Burning Eagle

by Navin Weeraratne

  Her lower lip trembled. She went pale.

  “You’re a monster,” she said quietly.

  “I know. And I still want a name.”

  I waved the book. The gold lettering gleamed.

  “The Atlantis. There’s a factory on the Atlantis."

  “You’ve done the right thing. This is going to save a lot of lives. You don’t think so now, but you’ll see in time that this was a good decision.”

  “Get out.”

  Whoever this Caesar guy was, I left his commentaries on the mattress, and left.

  Tennyson, Part II

  81 Years Ago

  The antimatter bomb went off.

  Even facing the other way everything turned blindingly bright. Tightly shut, my eyes still ached. I blinked– all I saw were fireflies.

  I turned and looked up through the sky panels. Station Four was just expanding gas and rubble now, sparks and lights blossomed as wreckage slammed into Stations Five and Six. The destroyers Petraeus and Asoka were undamaged but the Punisher was burning unchecked, its crew likely irradiated.

  “I’m blind, Sir!”

  I looked over. It was my nano dispenser team, Babur and Fahran. They were blinking and staring like special-needs children.

  “Me too,” said Babur.

  “You’ll be fine. Just sit this out till you get new optics.”

  ”Sir, the radiation blast has knocked out the nano screens. They need to be relaunched.”

  “Give me your weapon Fahran.”

  “I’m sorry Sir.”

  “It’s alright.”

  I checked the nano dispenser. It was at eighty-three percent and loaded with an anti-sensor, chaff pattern. It was what we needed to avoid being picked off in the open. I lifted it to my shoulder and my visor flooded with trajectory lines. Three rounds rapid: they arced up and away for over a mile. They split suddenly and glittering clouds splashed out. The clouds thinned and spread into a protective haze.

  Two power armored figures were crouching behind me, armored Electronic Warfare emitter packs on their backs. Their fingers raced over holo displays.

  “Enemy EW systems are still running,” said one, Jaweed was his name. “They’re hardened against radiation.”

  “We won’t waste time with EMP bombs then. Do we know what they have yet?”

  “Just viruses so far, but they’re pretty amateur. Their encryption is very strong but Battlefield Control has a zettaflop computer on the problem.”

  “Which means?”

  “We might have it cracked in a few minutes.”

  “Excellent, you know what to do when the code wall goes down.”

  “Count on it Sir.”

  I looked back at my men. 2nd Platoon was stumbling about like toddlers in power armor while the medics yelled at them to get their helmets off and keep still. Our assault had become a mess: we were still behind the smoking kovil. Had we been in the open we could have been massacred.

  The medics packed optic shunts against blindness, but there simply weren’t enough to go around. They would also take too long to install.

  Jahandar: Squad leaders, what’s your readiness?

  Azar: My gatling gunner is out and another just shot himself in the leg.

  Merzad: I thought that was your man, he’s such a whiner. Squad Two has two riflemen out.

  Kourash: Squad Four is all good.

  Farshad: I’m blind Sir, and so is all of Sqaud Two men.

  Hamasa: Squad Three is the same.

  Behnam: I’m blind but my riflemen are good to go.

  Jahandar: I want all who can see to form up with Azar, Merzad, Kourash, and me.

  Osman: Sir, a lot of civilians will have been blinded by the blast.

  Jahandar: We can’t help them. I want you and as many medics as we can spare to stay behind. Use the kovil as an aid station. Get as many troops back in the fight as you can. Farshad and Hamasa, bring them up and reinforce us as soon as you can. We need to cross the parkland now.

  Azar: We’re at half strength. We’ll be in the open, and we have no support.

  Jahandar: We have no choice. Battlefield Control reports Invaders moving to East Village with armor and air support. If they get there, there’ll be heavy civilian casualties. Remember, this is a very conservative community.

  Azar: So? They hate gays?

  Merzad: They hate robots?

  Osman: Gay robots?

  Jahandar: No you geniuses. They don’t believe in backups. If they die, it’s forever. We’re the only ones who can intercept in time.

