I gritted my teeth as I jumped up and leveled my rifle, popping off three rounds. I felt a single slug hit my right shoulder at the same time I saw a baby doll, in a tiny pink dress, kick over backward. I could tell that the slug that hit me penetrated the minor clavic joint and disrupted service there, but I didn’t move. I kept my weapon, after the minor shock of impact, trained on my target’s location. I could just see one foot—the rest of the body obscured by a rock of its own—in what looked like a black patent leather shoe lying on the ground absolutely motionless. I wouldn’t take any chance that it repeated my trick by playing dead. After an eternal minute, I popped the exposed leg with three more rounds. It didn’t move.
I took a brief second to remove my pack and slap a temporary patch on my shoulder wound. It wasn’t seeping any fluid, but again safety first. The damage limited my range of motion by 30 percent. I couldn’t even see the damaged site to attempt a repair. I would have it fixed when I could get to a Nurse Nan.
Just on the off chance a second sniper waited for me to come out into the open, I spent another thirty-one minutes, twenty-three seconds worming flat on my belly to the base of the sniper stand. I decided that ammunition was something I could afford to spare. I tossed a grenade up into the hollow of the sniper stand. Seconds later a resounding boom was followed by a rain of tiny rocks and a cloud of dust.
Because of my weakened shoulder I climbed slowly. I pulled myself over the ledge to see the remnants of the sniper. Nothing but a scattering of pale tan skin-bits, metal bones, and pink-flowered cloth remained. I did find the pieces of the M16, but it was totally unserviceable, twisted almost beyond recognition by the force of the grenade blast.
I rested on the ledge for just a few minutes. My hydraulic reservoir showed an abnormally high temperature. It had to drop before I proceeded. I looked out over the flatland where I had just been ambushed. This was a perfect location for a sniper, but if I were in charge I think I would place an M40 here rather than an M16. An M40 sniper rifle would be able to reach the entire floor. It was something I would keep in mind. I learned something from this episode. There was no such thing as a safe place. Behind the battle only meant a lesser chance of being hit.
Once my system flushed the heat, the task of making the front lines seemed daunting. I found myself looking at every slightly hidden spot as a potential danger. I sprinted from one safe cover spot to another, and scanned for more danger. The closer I got to the front, the more often I heard the whistle of mortar fire or the chatter of a machine gun. None of the sounds approached my location, but that didn’t stop me from falling down to the ground. My belly was bright red in dirt from my craven leaps for cover. Was I a fool for hiding, or would I be a fool for doing nothing? I never managed to answer that question. I finally realized I could be overly cautious—paranoid, the Humans call it—and my leaps to cover reduced. Three hours later, I arrived at the rear units of the combat line.
A triage center had been set up for unit repair right where I stumbled into the line. It was overflowing with units. They were lying all over in so many various stages of dismemberment, exposed wires hanging out of burned skin and shattered bones, that I was appalled. Gunfire snapped constantly now, just over a tiny rise from me. The only thing that lit the camp was the constant glow of fires and the occasional brilliant flash of some explosive. I grabbed a Nurse Nan.
“Priority repair. First-aid, level four only.”
“Affirmative,” she said, towering over me at the Nan’s full height of 3 meters. She pulled out a pair of skin cutters the size of tin shears and swung me around. I felt her cutting away the shell of my back to expose my damaged joint. The tinkering inside took less than fifteen seconds. I could feel a wet compound being smeared in the wound, where it would harden to replace my ceramic inner skin, and then the pull of the thread through my skin, to seal my fur. A similar rough stitch was used on my front, closing the tears in the ballistic fabric of my fur with thick black first-aid strands.
I reached into my backpack and pulled out the ear I’d retrieved from the place of my ambush. Nurse Nan took it and went behind me. I felt some tinkering, similar to what was done through my back. Once again my world was filled with stereo sound. More black stitches mounted my ear back up near the pinnacle of my head. From where she sewed the ear it felt lopsided, but at this point I didn’t care. I could hear. I could function in my mission.
