Anna chased her wily boy over to the recreation area and watched contentedly as he cavorted about the jungle gym with glee. The mall was only moderately crowded for a weekend morning in early October, and Anna’s mood darkened to see many of the people walking by were couples, many of them hand-in-hand and all of them laughing and smiling in their lovers’ bliss. Her thoughts turned to her husband, as they did constantly throughout the day. Michael was easily the kindest, most compassionate, and, though relatively reserved around others, the funniest man she had ever met. Even after twenty years of marriage they were still madly in love, and it was destroying her to be away from him. Even more torturous was the fact that their son, their sweet James, had no choice but to go without his daddy while the stupid conflict with the Fulsoms drug ever onward.
Not wanting to break down emotionally, both in public and, worse yet, in front of her son, Anna immediately suppressed thoughts of her husband and turned her attention to a screen-cloud just as an image of the Federation’s national flag filled it. A cheerful male voice rang out, informing her that a special bulletin was forthcoming. The flag was then replaced by footage of a convoy of several Mustang tanker trucks burning uncontrollably in the middle of a two-lane highway. The flames sprouting from the vehicles were giving off great billows of greasy black smoke that rose into the air, staining the pristine fall sky like an ink blot on a good shirt.
A female voice began reporting solemnly:
Good day, all Federation citizens. We now bring you news of a grim nature. The footage you are seeing was sent to us by our compatriots in West Chieftown a mere fifteen minutes ago A Liberty Enterprises chemical convoy consisting of fourteen tanker trucks and an escort of twenty-eight LSA troopers was ambushed at nine this morning, a slaughter costing the lives of all troopers present. The perpetrators were reported to be twenty-five heavily armed, gray-skinned SIRs, who descending on the convoy and its LSA escort as it left Liberty Property Designate 34-C, a medium-sized chemical refinery one hundred fifty miles north of West Chieftown.
Although Liberty Chairman and CEO Alexander Fulsom could not be reached for comment, his representative was quoted as saying that although the loss of the chemical products being carried in the convoy was substantial, nothing could compare to the loss of twenty-eight brave men and women who gave their lives in service of Liberty Enterprises. When asked if the Snake government believed the actions of the obviously illegal SIRs were instigated by a radical group, a spokesman for the governor’s office stated that there was not enough evidence to support such a theory and that a full investigation was underway.
The Shark rangers investigating the scene were also noted as saying that the explosives used to destroy the freighters were of a quality considered illegal by the edicts of the Truth and that the SIRs had obviously been programmed for war. Doing this has rendered them I-SIRs, SIRs functioning independently of the Hub, thus the ‘I’ standing for ‘Independent’ in their designation. Reprogramming any SIR is an act punishable by death for all those involved and their living family members. Despite the denial of the existence of a radical group, our photographer was able to capture this image of a cryptic word scrawled in red nanite spray-paint across the windshield of a truck.
Anna had been watching the broadcast with only marginal interest, but when the shot of the ruined truck’s windshield came up on the screen, her breath caught in her throat. There, scrawled across the windshield like some vandal’s joke, was the word Liebe. Liebe, which meant “love”, was a word from the “Raven’s Song”, the song generations of Von Raben men had sung to their sons. Anna felt her spirits immediately lift and soar beyond the clouds. On the monitor the newscaster continued on about the possibility of a radical group and its effect on Liberty and the economic stability of the state of Snake, but Anna barely heard a word. She had suspected for some time that her father had allowed her husband to proceed with their plans for revenge, and now she was certain of this fact. As soon as these plans were fully realized, she and their son could return home.
Kill ‘em all, babes, she silently urged, and bring us home!
TWENTY
Days after the raid on the chemical convoy, Michael began sending the Veriform I-SIRs on surgically precise strikes against Liberty Enterprises, always under the supervision of Ronald and Max. Though Michael had been furious with Caitlyn for her defiant use of graffiti, he was pleased to discover that it had helped to further alienate their actions from Veriform. Soon after that first attack, a message was delivered to the office of Alexander Fulsom promising the complete eradication of his wealth as punishment for his unscrupulous business practices. The message was signed “The Liebe Party”, a name which captured the imagination of the media and the public at large.
Numerous devastating attacks quickly followed. Caitlyn was offered a command position in the VSF, but demanded that she be allowed to serve alongside her husband, a demand to which Michael readily assented. The spouses proved an effective and lethal paring, their units destroying every target they were assigned to and racking up impressive kill counts in the process. Ronald was also an effective combatant and leader, his personal performance and that of the units under his command nearly matching those of the Von Raben spouses and their units combined. Alexander Fulsom, quickly realizing all his business interests were in grave danger, immediately dispatched numerous LSA troopers to guard his remaining holdings.
Eighteen months after Veriform had made its first clandestine attack on Liberty Enterprises, Michael informed Ronald and Max that they were to attack and destroy Liberty Property Designate 22-A, a massive mining facility located in the mountains of Snake’s far western frontier. Caitlyn was still recovering from a recent wound but had been present at the meeting.
“It’ll be suicide!” Ronald had exclaimed, “There’s no way we’ll be able to get within a hundred miles of that place!”
