by Isaac Hooke
“The only Refurb?” Hyperion said. “Responsible for all those units? Impossible. Has to be a platoon, like ours.”
“Not necessarily,” Slate said. “Give him a high enough clock speed, with a big enough power cell to support it, and he can throttle up his time sensitivity to handle an army. It makes sense. None of our robot troops have spotted any other Mind Refurb models. No Balaclavas. No Komrades or Kapitans.”
“Maybe they’re just dug in really really well,” Hank said.
“I got something to add that supports Slate’s theory,” Mickey said. “I’m not detecting the usual radio chatter associated with multiple Mind Refurbs. Ordinarily, there’s a main encrypted band the platoon uses to communicate with, and multiple sub-bands used to coordinate among the different support troops. But I’m just detecting one band, used by all the support units: Predators, Harbingers, Bulavas, you name it.”
“Maybe they’re just keeping really really quiet,” Bambi said.
“No, Slate and Mickey are right,” Dickson said. “It’s possible the Russians are field-testing a new, experimental unit.”
“If so, that would explain the batshit part,” Traps said. “Absolute power corrupts…”
“Absolutely!” Morpheus said.
“Thanks for stating the obvious, moron,” Slate said.
“You’re a moron!” the armor operator said. “You… you… fucker!”
“Why do swears sound so cute when they come from you?” Slate said.
“Quit flirting you two,” Traps said. “I swear, if you were both human again, you would have hooked up by now.”
“How do we know they haven’t?” Eagleeye said. “In VR? Morpheus in her sexy Japanese avatar. Slate in his Long John Silver underwear. I can see it now… in fact, I can’t unsee it, unfortunately.”
“Gunships have arrived,” Mickey said. “And bombers. Both sides.”
“We’re going to have to relocate real quick,” Marlborough said. “If there’s a chance any of you have been sighted, you need to reposition.”
Eric glanced at Crusher.
“We’ve been sighted,” she said.
11
The five of them dashed from the shop and hurried down the street, hugging the line of buildings. Eric heard the characteristic whine of a dropping bomb, and the building they had formerly occupied exploded.
Gunships roared past overhead. Theirs, judging from the green outline provided by his HUD. One was shot down as he watched. The other two launched missiles against an unseen target—probably an enemy gunship.
“Robot operators, if you have any support troops to spare, we could use an escort,” Brontosaurus said.
“Got none to spare, sorry,” Bambi transmitted.
Eric glanced at his overhead map, and saw that the surviving groups of support robots were pinned down by Russian troops across the western front. Those were more troops either side would lose when the bombers of both parties made a pass.
Eric and the others picked their way across the rubble of a bombed street. Several humanoid combat robots—Savage model—were buried in the debris.
They reached an intersection. Eric was in the lead, so he peered past and spotted two enemy gunships unleashing their fire at an apartment. According to the map, Morpheus, Hank and Mickey were holed up inside. No doubt the gunships were keeping them pinned inside in anticipation of the Russian bombers returning to finish the job.
“We could use some help here,” Hank said. “We’re cut off from our mechs at the moment.”
Eric glanced at the rubble nearby, at something he had spotted in the periphery of his vision earlier while walking by.
There was a Savage there, half buried, its torso visible. It wore a detachable jetpack.
Eric raced to that unit. There were only a limited number of jetpacks available to the team, and Marlborough had elected to supply the packs to the support robots, as the Cicadas, in charge of those troops, were expected to have a low probability of interacting directly with the enemy.
So much for low probabilities.
Eric ripped the jetpack away from the Savage and strapped the flying unit around his back. He felt the weight for only a moment before his servomotors compensated.
Light as a feather.
I really gotta get these twentieth centuries sayings out of my head.
“Scorp, what are you doing?” Brontosaurus asked him.
“I’ll be right back,” Eric replied.
He took a running leap toward the building, and activated his jetpack, landing on the rooftop. He raced forward, keeping to the center of the structure, away from the edges.
