by T. K. Malone
Then Teah noticed a foxhole, no more than twenty feet away, movement within it, and beyond which, some hundred yards or so, a line of Free World troops were moving forward behind a tank. She slowly realized they were everywhere, troops crawling and kneeling, prone and running, like a swarm of yellow jackets.
To her left, a redwood had been felled, its vast trunk laid like a dam. A huge gun barrel poked out over its top, a swarm of Free World army engineers sliding back along its length.
Teah looked back at the foxhole.
She reached down to her ammo belt and pulled out the Glock, and though she probably wouldn’t need it, she screwed on a silencer. Then she waited until the first head popped up, and then fired. Cornelius had been right: they were clearly scared and stupid, and badly equipped, a mere helmet and not an HUD exploding into shrapnel at her bullet’s entry. Hell, she thought as the head slumped back into the foxhole, they all seemed to have nothing more than plain helmets on.
Another popped up for a look, and she let off another shot, taking it down, then, seemingly on impulse, she leapt out and dashed toward the foxhole.
She tipped her visor up and barked, “Get a grip soldiers, they’re just preppers.” As she pointed dismissively at the stockade, they all seemed to calm. “Face the enemy, soldiers,” she screamed. “And keep your heads down.”
There were five left, not a seasoned man amongst them, and Teah now understood how their army had managed to recruit so many troops, and so quickly. Most, if not the bulk, would clearly be conscripts, probably freshly ‘napped and with no experience. There had to be a core of seasoned ones somewhere, though, she thought as she fired the Glock five times in quick succession.
One by one, they scrambled out from the base of the tree, crouching low and sliding into the foxhole, except for Trip who was last out and now obliterating their tracks from the tree, what to Teah seemed a futile gesture in such heavy rain.
Teah took a moment to think, aware that the battle was growing in intensity. Missile after missile smashed into the enemy around her, returned with even greater ferocity by the army’s own armor, everyone’s interest now bent on bringing down the stockade and breaching the compound. This, she knew, must at least be favoring their own small team, but what they really needed was a distraction.
Teah sniggered at first, but then soon realized it could actually work. They didn’t look much different from the army’s own troops, after all.
No one came back at her.
Her heart sank a little at the continued silence.
It was just her and Trip—the killing buddies—who went. They stripped Free World tunics from the bodies in the foxhole and covered their own armor, hoping to hell it would get them past a cursory inspection. The battlefield had become even more chaotic by the time they were ready, battle lines drawn and an arc of tanks now positioned not far away. Five in all, and all just out of reach of the preppers’ missiles. A constant stream of troops flowed in along the road a few hundred yards from them, directed to what looked like holding positions. Then Teah understood: they were just waiting for the huge howitzer to begin firing; she had to hurry.
Mac had volunteered to secure their route back, stationing one of her team by the tunnel, her and another in the foxhole, the rest fanned out in support. Teah patted Trip on the shoulder.
She couldn’t help returning what she imagined would have been his grin, then she climbed out of the foxhole and crouched low before darting toward one of the tanks. Slipping and sliding in the mud churned up by the relentless rain, she skirted more foxholes, dotted here and there, most seemingly empty, to her surprise. Then she realized their personnel had now all grouped around the rear of the tanks, readying to move forward. A quick glance confirmed that the big gun looked ready, as was the rest of The Free World army, all ready to punch some holes in the stockade’s wall through which they’d then strike at the compound itself. The slaughter would certainly be fast and furious, novice troops or not.
It wasn’t long before Teah and Trip were jostling in amongst the troops, not one of whom challenged them. They even seemed to defer to them, as though recognizing superiors, and Teah wondered if it was the HUDs, but then came a pounding of incoming shells, the artillery fire raining down all about them. The ground erupted all over the place, showering down mud and rock and body parts, panic spreading like wildfire. Amidst it all, Teah dragged Trip into a ditch.
She cursed herself; she should have known. Jake and Kelly had both said that the preppers knew what they were doing, and clearly they did. But then the barrage fell into a lull. Probably reloading, Teah thought.
