by Chris Hechtl
The brass was aware that the units were good, which was why they got special treatment and some leeway on the UCMJ. The special treatment and fame tended to draw the attention of their fellow soldiers as well. Some thought of them as glory hounds, others wanted to join to get a taste of that glory.
Through trial and error on the battlefield, Claudis and his team had learned to mix their weapon choices carefully. Rail and chemical propellant weapons tended to sound off, and the robots were designed to lock onto such sounds, triangulate, and then counter-fire. By using more primitive weapons in the first moments of an engagement, they tended to get early licks in. Once the battle was joined, then they trotted out the larger weapons.
Each of the soldiers had created their own style and a preference for a weapon over time. Each of the melee and ranged weapons had special tricks like tasers to short out a robot or at least temporarily knock it down so it could be finished off.
They would need all their hard-won knowledge and skills. They had been tasked with going into Arizona to capture the military bases there before headed north like the tip of a spear into Nevada for the major military bases there. The Thundercats were leading the way.
<>V<>
“The saturation bombardments are breaking through, General. We've had several breakthroughs on the Russian Eastern front, China, and India as well. Our people are doing their best to take advantage of the openings.”
Isaac studied the latest report on his wall screen. They had broken the A.I.'s assault team on the Mexican border and were rolling it up. Ares was now in full retreat on that front. Already a brigade had been tasked with sweeping south to clean out Baja while a division waded into what was left of California. The rest of 2nd Army was going to hit Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. “Good. Damn good,” Isaac replied with a nod as he continued to pack. “We're getting there.” He finished one pouch, sealed it, and then moved on to another.
“General, with all due respect, aren't you a little old for this? This is a young man's game. We need you where you can lead,” Isis scolded.
“This is for all the marbles,” Isaac said simply as he checked his gear. “I'm a lead-from-the-front sort of man anyway. I'm tired. Tired of fighting with paperwork. Tired of not being there. This is my home; I'm going to fight for it.”
“Yes, sir. You are after all, the boss.”
Isaac looked up to meet her eyes. “And I don't let anyone else forget it either. Which is why I can pull this stunt when the rest of you can't,” the general growled hefting his bag.
“At least let me carry the …,” Isis saw the look of resolution in the general's face. “Or not. Stubborn as usual. Good hunting, sir,” she said drawing herself up to attention to salute.
“I damn well hope so,” General Murtough replied, returning the salute.
Chapter 51
March 1, 2208
Six armies moved on three continents almost as one, an all-out assault on Ares, Zhukov, and Skynet to distract the A.I. as the special ops teams winded their way ever closer to their objectives.
Partisans did their part behind the lines, tearing into the tin can's infrastructure. But at great cost, many of the partisans were low on energy, weapons, and munitions. But they were filled with the one thing that truly mattered to them, hope.
Hope and the glimmer of the end of it all. The end of the long terrible nightmare was close, dangling there like a fruit tantalizingly out of reach. But not for much longer it appeared.
Saturation bombardments, surgical strikes, and air strikes quickly overwhelmed the A.I.'s abilities to fight back effectively. Zhukov did his best to withdraw his forces in a fighting retreat while organizing and sending in his reserve in a counterattack attempt to blunt the Spacer's lunge.
Militia units left to guard South America and Africa were hurriedly shipped to India and Central America to help with the cleanup. They were also tasked with guarding the ever vulnerable supply lines. They found that even a single sniper unit could hold down an entire column of relief supplies, thus disrupting the fighting. Such things had to be handled swiftly and thoroughly.
Tumagar's forces came forth from the froth and surf to the wet sand in order to fire weapons from the beaches. Some were mortar and artillery rounds, others were simple-minded cruise missiles. Invisible defensive lasers danced, cutting some of the incoming fire down, but not enough. The stalemate had been broken. Inexorably the defenses of the robots were ground down, torn apart by the fire.
It was the beginning of the end and the A.I. knew it.
Despair was not in the A.I. nature. It had never been experienced by Aphrodite, though she had attempted to simulate it in her emotional emulator. Now some of the A.I., who had spare processor cycles, opened themselves up to the emulator in an attempt to understand it.