I returned the Nurse Nan to the work I had interrupted, and promptly returned to my own. Back down on my hands and knees I crawled over the hill. Craven, yes. I didn’t want to have to be repaired again so soon.
When I reached the crest, I saw all the ravages of the devil himself loosed upon this fair planet. My exposure to war to this point had been brief and violent with a quick and nearly painless victory compared to this holocaust. On a ravaged hillside lay the corpses of thousands of units. The dead littered the field so thickly that units stood on skulls of fallen comrades to continue fighting. Craters large and small overlapped and mixed with footprints muddy from the liters of bodily fluids spilled. Smoke rose gray from hits only on bare earth and oily black from incendiary fire-striking units. Too many of the burning bodies no longer moved, only adding billowy columns of black to the haze of battle. The constant rippling of automatic weapon fire couldn’t be heard when the overwhelming mortar explosions overwhelmed them and lit up the darkness. I didn’t know whether to stay, to fight, to run, or to pray to the Humans.
When in doubt, I thought, do what you know. I’d never received help from Humans the few times I’d prayed to them so I passed on that option. Instead, I did a priority tap into the net to gain enough information to begin controlling our side of the battle. Just as I began to receive information, a rubber-band propelled glider swooped down almost onto my position and dropped a tiny bomblet. I snapped a shot at the glider, missing wide, and rolled. Unfortunately, I started rolling down the hill toward the river. The tiny explosive lit up the hilltop. The flame singed and melted the fur on the bottom of my feet but didn’t directly cause any real damage. My body paid for its own good fortune at getting away from the heat by absorbing the beating of rolling down the steep slope. While I waited to stop, my mind drew data from the net.
“Oooof!” I exclaimed as I came to an abrupt halt against the burning stump of a tree that happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. At impact, my internal gyros fought gamely to keep the damage to a minimum.
Six’s units numbered 1,124 without a single airborne unit. We held a naturally fortified position on the uphill side of a wide, swiftly flowing river. Our limited objective was to hold this hill. Far from the simple sound, the animals already had twenty thousand deactivated in a forced crossing. My threat map showed no fewer than fifteen thousand more—and that was just what I could see. Projections from Six ranged from five hundred to twenty thousand additional fauna waiting for a breakthrough here. Ten-to-one odds against, with the natural terrain in our favor and some air power, were within the realms of doable. Fifteen to thirty-five-to-one odds did not give us any chance. Almost worse, our supplies and munitions were down to only sixteen hours at current expenditures.
“1499 to Six. Request additional five thousand units and additional logistical support to reinforce current position. Breakthrough from enemy an almost certainty.”
“Request denied,” came the quick reply. I watched as one of Six’s gophers, covered in dynamite, dug up from the dirt on the other side of the river and walked toward the nearest group of enemies. Five dress-up dolls, with no weapons, followed, spreading out into a wide fan pattern. A hail of fauna bullets rained down on the furry digger and its fellow smart bombs. A brilliant explosion blinded me from across the river. I estimated nearly two hundred units had been destroyed by that one ploy, but it was something we couldn’t do forever.
“We cannot hold. We must have some reinforcements or at the very least supplies.”
“Request denied. No units or munitions can reach your location for
at least four days.” I guess there comes a time in every Teddy Bear’s life when it realizes that its Factory isn’t omnipotent. It can’t solve all problems. That was the moment for me. I just wished it wouldn’t be in such a desperate situation. This position would not hold four days. I would be lucky to get it to last fourteen hours. I didn’t acknowledge Six but instead started giving orders over a SAN that I established. I could see only one way to keep from being overrun in our current position—move to another.
“I want a special detail, designate Alpha, of five Tommy Tank units and five Teddy Bear units preparing to leave with stage one overloaded ammo packs.” A squad of each type pulled off their firing position and rolled toward the battered supply shack. “Acknowledge when ready for additional orders. Gophers and beavers, I want a bunker of temporary blocks built on the top of this hill large enough for one elephant and two teddies with double ammunition loads. When it is done, I want the riverbank and the entire side of this hill mined. Go to it.” Specific ground crews broke off hostilities with their less effective carbines.