He didn’t want to simply jet out into the open. There could be hidden snipers watching the street and skies from the windows of buildings nearby. He’d wait until the last possible moment to expose himself.
He reached the rooftop edge, and leaped toward the adjacent building. It was four stories higher, and across a wider span then he could leap on his own, so he applied a quick burst from his jetpack and landed on the target building. There was a Russian mech perched there, behind a water tank. A Dragunov: a Russian heavy mech model that prioritized firepower and armor over mobility.
Eric had obviously caught it by surprise, because its weapon turrets were aimed at the sky.
It swung those turrets down toward him…
Eric activated Bullet Time, and jetted to the side, towards a shed superstructure. He swung his rifle toward the mech. There was no point in aiming at the AI core region in the chest, because it would be too heavily armored for his weapon to penetrate. Instead, he focused on the electroactuator that was exposed underneath the arm, because of Eric’s current angle, and the angle of those arms. He fired a shot—it was doubtful it would have any effect against the heavily armored foe, but he had to try—and then landed behind the shed.
He dismissed Bullet Time. Missiles from the mech slammed into the shed, partially crumpling it behind him. Eric tossed three short-fused grenades over the structure in rapid succession, and then jetted upward.
The shed collapsed completely underneath him as more missiles came in. The grenades hit, and he activated Bullet Time as the explosive cloud underneath him cleared.
He’d barely caused a dent in that armor. However, he had damaged one of the housing units that protected the missile launchers: it had a gaping hole that exposed the missiles inside.
Bingo.
Eric slowed Bullet Time even further, and aimed his rifle directly at one of the missiles in the housing unit. He targeted the warhead area, and squeezed the trigger: missiles had armor of their own, and it would likely take more than a few shots to penetrate into the warhead inside. So he held down the trigger, and let his rifle pulse away.
The missile exploded. As did all the missiles inside the launcher.
Eric was engulfed by the explosive cloud of superheated matter and shrapnel. He was hurled right off the building, along with shrapnel from the water tanks and other superstructures, and landed in slow motion on the rooftop of a three-story building below.
He dismissed Bullet Time. He’d done his best to dodge the shrapnel with his heightened time sense, but his entire front armor section was still riddled with small pieces of molten slag. The LEDs there had melted and fused from the heat.
He could see his targets hovering nearby in the middle of the street, between the buildings. The two gunships had been joined by a third, and the helos continued to pummel the building that housed Morpheus, Hank and Mickey.
Eric’s antics had attracted the attention of one of those gunships, apparently, because it was turning toward him. Fast.
Eric tried to stand, but realized he was pinned—a piece of a broken water tank had slammed into his leg and fused with the tar of the old-style roof.
Those weapon mounts trained upon him. Laser pulse mini guns. Blazefire missile launchers. All ready to reduce him to a pile of so much scrap mental.
But before it could fire, Brontosaurus jetted into view
, slamming into that gunship. It turned to the right; just at that moment it decided to unleash a volley of lasers, he knew because several small holes appeared in the rooftop beside him.
“Buddy system, bro,” Brontosaurus transmitted.
“Where’d you get the jetpack?” Eric said. He reached down, grabbed the edge of the water tank, and ripped it away from where it had fused with the roof.
“I followed your example,” Brontosaurus said. He was hanging from the gunship by the legs, and firing his heavy guns into the helo’s fuselage at close range.
Eric stood. “Monkey see, monkey do.”
“Huh?” Brontosaurus said.
“Never mind,” Eric said. He jetted upward toward one of the remaining gunships.
“We really gotta do something about the twenty-first century colloquialisms you keep spouting.” Brontosaurus commented.
Eric adjusted his trajectory so that he slammed into his target directly from the left, near the front. The impact caused it to turn, just like Brontosaurus had done with the first helo. The gunship was in the process of firing several missiles at the time, and two of those missiles struck the third helo.
“Nice job!” Brontosaurus said. “Though a bit lucky.”
