One day Masterson and his entire team were moved into a deep shelter. Officially it was a training exercise, but Masterson realized that it had to be the war with the aliens. On the surface he was his usual gruff-but-paternally-caring persona that the film crews loved, but inside he wondered if he and his team would ever leave the shelter alive. He organized combat drills, and rigged up makeshift gyms and target ranges in the cramped shelter tunnels, and kept his men and himself busy.
Then they were let out of the shelters, and saw the devastation. Billions were dead – that was a number so large as to be meaningless. However, the endless fields of mangled and desiccated bodies were something else: that could be psychologically processed. The horror of it all was tempered with the realization that, by whatever means, they had won the war – or perhaps just a battle? – against the aliens.
The public story, however, was that there had been a rebellion of some new weapons directorates, and that they were the ones responsible for the destruction. Masterson’s contacts told him that, in fact, it was the new directorates that had saved them. Apparently now that the directorates were of no further use they were to be gotten rid of, and Masterson’s team was going to take the lead against the main instigators. It was supposed to be an honor. Masterson was seriously considering not talking to his contacts anymore and remaining ignorant.
Masterson got a chance to look at the specifications of what he would be going up against. For a time he was speechless. He knew that his team would be ineffective against a regular military unit (unless of course they could kill their officers in bed – which his team had done a couple of times but that was another story). But this? In simulated wargames these cybertanks had routinely crushed regular military forces with casual ease. They expected his team of human troopers armed mostly with hand-weapons to take these things on?
He almost suggested that perhaps his team was not suited to this mission. He had never before even dared to consider talking back, but fortunately his superiors had a plan that made sense. The cybertanks themselves and all of their attendant slaved weapons systems were to be neutralized by insider sabotage. He and his team would only need to overcome light resistance from low-tier security guards and maybe a couple of engineers with more testosterone than gray matter. It was going to be a cakewalk he was assured, and then maybe he could move up to a higher rank.
It had started out well. The troops were in high spirits, ready to flex their muscles against a real target, and full of determination and eager to hit back at those that (they thought) were guilty of mass murder.
Masterson and his aides spent several days planning the assault against their target: Hangar Complex 23B. The work was complicated but absorbing. It was what they had all trained to do, and the rhythm and discipline of practicing a skill kept everyone focused. The hangar had not been designed for ground defense against infantry. It had multiple ingress points that could not be easily covered by those inside and should therefore be easy to take. The only downside was that the hangar was so well armored that they would not be able to use deep scans or shoot through the walls with sniper rifles, but they should still be able to deal with it easily enough.
He had put down revolts from security guards and local police before. They might be good at browbeating civilians, but against his team they would crack if they were hit hard and fast enough. The civilians themselves were hardly even worth considering.
His orders were to kill everyone in the complex, no exceptions, and he and his men were not to speak or listen to any of the targets. The party line was that the targets were too dangerous to live. They might have some other weapons of mass destruction that they were even now getting ready to employ, and no chances could be taken. That would have been an eminently sensible precaution if it had not been based on lies.
The main instigator was apparently the director of the cybernetic weapons division, a man called Giuseppe Vargas. Masterson’s orders were quite specific: if Vargas could be captured for interrogation that would be good, but under no circumstance was Vargas to remain alive and free. All other objectives were secondary to this priority.
Vargas was one of the bioengineered humans, and, Masterson thought, possibly the only real challenge in the bunch. He studied Vargas’ dossier, looking at photos of him, reading his history, his list of accomplishments, and the technical specifications of his physical capabilities. Masterson was impressed. He could not imagine a more dangerous opponent, at least not that was made of flesh and walked on two legs. He spent extra effort planning contingencies.
They timed the assault to begin one hour after the insiders were going to sabotage the cybertanks. This would give them some slack in case the insiders took longer than expected, while still limiting the time that the targets had to react. It also kept his team far enough away to avoid being detected and tipping them off. They travelled out on the surface in wheeled armored personnel carriers, and surrounded the hangar.
The assault began well, with all of his troopers executing their pre-planned roles with precision. They attacked from six different entry points at once. The defenders, probably disoriented and confused, (and anyhow not trained for this sort of thing) would not know what was going on until it was too late. Masterson thought that they might finish in five minutes.
The initial reports were of no resistance – because there were no targets to be seen. At first Masterson did not think much of that. The targets must have had just enough presence of mind to pull back and hide. No matter, his team had prepared for this possibility. They would root out the targets sooner or later.
It took a while for it to sink in that something was wrong. It wasn’t just that the targets were hiding, it was that they weren’t here. Masterson went in with his troops. As had become a habit with him recently, he kept his bullet-proof visor down and locked. He had his troopers scour the hangar complex in case there was a bolt-hole they had missed. But now that the initial rush of adrenaline was over, he started to notice things. Such as, the lack of equipment. The place looked new and unused, with pristine power couplings still covered with the factory seals, and the total lack of stains and scuff-marks on the floors.
