Seventh Age of Man: Regeneration
Page 16
Explosions bloomed around Scott, as a large mass of five thousand Grunts under the Deaconess’ command pressed forward. The perimeter of the base was littered with hundreds of semis and tour buses, all parked to form a metal moat, blocking forces inside Scott from escaping. The invasion commenced just after taps was played over the loudspeaker, as most just laid down for a night’s rest. The barracks were stormed first, with over five hundred archetypes killed before the general alarm could be sounded.
The grunts carried not only guns and knives, but sections of pipe and propane torches. The men were organized to bear the brunt of any assault, while the women set fire to buildings they captured with the torches. Almost twenty percent of the base was now engulfed in flames, sending billowing black smoke over the rest.
Most of the prototypes huddled in the hangar bays or in the cafeteria, for though they possessed the aptitude with which to command a battalion, none of them had ever seen battle, ever had to hold a position as an enemy fired relentlessly. Conversely, the archetypes charged without logic, packs scurrying forward sputteringly only to be rebuffed by the unified front of the Grunts. The Deaconess remained in the rear, observing the action from a metal bucket suspended high in the air by a crane, directing her commands by cellphone, conducting the battle as if she were Napoleon on top of a hill.
Brian’s small team rushed into the base and quickly established the locations of the various section leaders. Gustav signaled to all that Brian was in charge, and within a few minutes, various section leaders phoned in their situation.
“We’re pinned down outside the armory!”
“The fuel depot has been hit by explosives, and the motor pool is under their control!”
“The cafeteria is under heavy fire, as they seem to be targeting the prototypes!”
“We have two squads trying to protect Eve and Enterprise, but they are using our own trucks against us!”
Brian scanned the area, seeing that they were setting afire property they seized. They must want to break us utterly, so that would mean killing all prototypes, and destroying Enterprise. “We must decide where to make a stand—where to set our rally point,” he said to Gustav. “The most important prize is the main hangar complex, with Eve. Second is the protection of the prototypes, though their cowardice will not go unnoticed or unpunished. Rally all other troops not protecting prototypes at the main hangar!”
“Yes sir!”
The archetypes moved in unison across the base, scurrying figures clad in black, wielding short, squat guns that were matte in the faint moonlight. The grunts noticed their movements, as did the deacon atop the crane.
They have a leader, she thought to herself. Charlie would love to know this! What will he or she do? They are rallying around the main hangar. Then there they shall die!
She ordered the grunts to attack the main hangar en masse, as Brian arrived there in a Jeep. Before him stood almost a thousand archetypes, many with some form of injury. Though strong, their morale was sorely sapped. Their guns hung around their shoulders, as their clothes were disheveled. Brian whirled to Gustav.
“These are your archetypes? These are the pride of the Homestead, the soldiers that will defend our borders, and ensure our survival?!”
Gustav nodded brusquely. “Straighten yourselves, soldiers! Get your sorry asses to attention!” In the distance trucks could be seen approaching, spitting machine gun fire. In their wake, the women set fire to every structure they could, as explosions ignited further back. “This is a review! You are archetypes of the Homestead, and you must be crisp and tight!”
The soldiers sprang to life, tucking in their clothes, adjusting their weapons. In less than a minute, they looked polished and ready.
“Ready for your orders, sir!” they shouted in unison.
Brian scanned the forces closing in. “Form protective battle lines! Front line low, next high!”
The troops assembled into two lines, with the front line kneeling, the rear standing.
“Draw guns!”
They did, leveling their guns at the approaching enemy, who was now in firing range. A haze of bullets felled some of the archetypes, yet none broke formation.
“You will not move, until ordered to do so!” yelled Gustav. “We are archetypes, and we are strong!”
“Yes sir!”
“Now,” bellowed Brian, eager to test their mettle, “one, then three bursts. Fire!”
The front line fired repeatedly for a second, then paused three seconds. After the front line had fired, the rear line fired for a second, then rest for three. Back and forth they went, until the group of approaching forces was completely wiped out.
