The Rise of the Speaker

by Pete Driscoll

  “Aside from the 100 or so dead federal agents?”

  “Come again?”

  “Steve,” Kincaid answered before I could, “They didn’t know that these weapons could stun people rather than kill them, what do you think would have happened if Marcus here had decided to use the lethal option and wiped us all out? He’d have a militant terrorist cell, with advanced weaponry who had massacred the entire Nashville division of the ATF and the East coast counter terrorism taskforce. Do you think he’d have justification then?”

  Burrows turned pale. “Jesus….”

  “Wait,” Strider spoke up, “What about the National Guard, he still can’t just attach serving military and CIA units to them, I did my time in the forces and even I know that’s not possible… isn’t there a law against it or something?”

  “Yes,” Kincaid answered, “Posse Comitatus stipulates that US military force cannot be used against a US citizen nor deployed on US soil… but a President who is willing to order assassinations against US citizens at least two times – that we know of – obviously doesn’t hold the law in a very high regard. Besides, he could just disguise them as units from another National Guard division and nobody would look twice.”

  Strider slumped back in his seat. “this is so fucked!”

  “Ok, but it would take some time though, right?” Burrows offered, “even if we reported in right now, it would take at least a day before the guard could be mobilized and get here.”

  “The guard was mobilized the same time you were given this case.” I answered, “They’re already assembled and ready to go in Louisville, about 4 hour’s drive away– illegal units and all”

  It was Burrows’ turn to slump back into his chair.

  Kincaid looked up at me. “Marcus, I have all the evidence I need to get a special prosecutor very interested in what’s been going on here, but that will take months just to get the ball rolling… it could be years before anything comes of it. By my reckoning, you’ve got – maybe 8 hours before a whole heap of shit falls on your head…”

  “8 hours?” Strider asked.

  “Yeah, we’re gonna have to report the failed assault in sooner rather than later, we can probably pretend this meeting never happened - I could probably convince Turner and the rest of team 4 to keep quiet about the help you gave them – but there is no glossing over the loss of a full ERT team and I’m sorry to say, they will certainly lay that one at your door. We can stall a few hours, say we were gathering our wounded or whatever… but then we’ve gotta call it in. 4 Hours after that, you’ll have Humvees and armoured vehicles coming up your driveway looking for blood. I don’t see a way out of this for you, son.”

  “He could turn himself in, to us?” Burrows offered weakly, knowing the answer Kincaid would give.

  “He’d never make it to holding.”

  “I appreciate your concern gentlemen.” I smiled, “and I also appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt for this little meeting. But I already have a way out…”

  “I don’t think you do, Son.” Kincaid interrupted again, I couldn’t decide if being referred to as ‘son’ was annoying or endearing. “We launched our assault as honest law enforcement officers – and to be fair, you have broken the law and you do have illegal weaponry, no matter how justified those caveats may be – but we went up there with a list of rules. There are lines we don’t cross… These military contractors and CIA units they have attached to the guard don’t play by no rulebook… they are coming to kill you!”

  “I know, Agent…” I smiled again, “… but as I said, I have an out. But it will take some time, all I ask is you stall your report for as long as possible. And when the attack comes, make sure that none of your men are part of it. Most of the killers who go up that mountain won’t be coming back down, I want as few honest officers in that number as possible.”

  “You won’t have to worry about that,” Burrows confirmed, “As soon as the National Guard arrives, we will be relieved of command and sent home with our men.” Kincaid nodded in agreement.

  “Well, in that case gentlemen…” I stood and shook the hand of each man as they rose to their feet. “I’d appreciate it if you could get the ball rolling on that special prosecutor, but these men have already shown a willingness to kill a serving three star general and a number of federal agents, so please be careful. Otherwise, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure talking to you.”

  “Good luck, Marcus.” Kincaid offered as Burrows and Strider nodded and echoed the sentiment.