Dust began to fly as units self-delegated sub-tasks. The debris of the construction actually provided a bit of cover from the enemy bombardment of bullets and mortar rounds.
“All elephants shift fire loci to the nearest point on the opposite side of the river plus 10 meters. Only fire if an opposing unit gets within 20 meters of the river. To all other units: No other fire is to be directed across the river. Shoot any opposing unit that is on this side of the river or in the river.” Our fire volume dropped considerably. It didn’t stop the steady staccato beat from the other bank, nor the more than occasional thunk of rounds digging ineffectively into the ground near me. I hoped their marksmanship remained that poor until they bridged the river.
“Nurse Nans: Insert order—priority two is to scavenge ammunition from dead and dying units. Insert order—priority three is to prepare non-ambulatory units for movement.”
“Special detail Alpha ready,” I received over the net. I placed the location where I had been ambushed into the memory banks of each of the Alpha units. Half would occupy the sniper’s nest and the other half the rock garden I’d taken cover within. I heard the empty sound of our mortars being fired. I looked down to see a wall of enemy units, mostly the white fluffy lambs that comprised shock troops, rushing the bank of the river. Dozens were literally blown apart in a white cloud of destruction and hundreds more pulled back with some seriously damaged in the rippling of multiple explosives that blossomed among the fauna in brilliant orange balls of flames.
And still they came. Hundreds more died in the next volley. And still they came. Explosions in the river destroyed hundreds more and shattered plastic motorboats. And still they came. It was like trying to slay the Hydra—kill a head and two emerge in its place.
“Bunker complete, mines emplaced,” came an echoing and obviously damaged voice over the net. At the same time a map of all the mines on our side of the river popped up in my mind.
“All units prepare to fall back,” I said, relaying the mine location grid to all our units. “I need a special detail, designated Bravo, consisting of one elephant and two giraffe snipers to report to hilltop bunker with double ammunition loads.” The giraffes were a last minute change and would be fine, size-wise, in place of the teddies. This team Bravo was yet another sacrificial group. My mind was getting too filled to carry additional guilt, but I ordered it anyway.
I carefully made my way up to the hilltop bunker. Constructed of colorful blocks of ballistic materials, four feet long and two wide, the bunker couldn’t be overlooked on the summit. The blocks with eight convex bumps in the top snapped into the nearly hollow cores, interlocking in an overlapping pattern. The roof, constructed of a similar material but very thin and long, held up a meter of earth as additional protection for those inside.
My two snipers were just getting settled. Giraffes have their sniper rifle integral to their neck. All they have to do is lock their eyes in firing position and lower their heads. It’s difficult for a giraffe to miss its target, but they are scarce and have a very low rate of fire. Nevertheless, they were invaluable in certain situations.
“I want fire on this side of the river only. I want new bridge construction destroyed by mortar,” I directed verbally to the elephant, which, typical of its pattern, had a mortar integral to its body. “Snipers, I want bridging units and mine sweepers, only, to be fired upon. When your positions are overrun, detonate all ammunition and self-destruct.”
“Affirmative,” they echoed simultaneously. General’s soldiers, these units were—no guff, no fear, only obedience. They do what they’re ordered even if the known result is terminal deactivation.
“What are your designations?”
“Jeffrey 177 and 178, and our fellow elephant unit is Elly 5998.”
“Thank you. You have performed well,” I told them.
“All units fall back. Form two-column road movement. Every unit double up on standard ammunition loads.” As a regroup location, I added the field where I was ambushed. I crested the hill behind everyone else and fell into line behind the paired lines of units. We now numbered 906.
I disobeyed my primary orders by withdrawing from the hill. Hold and lose everything or give way and hold the majority of my force together. It was something I was designed to do—make decisions. I just didn’t like either choice: give up on my orders or die. In this case I chose to bend and not break. We could still hold, only not here. There existed a location where a handful of my units could hold off thousands, maybe millions.
