by S. H. Jucha
Homsaff barked an order to slide the pallets to either side of a massive construction bot that loomed in front of them and join together on the other side. The warriors swerved to get their pallets to steer around the massive bot. They could hear the bot’s engine roar, as it trundled toward them, attempting to squash them.
Both pallets cleared the bot. One group of warriors had to yank their legs inside the pallet’s frame, as their sled bounced off the bot’s treads. Behind the heavy bot were rows and rows of lesser ones.
When the pallets cleared the heavy bot, Homsaff ordered the warriors to open fire. They adjusted their rifles, locked on targets, and proceeded to turn bots into scrap. Their primary targets were the machinery directly in front of the pallets. They’d spread the plasma beams to disintegrate, blow the bots aside, rather than drill holes through them. The fire cleared the way for the pallets, which were speeding along and carrying them deep into the mass of bots. When the pallets slowed, warriors leapt off them and shoved them together to form a defensive platform.
It swiftly became evident that there was to be no organized attack from the bots. Myron had worked diligently to demonstrate to the Dischnya the value of fighting as coordinated squads. But his primary concern was correct. He’d worried about what the warriors would face. It wouldn’t be a traditional force. The bots weren’t coordinated in any meaningful way. They’d been ordered to destroy the invaders, and they acted in the most efficient and independent manner to carry out the directive.
Construction bots reversed their orientation with the intention of rolling over the invaders. In their effort to reach them, they rolled over and crushed hundreds of smaller bots. Medium-sized bots attacked en masse determined to hack, chop, and maim the biologicals.
The smallest bots, with their pincer tools, had buried themselves in mounds of slush churned up by the larger bots. When they felt the vibrations of Dischnya footsteps, they leapt out. They slashed and stabbed at the legs of two warriors. One went down, and the larger bots hacked him to pieces. The second hobbled to the safety of the pallets.
Homsaff witnessed the attack from below and ordered the warriors to jump atop the pallets. From there, they had a little elevation and safety from the small bots emerging from the slush.
The overall plan was working. The Dischnya had penetrated deep into the bot army. They were completely surrounded, and the more bots they slagged, the harder it was for others to reach them.
Homsaff, Simlan, and Hessan began directing fire, and adding their own choice targets to complete the circle of hot metal they sought. Construction bots easily scaled the growing barrier but presented their vulnerable undersides as they crested the top.
A warrior made the mistake of targeting a heavy bot’s engine. The resulting explosion threw shards of material that wounded one warrior, sliced another in half, and decapitated a third.
“Not the engines,” Homsaff growled in anger, as she swung her rifle at several little bots that had popped up from the ice and were intent on reaching the pallets. The dead warriors fell off the pallet, and bots mindlessly chopped the inert bodies to pieces.
The fighting raged on. Several heavy bots broke through the ringed barrier, either by scaling it or bulldozing their way through it. The Dischnya targeted the transports’ drive trains, treads, or wheels. Some of the bots, after being hit, were fixed in place — their engines running, their axles spinning, and no manner of locomotion.
The warriors excelled, despite the heavy fighting. They sought revenge for their fallen comrades. As the bots piled up, the warriors left the pallets, howling their rage. Racing over the churned slush, they used their powerful legs to launch themselves aboard drive-destroyed construction bots. The upper sections of the bots were cool enough to use as firing platforms, and they celebrated, as they lay waste around them.
The squads fanned out so quickly, seeking temporary places on which to take the fight to the bots, that they’d cut themselves off from their supply lines. They emptied their energy packs and swapped to backups.
As the fighting descended into chaos, Homsaff abandoned her primary role. She barked orders, and Simlan and Hessan rallied to her side. The threesome dug into the pallets, grabbed spare power packs, and fought their way to each warrior. Hot packs were hurriedly swapped for depleted ones.
The warriors were firing and moving, as the construction bots, on which they stood, tried to eliminate them, or a better firing position presented itself. That made it difficult to track the squad members’ statuses. Frequently, Homsaff and the squad leaders called out to the warriors to ascertain who needed resupply.