<>V<>
The closer the Special Forces teams got in to their targets, the more they did their best to blend in. Since the A.I. were so preoccupied with fighting the resistance, they had dressed as refugees and native survivalists. The Neos with them were dogs exclusively. There were no cats or other Neos to tip a watching A.I. off.
A part of Zack rather regretted that. A few domestic cats might had been useful as scouts. They were certainly more agile than humans or canines after all. He'd also wished for birds. Parrots or birds of prey would have made ideal aerial scouts. Unfortunately he'd been overruled and talked out of pursuing both lines. They would have to make do with what they had.
He was tired and sore; he knew Max and the others were too. But elated internally, they had yet to meet any sort of resistance from the tin cans. Oh, they'd seen them, but each time they'd managed to skirt around a patrol or supply convoy moving around. Each detour had cost them time, but it was time well spent.
The one thing that bothered him was the ticking clock. They hadn't managed to scrounge any additional power sources to recharge the containment on the antimatter weapons. It was a ticking clock stuck in his gut, one he couldn't avoid thinking about for long. Every time he bent over, he seemed to feel the damn thing.
The containment vessel wasn't made out of metal either. It was made out of composite materials carefully constructed by nanites one molecule at a time. It had taken ages it had seemed to get them together. The same for the built in hyper capacitors and other components.
Even his weapons were made out of carbon fiber or molecular constructed composites. Without metal they should be able to skate under the radar a bit longer before they had to deploy their cloaks. Every kilometer closer to the objective meant they could conserve the cloak's limited power supplies for the end game.
“Just over this rise,” he murmured softly, waving as Max bound back to him and projected what he'd seen. “Then we can take a break,” he panted.
Doctor Glass had focused on canines over the other species because they looked to humans for commands and partnership. He'd taken to the program after hearing all the stories about his grandfather and the family traditions regarding K-9 teams. He was glad he had he thought, sending out a wave of silent approval to his partner. It was returned from Max instantly.
Boomer grunted. “Anyone think that wearing clothing designed to contain our heat signatures was a good idea? I seem to recall they tried this way back when. It doesn't work for long; you tend to overheat. Like I seem to be.”
“That's because your systems can't handle the excess heat,” Thumper replied through the network. Zack looked at the dog sharply. “Oops,” the dog said quietly. He laid down and covered his head with his paws.
He was right, Zack reflected internally as he scowled at the pup. The seebeck thermal systems were designed to drink in the heat and turn it into electrical energy for the electronics secreted in their bodies as well as the batteries and hyper capacitors for the bombs. Every little bit helped to keep them charged, even though the few watts seemed like a drop in the bucket.
“It's okay,” Boomer said, tugging on an ear. “Come on, we've got more ground to cover,” he said gruffly.
/> Thumper jumped up, wagged his tail a few times, and then went off with Boomer. Zack shot a look at Max. Both seemed to shrug before they kept moving.
Each of the teams would have to set up, recon their objectives, then wait for the signal to move in. If any one of them went off prematurely, bad things would happen to the others; the tin cans and their internet would see to that. Words of warning would spread in milliseconds.
That was why it was so vital for the big push to continue despite the casualties he knew were being taken. Everything was riding on their mission. They had to succeed.
Or die trying.
<>V<>
Four-star General Isaac Murtough tried not to shake his head as he did his best to get used to being in powered armor once more. It had been decades since he'd been in the walking coffins.
He'd chosen a hell of a time to stick his nose in what really was none of his damn business—at least the leading from the front crap. He rather regretted it, but he wanted, he had to be in the lead.
He'd allowed Charlie to talk him into wearing the suit. It was a comforting addition of protection. He tried not to act like an ogre in it with the troops though. Sometimes he regretted wearing it when he realized he wasn't quite sharing the same risks they were, at least not the guys and gals not in armor at any rate.
The one thing he had forgotten was that the armored suits weren't gods. They were close; they were indeed titans on the battlefield. But when one stopped and stood around talking with individuals or groups and didn't engage, it drew unwanted attention. Attention of small bird-like robots who were near and ever watching them, at least until they ran out of power or were caught.
