What was next? Report to the bosses, and bring this cargo to them as soon as possible, then wait for a generous reward? Bronson looked through the glass door to the lab and saw a cage on the table. There was a rat in the cage, running in the wheel, next to her water bowl and a handful of feed. On the back of the cage a small mirror was fixed.
That was the reward he would receive for his work. A cage, water bottle, handful of feed, and a mirror, where he would be trapped waiting for the next experiment.
As Palmer had said there were many years of research and thousands of experiments ahead, across thousands of test patients. And among these thousands, he would be the honorary first number. Naturally, the bosses would not agree to apply the Z-model to themselves without a long series of experiments; the side effects were too serious. And then, even if he somehow survived all these scientific studies, what would happen next? Would he be left alone, given the opportunity to enjoy immortality? He doubted it. Eternal life was worth millions and billions in any currency. Nobody ever shared expensive benefits and a bullet in the head would be his last experience. Like the rat in the cage, he would only live as long as his bosses wanted, and no more.
“Well, Chief, do you still want to report to the bosses about the job’s successful completion? No? Well, then you understand everything.”
Palmer lit another cigarette, once again ignoring the ban on smoking in the complex.
“How long have you and I known each other, Bronson? Eight years, for eight years we’ve worked together for the same bosses. You and your guys kicked the asses of everyone you were ordered to, and I with my team doing pseudo-scientific rubbish, when a simple raid or air strike was not enough. You know what our problem is? We do well our business too well. Nobody wants to promote us, because we aren’t beneficial to anyone as commanders - if we went to the Pentagon or Langley, who would do our work in the field? Do you like on the first whistle fly God knows where, to get out of the fire God knows what, when you’re former colleagues received the general rank? I know you don’t like it, that this is not the career you wanted.
“And you can’t fix it, because some of the bosses still hate you. Yes, you were just following orders that day, but the scandal was too large and they wanted to make a scapegoat of you. That old case completely destroyed your connections at the top; you won’t get promoted, a modest pension and cheap gold watch is all that you can expect. Your dreams of a private army will not come true, I’m sorry to say. And now you’re suddenly lucky enough to achieve immortality with my help. Do you think they will be happy that you’ve got it? They will be pleased with this gold mine, but will try to forget the one who found it.”
“Okay, you convinced me that the disclosure of this information isn’t currently in my best interests. I agree to wait until better times. And you, what is in your best interests? Do you want to write your name into science history, for these alien nanomachines to be called Palmer’s machines? Do you want to nail down the money by selling immortality?”
“No, Chief, I want another thing. My desire is very personal.”
Palmer removed her red hair, which turned out to be a wig that covered her billiard ball skull.
“Did you notice that I’d lost weight since we last met? This isn’t a diet, it’s a cancer. Two days before my departure here I learned about my latest results - the chemotherapy didn’t help and I will only for a month at the latest. You're right, when I flew here, all I wanted was to become the first scientist to investigate Z-Model, name it after myself and thus go down in history. And then I saw the Z-model in action, and realized that those posthumous honors may have to wait. In this story I have a very specific interest - survival.”
55. Assault
“The target is at ten o’clock.”
“Locked on!”
Bumblebee attacked the enemy aircraft in a sharp maneuver, as if stabbing in a street fight. Briefly rumbled paired nasal guns and light quadrocopter, steamed over a field, broke into small pieces.
“Confirmed - target is destroyed.”
Having destroyed the quadrocopter, Bumblebee returned to the security zone borders, and Butterfly continued to hover over the battlefield and surrounding areas. Sarah tried to find the place where the scouts took off. A few minutes later it finally got dark, and the usual cameras didn’t work as well, so she used the imager, which the fires interfered with – the field had apparently been set on fire deliberately in many places.
Fire also destroyed most farms; most likely, the drone was taking off somewhere near these burning farms and moving slowly towards the border before they destroyed it. Who sent this scout was unclear. She saw a lot of people down there. Shooting all of them wasn’t possible; the ammunition for Bumblebee was almost used up and it was better used for more important targets, such as reconnaissance drones. Meanwhile, the number of individual heat marks was growing; infected shrink to the base with the entire valley, and one of them used a drone to carefully examine the forthcoming battlefield.
Sarah glanced to the west, where the ocean extinguished the last of the sunlight, and tried to imagine herself in the quadrocopter pilot's seat, wanting to understand what he could see for the ten minutes that the drone had followed along the security zone, watching the base. Their small fortress could be seen from mountains overlooking the entire valley. But this distance was too great for even a good pair of binoculars, so an observer sitting on the mountains couldn’t see much, just the familiar outlines of hangars and barracks and nothing more. To see the details of the hastily built defensive line they would need to come closer, what is why the opponent used light drone. They chose the starting place well; here they could see the whole giant wasteland separating the field from the boundaries of the base.
