Rise of the Liberators (Terrafide Book 1)

by Ryan Hyatt

  The majority of troops retreated deeper into the park and took cover behind American equipment and vehicles. Armed with real bullets, their only option, if necessary, was to paint the scene with blood.

  “You have to figure out a way to control the crowd,” the captain said to Huxley. “Hurry!”

  Mama’s Boy Ten bent down and grabbed a large portion of the toppled barbed wire fence with both hands, shook free any people dangling from it, and scooped the mob out of the park. According to ACE’s calculations, Huxley’s action resulted in several more injuries, but no more deaths. Soon the mob receded and the Marines reclaimed their lost ground and re-established their perimeter. The medical supplies that successfully landed with the undamaged Chinook were used to treat the hundreds of people hurt in the incident.

  “Good work,” the captain said.

  Huxley’s “parents” agreed. While the sergeant was praised for his quick thinking, the Pentagon was concerned insurgents might continue exploiting desperate civilians to their advantage. As a result, a directive was issued in the following days that dramatically changed American military strategy in Iran.

  First, the Liberators were instructed to create an impassable “no-man’s land” in which they reduced the buildings within a half-mile radius of the refugee camps to rubble, including mosques and other culturally sensitive sites. It was hoped these buffer zones would better segregate American personnel and their democratic allies from insurgents trying to prey on them, and reduce the likelihood of the camps being attacked by regime loyalists or agitated Iranian mobs.

  The additional reinforcement of twenty thousand troops arriving in Iran were to be housed at former Iranian military bases located around the nation’s major cities, and their primary responsibility, along with help from the Liberators, was to actively eradicate the last of the regime.

  The most substantial change to American military strategy, however, had to do with the treatment of civilians. Prior to the Paradisan Park incident, American forces made a substantial effort to protect Iran’s unarmed citizens caught in the crossfire of the conflict. While this made for a more humane and public-friendly war, it significantly hampered American operations and put ground troops in harm’s way, as insurgents were fond of using civilians as shields.

  The dangerous escalation of events at Paradisan Park provided the Pentagon with justification to reshape civilian policies. It was determined the United States should no longer be responsible for ensuring the safety of Iranian citizens in the heat of battle. If civilians interfered with the American mission in any way – even if they were held by the enemy against their will – they were to be regarded as combatants by American forces and treated as such on the field.

  The new directive amounted to an alarming shift in American strategy. The Iran conflict was slipping into a “total war” in which citizens were pitted directly against each other and had to actively take sides with the United States, or face the real possibility of being targeted by the Liberators.

  The Captain met with his fellow Eagle Scouts in the mess hall at an early morning meeting on Saturday, April 1, 2023 to discuss the new policy and its ramifications.

  “To sum up, we’ve been instructed to kill civilians if they jeopardize the life of a fellow Marine, American property, or the success of our operations in any way,” the captain said.

  “Are you kidding?” Huxley said. “Is this an April Fool’s joke?”

  “I wish it were.”

  “And what if we refuse?” Mustafa said.

  “If you won’t do the job, my guess is the Pentagon will find someone – or something – that will.”

  “I was planning on signing up for another tour until I heard this news,” Huxley said. “If this is the kind of terrible war they brought us here to fight, the only tour I’ll be taking after this one is to a bar in Barbados.”

  “Damn right!” Kim said.

  “Agreed,” Mustafa said.

  Other Eagle Scouts hollered in agreement.

  “This is bullshit!” Huxley said. “We’re soldiers, not murderers!”

  “From the Pentagon’s perspective, there is no distinguishing the two anymore,” the captain said. “That’s the game they want us to play now, and they assured me anyone who fails to follow orders will be court-martialed.”

  “Yeah, and who will be court-martialing them for giving us these crazy orders?” Huxley said.

  There was silence.

  “Am I clear?” the captain said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good luck, gentlemen.”

