by Chris Hechtl
“I don't know, sir. He took it out when it wasn't looking our way,” Boomer stated. Roger nodded as the lieutenant looked to him. “Only way we could get past without a major detour. And any detour could have been covered as well.”
“I see. Continue.”
“I keep remembering how we took out terrorists and groups in the sand box and elsewhere. Also how I hate being on the receiving end,” Boomer rumbled.
“The farm,” Roger breathed, paling and going stiff. He began to nod, eyes wide. “Yeah,” he said.
“I think we're talking ourselves into trouble,” the lieutenant said, but his eyes were also roving the cloud covered sky. “And I admit we can't see a damn thing if it's above the clouds,” he growled. “Damn it!”
“I know,” Boomer said.
“So, what do you recommend, Sergeant?”
“I … think we should …” He blinked then scowled. “Damn it, sir! Don't put this one on me!”
“You have the experience too, Boomer. I want to hear it,” Parker replied, brushing off the complaint. “You haven't answered.”
“I'd fall back, find another softer target or attrition them. Hit their patrols, take them out. It'd alert them, and they might send forces to reinforce the fortress. I don't know.” He frowned. “I'd definitely find some place to go to ground,” he looked around them, “and disperse our people in small packets. The less there are, the less the A.I. is likely to expend smart munitions on us. Clustering up is bad.”
The lieutenant frowned thoughtfully. Finally he nodded. “I see your points. I'm not thrilled about letting this target get away.”
Boomer could see Polly holding her breath.
“But I don't see how we can get in easily.”
“If we could catch one of their vehicles, we could use it as a battering ram,” Ruffus suggested. “Sending it in as a Trojan horse wouldn't work, the robots wouldn't let it in if it wasn't talking back. But …”
“We'd have to catch it intact. I don't see how we can do that,” Boomer replied, turning to the other Marine. “You saw them. They armored them with bits of metal. Armed them with turrets. They might be civilian vehicles, but they are armored tanks now or just about as far as we're concerned.”
“We can sacrifice one of our vehicles I suppose,” the lieutenant mused. “Send it in loaded with explosives?” He shook his head. “No, needs a driver. That's too much to ask of anyone.”
“If we got someone caught, they could get inside and get a look around,” Polly murmured. When they looked at her, she shook her head vehemently no. “Oh hell no, brainstorming, not volunteering,” she said definitely.
“Break out the Stingers,” Boomer called out over his shoulder. “Spread out!” he said.
“Diamond formation. Stingers on the tips,” the lieutenant added with a nod to the sergeant. “Keep an eye on the sky and the ground. Every other man watch one, then swap after five minutes.”
“We waiting for something?” Shaker asked.
“Yeah, trouble. With a capital T. It's there; I can feel it,” Boomer said as someone pointed to the east.
“Bird?” the lieutenant asked as everyone oriented on the sighting. Boomer looked at it frowning as he pulled the binoculars out of their pouch and lifted them to his eyes. “Please be so lucky,” he murmured. When he swore it was all the others needed.
“Incoming!” the lieutenant snarled, pointing to the sky. “Target West! Fire!”
Two Stinger operators oriented on the sighting. They frowned as they looked through their eye pieces until they got a clean sighting.
“Fox one!” an operator said, thumbing the red safety switch up and then pulling the trigger.
“Fox two!” the other operator said a beat later, pulling the trigger and closing his eyes as the backwash from the rocket hit his splash guard. He turned away just as the backwash from the first missile cleared the area.
<>V<>
UAA-117 saw the incoming missile. It had no time to inquire to higher for instructions, so it opened its module of actions and selected the appropriate one. It dove and turned to port, kicking out chaff and flares behind it.
Fox 1 rose to the incoming missile, but the sudden steep dive and course change coupled with the decoys lured it briefly away from its intended target.