  Merzad: We’re ready Sir.

  Jahandar: Good. Then let’s go kill some fucking aliens.

  The parklands stretched out in front of us. Zen green slopes with tea ceremony shrubs, well-mannered streams laced up with romantic footbridges. We tore these into mud, scars, and tears. Twenty, stomping, powered armors, smashing aside boulders and kicking away trees.

  More nano dispenser rounds popped off. They splashed into the air ahead of us, thickening our defensive screen. Our jammers were at full wattage: we didn’t need any loitering drones locking on to us.

  My radar warning receiver crackled. Red squares lit up on my visor, coming in low.

  We dove for cover and crouched. Pavise blast shields rammed into dirt, weapons started tracking. The gatling laser gunners opened up first. We had six of these fantastic heavy weapons with us. They linked fire and splashed one target, two, three. Missiles flashed out from targets four and five.

  Dirt fountained and diamond shattered - three gunners went down. The rest of us opened up with our rail rifles. The air filled with hyper velocity rounds. Drones four and five shredded into sparks and fire, tumbling to the ground.

  Some ran over to the fallen gunners but it was no use. Their gatlings were wrecked.

  My radar warning receiver crackled again.

  Twelve red squares.

  The gatlings opened up and the rail rifles as well. Two drones erupted and then the rest fired their missiles.

  I braced.

  They screamed past overshooting us, tumbling away like drunken fireworks.

  Merzad: What the hell?

  Jaweed, the Electronic Warfare specialist, stuck his head out from behind his planted shield and gave me a thumbs up.

  Jahandar: We’re jamming them! Take them out!

  We shot down six as they flew past us. We took out the rest before they could make a second pass.

  Jahandar: We have to keep moving. Let’s go!

  We could see the swarm heading for the Eastern Village now, a flock of dark motes and bouncing knots. Their movement was unnerving. They bounced and whirled, even reversed at points. This was the thinking of creatures I didn’t even share biochemistry with. What did I expect? Obvious logic to their actions? I had more in common with a bucket of snakes.

  Jahandar: Battlefield Control, we’re coming up on East Village. What are we facing?

  Battlefield Control: Sixty squid pattern armors backed by three light tanks. Their air support already engaged you, so they know you’re coming. They’re fresh to the fight so their power levels are at full.

  Jahandar: My platoon is down to seventeen light armors and just three heavy weapons. We’ll hold them off as long as we can.

  Battlefield Control: We’ll get you support, just hang in there.

  Jahandar: They shall not pass.

  It was easier to say than to stomach. Pashtuns don’t back down from fights, but that doesn’t mean we’re always thrilled about it.

  We cleared the parkland and entered the village limits.

  East Village was a collection of green spaces, suspension bridges, and kilometer-tall trees. Giant chandeliers were strung between them, each one a home. Pastel lanterns swam between them in shoals, floating above the streets and banners.

  It would be destroyed in less than an hour.

  Windows opened and people came rushing into the streets, cheering.

  “Get back in your homes, get off the streets,” I bar
ked, the suit’s loudspeakers at full. We couldn’t afford to get bogged down. Battlefield Control loaded us with a map of the village. I overlayed it into our battle space projections. Our seventeen blue pips looked quite brave. Sixty plus red ones were advancing.

  Jahandar: We have half an hour at most. Ideas?

  Merzad: They’re taking the main road in from the North – at least they use roads, right? We have to evacuate that area. It’s a manageable battle space for us, lots of cover and small streets. We can buy the rest of the town some time.

  Azar: The heaviest weapons we have are the dispensers. We can use them to seed the area with fog mines. Once they’re in the kill zone, we set them off. It’s our best chance.

  Jahandar: Sounds good. Merzad, your squad takes the left flank, Azar you take the right. Kourash, you hang back in reserve and keep the EW warfare team with you. I’ll hold the center.

  The road into the village was wide and flat. However, there were enough structures along it for some cover. We set charges to two smaller office buildings. They fell across the street nicely, creating our barricades. We planted more charges at the houses facing them. If the Invaders took cover there, we could blow them up. We’d also then have an open field of fire for the following wave.