The Colonel wasn’t surprised that the downed drone had been scoping out the defensive line. On the contrary, it just confirmed his hypothesis – the infected were preparing for an organized assault on his base. First they had come down from mountains and scattered throughout the valley, refusing to assault the pass, as he’d originally suspected they would.
No, they hadn’t gone to the mountains, and then come back; they’d gradually surrounded the base on all sides, stubbornly unwilling to come together at one point, where they could be killed with one air strike, as they had destroyed the Cartel convoy. And now he would have to disperse his forces, hunting and destroying the enemy’s cars one by one, while trying to save ammunition. They had managed to burn some enemy vehicles, but too few. As a result, he was forced to give the order to stop hunting and withdraw the Bumblebees.
And now the infected were carrying out aerial reconnaissance, finding out the key components of the defensive line. If Palmer told him that such actions were typical for the insane, he would break her neck.
“Signal light in sector five!”
Yes, those lights were on a country road in the field. Someone was sending a message, and someone else receiving it. Shortwave radios were hardly being used, because the jamming station on his base regularly jammed the airwaves, so the enemy used the heliograph first, and then signal lights. There were many wired telephone lines stretched across the valley, and, apparently, part of the wires remained intact and in use.
A mysterious movement began in the burned city, a lot of infected going to the safety area on foot, and the Colonel once again regretted that he had no howitzer battery. But was also glad that the enemy was devoid of artillery.
“Undermining sector nine!”
Some infected, the first to cross the field, hit a mine, and the night battle began.
56. Assault-2
Immediately after dinner, the civilians dispersed to their tents, with the sole desire of falling into bed as soon as possible. Boris and Natasha took several plastic water bottles and together they went to his tent and found Donahue in the next bed, which he’d exchanged for fifty dollars so as to be constantly near the paratrooper. Despite the unbearable heat in the tent, Boris fell asleep instantly.
Sirens rang out on all sides, driving away heavy, viscous sleep. Boris jumped to his feet, looking at the clock - they had slept for a little less than two hours, and it was now a quarter to midnight. The sirens didn’t stop, and were followed by automobile engines and helicopter blades.
“Attention! Prepare to take your places in the shelters according to tent numbers! Wait for the order! Warning…”
Boris pushed to the window, which opened to the east, towards the ridge. Through the thick darkness, without stars or moon, he could see the headlights of armored cars and flashlights in the hands of marines, who came to the refugee camp. And in front of the trenches and dugouts, behind the minefields and salt marsh, where the huge field began, crimson flames rose. Now accustomed to the sound of roaring sirens, he could distinguish shots ahead - there was a fight occurring.
“Fourth tent – head to the column at the entrance!”
Boris took a bag with food, gives Donahue the water bottles and went to the entrance, Natasha next to him. They received the order to leave the tent and stepped into the darkness after the other refugees. He shot a quick glance to the harbor, but there was nothing to see. Except for a few dim lights burning, there was complete blackout.
After about a hundred meters, accompanied by the marines, the refugees came to the mouth of the trench. As usual Boris pulled his comrades to take their places closer to the exit. There were Spartan conditions inside - long benches along the walls and a couple of small yellow LED lights. Boris dropped to the bench, looking around the frightened people, and then gazed up at the ceiling, lined with concrete slabs. He had no doubt that such a roof would not stand up to howitzer shells or bombs, but it should protect them from the battalion mortar.
Speaking of mortars, he distinctly heard their shots from behind the door. There are two marines on guard, who ordered the civilians that they could not leave the trench under any circumstances. It didn’t look like that would happen; the refugees could also hear the shooting and considered themselves safe in this makeshift bunker. What would happen if the battle started nearby, Boris couldn’t predict.
Bronson’s team kept the defense on a position north of the refugee camp; Chief personally directed the battle from a small dugout. Against them from eight to twelve thousand enemies, so that Colonel has called up almost all his men, even cooks, clerks and repairers of the dry dock.
The Special Combat Group got a special job. Rightly relying on their experience, Richardson singled out Bronson to send to one of the most dangerous areas – the field here is the closest to the security zone border. A number of times they had tried to burn the field of cannabis throughout the day, but yesterday’s heavy rain had made the field very resistant to fire. Now the infected certainly try to use this tab to go closer to the base.
Chief had no doubt about this, knowing that not all the enemies had lost their minds. The distance was too great for the usual machine guns and rifles, so he wasn’t afraid of that, but there was a more serious threat - the enemies had mortars and they were able to use them. Well if just battalion mortars, and not a deadly hundred and twenty millimeter regimental sledgehammers, which can bring down on their heads hundreds of heavy minutes. He also had mortars and automatic grenade launchers, but his main trump card in the upcoming battle was old M2 Bradley, which the Colonel had handed over to him.
There were another two explosions near the border - some infected had run into the mines. He saw them with pictures from the drone - a few people rushed forward, and ran until they encountered the remotely scattered mines. They had no guns.