It took him a surprising amount of time to see the elephant that was not in the room. The main bay was empty. There was no cybertank present. Then he saw the big sign on the wall.
“Hangar Complex 23M”.
They were supposed to be assaulting complex 23B. This was 23M? They had gotten the fucking address wrong?
Masterson became furious. Of all the stupid newbie mistakes, this one had to be the worst. He called in his senior officers and subjected them to a serious chewing out. That was an error on his part. He should have trusted his people. The serious chewing out delayed them from figuring out what had really happened which was that the local data networks had been hacked.
It looked to be a really professional job, too. Both the hangar floor-plans and the navigation and mapping programs had been altered in a way that was completely seamless and self-consistent. This was a level beyond what his own systems people could handle. He called in the heavy hitters from central administration to sort it out.
After a while the primo nerds at central came up with the answer. The data attack originated from the local systems organized and run by the office copiers. His team took out all the copiers in the local area. At first it seemed ludicrous for a heavily-armed special weapons team to burst into an office building, black-visored troopers pushing the terrified secretaries and managers out of the way and unloading firepower into an apparently innocent office copier.
It seemed somewhat less ludicrous when the office copiers started to shoot back. Fortunately the copiers weren’t very good at combat, and his people suffered no casualties. They blew the unarmored and unmoving copiers apart with sustained gunfire, leaving shattered hulks making electrical sparks and spewing reams of paper on the floor in their final death throws. One squad tried to use tear gas on a copier and succeeded only in making the
office personnel sick. Masterson resolved to bust the offending sergeant down to private once this matter was settled.
With the copiers eliminated the data interference cleaned up, and they switched to emergency backup computer systems. These would be more than adequate for the task at hand, but they had lost the value of their entire advance planning, as well as any possibility of surprise. It would have been tempting to start planning all over again, but this operation had been going on too long. Masterson made the call: they would assault the correct hangar complex immediately without detailed preparations. Plans are great, but sometimes you have to take a gamble to avoid losing the initiative.
His troopers surrounded the hangar, and began the assault. Clearly they had been expected. They started to encounter light fire, and the entrances had been hastily barricaded. The assault squads used fragmentation and pyrotechnic grenades as cover and made it inside without loss.
A few of the defenders tried to surrender. Normally Masterson would have let them, and if necessary, killed them out of sight of the rest of the targets. But time was of the essence so he had them all shot and pressed on with the assault. With luck the shock value of seeing their comrades cut down would counterbalance the stiffening effect of the defenders knowing that they had nothing to lose, but either way, there was nothing for it now.
His team had a lot of the defenders pinned down in the main hangar, taking cover behind the colossal bulk of the cybertank. Masterson had to admit that the thing was damned impressive up close; fortunately it remained inactive. The insider sabotage appeared to have been effective. At least something was going according to plan.
He had some of his troopers infiltrate through side corridors on the right flank so that they could fall on the defenders from the rear. The defenders had been waiting and his flanking forces were ambushed and cut to ribbons. How had low-level security guards gotten so good so fast?
The defenders were mostly using the standard light automatic rifles that the security forces kept for emergencies. These were just barely effective enough against his troopers’ armor that they could not be ignored. The defenders had also managed to salvage some heavier weapons as well: light rail guns and plasma cannons. These had been crudely removed from their mounts and had only jury-rigged triggers and sights, but they were still fearsome weapons. In theory you are just as dead whether you are killed by a small bullet to the head or a plasma cannon vaporizes you entire, but there is a psychological power to heavy weapons in combat. Fortunately his troopers were well disciplined, and when faced with their comrades exploding next to them they stood their ground and methodically picked off the enemy heavy weapon gunners.
Masterson’s team was taking heavy casualties, and the battle was becoming more fluid. Damn but the enemy was proving surprisingly adept at small-unit tactics. He found himself suddenly in the front lines. That was not where a commander should be, but it happens. He signaled his executive officer to take over operational leadership and he joined the fight himself.
He caught a glimpse through a gap in a tangle of heavy equipment of someone giving orders. The person was far away, but appeared to be a female civilian, and there was something in her body language that suggested that this was a leader. He took a quick snap shot at her. It was extreme long-range but he thought that he had got her. He then realized that something made of curved metal plates had moved in front of her and deflected the shot. Instinctively he ducked, and an instant later there was a bullet hole in the wall behind him where his head had been just a moment before.
Counter-fire that fast and accurate suggested automated weapons. Had the enemy managed to activate some of the robotic combat systems used by the cybertanks? If so they were screwed, but so far the targets had not used anything that capable. Nonetheless, the targets had a lot of engineering talent. If given enough time there was no telling what they could reactivate. A handful of front-line military systems would easily wipe out his entire special weapons team. The need for haste just increased.
