The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War

by Glenn Michaels

  A whole platoon. Gone. The words struck like a dagger into Paul’s heart. He knew from the beginning that taking on Errabêlu might not be easy, that there might be dangers involved. He also knew that not all his Scotties might make it through the war alive. But all that knowledge was an intellectual exercise. His heart told him something totally different.

  “Tell Daneel 7 that we want him here in Mount Logan, as fast as he can get here,” Paul told the Scottie, a degree of panic already descending upon him.

  Daneel 7, when he arrived, was escorted straight to the Situation Room, where Paul and Daneel 1 were waiting for him.

  “I was sending out patrols around the Beltway, just to keep an eye on things,” reported Daneel 7, commanding officer of the I Corps, 1st Division, 2nd Brigade. “One of those patrols, commanded by Bishop 911, reported sensing strong magic spells being used to the southwest of the city.” Daneel 7 paused a moment before continuing. “I…sent them to investigate. The closer they got to Centreville, the more magic they detected in use. Lots of portals but other spells too.”

  He paused again, finding it difficult to relate the story.

  “I should have sent more Scotties. At least a Battalion. But instead, I thought a small group, if they were sneaky enough…”

  “Daneel 7,” Paul said sympathetically. “Don’t second guess yourself. You don’t know if even a Battalion would have been enough. We might have lost a lot more Scotties. Don’t blame yourself.”

  Daneel 7 sighed unhappily. “They were following US Highway 29, Lee’s Highway. As best we can tell, they had just passed Cub Run Stream when…when communications were cut off suddenly.”

  “Any sign of alarm, any warning at all?” Daneel 1 asked.

  “None at all,” responded Daneel 7 sullenly. “No indication that they knew anything bad was about to happen.”

  Paul walked over to the map display on the north wall and called up the map of the Greater Washington DC area, including the Virginia countryside.

  “And the magic spells being used in Virginia?” Paul asked.

  “Still there, only stronger now,” Daneel 7 answered. “I have the 4th Battalion, positioned just east of Fairfax, monitoring the situation. There has been a steady increase in magical energy expended. As best we can tell, it is coming from near the Manassas National Battlefield Park.”

  The name ‘Manassas’ rang a bell but Paul didn’t seem able to place the significance thereof.

  “Manassas?” Paul asked.

  “United States Civil War,” Daneel 1 answered. “As I’m sure you remember, you asked us to study the history of warfare. I believe Ulysses 18,” (1987 film Making Mr. Right) “is our best expert on that particular conflict.”

  Paul rubbed his jaw. “Please find out if he is available.”

  “Acknowledged.” He paused a moment to relay the request then said, “He will be with us in a few moments. In the meantime, Dad, since this involves questions of magic, may I suggest you ask Merlin if he would help us out too?”

  “Hmm, I guess when I was on Mars, I got out of the habit of calling on Merlin. But in this case, it’s a good idea,” Paul agreed. “I haven’t seen him in quite a while. Merlin? Are you available?”

  Merlin popped into the center of the room, wearing a Union blue, brigadier general’s Civil War uniform complete with blouse and all the gold braid and the double row of buttons. He was also fully armed with a .58 caliber Model 1861 Springfield rifle musket, a .44 caliber Colt Army Model 1860 pistol tucked into his wide leather belt, and a curved sword hanging in a scabbard at his left side. On his belt on his right side hung a cartridge pouch and a smaller percussion cap pouch. On his head was perched a blue kepi hat.

  “It’s about time you called for my help,” Merlin admonished him. “I’m ready to fight, as you can see. Where do we start?”

  “We need to understand what’s going on, Merlin,” Paul said, suddenly remembering the conversation with Dusha. Was this event somehow related to her fuzzy warning? “Somehow, Errabêlu took out a platoon of Scotties and did it so quickly that they had no clue it was about to happen. If they could do that to a platoon, could they do that to a company? Or a brigade? Perhaps an entire Corps?”

  “Steady, Paul,” Merlin advised him. “I suppose, in theory, that Errabêlu might have something that powerful, but then why set it up in the Virginia countryside? Why not just march into DC and take the city away from us?”