Michael had let a slight smirk show on his face, “I’ll make it happen.”
As usual, Michael had been true to his word.
January was a brutal time in the mountains with bitterly cold weather punctuated by violent snowstorms that often struck without warning. The LSA troopers comprising the regiment stationed at 22-A were beginning to grow weary of guarding the rank and uncomfortable industrial property. Many of them spent their guard shifts sleeping or entertaining themselves in some other fashion. 22-A itself sat in a shallow, bowl-shaped valley that was mostly exposed to the elements.
Max, now a brigadier-general in the VSF, and his small battalion of three hundred I-SIRs were massed in a sizable crevasse roughly five hundred yards west of 22-A. The crevasse was protected from airborne scrutiny by a screen-cloud projecting the image of a snowdrift skyward. The weather was mild, but the thermometer hovered at twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit as midday approached, forcing him to dress in a heavy gray snowsuit which served to both keep him warm and completely conceal his identity. There was a quiet but insistent beeping from the radio clipped to his belt, so Max took the device in hand and toggled the talk function on. These antiques were necessary on the raids because all Cells in the Federation were incapable of being removed from the Hub’s network and monitored at all times, rendering them useless for covert activity.
“Go ahead,” Max said softly.
“Just callin’ to check on your kids,” Ronald replied, his voice disarmingly cheerful.
“They seem ready to go to the park, just waiting on permission from Father Time.”
“Father Time says the kids can go as soon as Apollo finishes his climb. Oh, how do think the big race’ll go?”
“Big Boy’ll explode out the gate, but get hunkered down after five double-ticks, lettin’ Swordsman catch up five double-ticks after. They’ll finish in a tie, with a big firework celebration to celebrate.”
“Sounds ‘bout right. I’ll see you at the race, then,” Ronald said before terminating the call.
To Max, the code used in the conversation made complete sense, almost as if he
spoke that way all the time. Essentially, the code translated into the orders Michael had given them in regards to commencing the attack. Ronald and his battalion were to cause a disturbance a quarter-mile north of 22-A at noon. A detachment of LSA troopers would be dispatched to investigate and would be drawn into battle with Ronald. Max’s unit would attack from their position to the west twenty minutes after Ronald’s, leaving the south and east open for the retreating Liberty employees to use for escape purposes. Once the facility was completely emptied and secured, it would be leveled using carefully placed high-powered explosive charges.
“It’ll be six hundred I-SIRs against three thousand LSA troopers and any of the other employees that decide to fight against us, and, as usual, only the LSA troopers are to be killed, no regular employees. Understand, however, that although the price is high, ultimately our cause is just,” Michael had said in a speech he had given his generals the night before they departed for 22-A.
They were words that Max could still hear clearly in his mind as the clock struck noon.
Ronald’s idea of a disturbance consisted of setting off a large explosive device that sent a column of fire hundreds of feet into the air and produced a shockwave that caused avalanches on some of the nearby slopes. In addition to the pyrotechnics, the bomb released a potent electromagnetic pulse that disabled all electronic devices in a ten mile radius unless they were adequately shielded. Minutes after the explosion, the clamor of battle could be heard from the north, and Ronald radioed to report that the enemy had been engaged. Max used his radio to command the I-SIRs to enter battle mode, the machines complying by readying their weapons, a collection of spears, maces, and falchions.
“Got some important news, Swordsman,” Ronald radioed, his voice grim.
“Go ahead, Big Boy,” Max replied with a deepening sense of dread.
“It seems the opposition’s privy to our tactics and is using the bulk of their numbers to fortify 22-A.”
“I acknowledge, Big Boy.”
“We gotta break one of their lines, or this’ll have been a waste of time.”
“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
After Ronald signed off, Max looked to the I-SIRs under his command, all of whom stood awaiting his orders. Max let a small, cruel smile form on his face as he nodded slowly. The time had come for battle, and he was more than ready. With a quick mental gesture he dispersed the screen-cloud, and with an overall demeanor of stoic determination, he started forward.
Max and his battalion erupted from their crevasse and were charging down the slope towards 22-A in a matter of seconds. The LSA troopers guarding 22-A’s western front easily numbered one thousand. Not once did he feel his bravery falter as he grew closer to his opposition. He watched as only a small number of LSA troopers drew their rapiers and main gauche, and was humored by their overconfidence. Seconds later he and his I-SIRs clashed with the enemy lines.
The first trooper Max confronted was a man appearing some years older than him. This man smiled cruelly and quickly thrust his rapier at him as soon as he was in range. Max easily stepped outside of the strike and delivered a powerful one of his own, severing his attacker’s arm just below the elbow. As his attacker begin shrieking, Max moved on and dispatched another trooper. The other troopers in the vicinity were trying desperately to draw their weapons when he cut his way through them.