Masterson was down to just four troopers with him. Masterson didn’t believe in gambles, but the situation was looking like it needed one. He ordered his troopers to take the level-3 combat drugs. They all opened the little foil pouches, and popped the deceptively tiny pills into their mouths. It took a few moments, and then Masterson felt a wave of euphoria. He felt like he could tear concrete blocks apart with his bare hands, run faster than bullets, or jump over buildings. His sight and hearing were sharper and more vivid than he had ever experienced.
He led a charge down a side corridor. They surprised some of the civilian workers and shot them before they could react. He was determined not to lose the initiative. He pushed on deeper into the hangar complex. They killed another four and lost two troopers. They ran around a corner and right into a knot of the defenders. They were outnumbered three-to-one but that didn’t bother them. For a moment it was a confused blur of a close-quarters melee, and when it was settled Masterson was the only person standing.
He charged through a door into a small office. There was a confused jumble of motion, his rifle was knocked aside and something hit him in the face hard enough to put a crack in the face shield. Masterson countered with a low kick, felt it connect, then was himself hit in the chest. Even through his body armor the impact hurt. There was a brief flurry of blows, then his opponent was on the ground. Careful not to take his eyes off of him, Masterson retrieved his weapon.
The person that he had fought with recovered, and sat up. With a small shock Masterson saw that it was his prime target, Giuseppe Vargas. There were multiple viewscreens at the desk behind him, they displayed complex multicolored hieroglyphics. What had he been working on? Nothing that would help him that was certain.
“Dr. Vargas,” said Masterson. “You are under arrest. Come quietly and you will be well treated.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Vargas. “But I am impressed. I didn’t think that a regular human could beat me in a fight.”
“You are fast and strong,” admitted Masterson, “but inexperienced and overconfident. I’m not like the security guards you’ve played with before. I’ve trained for this sort of thing my entire life. Also, the body armor gave me an edge, and I’m totally hopped-up on stimulants.” Masterson threw a set of handcuffs at Vargas’ feet. “Now cuff your hands behind your back or I’ll shoot you.”
“No,” said Vargas, “I’m not going to do that. So shoot me.”
“I could shoot you in the knees.”
Vargas still didn’t move. “If it makes you happy.”
Before Masterson could either say something else or shoot Vargas, the entire room shook with the force of an explosion. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, Masterson wobbled from the shifting floor but he kept his gaze and his rifle leveled at Vargas.
Masterson’s communications link activated. It was his executive officer, and he sounded panicked. “Captain! Captain are you there? We are taking heavy weapons fire from all directions! Dammit we’re getting slaughtered! What should we do?”
“Can you tell who it is? Is it the cybertanks crew?”
“I don’t think so, Captain. I think it’s the regular military, but whoever it is they are not talking to us. They are just pounding us with heavy artillery from long range. Shit, we just lost squad eight! Fuck we can’t fight this. What should I do?”
Vargas chuckled. “Well, it seems that your masters have lost patience with you. They have decided to end this quickly, and if it means sacrificing you and your men, well, you were never more than disposable serfs, were you?”
“Shut up.”
“Why don’t you be a good little soldier and just roll over and die like you are supposed to? That’s your job, isn’t it? Honor and obedience and all that crap?”
Masterson ignored him, and continued to try and make contact with his forces. His executive officer was gone. His other officers were either offline or screaming in panic. He didn’t have a tactical display with him, but it was clear t
hat his forces were surrounded and were being systematically taken out by superior firepower. This was not something that his troopers were either trained or equipped to deal with.
“I have a suggestion,” said Vargas.
“Which is?”
“We now share a common enemy. Join forces with us.”
“That’s absurd. Neither of us together can take on the regular army.”
“We don’t have to. Just slow them down.” Vargas gestured at the computer displays behind him. “If I can reactivate the cybertank the military will not be an issue. Or would you and your troops rather die doing your so-called duty?”
Masterson hesitated for a moment, then straightened up. “OK you have it. Call your people and tell them that we have an alliance. I'll do the same. We fight a delaying action and you do whatever the hell it is that you are doing and get the cybertank working. If this succeeds I work for you, but my team keeps the rights to the video games and reality show.”
“Agreed.” Vargas turned back to his desk and recommenced tapping on his keyboard. Masterson called his forces, explained the arrangement, and then tried to coordinate a defense. It wasn’t easy as his executive officer was either dead or cut off, and he didn’t have any tactical processors or displays. In addition cooperation between his forces and the survivors of the cybertank design team was, to be charitable, somewhat strained. Still, Masterson was a professional and, as best he could, he worked on consolidating the scraps of what he had left into some sort of defense.
The hangar complex was tough but not indestructible. The artillery barrage was wearing away at it, but by pulling his forces deeper inside they could delay things. Unless the military used nukes they were going to have to send in combat drones to root them out. His troops would lose, but he could think of some ways to slow the process down.
It took Masterson a while to realize that the shelling had stopped. Had Vargas reactivated his big tank? No, Vargas was still frantically working on incomprehensibly complex colored schematics and gave no sign of having succeeded at anything. He called one of his junior lieutenants.
Neoliberal Economists Must Die ! (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 3) Page 19