  “A good question,” Paul said as he began pacing slowly back and forth in the room. “Merlin, you know more about magic than the rest of us. What spell could they have used to take out nine Scotties like that?”

  Merlin frowned, lowering the rifle. “Even in my prime, I couldn’t take out nine wizards in a blink of an eye. And no, I don’t know of any way it could have done so here either. Oh, sure, I suppose that there are some theoretical, far out ideas that might account for it. But I couldn’t begin to guess which one. And they’re just theory and not worth our time discussing right now. No, we need more information before we start speculating as to method. But a better idea would be for you to send in overwhelming force. You can outnumber them ten or even fifty to one.”

  “Dad?” Daneel 1 said.

  Paul turned and noticed a new Scottie in the room, one who exhibited the face of an older man with a short salt and pepper boxed beard and a receding hair line.

  “Hello, I am 18 of the Ulysses line,” the new Scottie said, floating a little closer. “I understand you need information about the Civil War battles at Bull Run.”

  Paul nodded. “A quick summary, if you don’t mind. We don’t know if the information will be relevant or not.”

  Ulysses 18 nodded. “There were two major battles fought there. In July 1861, the first battle, the one the Union called “First Bull Run”, was named after the nearby small river that runs through the area. The South called it First Manassas after the nearest city. It was the first serious engagement of the Civil War. Union Brigadier General Irvin McDowell, who commanded 28,000 troops, was pressed into attacking the Confederates by impatient politicians and influential citizens in Washington DC. On the Southern side, 32,000 Confederate troops were led by Brigadier Generals P.G.T. Beauregard, Joseph Johnston, and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson.”

  Ulysses twitched his virtual nose and a typical six foot wide, three foot tall display formed in mid-air in front of everyone. On the display, a simplified road map of northern Virginia appeared, Centreville on the far right, and a hilltop labeled Stony Ridge on the far left. The small city of Manassas lay near the bottom center.

  “McDowell split his forces. 5,000 men went south to attack here,” two blue parallel lines moved southward from Centreville toward two blinking red dots near a small river, “at the Mitchell and Blackburn Fords on the Bull Run. Another brigade drew the attention of the Confederates at Stone Bridge again on the Bull Run, in the center of the Confederate line. Then two divisions of Union troops under Brig. Generals Hunter and Heintzelman came down the Warrentown turnpike and turned northwest to cross Bull Run at Sudley Ford to attack the Confederate left flank at Matthew Hill, west of Bull Run creek. Initially, the Confederates, under Brig. General Beauregard, were pushed southward to Henry Hill. However, Confederate reinforcements arrived, including a brigade under General “Stonewall” Jackson and two brigades from the Shenandoah Valley. The Confederates outflanked the Union right at Chinn Ridge and forced the Union troops to retreat eastward. When the retreat reached the Bull Run, it turned into a rout. The battle became a rousing Confederate victory where the Union troops sustained almost twice as many casualties as the Confederates did.”

  Paul nodded. All of this sounded familiar—apparently lessons he had absorbed and then forgotten in some high school American history class long ago.

  “And the second battle?” he asked.

  “Fought in August, 1862. Major General John Pope commanding 62,000 Union troops versus General Robert E. Lee with 50,000 Confederate troops.” Ulysses 18 twitched his
nose again and the airborne map changed, showing the entire northern half of the state of Virginia. “Union troops had penetrated further into Virginia, operating down to the Rappahannock River.” A line of blue appeared on the north bank of the river, halfway between Culpeper to the south and Manassas to the north. “Lee sent Generals Jackson and A.P. Hill to the north-northwest, to circle around the Bull Run Mountains and through the Thoroughfare Gap where they hit the Union rear and the massive supply depot at Manassas. The Union troops were forced to swing north to counter-attack. General Jackson lined up his forces along an unfinished railroad embankment south of Stony Ridge. Union General Pope launched a frontal attack, convinced that he had Jackson outnumbered. However, another 25,000 Confederate troops under Lt. General Longstreet crossed through the Thoroughfare Gap and hit the Union left flank, first with massed artillery and then the largest mass assault of ground troops in the Civil War. Pope never understood what hit him and the Union army was forced to retreat as far east as Centreville, almost to ground zero.”

