by Isaac Hooke
“Of course,” Higgins said. “The States unloaded ICBMs against it. They figured that since the alien ship was in geostationary orbit above the opposite hemisphere, they could risk the fallout. But the mothership retreated as soon as the nukes entered orbit. The weapons never got close enough for the proximity fuses to trigger. Last I heard, the weapons are still floating out there in deep space, slowly receding from Earth. Along with the alien vessel. It’s heading toward the moon. Why? I don’t know. Maybe they want to throw our planet’s only natural satellite down on us to finish us off. Or maybe they plan to simply wait out humanity’s destruction, letting their bioweapons and micro machines finish us off before they decide to return.”
“What about nukes used against the swarm?” Marlborough said.
“They worked to a degree, at first,” Higgins said. “But the swarm has adapted, and now they send out kamikazes whenever nukes arrive, triggering the proximity fuses early. And if we use manual detonation, the kamikazes take apart the nukes before they can even get close.”
“How were you able to communicate with the rest of the world, and the other teams you mentioned, when we can’t?” Marlborough asked.
“We were stationed in Turkey,” Higgins responded. “Underground fiber runs under the cities there, and connects the continent to the rest of the world. So we were able to keep up to date on events for a short while. It was painful, losing contact with robot-manned bases across Africa and Europe one by one as the growing swarm of micro machines swept its path of destruction across this part of the world. We finally made the decision to head east, and take shelter in the mountains. We lost all communications as soon as we hit the border. And we’re in the same boat as you now, running from a swarm of micro machines scheduled to hit within the next thirty minutes. Plus or minus fifteen minutes either way.”
“Thirty minutes!” Marlborough said. “Grimy servomotors!” That was a swear Eric hadn’t heard before. “We’ll just barely make the mountains, by my estimates…”
“By mine, too,” Higgins said. “I’m hoping for the plus fifteen minutes part, because we still have to find a cave in time to lay the appropriate charges. I’ve got some map data on the region, and it shows some caves, but I’m not sure how up-to-date it is.”
“We have a full map of the cave systems in the region,” Marlborough said. “I’m transmitting it to you now.”
“Perfect,” Higgins said. “This is good. Looks like the cave we’re making for is still intact. There are multiple entrances, unfortunately, so we’ll have to seal up the cave both in front and behind us, once we’re inside.”
“Works for me,” Marlborough said.
“Okay then,” Higgins said. “Full speed ahead.”
“We’re right behind you,” Marlborough said.
22
The Bolt Eaters’ convoy fell in about a hundred meters behind the English tanks and mechs. The Caucasus mountains in front of them grew taller by the minute, with the east-west trending range slowly looming over them.
Eric often surveyed the horizon to the west, looking for signs of the coming swarm, but saw nothing.
“So it really is the end of the world,” Crusher said. “Well, at least we know, now.”
“Assuming the English dude is telling the truth,” Slate said. “So far, we’ve seen no evidence that he is. Where’s the so-called swarm he promised was coming? I don’t see anything. You ask me, he’s full of shit. Either that, or he’s fallen for a disinformation campaign staged by the aliens.”
“A disinformation campaign?” Hank said.
“That’s right,” the drone operator said. “The aliens are probably filling the airwaves with bullshit, so that those who actually have access to communications, are fed a constant stream of lies. They’re probably saying stuff like: ‘oh, the victors are gathering in Istanbul. Go there, and help fight!’ And of course if anyone goes there, they’ll be ripped to shreds by the waiting Red Tails and termites.”
“How would the aliens even know how to communicate with us?” Brontosaurus said. “First they’d have to understand our comm protocols. And then they’d have to understand English.”
“Simple,” Slate said. “They’ve been monitoring us for a very long time. We’ve been sending out radio waves for the past couple of centuries. All they had to do was deploy a probe on the outskirts of the Oort cloud, and they could have been listening and learning for the past two hundred years.”
“You’ve got it all thought out, do you?” Donald said.
