by Chris Hechtl
The water was indeed cold. But when she swam, pushing hard and breeched the surface in front of the setting sun, it was worth it. All of it was worth it.
Soldiers of the Future
November 29th, 2199
“So, this is the new blood? Or whatever they use for that shit? Hydraulics, whatever? Doesn't look like much,” Private Ross said in disgust, eying the android trooper. “Seriously, looks like a damn trash compactor on legs.” He noted the arms with the various attachment points.
“It's state of the art,” the delivery man said tiredly. He'd gotten the same drivel from all of the soldiers. It had been a long boring day. He was ready to knock off for a beer.
“Well, at least it'll serve as a bullet sponge if it falls into the fan,” the private said as the contractor gaped at him. “How many are we getting again?” he asked, chewing his gum like a cow.
“Um, three for your squad. Ten for this platoon all total.”
“Great,” the private drawled sarcastically. “We're being replaced boys and girls, mark my words. By the time my tour will be up, I'll be the lone human in the group—if that.”
“Keep talking like that and you just might be Ross,” a familiar growl came from behind him. Ross flinched then looked over his shoulder to Sergeant Sing. “You get the toasters dialed in yet?”
“Just finishing the paperwork, sarge,” the private replied, signing off on the delivery. He handed the tablet back to the delivery man harder than intended. “Here you go, all signed, sealed, and delivered. The parts are in the maintenance depot?”
“And uploaded to the maintenance depot's mainframe if you need to field repair or build new,” the contractor replied. “Look, these things are different than your usual fair. I should show you like we're supposed to. Then you can show the rest.”
“I'm sure you've got other duties,” Sergeant Sing replied in a no nonsense tone of voice. “We've been through this before. I've flipped through the manual.”
“It's … um, okay,” the delivery contractor said weakly. “If you say so,” he said dubiously, looking at them then making his escape while the getting was good.
Ross chewed his gum, then blew a bubble. He popped it, then masticated the bubble back into submission. “Is it just me or is war getting too much like a damn video game?” he asked.
“It's been that way for nearly two centuries,” Sing replied absently, looking the robot over. Androids had made appearances in units before, but most couldn't stand up to the constant abuse in barracks let alone in combat. These seemed different. Hardier.
“Good armor over the vitals. Flexible plates over the joints … good …”
“Remember the ones that came looking like knights? They were a bitch to fix. All that damn armor. And they ran their batteries down all the damn time.”
“The excess weight,” Sing replied, still studying the robot. It was a human style android, with a standard human size of 160 centimeters. It had broad shoulders and smart paint on the armor according to the spec sheet he'd skimmed. He'd been interested in that. Right now they were a battlefield olive drab.
“I think I like the drones or bomb disposal bots better or the Keenos,” Ross said.
“You get caught with another one of those and the LT will brig you. You're as far down as you can get, Ross,” Sing said mildly.
“I was only playing,” Ross replied with a grimace.
“Quit whining. You were peeping. You got caught; you are paying your penance. Don't screw up again.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Good. Like talking to the sea but good anyway I suppose. Or as good as it'll get coming from you,” Sing said, eying the private.
Ross winced slightly but stood at ease. Sing studied him for a moment then went back to the robot.
There were eyes, four cameras situated where human eyes would normally be. No jaw of course, just a head. Two pistons served as muscles to move the head around on the spine. It seemed that someone had done their homework; the seals looked good. He reached in and touched them, tracing the edges. His fingers went to check the robot's other parts out.
“Should I get you two a room?” Ross quipped.
“Ross, you don't know when to shut it, do you?” Sing asked conversationally. “Go check out the other robots. Look for burrs and other signs of defects. You know, what you should have been doing before accepting delivery. Then we'll run them through their paces.”
“Yeah, boss. On it.”
“Right,” the sergeant drawled sarcastically. “This I've got to see. Ross not goofing off.”
<#>^<#>
Sing returned to the platoon headquarters in a mixed mood. War was indeed becoming a little too remote controlled … a little too automated for his tastes. Like a damn video game indeed. His last engagement had taken place in the usual sandbox. The powers that be hadn't been happy about the loss of property with the bots, most of it due to the damn sand getting everywhere and into everything. That was why humans were still the best troops hands down.
Though it was damn scary to see an armed but unmanned gunship floating around on its lift fans. Dispassionate eyes glaring at you … people needed to watch their backs and keep their IFF up-to-date. There weren't many manned aircraft left in the military, hell, any military. And from the looks of the bots …
It would be nice to have a bot do his fighting for him according to the media talking heads and arm chair generals. No loss of life ... except those you kill on the other side. No problems with a person accidentally going nuts and killing someone ... unless the damn bot did. Or was hacked. He reminded himself to have the firewalls checked and to immediately replace the factory passwords.
<#>^<#>
December 30th, 2199
“Lift that bail, tote that barge,” Ross joked, giving a robot a one-finger salute as he watched it moving about the warehouse, stacking materials. “This thing is a glorified walking forklift. At least it's better than a donk,” he said.