  Two riflemen were building a pillbox out of struts and shattered faux-granite. My gatling gunner Arghavan was setting up a gun tripod at the center. Its AI was already whirring and tracking, whirring and tracking. Gatling lasers could be mounted directly on an armor as an automated system, but they were missile magnets. It was better to carry them detached for the next person to pick up. In a prepared defense you gave them good line of sight, set them on auto, and let them have their space. They were the perfect infantry support weapon and every squad carried one.

  “Arghavan, your gatling is going to be key, it goes down and our squad will have real trouble.”

  “We’re staying with it Sir. As long as it can physically fire, it’ll be in use.”

  “Outstanding.”

  Kourash: Sir, we have a lot of civvies back here who want to volunteer. Almost a hundred.

  Jahandar: Then tell them they’re all going to die horribly, pointlessly, and that they are wasting our bloody time.

  Kourash: Especially the last bit. It just made them more irritating. Especially the women.

  Jahandar: Fine. If they want to fight for their loved ones and their homes, I’m no one to stop them. Get a dispenser team to grow a small arms printer. Upload a light rifle pattern to it, and any local area networks. They’ll have 3d printers in their homes too, let them print more guns. Send them up to Merzad and Azar, I want the most competent with me holding the center.

  Kourash: Acknowledged. You think they’ll fight?

  Jahandar: Oh they’ll fight. Courage happens at times like this. They’ll slow the Invaders down at the least, and that’s all I want.

  Kourash: You’re sending them to die Sir. Aren’t we supposed to be protecting them?

  Jahandar: It’s the 23rd century. If you die and it matters, it’s your own damn fault. They’ve made their choices.

  Troopers were reinforcing their foxholes and arranging cover. Each one still carried a one-shot dronezooka. Dronezookas would make easy meals of the tanks and the squid battlesuits as well. Now if only we’d had a few dozen more.

  Thunk. A stone bounced off my visor.

  To my left there was a shimmering. A silver shroud bled through out of thin air. The long, black, barrel of a sniper rifle peeked out from under it. Above it was a skull mask, with a breather and air tubes.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Specialist Koirala, System Defense. My snipers are here to save you.”

  “Good, we need saving. System Defense still has units here? Why aren’t you on the grid?”

  “We’re Special Forces. We’re still here, because we’re off the grid.”

  “How many of you?”

  “Six teams: twelve rifles total.”

  “I need you to embed a team with each of our squads, and for the others to take up flanking positions wherever they think is best. Can you do that?”

  “We already have. Just tell your men to go easy on the EMP grenades, they’ll shut down our cloaks.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  The cloak shimmered and she was gone.

  About twenty minutes later, the Invaders reached East Village.

  Red lights like glowing eyes appeared out of the grey chaff fog. I made out shadows of torsos, hints of waving tentacles. They hovered in place as if thinking - then darted away – then hovered again. They fanned out around the outskirts, their tilt fans screeching.

  Shots snap-cracked upwards and slammed into the battle shells. The shells shrieked as they tumbled down, black smoke pouring from them. The dronezooka rounds we had fired earlier had hidden themselves well.

  Azar: Drone kill rate at ninety four percent. They’re learning and teaching each other. Our guns are on the same network, they’ll get better too.

  Jahandar: Too bad they’re not learning strategy. They attacked too early. Where are those damn tanks? We needed them for the tanks.

  The battle shells darted back from the killing zone. They sounded horns at each other, their tilt fans screeched sharper. Under-slung weapon pods lit up. A storm of high-ex rounds shredded buildings into rubble, fire, and dust.

  Then they pressed forward again. A few surviving drones lanced up, enough to send the shells retreating back. They opened up with heavy fire again.

  A blinding light.

  The shockwave knocked me back several steps. Tree branches bent back, lanterns tore loose and smashed. The volunteers yelled and screamed, their eardrums perforated. None ran – they were too stunned.

  Merzad: Missile impact, hit a tower near our position. Those aren’t tanks they have with them. They’re mobile rocket launchers.