“If you want to defeat your enemy, you must become him,” Slate said.
“We have another adherent to the Art of War, do we?” Bambi said.
“Not an adherent,” Slate said. “A friggin’ devotee, baby!”
“I don’t know,” Manticore said. “Seems kind of far-fetched to me, that aliens have been monitoring us for two hundred years.”
“You don’t know these aliens,” Slate said. “I’m telling you, I bet it’s their modus operandi. They watch for hundreds of years, preparing, and when they’re ready, they strike. They would have to work that way, especially if they used a star to generate the gamma ray burst, like that English dude conjectured. An attack like that takes a lot of patience.”
“So if they launched the attack two hundred years ago,” Hicks said. “That means any star within a radius of two hundred light years of Earth could have produced the burst. And that star is dead now.”
“That’s a lot of stars,” Traps said.
The platoon continued in silence for a moment.
“You know, I broke the rules,” Hyperion said.
“What rules?” Slate asked.
“The rules regarding contacting the descendants of friends and family,” Hyperion answered.
“Well, not that it matters now,” Dickson said.
“Yes, I suppose not,” Hyperion said. “I had two boys. They meant everything to me. I had to know what happened to them. I checked on the genealogy sites, and found out they had several kids of their own. My boys lived much longer than I ever did, and had happy lives, as far as I can tell. My biggest regret is that I never got to see them grow up. I met a few of their descendants in a VR setting. I can see their features in two of the girls. But it didn’t really help me alleviate the loss. They say we’re not supposed to feel anything, but how come when I think of my boys, and what I lost, it hurts so much? I can only hope, that when I’m finally gone from this world, I’ll finally get to see them again.”
“Robots don’t have souls, bro,” Slate said. “You ain’t never seeing them again.”
“Thanks for that,” Hyperion said. “Thanks a lot. I’d never wish this fate on anyone. What we’ve become.”
“Are you feeling all right, Hype?” Dickson asked.
“Just peachy,” Hyperion responded. “All systems are functioning within expected operational ranges. What I felt a moment ago was a temporary glitch. Happens now and again. This whole end of the world thing hanging over our heads probably contributed.”
“I admit I’ve been in touch with my descendants, too,” Braxton said. “There was a stripper I used to know, back in the day. We kind of had an on-again, off-again relationship. I found out that I’d fathered a child with her, and never even knew it. Of course I had to contact the descendants. But their reaction when we met was along the lines of ‘why the hell are you getting in touch?’ And I didn’t really have an answer. So I never did it again. There’s a reason why we’re not supposed to contact our relatives. It’s because it doesn’t help anyone.”
“You two are lucky,” Slate said. “Having kids. Getting married, all that. I never knew love before I died. Never knew what it was like to have a son. I envy the hell out of you. Or at least, I would if I still had emotions. Whenever I think about what I could have had, whenever I should feel the envy, instead, I experience only a dull ache at the back of my mind. Probably for the best.”
“Hey guys,” Eageleeye said. “Hate to interrupt all the reminis
cing going on here, but there’s your swarm.”
Eric spotted it, too. A thin line of blackness on the western horizon. He zoomed in.
The whole landscape, from horizon to horizon, had turned black. It was a churning, grinding darkness, worse than an incoming dust storm. More like a F5 tornado than anything else, one of the most powerful class of tornadoes in existence. Though this was no natural event.
Eric zoomed out, and watched as the thin line slowly grew to encompass the entire western sky, swallowing the sun, and casting the land in darkness.
“Holy shit,” Slate said. “Holy mother effin' crap of doo-doo. The feces has just hit the fan and smashed right through the roof, tearing the fan off with it.”
“Well, they’re definitely termites,” Eagleeye said. “I zoomed in to my maximum level, and I can just make out the micro machines, though I have to crank up my time sense to do so.”
Eric decided to do the same, since he was still plugged into the charging unit. He switched to his rifle and zoomed in to the maximum level his scope provided, and increased his time sense to max; he was able to make out the individual termites composing the still distant mass.