The Free World soldiers had kept low, no doubt expecting another barrage, but some noticed Teah and began pointing, shouting at her to stay down. When she and Trip ignored them, some began to scramble up, and before she knew it, she’d quite a following close on her coattails.
The preppers' ordnance fell again, Teah instinctively signaling her train of troops to take cover, before skidding into a trench herself, her hands over her head and braced against the barrage. Some of it fell close by, peppering her with wave upon wave of fragments of earth and rock. But then she was up again and forging on, the tanks now even closer.
Her little column must have by now numbered some twenty, much to Teah’s bemusement. It did, though, lend her a more genuine air of authority, and by it, an appearance of authenticity. So much so that she really did begin to think they might actually make it to the tanks unchallenged.
Teah couldn’t help but snigger.
Now almost upon them, the tanks swung their turrets away from the stockade and toward the artillery positions on the ridge. Though well-hidden, the drab gray of the day and its heavy downpours helping to conceal them, there were now telltale trails of smoke giving away the artillery’s positions. It was a shame Briscoe hadn’t foreseen the big gun coming and positioned a few of his own long-range guns closer in. It might then have saved her and Trip this more-than-likely suicide mission.
Teah grinned, despite only her knowing it.
“Out now, or your war’s over,” she barked in, knowing it was make or break; there’d be no room in its confined space for her to jump in and take control, so tightly were they packed inside. For the briefest of moments, she thought its commander would stay put, but then he resignedly raised his arms. Just as he was scrambling to get out, Trip leaned past her and dropped something inside, which clattered around with a menacing metallic sound. “Grenade!” he shouted, and jumped clear, pulling Teah with him.
As she fell beside the tank, she cursed him, then noticed the crew spilling out in a panic, but Trip’s machine gun put a stop to their efforts. When the last one had slumped down onto the back of the tank and the roar of Trip’s gun had ceased, she asked, “You pull the pin out?”
“Nope,” he said, and scrambled up the tank’s side.
“Okay, Sable, do your stuff,” Teah said as she pulled her visor down and dropped into the tank herself, sealing the hatch closed behind them, a feeling of tranquillity almost immediately floating through her like a warm mist, her body seeming to know exactly what to do of its own accord. It shuffled itself into the commander’s bucket seat, then her hands punched a few buttons above her before drawing down and adjusting a periscope. It was as though she’d crawled, body and mind, into the machine itself, into its very circuits. Then the tank’s engine fired up, roaring into life, the tracks soon set in opposition smartly spinning the tank around.
Somehow, she felt a part of the machine, could sense the crushed ground beneath the tank’s treads and what lay all about it, as though she was in one vast HUD. As though seeing it with her own eyes, the nearest tank rotated its gun turret toward them, and before she knew it, she’d already aimed her tank’s own and fired, the boom and puff of the cannon then joined by the rake of its machine gun firing.
As though it were her own body reacting, the tank spun around and Teah stared for a moment at the stockade wall, before it was engulfed by orange flame and black smoke, a section quickly crumbling to rubble and dust. Their turret rotated again, locking onto another tank, Teah’s finger again thumping “Fire” in the blink of an eye, another strike bringing destruction.
Although the howitzer’s large shells were unlikely to be loaded quickly, Teah knew she had to act fast. And at that very thought, the tank’s turret hummed around and took aim at the great gun. She released its first shot, then Trip quickly reloaded, and again she fired, Trip reloading once more, and then again and again and again, the shells each time cutting farther through the fallen redwood.
How many she’d fired off, Teah couldn’t remember, but at last one sailed clean through the gap they’d finally cut through the redwood, but it didn’t immediately explode. She was about to prepare another when an almighty blast lit up the far side of the fallen tree, the force of the blast enough to shift the redwood’s trunk a good few yards beneath the still jutting and intact barrel of the gun.