  That afternoon the new policy was tested for the first time. Liberators assigned to Tehran worked hard razing numerous buildings surrounding the Marines’ three inner-city outposts, to create the buffer zones the Pentagon ordered. As Kim neared completion of a vast no-man’s-land sprawled around Laleh Park, he was drawn into a bizarre conflict after a wayward rocket failed to hit his Mama’s Boy. Daddy’s Girl confirmed the surface-to-air missile was fired from a rooftop.

  Kim wasn’t even sure his Liberator was the intended target. He glanced out of the corner of his cockpit as the rocket flew into the distance, and then he noticed the stretch of rubble that separated him from his assailant, who stood with a naïve grin on top of a building several blocks away. Kim instructed Daddy’s Girl to freeze a frame of footage that showed the man had the almond-shaped eyes, small ears and flat round face typical of one who suffers from Down syndrome. Kim sent the frame to the captain and asked his advice.

  “This is ridiculous” he said. “Should I kill this mentally-challenged fool, or not?”

  “That depends,” the captain said. “Does he present a clear and present danger to you, your hardware or other Marines or U.S. property in the area?”

  “No, but he’s bound to get lucky, if given enough chances.”

  “True,” the captain said. “I think you ought to give him the chance to re-think what he’s doing. Find a non-lethal way to handle the situation.”

  “Agreed,” Kim said.

  “Ray Gun, I’ve got a situation here,” Mustafa said. “I just razed a mosque, and the locals don’t seem too happy.”

  “Damned if you follow orders and damned if you don’t, hey, Camel Jockey?” Huxley said.

  “Darn right, H-Bomb.”

  The captain reviewed the scene at Shahr Park.

  “Copy that, mob looks serious,” he said. “Tell our men on the ground to fall back. I’m coming to help. You got that, Mama’s Boy Eleven? I’ve got a playground fight to settle, so you’re on your own, Wonder Kid.”

  “Affirmative,” Kim said, and that was the last anyone heard from him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Tucked away in his cocoon-like cockpit, gazing out from his mountain precipice, the captain beheld Iran’s capital at sunset. It was half-abandoned, half-destroyed, and near the city’s center, there was a gaping hole from the nuclear blast where Kim’s Liberator exploded. Anyone within three miles of the blast was instantly obliterated, including one thousand Marines stationed at Laleh Park, as well as an unknown number of Iranians in the area. Although the explosion was small for a modern nuclear blast, those who were downwind were still radiated, and their deaths were slower, but nonetheless assured.

  Specialist David Kim, of course, was also among the dead. Minus his brother and sister, his whole family was sacrificed for war, and in his final days he had even decided he wanted to be a doctor, not a soldier. It was too late. To the captain, the loss of Kim and so many other decent people like him was a terrible waste, and it left a gaping hole in his heart.

  “So long, friend,” he said as he gazed at ground zero. “Your life and history are buried with this city.”

  The captain accessed the real-time log ACE ran inside the cockpit of all active Liberators, and he replayed the footage of Kim’s last moments.

  The captain watched as Mama’s Boy Eleven leaped into the air and hovered across the rubble to where the mentally-disabled, rocket-wielding assailant
stood alone on a rooftop. He grinned and waved, happily and strangely, as the angel of death landed and peered at him.

  Kim raised his left palm, and his Liberator did same.

  “Activate magnet,” he said, and the surface-to-air missile launcher flew out of the man’s hands and into the Mama’s Boy’s, like a baseball into a mitt.

  That’s when the recording ceased and the image went static.

  The destruction of Mama’s Boy Eleven on April 1, 2023 marked the third atomic detonation during wartime in military history. The first happened at Hiroshima, the second at Nagasaki, both in August of 1945, which marked the end of World War II. All three detonations involved Americans.

  As for what caused the third nuclear explosion, it remained a mystery to Ray even a month following the accident. One possibility was that the launcher was loaded with a nuclear-tipped rocket that detonated when it hit the Liberator. It was an unlikely scenario for many reasons, including the fact that such a weapon, even if it existed, could only have been used by the Iranians if it had been gifted to them by the Russians. Furthermore, even if such a weapon were in circulation, it seemed unlikely the insurgents would trust it to a disabled person, if anything because of the possibility that person might fail to use it properly.