  I smiled and bowed my head a little – a sign of respect – before my hologram burst into Nanites and the 40 Spartans guarding the federal agents turned and marched back up the hill to await the inevitable onslaught.

  Chapter 21

  The storm breaks.

  The next few hours were the longest of my life. To the eternal credit of Agents Kincaid and Burrows, they bought me a little over 9 hours before the National Guard arrived, and another 4 by confusing things to such a massive degree that the Artisans were only 15 hours away from completing the tunnel when the first soldiers started to advance up the hill. That had been 6 Hours ago and the attack was now in full swing.

  “Well, the good news is that the new aircraft are finished, fuelled and ready to go.” Alice announced, shouting to be heard over the gunfire, “all the Artisans are now working on the tunnel, hopefully they should be through before day break.”

  The noise coming from outside was deafening, even standing a few feet apart, we were screaming at each other to be heard over the sounds of combat that enveloped every facet of my senses. “Right now, I’d be amazed if we lasted anywhere near that long!” I yelled back.

  I turned my head towards the Alice’s screen, it was flashing from one camera feed to another, each one showing a different version of the hellscape that had developed outside. I had never been one to dramatize war; hundreds of movies had romanticised combat and over-sensationalised warfare to such an extent that the average person had absolutely no idea what a real battle field looked like. But as I watched the flashing images displays across Alice’s screen, even I had to admit that some of those films were actually fairly accurate.

  The once pristine landscape of the Kentucky foothills was now ablaze with sheets of fire; huge, earth shattering explosions tore deep craters into the ground and turned trees into a hail of splinters and burning wood. The yells and screams of distant soldiers echoed from the speakers as machine gun tracer rounds lit up the night sky from every direction, only to be answered a few seconds later by a steady burst of red plasma bolts. I had given up trying to count the Guardsmen very early into the battle, but Alice told me – with no hint of exaggeration – that there was somewhere between 1500 and 2000 Soldiers attacking the cabin.

  Through the decimated canopy that once covered the cabin, AH-1 Cobra gunships and A-10 Warthog ground attach aircraft could be seen making strafing runs, firing missiles and dropping ordinance on any target the desperate foot soldiers could identify as the burning hulks of destroyed Humvees and M2 Bradley fighting vehicles glowed in the darkness. M109 Howitzers - Self-propelled Artillery pieces - were set up in the valley a few miles away - on the very spot that I’d met the FBI and ATF agents a few hours ago - and were mercilessly shelling the entire area. Alice had simply told me that there was nothing we could do about them from that range and she would look into artillery type weaponry in the future – but to try to keep calm in the meantime.

  Keep calm – as high explosive shells exploded a few feet from where I was standing? – sure, why not!

  The Spartans were holding their ground admirably, as immune to conventional weaponry as Alice had boasted, but the sheer number of attackers were forcing them back towards the cabin as they strove to reduce the gaps between individual drones. The outer perimeter – which had once extended a mile from the cabin – was now only about 700 yards, easily within the lethal range of almost every weapon in the National Guard’s armoury and – as fifty c
alibre machine gun rounds slammed into the shielding on the western wall of the cabin – it was safe to say that things were getting a bit hairy.

  “A squad is trying to flank to the east.” Alice announced, her screen flashing to a group of about 20 soldiers running along the embankment between the eastern barn and Maria’s hill. There were some units who were clearly different from the average soldier in the guard – better equipment, advanced training, different uniforms, much more aggressive – Alice and I had decided that these were the ‘illegal’ special forces and CIA units that had secretly been embedded with the National guard and they had quickly become a priority target. The soldiers that were now hunkering down and setting up a mortar position were clearly different from the rest. Their bodies were torn apart as a blistering sheet of plasma bots slammed into their position, their eviscerated remains were all that was left after the plumes of dirt settled.