  Paul stared at the map, studying the layout of the territory. With a flick of a finger, he zoomed the map in closer to the Manassas Battlefield. There he saw the crooked winding paths of Bull Run and Young’s Branch, the straight east-west stretch of Warrentown Pike, the high grounds of Henry Hill, Matthews Hill, Chinn and Stony Ridges, and the small community of Groveton.

  The suspicions solidified in his mind.

  “It’s a trap,” Paul announced, as sudden realization of the true situation hit him hard in his gut. “I should have seen it before this.”

  “How so?” asked Daneel 7.

  “A nice big open section of countryside, mostly empty of people because it’s a national park, the constant and hefty expenditure of magical energy, the capture of a platoon of Scotties. It’s all bait for the trap,” Paul said, for the first time seeing a hint of what Errabêlu was planning. “They want us to attack. That’s why they are doing this in a rural setting, probably the emptiest section of territory anywhere close to Washington DC, because they know we wouldn’t attack them if there were a lot of Normals around that might get hurt.”

  Merlin nodded in understanding. “Yes, it most likely is. So? What do you do about it?”

  Paul stared more at the map. “We don’t have very many options, do we?”

  The holographic wizard seemed to consider the question for a few moments. “You could refuse to take the bait. Just ignore it. Of course, Errabêlu would then just move into Washington DC and setup their trap there and endanger thousands of people, perhaps more, depending on how dangerous this trap of theirs is. Or, you could send in a few small teams of Scotties, sacrifice them in a scientific attempt to gather data and determine how the trap is constructed and how to beat it—”

  “That is not funny, Merlin,” Paul stated firmly.

  “Or you could potentially lose a lot more Scotties in a frontal attack, if it is a trap and if the trap is as deadly as you fear it might be.” Merlin studied his creator’s sour expression. “Another possibility, one I’ve learned from studying your science fiction, you could use kinetic bombardment from space with tungsten crowbars, I believe the concept is called.”

  Paul squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “I made a pledge not to kill. And yes, I know, I’ve broken that pledge, on more than one occasion too. However, if possible, I would still prefer to avoid killing wherever and whenever I can.”

  Merlin nodded. “Or you could just give up on the entire idea of fighting the other wizards. Just let them keep control of the Normals.”

  “Ha! You’re joking, I presume. There has to be another option,” Paul mumbled despairingly. “Some type of deception we could run, a con-game of some kind. Something.”

  Daneel 1 spoke up. “We could ask the wizards we’ve captured, see if they know anything about this trap, of how it might be rigged.”

  “That is worth a try,” Paul admitted, but not really expecting it to be that easy. “After all, I debriefed McDougall extensively without a hint of an Errabêlu ability to set a trap remotely like this.” He turned to face Daneel. “Contact Daryl 71, ask him to ask the avatars of all of our wizard prisoners and report back.” Paul studied the map some more. “And let’s bring in the Corps and Division Commanders. All of them except those that are with Mom. If we are going to try a mass assault, I want ours to be a lot more effective than Brigadier General Irvin McDowell’s or Major General John Pope’s.”

  “Dad?” asked Daneel 1. “Do you want me to pass word of this to Mom?”

  Paul considered the question, drawing his mouth into a straight line and biting his lower lip.

  “No,” he finally said. “We’d only succeed in worrying her. And we don’t know enough to answer any of the questions she will undoubtedly ask. So no, not yet.”

  Ω

  The scene inside the Situation Room was hectic, with large numbers of Scottie cubes floating in and out through the doorways, and others arriving/leaving via portals. There were any number of conversations on-going simultaneously, making Paul’s ears hurt from the constant buzz.

  The situation in Northern Virginia was bad enough to give him indigestion too.

  The team of Scotties spent the day in discussions about possible ideas, alternatives, brainstorming concepts and possible attack plans. Paul even brought Uncle Sam into the discussions. But the truth was that no one knew enough to make a good plan.