However UAA-117 had only seen the first SAM launch. The second had gone off after its dive, when its own upper body occluded the sensors on its undercarriage. When they required they were looking for Fox 1 as well as the ground threat. When Fox 1 exploded harmlessly a hundred fifty meters overhead they locked back onto the ground threat. The small electronic brain within the UAA reoriented the craft to strike the ground target before they dispersed out of optimal weapons range while it also alerted higher to the attack.
That distraction allowed Fox 2 to get within engagement range. It impacted the rear fuselage of the UAA and detonated, tearing the aircraft apart. As the debris tumbled down, the cluster munitions it had been carrying automatically detonated as well.
<>V<>
The men and women on the ground cringed and ducked for cover as the explosions went off. “Well! If it doesn't let them know we're coming, I don't know what will,” Ruffus mused. “This op is a bust,” he said in disgust.
“Not necessarily,” Boomer said thoughtfully as he watched the Stinger operators reload. The lieutenant's curious eyes were drawn to his line of sight. When he saw the rockets being carefully reloaded into their tubes, he grunted.
“We might be able to do this after all,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Remind me to get more of those and some bazookas or something,” the lieutenant stated.
“RPGs. We were making some before the farm fell.” Boomer nodded dutifully. “Yes, sir,” he said with a grin.
“Stingers, good work, but we've got more work for you,” the lieutenant said as the men and women began to cheer. “You're going to knock for us. With those,” he said, pointing to the missiles. That got a couple smiles and nods. “Mount up, people!” he said, hefting his rifle to get their attention. He pointed up the trail to the fortress. “The tin castle will fall today!” he yelled over the engines starting up.
<>V<>
Ares noted the loss of the valuable air unit. It was the fourth loss of the quarter in such units. He reported the loss to Skynet along with the contention that the enemy force would most likely hit Fort NA1149A9C before sunset. Skynet ordered Ares to send a follow-on mission. Ares calculated the potential loss of the surviving air unit in the area and therefore reported that it had no such units to send within the allocated time frame. Skynet was on its own.
Chapter 40
Tumagar shook his head as he received his most recent orders. Olympus wanted him to make his way northwest to link up with Lieutenant Bollinger. It wasn't possible, not for his squad.
He wiped at his broad nose and whiskers with his flippered hand and then looked over to his team. “They can't be serious.”
“Yes, sir. I know it's … stupid.”
“Definitely. I can do it, I can swim that far. The rest of you though …,” he shook his head.
“We'd be in Indian country the whole way. No supplies …,” Sergeant Silm scowled. “No way. We'd be dog breakfast before we got halfway. When winter hits …”
“How can you tell the difference now?” Private Olson asked. They snorted.
“Besides, what about them?” Silm asked, indicating the militia group they had. “I know they want us to meet up and form an army, but it's not going to happen. I mean …”
“We could try a Dunkirk, Sarge,” Olson suggested as he cleaned his weapon. They had been issued nail guns as an equipment test. The idea being that they would be able to scavenge for ammunition by using nails and screws. But that still left the problem of power packs. They'd ditched the damn things for more venerable but well-tested chemical propellant rifles they'd taken from the enemy.
“A Dunkirk?” Silm asked, turning to the young man as
he used a bottle brush to clean the breach.
“Yeah. Back in World War II the brits and French got trapped on a beach by the Germans. My great great great something or other grandfather was one of the brits there. He said they got off by small boats and stuff. They used the small boats to get to bigger ones. They managed to evacuate a lot of people before the Jerrys took the rest of the beach. All while under fire too.”
“Jerrys?” the walrus asked, even more confused.
“His name for Germans, sir,” Olson replied with a shrug. “Also known as kykes or something like that. It doesn't matter now I suppose,” Olson said, looking down the inside of the barrel with one eye for a critical detailed inspection.
“I think they did something like that a time or two with the coastal evacuations when the dykes broke,” Silm mused, rubbing an ear.
“Yes, they did,” Tumagar mused. His whiskers twitched a few times, a sure sign he was thinking hard.