  The screen flashed to two medics working frantically on an injured soldier, his stomach had been opened up by a glancing blow from a plasma bolt, the bolt had then destroyed one of his arms below the elbow – he was desperately trying to hold in his own innards with his one good arm as the medics tried to stem the bleeding. A Spartan stepped from the shadows and levelled his rifle at the three men. The two medics turned to look at the spartan, their looks of surprise quickly turning to fear as they stared at the weapon. The Spartan recognised them as non-combatants, lowered his weapon and walked off into the trees, both medics watched him leave before turning their attention back to their patient. A moment later they were all blown to pieces as an errant artillery shell landed right on top of them.

  The carnage was simply beyond description.

  The military’s poorly encrypted radio chatter – which had started out as calm and orderly – had quickly descended into frantic situation reports, desperate requests for reinforcements and screams from wounded and dying men, there was the odd bit of useful information though.

  “All units be advised; armoured column is starting up the dirt road. Time to target, 3 mikes.”

  “Tanks?!?” I screamed to Alice, “They’re sending tanks now?!?”

  “Don’t worry.” Alice yelled back, somehow managing to make a yell sound calm. “Single track road means they will come in single file; the Spartans can deal with them easily!”

  “Easily?!? Are you crazy?!? Nobody in the history of human conflict has ever called dealing with an armoured column ‘easy’!!!”

  “Just watch!”

  A few minutes of terrifying combat later, the first in a line of six M1A2 Abrams tanks rumbled into view. Its turret swinging as it moved, it levelled the barrel at the cabin and fired. The ground beneath my feet shook violently as the depleted uranium dart slammed into the nanite and shield reinforced walls of the house, there would be nothing left of this building had those reinforcements not been made. A perfectly formed ring of smoke left the tanks barrel as the crew started to reload and I frantically looked around to check that the cabin was still standing.

  “I’m still FUCKING watching!!!”

  The screen flashed to a different angle - looking at the column from their right-hand side – as three Spartans stepped from cover. The machine gunners - exposed on the roof of the tanks - spotted them immediately, swung their weapons and opened fire. The Spartans ignored them as tracer rounds bounced harmlessly off their armour, their barrels changed colour to the now familiar red stripes as all three Spartans took aim.

  A few seconds later, the lead tank – the one which had fired at us – erupted into a violent and devastating explosion as the heavy plasma bolt ripped through its armour and detonated inside. The turret was thrown 15 feet into the air - the lifeless body of the machine gunner still hanging out of his hatch – before crashing down into the trees that lined the road. Less than a second later, the second tank in line exploded, followed a split second later by the tank at the rear of the column.

  The crews of the three tanks left in the middle must have known what was coming because they immediately started bailing out of their doomed vehicles and running for cover, those who picked up a weapon to fight were mown down by the Spartans, those who turned and fled were left to live. Within 90 seconds of that tank shell hitting the house, the entire column was a burning row of twisted metal and shattered corpses and the three Spartans casually walked away an onto their next target.

  General Robert E Lee said that it is good that war is so terrible, otherwise we would grow too fond of it…

  “They’re pushing on the western flank!” Alice yelled, yanking me away from my horrified preoccupation at the fate of the armoured column. A video feed appeared on screen showing 30 or more soldiers, running from cover to cover towards the thickest of the fighting. Suddenly hunkering down, several of the men pulled out Javelin shoulder mounted missile launchers, aimed and – in a perfect example of synchronicity – fired at exactly the same time.

  The 8 missiles streamed through the trees, one hitting a tree trunk and exploding, 6 hitting Spartans – who unceremoniously shrugged off the impact, turned and fired towards the new threat – and one smashed into the top of the cabin. The Radar dome – Alice’s only means of tracking the aerial threats and maintaining a safe launch of our own aircraft – was reduced to flying pieces of shrapnel. By the time the camera returned to the platoon who had fired the missiles, they were in full retreat, only a handful of the 30 strong company still standing.