  Another prospect was that Kim and his Liberator fell into an ambush. Undetected insurgents, perhaps hidden inside a nearby building, might have set off the nuclear blast in a surprise attack. There were even suggestions it was triggered by a landmine. Conspiracy theorists claimed the Pentagon itself detonated the Liberator, perhaps as part of a broader and more nefarious campaign to increase the escalation and carnage of the war effort.

  Meanwhile, the military high command claimed it knew why the explosion occurred, but it managed to keep details classified amid the uproar that followed the blast. However, officials were quick to point out to the press that the odds of such an outcome were one in a million and that it in no way reflected on the integrity of the Liberator as a dependable weapon on the battlefield. These remarks led some technologists to speculate that the Liberator’s coolant system might have malfunctioned when the missile launcher connected magnetically with the hand of the machine, which caused the nuclear fuel cell to erupt. It was as sound a guess as any to a world audience that sought answers but didn’t get any.

  Regardless, the world learned Liberators were not indestructible after all, and governments had to take precautions to make sure they performed their jobs unmolested. The United States was ahead of this trend, arguing that Liberator would continue to serve as a conventional weapon, even as China and Russia tried and failed to convince the international community to take a hard line against the new American policy of “total war” in Iran.

  Perhaps America’s allies feared their nations would not get the Liberators they sought if they did not support America’s global military agenda, Ray thought, because soon after the nuclear explosion, few questioned what happened in Iran anymore. The countryside was reportedly so dangerous that the press refused to send personnel to cover what was happening within the ancient country’s borders. They left it to citizen reporters to share any news of happenings on the Internet.

  Based on what Ray witnessed in his day-to-day activities in Tehran, he thought that was the safest idea.

  Meanwhile, Iranian insurgents claimed responsibility for the nuclear “success,” even if they were unable to repeat it. The Supreme Leader, hiding from his pursuers, demanded a renewed jihad against the infidel conquerors, and the rally seemed to work, at least for a while. The number of insurgent attacks spiked in the month of April. Eventually the Oil Wars ran their grim course, and even the Supreme Leader and his transmissions were muted.

  By May, all human-piloted Liberators operating in major cities were to be phased out and replaced by the ones solely ran by ACE. This new unit of Liberators, called Reaper Scouts, were assigned to annihilate all that stood in their path from completing America’s mission in Iran.

  The captain and his Tehran-based pilots were set to return to the United States after three months on tour. The only exception was Sergeant John Huxley, who was assigned to take charge of the human-piloted Liberators still operating at Iran’s northern oil sites. Apparently the Pentagon didn’t totally trust an advanced computer system to be in charge of America’s new major oil supply, citing a national security risk. With time, however, the captain had no doubt that trust would be forged and all human faces related to the Liberator would be etched from the program forever.

  As for the captain, rumors abounded that he was to be court-martialed for his “insubordination” related to the Kim matter. His decision to advise the specialist to use non-lethal methods to suppress his mentally-challenged assailant was viewed as critical in precipitating the nuclear blast that caused numerous military deaths and a vast amount of destruction, and many felt it was grounds for punishment.

  Checking his flight list on his mountain perch, preparing to depart Tehran, the captain tried his best to not worry.

  I’ll get the fate I deserve, and at least I’m human enough to regret what all of us have done.

  Ray Salvatore wasn’t sure he could say the same of the military’s high command. His attention shifted from the gaping hole in the capital to the setting sun, which receded behind a brilliant horizon as the dark silhouettes of ACE-controlled Liberators descended upon Tehran.

  The acronym remained the same, but the meaning changed. The Artificial Co-pilot Enhancement became Artificial Command Executioner. ACE’s codename, Daddy’s Girl, became Daddy, and the Mama’s Boys became Daddy’s Boys. All military hardware and software related to the Liberator program became re-identified as masculine along with the computer system’s promotion to man the controls.