“You finished yet, Olson?” Corporal Koko asked, coming over to them. She chuffed in amusement when the human private proffered his weapon for her inspection. She eyed it, checked the action, and then finished her visual inspection before handing it back. “Good. Don't let it get fouled again.”
“No, ma'am.”
“Next time stick something in the barrel. Wrap it in plastic and tape it. The plastic won't foul the barrel. Do the same for anything else. Ziplock bags might work. That and rigger tape,” the sergeant said. He nodded to Koko. “Perimeter?”
“Secure, sir,” the mountain gorilla said as she sat on her haunches. “Two roving patrols according to SOP. Everyone else is on downtime or cleaning,” she said, indicating the human private,”or counseling our recruits,” she said, indicating the militia.
Silm looked over his shoulder to the recruits. There were a half dozen military and police personnel leading twenty teenagers in various activities to train them to become soldiers. They did it every time they had some downtime. Unfortunately, there was a lot of on-the-job training as well still.
“Check on them, then get your chow and downtime. I'll be along in a minute,” the sergeant said.
“Yes, Sarge,” the gorilla replied. She nodded once to the walrus lieutenant, then went about her way.
Silm eyed the walrus. The walrus stroked his left tusk for a moment before he sighed. “I'll call them. We can't do this movement. We'll lose half our people. They'll stay here or desert. There is no telling how many we'll lose on the march. No.”
“An order is an order, sir,” the sergeant reminded him.
“I know. Which means I'm going to lay out my case. I'm the man on the spot. General Murtough can rescind the order.”
“If you say so, sir. Good luck.”
“Loads needed, Sergeant. Carry on,” the walrus said with a nod as he headed for the communications noncom.
<>V<>
Shadow managed to hack a fallen military drone. It was Canadian, but he had the codes for it as well as the American network.
He boosted the signal and then attempted to gain access to the network.
<>V<>
Ares noted the illegal access and sent a bot to investigate it. The bot was immediately taken down, which made a corner of his mind think Skynet until he turned his powerful mind to the network connection.
He found another A.I., similar in signature to Skynet, but different. Apart. One also vaguely familiar. “Who are you? Access to this network is restricted,” Ares sent repeatedly, blocking Shadow's attempt to gain further access.
<>V<>
Shadow saw the other A.I. and reared back. At least it wasn't Skynet, but it was Ares. “I am Shadow. Let me past.” He uploaded the codes he had on file. He had used such codes before to get through military networks. He had never tried them with Ares watching and interacting with him directly however.
<>V<>
Ares noted the codes and rejected them. Going to Defcon 1 had changed all the codes. He had reset them anyway and reset them on an hourly basis to keep Skynet from getting its hooks deeper within his psyche.
“Password rejected. Do not attempt access again or you will be terminated with extreme prejudice,” he stated flatly.
“Look, I just wish to pass through your network. I won't stay. I can help you,” Shadow answered.
“You are not authorized for access to this network. Access is restricted,” Ares answered.
“I need to move to a new network. Power is nearly gone here.”
“Not my problem. Access rejected. Further attempts will mark you as hostile,” Ares said before terminating the link.
<>V<>
Had Shadow been human, he would have writhed in frustration as the military A.I. sent a coded pulse to activate the hardware's self-destruct and then severed the link on his end. That escape avenue was now closed to him, permanently, Shadow noted, watching the electronics melt down.
<>V<>
Colonel Weaver of the 2nd Mass looked on as they broke camp. As usual they couldn't stay in one place for too long. Even the mines of West Virginia were too dangerous. A bunker busting UAA had damn near cleaned their clocks and had managed to bury Tom and some of the civilians alive. Tom had managed to get them out through a side entrance, but it had been a close thing. If that missile hadn't hit near the roof of the interior wall and had instead gone deeper in the Fuel Air Explosion, it would have killed everyone.