“True. It's clean though. Smart too,” Corporal Uli said, watching the robot at work. “It's not as strong as the last set, but it's coordinated. Nice,” he observed.
“Coordinated,” Ross got a faraway look. Then he slowly smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile.
Uli eyed him warily. “Dude, I know that look. It spells trouble. Aren't you in hack enough with Sing as it is??”
“Oh, come on, it was fun. And this time no one will suspect it.”
“Frack.”
“Don't you want a look? We're just taking it for a test drive,” Ross said softly, pulling the tablet up. He linked it to the robot, then directed the robot to go outside and to the female side of the platoon's barracks. “I'll have it deliver some TP,” he muttered, stopping the robot to extract a case of toilet paper. He handed it to the robot. “Here toaster, deliver this to the bathroom. South side,” he ordered.
The robot took the package and then walked out. It didn't stomp or move like a robot at all. It moved with fluid grace, better than a human could.
“Damn, that thing is quiet. I'd hate to meet one in combat. They should put red lights on the eyes or something,” Uli said. He was starting to regret letting Ross have his head. His ass was on the line if they got caught. No, when Ross got caught. The powers that be knew he was trouble and kept a close eye on him. “Ross, this is stupid. And seriously …”
“You whine too much, Harry. Relax. Pull up a crate and watch the show. I'll have the puppet do a dance or something,” Ross said, using the tablet to direct the other two robots to dance. Uli watched them do a shuffle side by side then snorted. “Or …,” Ross turned them on each other. They bowed, then started to fight.
“Ross!” Uli snarled as the robots took a swing.
“Like gold dust man, chill. They won't hit each other; they've got built-in IFF. Just think of it as more practice,” Ross said, making punching motions. He looked down at the remote control. “I wonder if they can do karate or something. Oh wait, our gopher is making
his entry …,” he grinned as he pulled the video feed up.
“Let me see,” Uli said, looking over his shoulder. He was hoping to get a gander of Casey, the stacked blond that had joined up a month prior. She was a tight ass and not afraid to run everyone into the ground with a fun run. But watching her titties bounce under her sweats was something many of the men in the unit dreamed about.
“What the hell are those two doing?” a familiar voice barked from the entrance of the warehouse.
“Shit!” Uli swore quietly as Ross locked the robots down and directed his spy to return.
“And what the hell do you think you two are doing?” Sing demanded. “I see a robot trundling across the quad to the girl's barracks. It'd better not be doing what I think it's doing!” he demanded, eyes bugged out.
“Just taking them for a test drive like you told me, Sergeant. They have good articulation. As good as a human actually,” Ross said, hastily tucking the tablet under his arm. The two robots had stopped their mock fight to stand at attention, thumbs aligned with nonexistent seams on nonexistent pants.
“Test drive. Right,” Sing drawled. “These two keeping you entertained while the real show was about to start?” he demanded as number 3 came into the bay. “Ah, our wayward companion returns,” Sing mocked sarcastically. “So, mister AWOL robot, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“This unit was ordered to bring supplies to the female latrine. Mission aborted,” the robot intoned.
“Oh really,” the sergeant drawled, eying the two human grunts. “You two just lost your next two liberties. And earned a stint scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush. Let's say, tomorrow night,” he said.
Uli and Ross knew better than to groan. Tomorrow night was Friday, their nominal time off. It was also December 31st, a big time holiday since the century was rolling over into a new one. Both of the soldiers had planned on getting smashed all weekend. Now those plans were in ruins over some stupid act. Resentment lingered in the air briefly, enough to make Sing aware of it before they got it locked down. Despair quickly followed. Knowing Sing he was sadistic enough to keep them at the KP job all night too.
“Him, I expected this sort of crap from. You, Uli …,” Sing shook his head. “You're supposed to be keeping him in line. Maybe I should rethink the promotion list again. You know, the one coming up next month.”
Uli didn't say anything. Ross winced slightly. Uli was going to be sour and all over his ass for a while. This kept getting better and better he thought.
“Well, we've got a couple problems with our robot friends. Baker platoon tried similar crap, sending a robot out on a beer run hitchhiking, and having a bot try to walk a tightrope in the rafters. I'd like to think we can keep our stupid kid impulses in check.”
The sergeant paced slowly. “The good news is, the bot that fell from the rafters has been DX'd. The brass is allowing us to do a live fire test on it. So, we'll be doing that after lunch. You two get to clean up the mess with Baker's yahoos and then put the bot back together.”
“Sergeant ...”
“Don't even go there Uli, I've made up my mind. It behooves me to let you hooligans mix with similar minds in Baker. Maybe you'll think twice when you exchange notes on what Sergeant Rice has in mind for them,” Sing replied. “Get the bots squared away, then hit the chow line. You've got an hour before you and everyone else is to report to the firing range.”
“Frack,” Uli muttered, eying Ross. “See what you got us into? Thanks a lot, good buddy,” he snarled, stamping away.
Ross rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
<#>^<#>
Colonel LesPaul arrived with the other officers to the firing range right behind Ross and Uli. Both enlisted men stood aside to allow them to pass.
