pieces of twisted metal. That didn’t go well, I thought.
“Go left!” I shouted and turned onto the main road to the capital. Directly in our path were at least a hundred armed Greys, formed up in ranks like minutemen. The ones in front were kneeling and all of them had weapons pointed right at us.
I raised my shield and bore down as fast as I could. My shield lit up once more and I thought my arm would shatter from the beating.
Then I was in the middle of the Grey soldiers, literally slugging it out. They grasped at me and fired point blank, most often wounding their comrades. Bullets grazed me a couple of times, but my titanium skin held together. My Barbicans, impervious to the small arms fire, joined the melee and formed a metal barricade around me. One of them put its metal claws under my arms and hoisted me onto its shoulders. Our momentum picked up again, but from the sniper’s point of view, I was now on a pedestal. I bent low, trying to mold my body to the Barbican and held my baton shield over my back.