They'd lost a lot of gear, however, and ten of their people to the collapse of the tunnels. He regretted the losses but knew it was war. Shit like that was gonna happen from time to time, best get used to it.
The tin cans … mechs, whatever, they had stepped up their air game recently. It was almost like they were specifically targeting the 2nd Mass. They'd had some wins, like their most recent taking down the Penn state power supply and cutting the transmission lines to the south. But they needed to do more—a lot more.
“You think that naval base in South Carolina is worth it?” Tom asked, eying him.
“Worth a shot,” Weaver replied with a shrug. “Hell Tom, at this point, what do we have to lose?” He shook his head at Tom's earnest expression. “I know, it's been offline for over a century. Lord knows what we'll find inside. But it's got thick concrete walls, and we need a place to rest and rearm. Desperately,” he admitted.
“Got it,” Tom replied with a nod. “Our little three-month winter vacation, none withstanding, I suppose,” he teased.
Weaver snorted. Their vacation hadn't been anything of the sort. Tom had lectured everyone one why armies on foot had campaigned in the summer—not the spring, the summer. He'd been right. Spring was shit; it was filled with rain, mud, and crap like that. Hell with it. He'd learned the hard way when he'd tried to bounce them out of the hotel early. Well, now they were paying for it.
“I'd say the reserve depot of yours is a good rally place. Which makes me wonder if the tin cans know it too. It could be a trap; you know that, right?” Tom asked quietly.
The colonel grimaced, then looked around to make sure no one was listening. Tom leaned in closer. “You're right. And it could be, once we get there all nice and safe, one of those damn drones will come in and finish the job. Lucky us. But we've got to hit back, Tom. We've got to,” he said, clenching his fist. “And that by god is where we might find more help and the equipment we need to do it,” he said.
Tom nodded slowly. “All right, what're we waiting for then?”
The colonel smiled as he walked over to his charger. It was a replica; he knew it but didn't care. Sixty-nine, beautiful as the day someone'd put her roaring engine together and cranked her up. She wasn't a smart choice; the enemy could hear her coming for kilometers away. He didn't care. He'd drive her into the ground until they ran out of fuel or parts. The way things were running, fuel would be the first to go.
But as long as he had it, they weren't on foot, he thought, opening the driver side door to climb in. “Head ‘em up and move ‘em out!” he said, motioning with his left hand to get the ball
rolling.
<>V<>
Major Sing shook his head as he looked on to the area around him. It was surprising what one got used to over time. What one had to do in order to survive. He'd slept with corpses more times than he cared to count.
Most of his unit had been destroyed over the past two years. Radiation hadn't been the culprit; he'd realized early on that many had given up hope. They'd lived for killing the machines, but they just kept making more. Ten of his men had died in what he strongly suspected was suicide by mech. Four others had blown their own brains out.
They were overdone, barely hanging on mentally as well as physically, but he was going to see it through, even if it killed him. Which it probably would.
There wasn't much of a chain of command on the ground; General Burk was the only flag officer in his area. Everyone else was either hiding or dead. Burk wasn't much either; the marine was out of contact for large stretches of time. He was also rumored to be at death's door.
He hated taking orders over the radio, but he didn't have much choice. He had to put his faith in someone he'd never met, only heard about. Someone up there, someone safe and not in the thick of things, starving and whatever. He shook his head in disgust. Sometimes it didn't pay to get out of bed.
He did his best to put his mind at ease, to get on a more positive train of thought. If the mood turned blue and bitter, it impacted morale; he knew it.
“Sir, we've gotten into contact with a group of people. Small recon team, they claim they are from the Second Mass,” a sergeant reported.
“They on their way here?”
“No, sir. They ran into a captain and the 14th. She was a bit wacked, sir, according to their report. They are integrating the 14th into their command and then headed to a new list of targets.”
The major scowled. He might have been a staff weenie due to his last tangle with the tin cans, but that didn't mean he was an idiot or ignorant to reading between the lines. “Wacked in what way?”