It was getting dark; the live fire exercise had been postponed twice in order to incorporate as many warm bodies in as witnesses as possible. Apparently everyone wanted to see the robot in action. Most looked excited rather than bored by the experience.
The robot was ordered to the center of the berm, two meters in front of the center target then ordered to stand there. “Let's see if this works,” the Colonel said, defining the parameters. “I'm not comfortable writing this thing off so soon. Hopefully, it won't get too busted up,” he said.
“Want to abort?” Major Fouler asked, eying him.
“No. We need to know. So do they,” the colonel replied, nodding to the assembled troops. He tapped at the controls. “There. I've defined an area for the robot to act in, a sort of virtual fence. It can move around, take cover, and such in there.”
“But it can't get out? Or fire back?”
“No.”
“No war was ever fought on the defense, Colonel,” the major stated.
“Joe, I want to see how much punishment these things can take, not dish out. We'll work on that later. For now …,” he nodded to Captain Long. “Go for it Jim.”
“Yes, sir,” Captain Long replied with some relish. “You heard the man,” he said, nodding to Sergeant Peters.
“Listen up! Those of you on the firing line, you've got one clip each. Use it wisely. The person who takes the robot down gets a free pass this weekend.” There were hoots from the enlisted. “Those of you who miss it totally get KP duty. I understand there are already some people involved in that. That's okay; we've got a lot of cleaning to do anyway,” the sergeant said maliciously.
Suddenly those who had volunteered for the “duty” weren't so thrilled about stepping up. The old adage about never volunteering ran through quite a few minds.
“Weapons ready!” the sergeant roared. “From left to right. Walkins, you first!”
A few people whistled as Walkins took careful aim and opened fire.
<#>^<#>
Unit 4402 noted the laser designator and went into defensive mode. It jinked while sensors backtracked the source of the fire. Computer algorithms designed to aid in its survival came into action; modules for barracks duty were shunted into a temporary ram file.
A quick assessment told the robot that it was not ready for combat. The fall had damaged its hip and right leg hampering movement and stability. It pinged the threat and noted the embedded IFF.
The round passed the robot by two centimeters. Additional weapons were evident so it sought out a cover position. None were suitable in its area of operation.
“Error! Blue on Blue!” the robot called out. “Error! Cease fire! Blue on Blue!” The robot's armored skin flashed blue and then traced friendly over it, but the weapon's lock continued.
<#>^<#>
Walkins saw the thing twist out of the way, then move.
“Son of a bitch!” he swore. He heard the robot call out distantly as he sighted in his scope. He had smart rounds but the sergeant had banned them from use. That meant he had dumb rounds to play with.
“Frack me,” he muttered. “Quit your bitching. It'll be over in a moment. Just hold still, you fracken toaster,” he growled, squeezing the trigger gently.
<#>^<#>
Unit 4402 reclassified the IFF as a threat when the weapons fire didn't abate. It did it's best to limp to what shelter it could find, dodging the incoming fire. By the third round, the hostile had switched to 3 shot fire.
Rounds pinged off its side and back. The robot's armor had some ability to actively rebound incoming fire, but not much. Its designers had been more worried about possible energy weapons or smart weapons so they had concentrated on smart camouflage and ablative armor coatings.
Countermeasures began to spawn within the robot's mind as it assessed the situation. Its active camouflage came up, but it was suboptimal. Digging a cover position was also out on the concrete apron. It found some shelter behind the base of a pop-up.
“Hey! That's not fair! It's cheating!” a human voice called out.
“All's fair in love and war, dummy! Kill it!”
Rounds chipped at the robot's shelter but did it no harm. Out of frustration the hostile switched to autom
atic fire near the end of his clip with no positive results.
“Walkins done. Off the line! Next up, Perkins!”
“Frack,” a human voice swore. After a moment the weapons fire started again; this time from another source.
<#>^<#>
“It's turtled,” the colonel observed. He'd secretly hoped for a death dance like he had seen in old west movies. Apparently this thing was smarter than that. Or it knew its limits.
“It's the smart move,” the major replied. “Should we draw it out?”
“Hans has it covered. Ling is firing conventional weapons. The last squad has smart rounds. If they fail to penetrate, then the next platoon up will be allowed to fire by squad. They will also be allowed to fire and maneuver. One way or another, this thing is going down,” he vowed.
“Right.”
<#>^<#>
Unit 4402 reclassified Baker platoon as hostile when a third squad fired on it. The smart rounds were designed to fire around cover, to maneuver and take out a target or drive them from cover into the waiting sights of the conventional weapons.
The robot knew this but also knew it had to survive according to its programming. So it moved, sending out signals looking for help. It also followed intelligence programming, making certain to get images of the hostile force and upload them to the network. When it noted Colonel Lespaul was watching and directing the fire, it concluded the battalion had been subverted. It uploaded its conclusions to the robot network as the rounds finally caught up with it.
Rounds tore at it from the front and back. The robot twisted but had nowhere to go. The rain of rounds finally breached its armor and tore into the vulnerable interior volume with all of the robot's critical components. Systems began to fail.
