Sons of the Gods

by James Von Ohlen

  A long hallway stretched before him angling downward. As the scouts advanced down its length, motion activated lights came on above them. Lighting their path, but illuminating them as targets for any hostiles who might be out there. Torsten looked up at the diodes above him. A data stream detailing their manufacture and function popped up, but he ignored it. He found it laughable that only a few weeks before he had referred to them as “witchlights”. As if they were a function of some spell cast long ago.

  The hallway ended in an unremarkable T, both sides of which led to heavy doors. Each was flanked by something that must have been a guard station in centuries past, but now stood empty and abandoned. Ed sent Styg to check the nearest one and he emerged holding a stun rod.

  A type of nightstick that could incapacitate men with an electrical shock. It was a more powerful version of the function found in the security suits the men wore. It would come in handy if they needed to battle unarmored foes while attempting to hold back on lethal force. It was next to useless against the Titan still pounding away behind them.

  A short access code entry later, and Torsten’s crew was clearing the entry to the communications command center for Fort Kasper. Torsten took the point, something he did out of habit. He led his men from the front. A data stream on proper techniques for clearing rooms during urban combat operations suggested that he take a position towards the rear, but he dismissed it.

  The door slid open and Torsten entered quickly, dropping to one knee as he moved off to one side, and cleared his assigned section. Pier came behind him, dropping to a knee as well as he moved to the other side and cleared a space opposite Torsten’s in the room. Eric, Styg, Ragnald, and finally Ed entered, each clearing their assigned space. In less than a second the maneuver had been completed and the room secured.

  A bank of central computers and their associated terminals was the only thing waiting for them. Surprisingly, most of the computers were on and active. As if they hadn’t been abandoned hundreds of years ago when their operators had died. Torsten’s halo unit provided him with an access code that allowed him to enter the diagnostics menu of the central terminal. Projected images danced around his head from all sides as he navigated through them with directed thoughts.

  Schematics detailing the fort’s external communications arrays and capabilities blurred by the edges of his vision as he dove through them. Feedback from each individual component of the system was visually represented and his sorting of the information led him to the problem. The explanation of why Modi and Vidar couldn’t remotely activate this site. The reason was so obvious that Torsten had to stifle a laugh when he saw it.

  Someone had turned off the power before they left.

  He relayed an order to Ed who dispatched Styg and Eric to fix the problem. They ran to the back of the large room and opened a heavy door hanging on hinges. It hissed as they opened it and began playing with switches held within in. Lights flared to life throughout the room. Computer terminals hummed as they powered up for the first time in centuries.

  “Did we get it?” Styg opened his faceplate and called back. Like Torsten, he had been reminded too much of Anhur’s thoughts in his head when he used the direct thought communication abilities of the suits. The scout used his own voice whenever possible.

  “Yes, that seems to have worked.” A familiar voice spoke. The men of Torsten’s crew raised their weapons in reflex, but lowered them quickly when they saw no threat.

  Modi stood before them, sharing the room with them.

  “I can handle a few things from here. But there’s still the matter of the Titan unit above. It wouldn’t be too far of stretch to assume that it would be capable of enslaving this site to the external control of remaining Coalition forces should it gain access. That would be suboptimal. You all will have to destroy it.”

  The six men looked at each other, exchanging expressions of doubt.

  “And how do you propose we do such a thing?” Ed was the first to speak.

  “The equipment you have was what was available at a military intelligence facility. It was never intended to see heavy combat. And you’re right in your assertion that it will not suffice. But here,” Modi gestured around her, causing the silver robe she wore to flow about her figure before she continued. “Here, this was an actual military base. There are weapons here that will reduce that monstrosity above to slag.”

  Data streams popped into their minds detailing the heavy weapons and battle armor currently available onsite. Pier whistled softly at the military might displayed to him.

  “There’s just one thing.” Modi began. “I need you to remove its brain. Without damaging it.”

  “What the fuck?” Eric exclaimed before he could think it out. Torsten saw what she wanted and thought it was a good idea, but he allowed Modi to explain it for the others.

  “I will be able to extract information from it by using the halo units here in the medical facilities. We might be able to learn quite a bit about remaining Coalition forces on and near Veldt if we can scan the Titan unit’s brain.”

  The pounding continued above as if to emphasize the point. Torsten looked to the woman’s projection before he spoke.

  “Alright, Modi. Let’s get you a brain to play with.”

  PAIN. That was his only enduring memory. It washed over him in waves. Never quite going away altogether, but sometimes diminishing to levels that were almost bearable.

  With the pain came the anger. A clouded mind that couldn’t function free of rage. A deep need to vent his rancor on everything around him. A stream of ones and zeroes screeched through his mind, blurring his surroundings and warping them in his sight. It had taken him so long to get used to the increase in sensory input. Constantly battering his senses from all directions. So much light, so much sound. And it only made the pain worse.