Max felt as if all his senses were in overdrive as he continued to mow his enemies down. Time seemed to move at half speed as he dodged and blocked countless blade thrusts and felled opponents with ruthless certainty. His falchion felt clumsy and strange in his hand compared to his scimitar, yet he continued to land blow after deadly blow with unprecedented speed and accuracy. He was numb to the wounds inflicted on him and his growing fatigue. The screams of the wounded, the feel of his blade hewing flesh and bone, even the smell of excrement and the taste of blood woke something terrible in Max and caused a smile of unrestrained joy to appear on his face and a steady string of laughter laced with profane insults to blast from his mouth.
His enemies had taken so much from him, had hurt him so very deeply that now he felt no mercy or pity for the men and women he cut down. Many were now scattering before him in a desperate attempt to escape his wrath. He slaughtered them as if they were rabid mongrel animals.
#
After routing the northern front, Ronald decided to dispatch his I-SIRs to the western front. They moved at a dead run around 22-A’s outskirts, a motley collection of holding bins, employee housing, and storage sheds. The facility was emptying quickly as its staff fled into the mountains in hopes of escaping what they thought was a group of bloodthirsty I-SIRs controlled by the Liebe Party. He wished them well as the western front came into view, a view that stunned him despite his many years of battle experience.
Everything Ronald knew about military strategy had convinced him Max’s unit would be in dire straits at this point in the battle, yet as he watched in disbelief, the center of the LSA formation dissolved into a panicked retreat. At first he could not understand the cause for such action from the enemy, but as the crowd thinned he laid eyes on Max. He had known Max a long time and knew he was and exemplary warrior, but Ronald had never seen a display like the one the man was now providing. Max was incredible, an unstoppable maelstrom eliminating all opposition set before him. He watched awestruck as Max brandished his blade with a speed that transformed it into a flash of light. He was about to shout encouragement to his friend, but the only sound he was able to produce was a cry of horror as he watched Max cut into a fleeing man whose khaki-colored jumpsuit pegged him as a regular, non-LSA employee of Liberty.
That man was an unarmed innocent, his mind screamed, Max just committed murder!
Ronald knew he was the only one who had witnessed Max’s actions but quickly realized that, if left to his own devices, Max would slaughter anyone that crossed his path, including more of the panicked innocents now pouring from 22-A. “Forgive me, my friend,” he whispered before heading towards Max at a dead run.
#
Max continued to fell his enemies at a demonic pace. His heart was thudding loudly in his ears, and the wounds he had received burned like red hot steel pressed to his flesh. Sweat and blood ran into his eyes, causing his vision to blur terribly, but still he fought. He was dimly aware of the fact that the enemy was in a panicked retreat before him and his I-SIRs, and still his bloodlust drove him on. He was ready to make every last person he saw pay for his pain with their life.
An instinctual feeling of danger suddenly flared up within Max’s gut, and he whipped around just in time to catch a mighty punch to the left side of his jaw. His vision immediately started to grow dark and his legs became jelly, spilling him onto the ground amid the corpses he had just created. His blade was snatched from his hand, causing him to frantically grab for it. Just as he slipped into unconsciousness, Max watched Ronald kneel over him, and he knew he would be safe.
Ronald was ashamed of his extreme actions but knew it was for both Max’s sake and for the sakes of the innocents he would have killed in cold blood.
#
Soon the assault was ended, allowing Ronald and two platoons of I-SIRs to plant explosive charges throughout the facility while the remaining I-SIRs stood guard. A squadron of antique Chinook helicopters borrowed from the Box arrived, and all the Veriform I-SIRs were loaded onto them. All this took roughly an hour, after which the Veriform forces were ready to depart. The Chinooks lifted them into the sky with a roar of rotors and carried them south. When they were five miles from 22-A, Ronald detonated the explosives. The facility exploded in a fireball so massive it was seen by people in towns many miles away.
#
“Casualties were severe for Liberty; they lost over seventeen hundred LSA troopers,” Michael announced.
It was three days after the destruction of 22-A, and the Federation was still abuzz with the Liebe Party’s most recent and brazen attack on the Fulsom family’s business
holdings. Much speculation was formed around the possibility of the Leibe Party being much larger, more organized, and better funded than previously thought. Frederic had called the VSF personnel involved in the attack to a meeting in his private office, though Max insisted that Caitlyn be allowed to attend. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss the outcome of the attack. All of them were clothed in their formal uniforms and had their scimitars with them.
“One hundred five I-SIRs were rendered irreparable,” Ronald put in.
“It appears we underestimated the strength of the LSA. We’ll take more care in the future to prevent such a needless loss of resources,” Michael said.
“Thank you all for your time. That’ll be all,” Frederic said shortly.
Everyone else in the room rose, saluted, and started for the door but stopped when Frederic rose and moved from behind his desk. “Maximilian, I’d like a word with you,” he informed his son.
Max’s body went cold upon realizing with dismay what his father meant by this. He had been at temple every morning since 22-A, begging forgiveness from the Creator and praying for the souls of those innocents he had slain and for their grieving loved ones to find solace. Now he was certain his murderous actions were going to be addressed by his father. Caitlyn, sensing her husband’s dread, took his hands in her own and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before departing, limping slightly on her injured right leg. Once they were alone, Frederic approached his son and pinned him with a stern stare.
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