In the wake of the explosion’s dying rumble, Teah once more primed the next shell that Trip had rapidly loaded, but she never got to stab the “Fire” button. Another flash of orange light preceded a tank-rattling bang that made Teah’s ears ring, then came another, and another, more and more in rapid succession, and with immense relief, she knew the gun’s stock of ammunition had now gone up.
“Thank you,” she whispered to herself, although she knew it was directed at Sable, at that part of her that had always been there, ever since that day in the sewer. She knew now that Byron had been right, that his plan was the one and only thing that really mattered anymore.
15
Teah’s Story
Strike time: plus 14 days
Location: Preppers' Compound
As dusk drew in around the battlefield, the two sides had disengaged, the army no doubt having to rethink their tactics after the loss of their large gun. The poorer light, the continuing filthy weather, and Sable having set off the tank’s smokers, and so, shrouding the area in thick, gray smoke, meant Teah and Trip had both managed to get back to the tunnel unscathed. Their dash back through it delivered them looking somewhat worse for wear at the foot of the ladder within the stockade, their sense of relief only matched by their need for a swift drink or two. With no word needing to be spoken, they made for the bar.
Most there regarded their exploit as the height of foolhardiness, considering them each nothing more than complete idiots, but undoubtedly as brave as brave could possibly be. Word of what they’d achieved ran through the camp like wildfire, even Cornelius bathing in Teah’s fame.
But everyone knew it had been but one battle, and that the war itself had yet to be won. They’d delivered a good gut-punch to The Free World army, almost a sucker-punch, but no more than that, and they were now left with a hole in the stockade large enough to drive ten tanks through. Speculation was already rife as to what The Free World still held in reserve, what this very minute might be trundling up Morton Valley. Though it was generally agreed that another supergun was highly unlikely.
Teah’s beer tasted sweet, her smokes even sweeter, the camaraderie that now enfolded, attesting to her having found her true home amongst these folks. Mac’s gang had taken to her with no ifs or buts, and no “You’ll get us all killed.” Even Cornelius’ folk had cheered them as they’d emerged. Though the stockade had taken a large number of casualties when the wall had been blasted, they all made it clear they understood how bad it could otherwise have been.
Spike Briscoe’s preparations continued to pay dividends, and now a long chain of Cornelius’ men and women toiled into the night, passing hoarded stone from a pile beside the riverbank to repair the wall. It was genius itself, the stone appearing to be nothing more than a flood defence, and many of them sank more than one drink in the name of Spike Briscoe.
All Teah wanted to do was stay in the bar and drink, then to sleep away a peaceful night, but she needed to see Byron Tuttle, and so wanted to know where he and Connor were. Their absence worried her, and once her thirst had been sated and her nerves finally settled, she pushed her chair back and stood. With one last toast, she left with Trip close by her side.
The rain had at last eased off.
“You’re turning into my shadow,” she said.
“Sun’s gone down.”
“You know w
hat I mean.” She checked her stride. “Say, you even got a cabin?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I ain’t been in town that long. So, what’s next?”
“Need me a chat with Byron Tuttle and Connor.”
“What about?” Trip asked as they stepped up to her cabin.
She pushed the door open and walked into the front room, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of Byron, sitting by the fire. He looked up from his chair. “Ah, finished your drinking, I see. Good. Connor has just gone off to find a Jeep. He’s decided that if you can learn to drive a tank in the middle of a battlefield, the least he can do is to drive you up to where Clay is staying. I take it that’s where we’re going.”
“What the fuck just happened to us?”
“The fuck? Nothing ‘the fuck’ just happened to you. What you experienced was the two parts to the AI known as Sable merging for the first time in a decade. What you experienced was probably as close to what a group called Christians referred to as ‘Rapture,’ except you got a glimpse of our version. They say rapture can only happen once the nations of the world are at each other’s throats, in which case I’d say we well qualify now.” Byron chuckled.
“And what’s that got to do with me driving a tank?”
Byron scratched his bald head. “Driving a tank? Nothing. Driving it without having the slightest control of your body? Everything. But you know what I’m talking about, and so does Trip, because you both felt her. Tell me: what’s it like?”