  Drugs helped, but just barely. The relief was always temporary. And each time he took them, the window in which he didn’t burn with the pain of his final days grew shorter and shorter. They were losing their potency. Of course, that was irrelevant now. The drugs hadn’t been available in a very long time. He had started to wonder if they were ever actually there or if they had been part of some strange, beautiful dream.

  Steel fist met steel door with a world shaking impact that jolted up his arm and into his teeth. Why could he feel his teeth at all? He’d lost them, every single one of them, in the crash. Thinking about his teeth made them hurt. Brought memories of shattered glass and shards of broken steel scything through his flesh. Rough impact with something solid breaking every bone in his face and choking on blood before darkness enveloped him.

  Extraction. That was the name they used for those operations. What had he been doing there anyways? Something about killing a man. It was important that he die. Had been important at least. Something about a war. His other fist slammed into the door, shaking it in its frame.

  Assassination? Yes, that sounded right. Roaring through new vocal chords. It sounded like two demons fucking in a set of tank treads. What was wrong with his voice? Pounding harder on the door. That little shit was hiding inside from him. Thinking he could get away with what he’d done.

  The door shifted in his view from huge armored metal construct to thin wood. Heavy steel fists became flesh and bone, leaving dents and blood in the door with each blow.

  “Come out!” He screamed. His voice echoing through the house. Roaring over the open courtyard between ruined buildings. Teeth ground in rage. Brother or not, he was going to take a serious beating for this one. Head slammed into the door, splitting his forehead open and blood flowed down his face. Doing nothing to stop his assault.

  In the here and now, the steel monster’s head slammed against the blast door, jarring it to a halt for a brief moment. Digital chatter spread through his mind. Machines talking to him. Reminding him of his purpose. Whispering to him that though he was better than other men, he would never be as good as them.

  Some red thing marred his visio
n. Warning of neural decay and need for immediate repairs. Psychological evaluation approximately 900 years past due, it said. Report to nearest medical facility for evaluation immediately, it insisted. He dismissed the obnoxious red thing, chasing it away with a snarl. Another wave of pain washed over him and he attempted to fire his heat lance into the air.

  On some level he realized that it served no actual purpose, other than the feeling of power it gave him. That made things better for a little while. Only this time the lance didn’t fire. His mind came into sharp focus for a brief time.

  The little man in silver. The little shit, just like the other little shit. Hiding from him. He was the one who had damaged his heat lance. That one would die last. The others… he would turn them to dust with his guns. That one though… he was going to be ripped to pieces with his bare hands. Steel fists clenched and then renewed their assault on the door. Each impact jarring his massive frame.

  “This one is done.” Someone said to him. He turned and lowered his rifle, raising the visor on his helmet to see with his own eyes. Done was an understatement. Nothing was left of the target’s head. Mission accomplished. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.

  Men running. Shooting as they did so. Someone shooting back. Lasers. Visible, and otherwise, making their hissing noise as they superheated the air they passed through. Hard rounds ricocheting off of everything around him. A few rounds were stopped by his armor. At least he hoped so.

  Gunship laying waste to everything around him and his crew. Steady stream of rockets. Danger close, but no friendly fire casualties. Nice for a change. He fired at what the gunship missed, scoring a hit on his target’s throat that cut its head off. That one’s done too.

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  30mm cannon mounted on his shoulder firing in random directions with the confusion of memories in his mind. No effect on what’s hit. Unlike in his mind. Reliving and relishing the gore of his enemy’s destruction.

  Salvo after salvo from above until it was safe to descend. The gunship hovered a few feet off the ground, side doors open and men inside yelling frantically to his unit. Running to the gunship, renewed fire from all around. Near hit on vehicle with shoulder mounted rocket. Mini-gun opening fire from side door, shredding everything in its path.

  Onboard, strapping into place and firing at targets through the open doors. Climbing fast. Warning klaxons blaring, red lights flashing. Taking fire. Rough movements to evade. No good. We’re hit. Going down. Spinning out of control.

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  Darkness and pain.

  Awaken trapped in this…thing. This fucking thing. This fucking monster that he’d become. Had they told his wife what they’d done to him? Told his children that they’d completely stripped his humanity away? Or did they lie to them and tell them he had died? Doesn’t matter, the voice of reason, a rare visitor indeed these days, said. They’ve been dead for centuries.

  Another bestial roar of rage and anguish. Claw deployed, wrapped in the strange power field he’d never really understood. Did it matter if he understood it or not? Did it make him better at cutting things with it if he knew the physics behind it? Of course not. It cut through almost anything and that was what he used it for.

  “Don’t hurt me, Rodrigo! I’m sorry.” Someone called from within. Crying. Pleading. Rodrigo? Who the fuck was Rodrigo? You were, something reminded him. Before you became…this.

  Fists met wooden door again and the crying inside intensified. He grew tired of waiting for the little shit to open the door and come out. To face what he had done. He ran out of the house, to the backyard and grabbed an axe. Then back inside and into the door with the axe.