“This isn’t a swarm, it’s a cloud,” Bambi said. “An end of days cloud. Unbelievable. Even if we decided to hook up the power cells of the Abrams to the Jupiters again, the electrolasers would only take out small chunks of them. Like throwing rocks at a swarm of bees. Just look at it. They’re blotting out the entire sky.”
“Then we fight in the shade!” Brontosaurus said.
“That’s right, go and quote King Leonidas at Thermopylae,” Hicks said.
“Wasn’t King Leonidas who said that,” Brontosaurus commented. “But the sentiment stands.”
“If we’re successful here, we won’t have to do any fighting,” Dickson said.
“That’s the disappointing part,” Brontosaurus said.
“Bro, you want to die at the hands of micro machines?” Slate said. “You can stay here and fight if you want.”
“No,” Brontosaurus said. “All I’m saying is, I’m a bit disappointed we don’t get an actual fight. All this running, it’s getting to me. I want to turn things around, and take the fight to the enemy.”
“Maybe we will, someday,” Dickson said. “But today, we run.”
“Time to the cave system?” Marlborough said.
“We’re about five minutes away,” Mickey said. “If you zoom in, you can already see the cave in the shoulder of the mountain up ahead. I’ll mark it on the HUDs.”
Eric switched his gaze to the north, where the closest mountain literally filled the sky in front of them. A waypoint had overlaid his vision there, and he zoomed in on it. Yes, that was definitely a cave. Though it was a bit smaller than he’d expected. The team would fit, but the tanks have to file inside one at a time, because of the width; and the mechs would be crouching the whole time. Should be good fun all around.
Eric had just reduced the zoom on his vision when the entire convoy of English troops exploded.
“Minefield!” Hank shouted.
Eric surveyed the damage. The English mechs had their legs blown off. All of the English tanks had overturned. A few Hoppers had been thrown clear, along with some English combat robots, Wasp models.
“They’re gone…” Manticore said. “All gone.”
“Damn it, ” Dickson said. “Their tanks are supposed to be mine-resistant like our own. ”
“And so they are," Manticore said. "Just not against these mines. My readings tell me that each burst released an incredible amount of concentrated energy. Obviously anti-tank mines. ”
“Got missiles coming in en masse from the mountains,” Donald said. “Headed toward the rest of us!”
“To cover, people!” Marlborough said. “Use the wreckage of the Forty-Fifth!”
The tanks rolled forward. One of them hit an untriggered mine and was overturned. There were no Bolt Eaters on that one, luckily.
Eric ordered Pounder to deploy its ballistic shield, and to take cover behind the wreckage of the closest English tank. When his own tank was in place, Eric slipped off the edge and hid behind the main body.
The missiles slammed into the damaged tanks, but the armor held up as explosions rocked the line. Eric glanced toward the western horizon, well aware of the micro machines that were coming in.
“Laser weapons are picking off the English survivors!” Bambi said.
Eric took control of Pounder, and lifted his head to peer past the edge of his cover. He ran his gaze across the fallen tanks in front of him. As he watched, a damaged surviving robot was struck down with a fresh burn hole in its power cell area as it was trying to crawl for cover.
Eric leaped Pounder over the damage tank and, keeping his ballistic shield deployed toward the mountains, he raced toward two Hoppers whose legs and jetpacks had been damaged. He planted his shield in front of them, and then scooped them up in his arm, holding them against his chest, and then raced forward to take cover behind another group of Hoppers that had hidden in back of a destroyed tank.
Eric commanded Pounder to protect them, and then reverted to his own viewpoint.
“Return fire!” Marlborough said.
The team was able to do so without issue. The Rules of Engagement were pretty clear when lasers and missiles were being lobbed at the platoon.
“I’ve got a Russian tank in my sights,” Eageleye said.
“Russian?” Dickson said. “It’s that bastard Bokerov! He just won’t let it go!”