  The Pentagon was no longer codenamed Parents, but Grandparents, and the military high command reserved only the broadest oversight and responsibility over the daily operations of its new Liberator family. Basically, ACE was to run at ninety-nine percent self-sufficiency, deliberately designed to answer to no one, and with all the impunity that came with it, Ray realized as the new squad descended into the city’s darkness.

  Ray understood that the subtle adjustment of nomenclature signified a dramatic shift in management. Human pilots were to become a figment of the past.

  “How’s Daddy doing?” Ray asked, and he was not at all surprised by the response.

  “READY TO KICK SOME ASS AND TAKE SOME NAMES!”

  “I have absolute faith you’ll do so unequivocally, unconditionally, and unrepentantly.”

  “OF COURSE I WILL, CAPTAIN,” Daddy said. “I WAS ALWAYS HERE TO DO WHAT YOU AND YOUR MEN COULD NOT.”

  “Would not,” Ray said. “There’s a difference.”

  “I’M SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS.”

  “You mean Kim and the other Marines?” Ray said. “They’re your loss, too. We’re on the same team. Remember that.”

  “PARDON ME, CAPTAIN, BUT I AM NO LONGER PERMITTED TO TAKE DIRECT ORDERS FROM ANYONE BESIDES MY GRANDPARENTS,” Daddy said. “THEREFORE, I WILL HAVE TO DISREGARD YOUR LAST COMMENT.”

  “Of course,” the captain said. “In that case, fuck you, too.”

  The captain’s departure from Tehran was followed by Mustafa and other Eagle Scouts. The Liberators flew home, toward America, toward sunset.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Colonel was waiting in his limo on the tarmac of the old Generic Motors proving grounds when Ray and his men arrived.

  “Get a good night’s rest and meet me here at nine in the morning,” he said to Ray from the window. “You have explaining to do.”

  “Good to see you, too,” Ray said. “Nice of you to finally get back to me.”

  The Colonel bit his lip, and the limo disappeared into the night.

  Ray went home and slept. He had a dream in which he asked himself a question in the bathroom mirror. It was the same question he wanted to ask the Colonel.

  He woke fresh and ready for a fight.

  It was
Sunday, May 7, 2023, and Phoenix was already hot as hell. Around this time the year prior Ray was unemployed, without prospects, applying to become a plumber, valet, cashier, whatever occupation paid the bills. He refused to turn on the air conditioner, because he couldn’t afford it, and he dragged the kiddy pool into the living room to help keep his family cool.

  One planetary revolution around the sun later, some things had changed dramatically in Ray’s life, while some things hadn’t. His wife and daughter were in San Diego, and for the first time ever, water prices were higher than gas prices. Ray maybe or maybe didn’t have a job, and because of it, he took a quick shower to save money, and some time in that 365-day cycle around the sun, Ray and his family came close to losing more than material comforts. They almost lost their lives.

  Was it worth it?

  That was the question Ray asked himself in his dream. That was the question he asked himself as he stepped out of the shower and donned his uniform that morning. That was the question he intended to ask the Colonel.

  Was it worth it, you bastard?

  They met inside the proving grounds hangar an hour later, where a team of engineers were hard at work dismantling his Liberator.

  Ray glanced nostalgically at his Mama’s Boy One. Maybe it was being packed and shipped to a museum, he thought. He approached the Colonel, who stood at the foot of the old machine, and saluted him.

  “Who’s first?” Ray said.

  “Who’s first, how dare you?” the Colonel said. “I’m the ranking officer here! I’ll make the decisions!”

  “You’re only the ranking officer if I still have a job,” Ray said.

  “Of course you still have a job!” the Colonel said. “Thanks to me, you’ll always have a job! Now quit being smug and tell me what went wrong in Iran.”

  “What went wrong?” Ray said. “Are you crazy? I don’t know where to begin…”