  Massive titanium alloy claws swathed in projected forcefields deployed, stabbing into the armored blast door as he saw the axe tearing into the wooden door. Great chunks of steel came away from the door. Great chunks of wood fell away from the door. Sobbing sounded from inside.

  Just a matter of time. Little shit getting what he deserved. Wooden door and steel door collapsed before his assault, finally breaking in half.

  The Titan unit strode into the darkness of the empty hangar, roaring again through huge speakers located in its mouth. The claw cut at the air. Little shit wasn’t there. That wasn’t how it had happened. He remembered smashing the door down with the axe and then using the same axe to crush his little brother’s skull. Something about a dead puppy. Didn’t matter. What was done was done.

  Weapons systems scanned the hangar before him, searching for any target at all. Literally nothing. Empty space. Just empty space. He felt as though he were about to weep in frustration. Shoulder mounted cannons scanned the room, slaved to the sensor he was searching with.

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  Machine code tore through his mind and pain washed over him anew. Subsumed in his programming. Crushed by the weight of his orders. Humanity gave way to machine-self once more and the robotic took over.

  Scanners sought out anything in the room. Something moving. There. A short burst from the cannon, muzzle flare and impact illuminating the great empty hangar with strobe light. Confusing optical sensors. Nothing there now. Movement. Again. Another burst. Same result.

  Teeth grinding against one another. Deploying all firearms.

  Servos making their music as a back-up beam weapon rises from one forearm. Caseless hard round launcher from the other. Spikes for piercing extending from knuckles. Ready for combat at all ranges. Feet spread to more balanced stance. Multiple movement signatures from all sides.

  Floodlights mounted on shoulders near weapons. Activated, leaving nowhere to hide in darkness. Still nothing. There. Warping of light. Faint shadow on far wall. Enemies with optical camouflage.

  The Titan moved like lightning, moving forward and delivering a hard blow with one fist. Solid contact on something. Rippling air/water effect flying through the air. The sound of it hitting the far wall. Cannon tracking ready to fire burst at downed opponent.

  Hammer blow to back of left leg. Collapsing to one knee and one hand. Burst from cannon goes astray. Spinning backfist from compromised position. Solid contact again. Something goes down hard, close. Light ripples and optical camouflage fails. Systems identify enemy unit as Veldt design. Unknown variant of advanced infantry armor system.

  Primary action: Kill.

  Secondary action: Capture. Static changes the word. Kill.

  Fist driving down towards prone figure. Target rolls out of the way and supporting hand is knocked away with another hammer blow. Warning klaxons blaring, causing pain. Rodrigo returning. Awoken by the noise and the pain.

  Why do my arms hurt so much? I don’t fucking have any fucking arms.

  Hammer blow to the back. Another to the head. Sprawling on the ground. Lashing out with fists and feet in all directions. Struggling to rise back to feet. Ammo dump through 30mm cannon in a single long burst. Firing in all directions. Multiple hits scored. Ammunition fully depleted.

  Push to feet. Hammer blow to chin, knocking head backwards. Blind for a second as sensors attempt to adjust. Broken teeth fall from mouth leaking fluids. Again. Just like before. Men screaming as gunship goes down. Red light flaring and alarms sounding. Steel rushing forward to meet his face.

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  Almost falling over backwards before beam weapon and hard round launcher begin firing. Multiple hits on attacker. Light ripples and another suit is visible. Badly damaged. Carrying something that looks like a sledgehammer. War maul, battle computer corrects him. Something out of a museum. Wea
pon is highlighted as high threat. Power crackles around the head, like what he has on his own claw. Claws. Use claws.

  Hammerfist down towards target. Missed. Something else hits backplate. Chassis integrity warnings blaring. Sweep with blade behind him. Hits something solid. A moment of resistance and then the blade shatters.

  Two more blows to left leg and knee joint hydraulics shatter. Deafening alarms driving pain through Rodrigo’s brain. Another blow and right shoulder shatters under the impact, leaving the arm hanging limp and useless. Body breaking again.

  Blow to the base of the spine and something important breaks. Computers name the component, but he doesn’t care what its name is. Only that it’s no longer working. Falling forwards. Face down on ground. A blow to the base of the skull and vision fills with static. Hearing offline. Roll and spin to dislodge attackers. Attempt fails. Still working arm rotates and fires all remaining hard rounds.

  Several hits scored. Sensors straining to keep him in the fight. Working arm torn from shoulder socket. Screaming in anger. Machine voice probably echoing through hangar, but can’t hear it.

  Rodrigo never feels the last blow.

  Torsten stood over the defeated Titan, looking at its wreckage strewn about the room. Damage warnings showed him that his armor integrity was severely compromised. Another blow from any of the Titan’s weapons and he was likely a dead man. He looked around at the men with him, seeing the same warning signs hanging near them in the air.

  That had been very close. Too close for his tastes.

  As he looked down at the broken machine, schematics laid themselves over it in his view, showing where it was best to cut. Ed carried a plasma torch to him and he knelt, beginning to cut. His vision grew dark to shield his eyes against the glare of the torch.