57. Assault-3
The first serious attempt to breakthrough was made in the central sector twenty minutes after midnight - about one hundred and fifty people jumped out of the fields and rushed forward. Half of them stepped on mines, and the others were finished by mortars and automatic guns. There was no return fire, just a few times machine gun shots that had little effect – the infected, conducting the desperate attempt at breakthrough, had almost no weapons. None of the madmen turned back, and they had to spend a lot of ammunition.
Ten minutes later, the breakthrough was repeated in the southern sector - again with an attack through a minefield, again destroying the enemies with mortars, automatic guns and drone strikes. Once again, there was no fire in return.
Chief believed that the next attack would be at his site, and he made no mistake – the infected tried to attack the northern sector only five minutes after the shooting had died down in the south. The scenario was the same - an unexpected breakthrough without any preparation. This time the defenders didn’t use mortars and infantry fighting vehicles. Bronson had chosen a different tactic, relying on the concentrated fire of heavy sniper rifles, his men recognized experts in this maneuver. Snipers knocked the madmen down with single shots from long range, adjusting the fire using drone scouts.
The mortars didn’t have to make a single shot, and M2 Bradley didn’t open fire either – Chief gave the order to save ammo, they will not be able to replenish it in the near future. In addition, he didn’t want to unmask his fire positions - Bronson had the feeling that these crazy breakouts were no more than reconnaissance, the enemy probing their defenses in preparation for the final effort.
For the next half an hour there was relative calm - occasionally heavy machine guns and mortars in the central sector fired, and there was the livid glow of burning flares. According to the Colonel’s headquarters, the enemy lost more than four hundred men in three failed attempts to break through, while the defenders suffered no losses, not even wounded. Chief listened to the marines who were maliciously clogging the air with enthusiastic comments about the bloodless fight - they like this kind of war. Bronson wasn’t inclined to share their enthusiasm. He knew how many shells and mines had been spent in the last hour, and how many enemies were still alive.
Drones relentlessly cut circles in the night sky and examined the dark earth, seeing ten thousand targets. The infected surrounded the base in a wide semicircle from north to south, keeping out of range of mortars and armored vehicles. They already knew that there was no powerful defensive artillery. The infected actively maneuvered along the contour of the encirclement and both on the road and through the field moved hundreds of different cars, mainly trucks and SUVs.
The Cartel had bought cars by the thousand, and now the infected had a lot of transport, despite two days of fighting. They had failed to completely destroy and burn the city - it would require a whole regiment of B52 - and now the enemies were exporting something from the city, increasing their combat formations.
All this – using their environment, setting up the line of troops out of the defenders’ firing range, the active use of cars - suggested a clear plan from the enemy. The Colonel had realized that those opposing him were not crazy, but he still didn’t understand the reason behind the actions of the enemy. He didn’t understand why they had so furiously stormed his ready-for-action military camp. But Bronson understood it perfectly; he understood the thinking of those who commanded this horde.
As well as Bronson, some infected had still not lost their minds, because they’d got blood in time, stopping the spread of the nanomachines. But Palmer supplied him with blood from her medical stocks, and they took it by force from prisoners and recently slain enemies. Due to this trophy blood some of his enemies maintained their sanity and ability to conduct meaningful actions.
Most likely, the former rigid hierarchical structure was preserved in this situation, and so those in charge of the Cartel would get blood first. But now the captured stocks were coming to an end. Chief was sure that they’d killed most of captives, not realizing that this wasn’t necessary, and that prisoners should be used as donors. To understand this, however, they needed a specialist scientist of Palmer’s ability, able to calculate the required dose accurately; it was unlikely that the infected had such a specialist.
His enemies were on the verge of insanity, the expanding nanomachines colonies in their bodi
es requiring new blood, and they would stop at nothing to satisfy this hunger. That was why they pursued the bandits across the valley - they didn’t need the territory, they needed people. Francis’ calculation was correct: they were right to destroy the retreating bandits, so that there were less people in the district leading to rapid extinction of the infected. But the infected were not going to die so easily, they had turned around and headed for the base – it was only there the Z-model could get pure blood.
Of course, they knew about the civilians from the factory, knew and set up an ambush. The ambush had failed and the infected decided to leave the base and rush in pursuit of the bandits. But now they came back, they had no choice. The airfield was clearly visible from the mountains, and no plane had taken off that day – the infected knew that their prey was still there. And in order to get that prey, they would stop at nothing.
There was more shooting, this time somewhere deep in the enemy lines. Chief used a drone, trying to see what was happening. It was a mass shooting - some of the infected shot at others, about fifty men, women and children. Shot for cowardice and desertion from the battlefield?
Certainly not; on the contrary, those who had been shot wanted to go into battle without any orders restricting them. Whoever managed this army had taken the far-sighted decision to get rid of those who had finally lost their minds. He didn’t want his forces to lose control and rush at the enemy in a mad stampede. Everything needed to go according to plan.
Vampire's Day (Book 2): Zero Model Page 13