“Now, advance! Five meter advance, ten second barrage . . . go!”
They got to their feet, and ran ahead five meters, then assumed their original firing positions. More and more grunts approached, but were unable to advance on the archetypes. After almost an hour of fighting, Brian glanced back, and saw they had secured the main hangar bay.
“We’ve done it!” shouted Gustav, clenching his fist.
“Not yet,” replied Brian. “We have a big base to take back. Leave fifty men here. Send another eighty to eradicate those damned sluts with torches. The rest, follow me to the armory!”
“Yes sir!”
They ran at full bore, Brian ordering them to charge the small forces at the armory. As most grunts had been situated in search of prototypes, they easily got inside. The archetypes pulled out crates full of weaponry, and distributed it among their ranks.
“Now, three line platoon! Front; flamethrower! Middle and rear; machine gun!”
They arranged into the three lines, the front line priming their throwers.
“Now, advance at march speed! Flamethrower five second, then one/three interval firing for middle and rear. Engage!”
They moved forward, the fire spewing first, then the archetypes with guns mopping up behind. They pressed around the perimeter of the base, gathering more archetypes as they went. Soon, the cafeteria and most of the base was under their control, with the grunts taking up a defensive position inside the motor pool.
“What now?” asked Gustav. “They hold the advantage with that position. It’ll be hard to break them.”
“And yet, they must be broken. Everyone in the Homestead must know that the archetypes cannot be challenged, cannot be defeated!”
Gustav came to full attention. “Yes sir!”
“They all must die,” ordered Brian, crossing his arms on his chest. “You now have control of the armory. I leave it to you to choose how they will perish.”
Gustav grinned. “I was right about you.”
“Who knew?” asked Brian with a shrug. “If you had told me, a year ago, I would be supervising the deaths of so many, I would’ve called you insane. But sometimes, events change a man, or a boy, and turn them into something of survival and vengeance. That is what we, what the Homestead, must be about. Survival, and vengeance.”
Gustav grasped his hand. “The archetypes shall follow you, until our last breath.”
“And until I breathe my last breath, I will be someone worthy to follow. Now, dispatch our enemies!”
“Yes sir!”
Brian sat back and watched, as the archetypes broke out surface-to-air missiles and grenades by the boxload, and began to hurl it all into the motor pool. Within a half-hour the pool was on fire, forcing the grunts to flee. But they archetypes were waiting, and with bullet and flame ended their lives.
The Deaconess was brought to Brian shortly after the last of the Grunts were killed. They threw her down in front of Brian, who sat now in the passenger seat of a Jeep.
She laughed as she looked on him, this still-young boy with his first taste of killing. “So, you’re the whelp who defeated me, and my faithful?”
“I would think that would be obvious.”
“The insufferable arrogance of the prototypes. So, what will you do, now that you have won? Kill me? Kill the council? Tu
rn on the ‘Machine’?”
Brian nodded, absently. “It is long past time the Machine was turned on. We have cowered long enough from the threat of another Countdown. We have held our breath long enough, as the dust whips around our world. It is time we felt pride again at being human, and gained control over this world!”
“What of God?” she pleaded earnestly. “Have you no faith? That’s why I did this—why it must be done! Those such as you would lead us into an immoral future, devoid of faith, of compassion, of love . . .”
Brian got out of the Jeep and stood over her, his crotch in front of her face. “We have come to the brink of destruction, my Deaconess. All you knew is now gone—the future is in our hands. Someone said to me that this was the Age of Doubt. I tell you this is the Age of the Man! God is no more, for surely he has forsaken us, left us at the mercy of who knows what! All we have to believe in, all we have to rely on, is ourselves.” Brian pulled out a pistol, and jammed it into her mouth. Gustav started to come over but Brian motioned him to be still. “I must be able to do what I ask others to do,” he said evenly. His face then softened, as an echo of who he was returned. “When you see God, ask him why he abandoned us. Ask him if he still cares.”
A single shot rang out, sending the Deaconess’ soul out into the void.
Chapter 18