Fear swelled in Homsaff, as she dug out the final load of power packs. She shared them with Simlan and Hessan, delivering the bad news. The squad leaders distributed them, warning the warriors to be careful with their shots.
Warriors climbed to the top of the piles, where it was still cool to step. They hunkered down behind barriers of tortured metal and targeted the engines of heavy bots steaming toward the barrier. The resulting explosions shook the air, sending hot metal flying in every direction. The sounds of metal smacking into metal created a percussive din.
The detonations delivered two benefits. Each one destroyed hundreds of smaller bots and added to the growing pile of hot debris that formed the barrier.
The technique of judicious and precise fire at the heavy bots from the barrier’s top allowed the usage of the final power packs to be used conservatively.
Homsaff tore off the covers of the charging ports. Mickey and his team had adapted the pallet’s grav engines to act as chargers for the rifles’ power packs, enabling the Dischnya to recharge them over a period of time. It wouldn’t serve them if they engaged in continuous fire for an extended amount of time, which they’d been doing. But every hour would enable them to charge ten packs.
The bot assault slowed, due exclusively to the expanse of hot metal that had formed the Dischnya’s barrier. They’d destroyed so much machinery within a radius of a half kilometer that the ice shelf resembled a junkyard of burning material and glowing metal.
Two warriors trained in medical techniques saw to the wounds of others. Bots had cut through the environment suits to rend the Dischnya’s flesh. Flying metal had sliced suit and fur, and hot metal had scorched both.
A warrior on the barrier’s top failed to respond to comm calls. When the medical warriors reached him and turned his body over, they discovered a small hole in his faceplate. A piece of metal had punched through his faceplate, drilled through his forehead, and penetrated his brain.
Several warriors walked around the interior perimeter. With their rifle beams spread wide, they fired into the icy slush. Many times, small bots, which waited to attack from below, were destroyed.
One of the dead was no more than a collection of body parts. His pieces were scooped up and placed in a pile. The bodies of the other three were added, and the pile was burned.
Simlan and Hessan relieved the warriors on the barrier, a few at a time, to eat and rest. The light of day grew marginally brighter and then died again, but the Dischnya didn’t need it. They had their keen night vision and the dull red glow that emanated from the hot metal that surrounded them. Those who were relieved from guard duty removed their environment suits and charged them. The heat from the barrier’s glowing metal kept them warm.
Homsaff breathed a sigh of relief when the first power packs were recharged. Simlan and Hessan quickly distributed them, while Homsaff attached the next set.
Of the twenty Dischnya who landed on Toral, sixteen were left, and only a few weren’t wounded in one way or another.
A warrior approached Homsaff, who had doffed her suit and handed it off to be charged. He gestured toward her arm. Confused, she regarded it. Most of the fur was missing on the back of an upper arm. The wound was raw and ugly, but she hadn’t felt it. As the warrior tended to it, Homsaff felt the need to regurgitate. Her head felt light, and her vision dimmed.
The warrior treati
ng Homsaff grasped the queen’s head and pushed it down, urging her to breathe evenly. It helped. The dimness faded, but her stomach still roiled. Myron had warned Homsaff and her warriors that this would be the result of their first combat. She’d scoffed at his remarks, and she made a note to apologize to the commandant, if she survived this fight.
Some warriors set to repairing the environment suits while they charged. Tubes of nanites sealed pieces of material in place. The patches weren’t designed to close the suits against the vacuum of space, but that wasn’t necessary. Here, the suits just needed to be airtight to keep the warriors warm.
-32-
Final Assault
While many of the warriors slept, Homsaff climbed to one of the outposts, carefully skirting the areas of hot metal. Pulling a viewer from her waist pack, she surveyed the distance from their barrier to the towers and arrays under construction that stood in the distance. The starlight provided sufficient ambient light to make out the number of bots that remained.
Homsaff’s hopes dropped, but she refrained from displaying her emotions. She was concerned that she might depress the warrior who crouched next to her.