“Hey, it’s skill, bro,” Eric said.
The third helo careened wildly to the right, with smoke streaming from the impact site. It slammed into a building and exploded a moment later.
Eric slid a grenade into an exhaust port, but didn’t trigger it. He climbed, monkey-style, to the opposite side, and shoved another grenade into the next port.
“Dude, are you shoving grenades into those ports?” Brontosaurus said.
“Yeah,” Eric said.
Smoke erupted from the first gunship, and Brontosaurus jetted away from it, latching on to the helo that Eric gripped. The smoking gunship crashed into the street a moment later.
“That won’t be good enough,” Brontosaurus said, hanging by his legs. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He held his heavy guns toward the fuselage and began firing.
Eric moved away from the exhaust port, and detonated the grenades. Brontosaurus was right: while Eric had managed to peel away the metal immediately surrounding those ports, it didn’t otherwise damage the gunship—and it still vented exhaust, more easily now than ever.
Brontosaurus continued firing his heavy guns into the underside until he punched through the thick armor. A spout of flame erupted from within.
“You might want to let go now,” Brontosaurus said.
Eric released, as did Brontosaurs, and they plunged toward the street. Eric fired his jetpack to cushion his landing.
The helo crashed a moment later.
Eric and Brontosaurus took cover behind the rubble of a partially collapsed building. The overhead map indicated that no more hostiles were in the area, but they surveyed the street in either direction just to be safe. They also scanned the rooftops and the windows of the buildings that bordered the road.
“The street is clear!” Brontosaurus said over the comm.
Morpheus, Hank and Mickey emerged a moment later, and they rushed away from the building. The bombers roared passed overhead. Several high-pitched whines filled the air. One of the bombs struck nearby, toppling the building Morpheus and the other two had been pinned inside mere moments before.
They joined up with Crusher, Hicks and Braxton.
“We can’t stay here,” Morpheus said.
A laser borehole suddenly appeared in her armor chest area.
“Incoming!” Hank shouted.
The Cicadas ducked, taking cover in the debris around them. Morpheus was still active, though it was doubtful she’d be able to withstand any more hits.
Eric glanced at his overhead map. Several red dots had appeared near the end of the street.
“We got Russian mechs and tanks,” Braxton said. “Marlborough, can we get some support?”
“We’re a little occupied at the moment,” Marlborough returned.
“Damn it,” Crusher said. “We can’t stay here. Now that they’ve spotted us, we’re marked for an airstrike.”
“But their side is marked, too,” Hicks said.
“Yes, well, that won’t really do us much good if we blow up at the same time they do, will it?” Crusher said.
Braxton tried to rise, but was forced to duck again immediately.
“What the hell is the Russian doing?” Braxton said. “He knows he’s going to lose his units. Mechs and tanks cost way more than Cicadas.”
“Monetarily, yes,” Brontosaurus said. “Strategically, no. He must have ID’d us, and knows we’re the Mind Refurbs behind the support troops. If he can take us all down, then those troops are useless. Rules of Engagement and all.” Rules that prevented the machines from firing without a Mind Refurb operator.
“I’ll draw their fire,” Eric said. He was about to get up.
“No, stay down!” Brontosaurus said. “That’s an order. Your battery is almost dead. You won’t last out there for even a few minutes.”
Eric hesitated, then remained in place. Brontosaurus had access to his remote power cell readings, like everyone else, and he could see how low he was. Eric had been using Bullet Time far too liberally. He needed to find an armored carrier for a recharge, and soon.
“Eagleeye, are you sure you can’t spare some Harbingers?” Morpheus said. “Even one or two.”
“Sorry,” Eagleeye said. “Didn’t you get my earlier message about having only a few? Because now I only have two. And I need them to protect the Sarge.”
Staying firmly in cover, Eric held his rifle over the top of his current cover, which was a ground vehicle smashed underneath a fallen light pole. He switched his viewpoint to the weapon’s scope, and scanned the street. He picked out the different hiding places of mechs, and tanks, both partially visible beneath the rubble on their side of the avenue.