  Oh, they tried to gather a little more data, using microportals in low Earth orbit above Manassas to spy on the Park. But they saw nothing, the views smudged and clouded, no doubt due to interference by some magical spell of the Errabêlu wizards. All that could be detected were significant bursts of magical energy most of which seemed to be centered on Stony Ridge. Apparently, there was a constant coming and going of wizards and Oni in that location. If Errabêlu were grouped mostly around Stony Ridge, then their battle plan seemed to be leaning more toward the Second Battle of Manassas rather than the First Battle.

  When questioned, the wizard prisoners in Azkaban could tell them very little, only of a couple of urban legends about a group of wizards a few hundred years back that had tried to stage a coup on Errabêlu leaders. In some mysterious way, the rebels had been quietly dealt with, never to be heard from again. Thus confirming yet again what Dusha had told Paul in Moscow.

  The headquarters team went back and forth over the little data they had and the few options they had been given.

  “Dad,” said Lenore 86, Commanding officer of I Corps, 2nd Division. “From where I sit…uh, levitate…there really is only one possible option here. We attack, in force, with both Corps.”

  “I agree, Dad,” echoed Harlie 37, Commanding officer of I Corps. “I think we all agree that it is a trap and yes, that there is a very real possibility that some of us might be ensnared by that trap. But sir, they can’t be expecting to take on fifty thousand of us. Oh, sure, legend has it that they easily dealt with a small group of wizards—”

  “They have successfully dealt with nine Scotties,” interrupted Daneel 7.

  “But Errabêlu has no clue how many Scotties we can throw at them,” Harlie 37 insisted. “We haven’t done anything yet that has revealed how many of us there truly are. They can’t be anticipating an attack in the numbers we can generate. No matter what their defense is, we can overwhelm it with sheer numbers.”

  “And how many Scotties might get hurt in the process?” Paul asked sullenly. “It’s bad enough that we’ve lost nine of our number here and one in Russia. To endanger thousands or tens of thousands is totally reckless. All of you mean too much to me and to Capie to take that kind of risk.”

  “Dad, there is a backup plan for us,” Irona 222 reminded him. “Before we go into battle, we can update our backup archives so that, if necessary, we can be restored to a new Scottie frame at a convenient time down the line, no matter how many of us might be taken out by this trap.”

  “I think it boils down to this, Dad,” Roberta 300 said. “If we at
tack, maybe you risk a few thousand of us, though I think that has yet to be proven as even a remote possibility. But if we don’t attack, you guarantee the slavery of humanity for the foreseeable future, as well as World War III and the deaths of 500 million Normals.”

  “Sir…Dad, I believe they’re right. We really have only one option here,” Daneel 1 said. “We must attack. It is our duty, it is what you created and programmed us to do. How can we do less than that?”

  In his head, Paul knew that they were right, that the risk was worth the effort. Most of the Errabêlu wizards had to be here, in Virginia, to expend the level of magical energy they were witnessing. The Scotties were being offered the opportunity to capture virtually the entire organization in one fell swoop. But Paul’s heart was arguing against the whole idea.

  “‘If killing five people saves ten, it’s a bargain. Is that your simple logic, Daneel?’” Paul asked, paraphrasing Dr. McCoy from the Star Trek episode “Operation: Annihilate.”

  “When it’s the lives of a few thousand Scotties versus hundreds of millions of Normals, then yes, that is my logic,” Daneel 1 replied. “Dad, you knew this going in, before you even conceived of the idea of creating Artificial Intelligences to help wage this war. You can’t deny it. Let us do our jobs, please, Dad?”

  Paul reluctantly nodded in agreement. “I regret I see no alternatives. If I were Colonel Hogan in Hogan’s Heroes…”

  The Scotties in the room all chuckled.

  “Sir, I only wish we were up against Colonel Klink and Sergeant Schultz,” chortled Vincent 286 (Black Hole, 1979), Commanding officer of I Corps, 2nd Division, 3rd Brigade. “We could get Helga to make a pass at Klink, feed Schultz some apple strudel and then get on with business. But for us, it won’t be that simple.”