Despite the mayhem they’d inflicted on Artifice’s army, more remained than they’d eliminated. She’d lost a fifth of her warriors and their firing power. With two or three more battles like that, Homsaff was sure that they’d be overrun. She had a disturbing image of bots hacking her body to pieces.
The towers were tantalizingly close, and Homsaff stared determinedly at the intervening distance. A thought occurred to her. It was a memory of something Miranda told her. She squirmed away from the outpost and made her way back to the pallets. Warriors lay across the top of them. They slept deeply, and Homsaff chose not to disturb them.
Homsaff did wake Simlan, who took a moment to recover his wits. As the oldest warrior, the battle had taxed him more than most, but Homsaff desperately needed his advice.
“Come,” Homsaff whispered, and she led Simlan to a place on the barrier where they were protected from the wind and the nearby metal kept them warm.
“Simlan, we’ve a small case of minelettes,” Homsaff whispered, not wanting to disturb those who slept.
“I forgot about those,” Simlan replied, mentally berating himself.
“I did too until just now,” Homsaff replied sympathetically. “The view from the top isn’t good,” she added, gesturing up and over the barrier. “There’s more waiting than we defeated.”
“You want a way to use the minelettes,” Simlan reasoned. “They’re powerful.”
“Yes, I recall Miranda’s words,” Homsaff replied. “The SADE called them weapons of last resort. After having viewed the devastation inflicted on the battleships by the minelettes, the meaning of her words is clear.”
“Do we have a sufficient number to destroy the remaining bots?” Simlan asked.
Homsaff chortled softly. “We might, Simlan,” she said, “if we could convince them to gather in a great mound, while we planted the minelettes under them and ran away.”
Simlan chuffed, amused by the image of the Dischnya encouraging the bots to gather in a group for their own destruction. “If you don’t intend to destroy them all, you must have another plan,” Simlan suggested, and he stared into Homsaff’s yellow eyes.
“It’s a desperate measure, Simlan,” Homsaff replied. “We can’t defeat this army. We would need three or four times the number we brought here.”
“This is all that came. If we fail, Dassata has no other choice except to destroy the towers from space,” Simlan pointed out.
“And risk the fragile truces he’s forged,” Homsaff agreed. “I’m not lamenting our situation, Simlan. I’m pointing out that to succeed we must be prepared to sacrifice ourselves.”
“If you order us, Queen Homsaff, the warriors will obey, regardless of what you ask,” Simlan said. He lifted his graying muzzle, indicating his willingness to follow her.”
“I’m not suggesting an outright sacrifice, Simlan,” Homsaff replied, patting the warrior’s arm, “but my plan is risky. We’ll succeed within an hour after we start, or we’ll die trying.”
Homsaff launched into a discussion about her strategy. It was a bold plan, and Simlan began nodding in agreement with the genius of the approach.
“This will only work if we can accurately deliver the minelettes from a safe distance,” Homsaff ended by saying. She was encouraged by Simlan’s open jaw and curled lips, which revealed his teeth. “What?” she asked.
“Pussiro taught me a valuable trick,” Simlan replied.
Homsaff’s ears twitched at the mention of Pussiro’s name. He was a renowned Dischnya wasat, a warrior commander. His strategies were legend among the Dischnya. His cleverness and tactics allowed the Tawas Soma nest to grow in prosperity through successful raids that inflicted little personal injury on the other nests. Rendering a minimal amount of injury, and often none at all, prevented the losing nests from seeking revenge through a war. Food could be replaced; warriors could not.
As Simlan talked, Homsaff’s hopes grew. She’d woken Simlan, knowing the warrior had spent many annuals under Pussiro’s tutelage.
“It’s time to put these pieces together,” Homsaff said, leading Simlan back to the pallets.
They disturbed one warrior to get to the minelettes, but his movement woke the others. Curiosity kept them from returning to sleep.
Simlan gestured to a warrior, and they struggled to remove the small crate.
“It’s heavy,” the young warrior commented.