Just as we lit off for our march, I heard mortar fire and mine detonations behind me. I took a short look over my shoulder to see the sky lit up with pyrotechnics of all kinds. Three units sacrificed to buy us the three hours we needed to make our escape. Elly 5998, Jeffrey 177, and Jeffrey 178 were performing well. Only I would remember—only I would care. I would remember well. Two hours’ forced march later a huge explosion turned the top of the hillock we’d abandoned into what looked like, for a brief moment, a new volcano forming.
Only two units faltered on the trek. Both units, one a teddy and the other a tank, probably should have been abandoned at the hill so badly damaged were their motive power. So far gone was the tank that its eyes didn’t even scan me as I approached. I personally deactivated each of the damaged units by pulling their main processor board. I couldn’t leave the task to anyone else. I made the decision, I had to perform the task.
By first light we arrived at the ambush field. Happily, my IFF glowed green in the locations I’d sent detail Alpha. Safer here than anywhere we’d been thus far, I ordered a fifteen-minute oil cool down. I knew we couldn’t hope to hold this open plain against an enemy over ten times our size. We moved on toward our final destination—the train tunnel.
I could hold hundreds of times our number from going through that bore, or, as another option, I could lure the enemies into the tunnel and collapse it on both ends. No more opposing units.
“Return to columns. Destination: tunnel.” We marched for several minutes before I ordered Alpha detail to follow behind as rear guard. A small burden lifted from me as I knew I wouldn’t have to sacrifice those ten units.
Six hours later, within sight of our goal, seven hundred mechanical-plane-type flyers swooped down and dropped their loads on us before even a single member of my troop noticed them. I marveled at the master stroke of tactical planning from our enemies. Explosives created brilliant whips of flames and force cut through the nearly defenseless forward segment of our march.
Just as clearly as if it were written in the earth, I knew this attack was meant to slow us down. We lost nearly half our strength from that initial strike alone. From one flank rolling in single file to disguise their numbers and reduce the chances of us noting their attack, rolled only the fastest of the enemy units. Now discovered, the Tommy Tanks fanned out in a tidal wave of dust and mass. Our rear line units all turned to bring weapons to bear on the oncomi
ng enemy.
“Squads eight through twelve, concentrate fire on lead ground units. All other units make best emergency speed to tunnel objective. Anti-aircraft fire at will.” I ran. I’m not ashamed to say I think I ran faster than a roadrunner. Fifteen agonizing minutes of chaos followed. I only recall snippets of what happened. My memories are filled with units being ripped in half by flyer machine-gun fire, my brethren bursting into flame as they took impacts by well-placed bombs, a Nurse Nan hopping on one leg trying to carry a teddy unit that had no head, and even one of an elephant unit with a huge, gaping hole in its middle and a leg sticking out at an unnatural angle, trying to hobble along. I knew from experience how horrific a toll war could exact.
We fought a desperate battle right in the mouth of the cave, eventually driving the tanks back, but leaving a ring of corpses eight deep and two high.
By the time the last effective unit had sprinted, limped, or crawled deep into the train tunnel, we were 108. And, unless I worked a miracle, soon there would be none for I stood alone among my brethren as the only one who knew we would be slaughtered to the last unit. I realized it at the end of our sprint, but there was no other choice, no other option to make.
Upon entering the tunnel, I realized that the other end must have collapsed for no wide area net provided power or information. Any cave-in that could cut off such a force as the WAN would not be moved aside by a paltry hundred units. I felt certain we could hold the 2.5-meter mouth of this artificial cave from the thousands of destructive beasts lurking outside, holding our tiny victory until our drained batteries snatched it back. We would be faced with the choice of a slow, quiet death, or to come boiling out of the cave to be slaughtered.
The chaos of the battle outside dissipated with the same shattering rapidity that the attack had come, and now I had nothing to do but ponder our impossible position.
Three times I crept forward to get an idea of the tactical situation. Each time mortar fire began falling around the entrance forcing me to retreat. Thousands of tanks waited just outside of effective range, all arrayed on our tunnel. They could afford to wait until their reinforcements arrived.
Toy Wars Page 9