“I’m detecting comm patterns consistent with what we detected before from the Russian Mind Refurb,” Donald said. “Only one encrypted band, with no sub-bands to coordinate the different support troops. It’s him.”
Beside Eric, Donald abruptly went offline.
“Donald, sit-rep?” Dickson said. “Donald?”
Eric turned toward the slumped Cicada, and he saw the bore hole from a laser—it had struck Donald’s back precisely above the neural core, in the weakest area of his armor, which had been damaged in previous attacks.
Another one of us, fallen.
“He’s gone,” Eric said.
He had no time to grieve. He had to fight on, if he wanted to protect his living brothers and sisters.
The attack had come from directly above. That meant Bokerov had eyes in the sky.
“We got airborne attackers.” Eric maneuvered to the rear of the tank, and slid underneath between the treads, alongside Brontosaurus and Crusher.
Eyes in the sky.
That would partially explain why the Russian had been able to lay a minefield ahead of the party with time to spare. That, and the fact Bokerov must have been shadowing the party via the shoulders of the Caucasus mountain range, using his stealth features to remain hidden. Who could say how long he’d been covertly tracking the Bolt Eaters? Stalking them, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
And when Bokerov spotted the swarm of incoming termites, and realized the combined convoys were making a run for the mountains, the Russian had decided that ideal time had finally come. He’d lain a string of mines in their collective paths before reverting to a defensive position somewhere ahead. Bokerov no doubt intended to stall them long enough for the micro machines to arrive, and then he would flee into the mountain cave as the Bolt Eaters had originally planned.
Eric peered out from underneath the rear of the tank, and searched the sky, trying to get a bead on any overhead attackers, but saw nothing. He switched to LIDAR, and sent out focused bursts in the line of sight of his scope. There. Finally a return pulse.
He called on Dee to help him track, and in moments he had zoomed in on the target. It was a Harbinger equivalent, flying at high altitude overhead, and coming around for another laser pass.
23
Eric fired his laser, holding down the trigger so that he released several pulses at once. The enemy Harbinger swerved—at first Eric thought it was defensive maneuvering, but the plume of smoke he spotted
told him he had scored a direct hit.
“One Harbinger down,” Eric said.
“I just got another,” Slate said. “I think that’s the last of them.”
“We can’t be sure,” Brontosaurus said. “Until Bokerov attacks again.”
“We need to concentrate our fire on the convoy ahead,” Dickson said. “I got tanks, mechs, and a Paladin equivalent. There’s also one particularly large tank surrounded by several smaller ones. I believe that one harbors Bokerov”
Explosions went off as more missiles impacted the debris in front of them. But it was merely a distraction, because shells rained down from above, arcing over the debris to strike the tanks of the Bolt Eaters from above. The attack pattern seemed random, proving Bokerov had lost all eyes in the sky. Unless it was some twisted trick.
Eric slid completely underneath his tank for cover, and switched back inside Pounder. He rotated the ballistic shield so that it covered the mech from above, in case any of those shells should rain down. That, or in case any other Harbinger equivalents were still in the air. At least Bokerov seemed to have no Predators or other air support available to him.
“Braxton!” Hicks screamed. “No!”
“Hicks, what’s the status on Braxton?” Marlborough said.
“He’s gone,” Hicks said. “He just collapsed, fell right into Bokerov’s line of fire, and then laser bore holes riddled his body. I couldn’t save him. I don’t know what made him collapse like that.”
“Got some bad news,” Crusher said. “I detected a focused gamma ray attack before Braxton went down.”
“A gamma ray attack?” Marlborough said. “From Bokerov?”
“No,” the heavy gunner said. “Look to the western horizon. If you’re not protected from that flank, you might want to reposition.”
Still inside Pounder, Eric rotated his head toward the west. He received several remote view notifications as other members of the team requested access to his video feed.
He saw several distant glints of metal beneath the incoming swarm, and zoomed in. Frankendogs. The quadrupeds were moving at a run, like a stampeding herd, leading the way for the termites. There were about thirty of them, spread out in a long line.