“And Miranda placed it, which is why we didn’t know that,” Simlan replied. He unpacked a single minelette and gently hefted it in both hands. Then he gave Homsaff a chagrined look.
“Don’t tell me your idea won’t work,” Homsaff said defiantly.
Simlan chose not to respond. He saw multiple challenges, but he remembered Pussiro’s words, who said, “Don’t be defeated by a seemingly unobtainable goal. Examine the problems one by one and seek their solutions.”
“We need a sling,” Simlan said. “It must be this long,” he added, gesturing, “and support the weight of this minelette, as it’s whirled in a circle.”
The warriors who had repaired the environment suits reached for the minelette, and Simlan placed it in their outstretched hands. When they grew excited, Simlan huddled with them to describe the shape he needed. The warriors used sheets of environment suit material, which had the tensile strength they required. They fashioned it into Simlan’s sling, bonding several pieces together with nanites.
When the sling was ready, Simlan tested it. It easily held the weight of the minelette. The makers of the sling had installed handles at the ends of the lines to help the thrower maintain a grip against the centrifugal force the heavy minelette would generate.
“This will work,” Simlan pronounced.
Homsaff was cheered, but the rest of the warriors remained confused. They’d yet to hear Homsaff’s strategy. However, the unpacking of armament, as powerful as the minelettes, buoyed their spirits. The devices would destroy many more bots than their plasma rifles.
“Next problem,” Simlan said apologetically. “I can’t swing this. It’s too heavy,” he added.
“Can you teach another?” Homsaff pursued.
“I can instruct them, but it’s a matter of skill. I developed mine over time,” Simlan explained.
“So, teach,” Homsaff ordered.
Simlan wandered through the bot debris. He bent and picked up the small body of a tech bot. It’d lost its appendages. What remained was a round object about the size of a minelette and probably little more than half its weight. He returned to the pallets, took up the sling, and loaded the bot body. Pointing to a mass of ceramic tread that had once propelled a construction bot, he swung the sling around and around. Thrumming issued from the spinning sling. With a flick and a thwack, the projectile struck the ceramic treads.
The warriors yipped in approval, and Simlan nodded toward the b
ot body, sending a warrior to collect it.
“The minelette will be twice this weight,” Simlan he said, as he rubbed his shoulder.
One by one, the warriors attempted to learn to use the sling. Within the first few tries, the remaining Dischnya took to crouching behind the far side of the pallets. It was the safest place. As the warriors kept trying, the bot body was released in every possible direction. A few times it went straight up into the dark night, and warriors covered Homsaff not knowing where it might land.
When every warrior failed to demonstrate any skill with the sling, all eyes turned with hope toward Hessan, who was the last to try. The squad leader looked at the sling and reached out his hand. He’d had the opportunity to watch the attempts of the other warriors, and his agile mind had observed the weaknesses in their efforts. He comprehended the concept and many of the techniques. The launch required force, produced by the whirling sling, and accuracy, which required perfect timing in the release.
Hessan’s first effort sent the bot body sailing high over the barrier. He ducked his head in embarrassment, but the warriors quietly cheered his effort. No one else had managed to do that.
“I was aiming at the treads,” Hessan objected.
“Release a little earlier,” Simlan instructed, recognizing that he had found an individual he could train.
The warriors scattered and came up with another projectile. It was oddly shaped and heavier than the bot body.
“Excellent,” Simlan pronounced. “This is closer to the minelette’s weight.”
Hessan loaded the hunk of metal and tested its weight by hefting the sling a few times. He sighted on the treads, swung the object in a vertical circle because of its weight, and released it. It hit the slush a few meters in front of the tread, skipped across the icy surface, and smacked into the treads.
“A good try,” Simlan complimented. “A heavier weight requires the sling must be spun faster and the release slightly later.”
“A word of caution, Hessan,” Homsaff interjected. “Simlan will place the minelettes in the sling. Then he’ll activate them. Thereafter, the first contact will detonate them. If the minelette drops out of the sling or is thrown too close to us, we’re dead.”