  Jahandar: Do they have your location?

  Merzad: Negative, they’re feeling around for more drones.

  ????: This is Koirala. The rocket launchers are passing one of my teams. They’re going to try to disable it with contact mines.

  A wave of squid advanced and darted westward. Another flash: a block of buildings they passed fountained into dust and rubble.

  Jahandar: Tell them to hurry up. Everyone keep still and do not engage, the squids are spotting for artillery.

  A third flash, this one was well to our rear in an unevacuated area. Volunteers started standing up out of over, their body language murderous. They would give us away.

  Jahandar: Koirala!

  ????: It’s done.

  Orange fire and domino explosions shot up from beyond the village. The shells that had advanced closer, froze.

  Jahandar: Open fire!

  The gatling lasers opened up. They switched from target to target before they even had time to crash out of the air. I saw squids slapped and spun about, rounds tearing right through them. My helmet locked on to a red square and I fired at it till it went out. Then the next red square. Then the next.

  They recovered from the shock. They formed up into Vs and fanned out after us. Their pods began firing, wedges of destruction raced out in front of them. A pack flew past a tower where a gang of volunteers were holed up in. The volunteers opened up: putting round after round into the pack. Their rifles’ smart aim systems made each shot a hit. The shells swiveled their pods, aimed, and dropped them all. They carried on without even slowing down.

  Jahandar: Trigger the fog mines!

  Canisters planted across the battlespace shot up and exploded into red smoke. The smoke grew and thickened, covering the whole area.

  Jahandar: Is anything happening? Anything? Nothing is happening! Nothing!

  Azar: They must have adapted. Our nano-weapons are useless.

  Merzad: My gatling is down, we’re being flanked.

  Jahandar: Kourash!

  Kourash: Moving to assist.

  Azar: I’ve just lost three men. They’re
sniping at anyone who gets back on the gatling.

  Jahandar: We can’t take them like this. Use chaff and smoke grenades: we’re better off if this gets short range.

  Sparking, grey, chaff streamed up from lobbed canisters as they split open. I saw a curtain of grenades coming down and exploding into thick smoke - just as a wave of shells pounced. One of the nano dispenser teams winked out on my display.

  Between the chaff and the fog, visibility was grayed out to five meters – knife fighting.

  Battlefield Control was jammed by our own chaff. We were down to intermittent suit-to-suit tight beams. They have whittled us down to ten men.

  Jahandar: Koirala? Koirala?

  So much for System Defense. We were on our own.

  “Everyone in pairs, each pair covers the next,” I said to my squad. It was just Arghavan and two others. Their reflective visors nodded.

  “What, what about us?”

  I turned around. Standing behind me was a thin, wispy-haired man in a red shirt, his lower lip trembling, a rifle hugged to his chest. I hated myself: I should never have let them get involved.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Victor.”

  “I’m sorry Victor. I want you to hide. We’ll fight them as long as we can, relief is coming. Just stay alive, that’s all I want from you.”

  He nodded slowly and continued standing there in the middle of the street. I don’t think he understood a word I was saying.

  “Arghavan, cover me.”

  We went forward, into the fog.

  Diamond V

  The sunset turned the river gold. Junks cast deep shadows with their canvas sails. Fishermen lit lanterns and stood, casting hand-woven nets. Ashore, devotees kneeled in massed prayer. Naked ascetics with ash-marked Third Eyes waded into the holy water.

  Diamond leant over the edge of the junk, and peered into the dark water. A mass of grey, huge, fish goggled back with yellow eyes. A school was following the junk. Bright shawled, pilgrim women threw them hunks of bread from the stern. The water erupted where the pieces struck, Survival of the Greediest.

  The shorelines lit up with lanterns from rest houses, elbowing each other for space. Repurposed, UNAID, flood-warning horns belted out rival calls to prayer. Rickety wooden piers lead to stilt platforms, supporting idols as big as elephants. Fanged, tusked, staring, their tongues rolled out in challenge. They were festooned with precious, colored, electric lights: baubles decorating the river.