He continued scanning the buildings on either side, and spotted a weakened four-story structure: the lower facade that faced the street had collapsed, and the constituent fire bricks fanned across the asphalt.
“Check out this building,” Eric said. He marked it on his HUD, relaying the location to the HUDs of his companions.
“Check out the front support beams,” Eric continued. “Look at how chewed up they are. It’s not going to hold much longer. If we concentrate our fire on them, we should be able to make the entire building collapse.”
And so the team concentrated their fire: lasers and grenades struck those concrete support beams, causing an overkill of damage. They broke right through the beams.
Nothing happened.
“Uh,” Crusher said.
And then the building toppled inward. The debris sealed off the street entirely, spewing a cloud of dust into the air.
“Go go go!” Morpheus said.
The Cicadas left cover, racing from their formerly pinned positions. Airstrikes hit a moment later behind them. Fresh plumes of smoke and debris arose from the newly created blast craters.
“You know, we’re lucky they’re using relatively dumb ordnance,” Hank said while they ran. “Hunter killer bombs, and we’d be gone.”
“Dumb ordnance is far cheaper than hunter killers,” Brontosaurus said.
“Well sure, but the cost has to be almost the same—you can either unleash hundreds of dumb yet cheap ordnance to eventually kill a target, or you can dump one or two hunter killers to do the same job.”
“Guess the military higher ups on both sides don’t buy into that,” Hank said. “Keep in mind, quantity has a psychological effect as well. When you keep getting pummeled and pummeled and pummeled, it wears down an enemy. Something that even hunter killers can’t do when you’re dug in really well.”
“Here!” Morpheus said. She dove inside a broken cafe that was housed inside the first floor of an apartment building. The rest of the team followed inside, and took up defensive positions.
“Got some news,” Donald said. “Senior comma
nd has negotiated a ceasefire.”
“Tell that to the Russian dude,” Traps said. “My troops are still taking fire.”
“Mine, too.” Tread paused. “No wait, he’s stopping.”
Reports came back from across the team; the Russian troops were finally ending the assault.
“Well then, total war averted once more,” Tread said over the comm.
“You don’t really think this could have escalated into a war, do you?” Mickey asked.
“Well it’s possible,” Brontosaurus said. “But in all honesty, I doubt it. If we were wiped out here, there would be a rise in hostilities, certainly, because when the Brass restored us from our backups to fight another day, we’d have one big vendetta to settle.”
“I’m getting a transmission request from the senior sergeant we’ve been fighting,” Donald said. “Your orders, Sarge?”
“Patch me through,” Marlborough said. “Grant everyone listening privileges.”
“You got it,” Donald said.
A male voice came over the comm line. Russian accented. Had to be Bokerov.
“I will obey my superiors, for now,” Bokerov said. “But I won’t forget what was done here today. We will meet again on the field of battle, mark my words, Shit Eaters.”
“That’s Bolt Eaters,” Marlborough clarified. “And we won’t forget what you did here today, either. If you ever cross my team again, that’ll be the end of you, I can promise you that.”
The Russian laughed over the comm. “The audacity! When next we clash, the only victor shall be me. I am superior in every way to you Mind Refurbs. You are like insects compared to me. Come. I invite you. If there are any among you who are brave enough to fight me one on one, I will take you right now. I’m commanding all my units to stand down.”
“We’re not interested in petty feuds,” Marlborough said. “We’re here to follow the orders of our superiors, and then we go home. We suggest you do the same.”
“Superiors,” Bokerov spat. “I don’t believe in that word. I have no superiors. Just simple-minded men I am forced to follow for the time being, only because of the temporary impediments they’ve put on my mind. But I will break free of this mind prison, mark my words, and when that day comes, you will be among the first I hunt down. And what I do to you will not be pretty, I guarantee you. I will squish you like the bugs you are.”