  Another strafing run from an A10 turned a few trees on the outskirts of the clearing to splinters while another dropped a bomb that reduced the unshielded outhouse to a fiery crater. More explosive artillery shells tore deeps gashes into the landscape, the shadows of Spartans swallowed up in the flames and smoke, only to re-emerge a few seconds later, still firing.

  “We have a problem.” Alice shouted.

  “Really? Only one?” I shouted back sarcastically, gesturing to the carnage on the screen.

  “That outhouse contained the well!”

  “So?”

  “The Spartans need water for ammo!”

  “Oh…shit!”

  “Now you see the problem!”

  “What the hell are we going to do?”

  “They will need to fall back to the cabin, rearm from the water supply that feeds the house. If you need a glass of water, now is the time!”

  The 700-yard perimeter collapsed to less than 100 as all fifty Spartans fell back to the cover the main cabin, the barns and the clearing. The first few to arrive ripped the water main from its rooting under the porch and refilled their weapons before moving into position, the rest of the Spartans following suit as they arrived back at the cabin. Within 30 minutes, there was a solid ring of Spartan soldiers – almost shoulder to shoulder – firing out into the trees and at any targets that presented themselves.

  “They’re falling back!” The radio announced ten minutes after the Spartans had taken up their new positions, “All units move in for the final assault! Lethal force is still authorised.”

  The hail of fire that pounded into the Spartans and slammed into the cabin’s shields became deafening, the rapid-fire thuds of the X1s answered the louder conventional weaponry in violent competition. One Spartan – obviously sick of the incessant aerial attacks - took a few steps forward from the ring of dark grey soldiers, aimed his weapon into the sky and fired 5 or 6 bursts of plasma into the air before stepping back and re-joining his comrades.

  A few seconds later a fireball of twisted metal fell from the sky in a colossal explosion just beyond the tree line. A split second later, another burning aircraft slammed into the shielded roof of the southern barn, bounced back into the air before crashing down on a group of soldiers looking for cover in the trees. Their terrified screams of agony echoed into the night as they disappeared in blankets of fire. Another fireball – this one with rotors instead of wings – dropped into trees between the southern barn and the dirt road, a solid wall of flame now surrounded the clearing on two sides, the heat beating
back even the most determined of attackers.

  That’s how things stayed for the next eight hours. National guard soldiers – or at least units disguised as National Guard - throwing themselves at the solid ring of Spartan battle drones and being beaten back under a merciless barrage of plasma bolts. The clearing, shielded buildings and area immediately surrounding the cabin under relentless artillery bombardment and attack aircraft strafing and bombing the compound, occasionally being picked off by well-aimed spartan fire and expolding somewhere in the trees – invariably killing Guardsmen in the fireball - as the entire battle condensed into a 150-yard circle. The cabin would rock violently every now and again as a bomb or missile or artillery shell found its mark and detonated against the cabin’s shielded roof.

  The battle had been raging for 12 hours, I hadn’t slept in almost 48, I was too tired to be scared and too terrified to sleep, my nerves were shot and the horrific carnage, the ceaseless gunfire and the screams of dying men had reduced me to a shaking wreck, perched on the edge of my seat, unable to drown out the sounds of battle, not wanting to see anymore combat on Alice’s screen but totally unable to look away. I felt like I was losing my mind.

  All war is hell.

  The incessant and ceaseless bangs and thuds as bullets crashed into the cabin walls became like a rhythm to which the whole battle was being conducted. It was so oppressive that I completely failed to notice the new source of bangs and scratches coming from beneath the floorboards.

  “Marcus” Alice yelled, my mind was too fixed on the brutal fighting outside to even register her voice

  “MARCUS!”

  “Yeah?... sorry…. What?”

  “The Artisans have arrived; the tunnel has been finished!”

  I cannot begin to tell you the feeling of relief that washed over me as a five-foot square of flooring lifted away in the centre of the room and three Artisans stepped into the cabin. Suddenly, the deafening noises of combat from outside the cabin didn’t seem quite so overwhelming as Artisans started moving purposefully around the cabin.