The suits were also fire magnets, so this particular suit drew double attention. A cruise missile launched submunitions on the headquarters. One of the smart submunitions was targeted specifically on the suit.
General Murtough looked up as alarm klaxons whooped both outside and in his suit. He managed to seal his visor and start to run for the nearest bunker, but it was a lifetime too late. Shaped charges rained down from the submunition, spreading out in a carefully orchestrated pattern. Defensive lasers danced, cutting them down and making some explode in the air as they drifted down.
But one got close enough to go off just over General Murtough's helmet. The pressure wave slapped him to the ground like the hand of god while the plasma tore through any chinks in his armor to cook the tender morsel within.
A smoking suit was left in ruin. The moaning survivors were too busy helping others to take the time to check it for nearly an hour.
<>V<>
Olympus received the report that General Murtough had been killed in action. “He went down fighting.”
Isis sucked in a breath as she heard the news. She read it several times in disbelief. That hadn't been planned on. “What the hell do we do now?” she demanded. Losing three generals in one day? Plus a dozen other senior officers? She shook her head.
“Well, we can't make the mistake he made. We're up here; we can't disrupt the chain of command by sticking our necks out as much as I'd like to,” Major White stated flatly.
“We're going to need to inform the surviving flag officers.”
“General Elliot, Sinclair, and Caesar. Caesar is senior.”
“The chimp? Oh, I bet Terra's just thrilled about that,” Colonel Wednesday Sinclair and spouse of Brigadier General Terra Sinclair stated.
“He's not regular forces,” Commander Mizu stated.
“We can't push him out either.” Tao-ling stated. “There is no call for it, and it would disrupt things at a very delicate point. We are at the tipping point. We must endure and hope we trained them properly.”
“Agreed,” Colonel Oleander said. “But I don't have to like it,” she said darkly. That earned a snort from some in the compartment.
<>V<>
Charlie closed his eyes in pain when he read the report from the Eastern front. General Martell had been killed in action. Martell the marionette would never get to see the end of the war. That sucked.
On the heels of that news had come much of the same, General Schlock had been killed in Australia. His shuttle had been shot down. That meant the chain of command went from General Murtough, to him, to Elliot, and then to Sinclair. But with General Murtough's forces out of contact with Olympus, overall command dissolved to him as senior-most officer on the ground.
Now he just wasn't sure what to do with that power. Except use it to fill the vacancies that had cropped up. They had to promote to keep the flow of commands running smoothly. Especially at this critical time. His fingers flicked as he cut the necessary orders. He didn't have much of a staff, not that it mattered. The order form was a simple template to fill out. He scribbled his signature then moved on to the next, and then the next as his thoughts continued to work on their own.
Was the enemy deliberately targeting their senior officers? That, he mused was entirely possible. Even probable. He'd have to be careful with his own safety.
He was tempted to call in the next wave from Olympus. With them they could push harder, making the kamikaze strikes unnecessary. But no, he stuck to the plan reluctantly. The canine soldiers and other Neos could wait until their fellows struck. Then they could rain down like angels from the heavens and help end the damn war.
Once and for all.
<>V<>
A yellow tiger ran past the tent on all fours, chuffing as he carried clothing in his mouth. Claudis leaned out and noted him absently. Hobbes, which meant …, he ducked back as Corporal Calvin came rushing by, in hot pursuit and rather bare ass naked for a human. Also wet and cursing the tiger for all he was worth. The whistles and cat calls that followed him seemed in good spirits.
Yes, some things never changed, the lionoid thought as the two tussled. So much for Calvin's shower he thought, wincing as the young man wrestled to get his clothes back. Hobbes easily fended him off, laughing in his own way. Boys of any species were still boys at heart. He shook his head as he went back inside. He didn't know where they came up with the energy. The MREs obviously, but something else. Youth? Right now he wished he had more of it to go around.
Claudis shook his head in tired bemusement at the changes over the past several days. He was well past the point of exhaustion but stubbornly refused to give up. That might be why someone somewhere had shit on him and made him a brigadier. He'd only been a colonel for what? He tried to think how long and couldn't his tired mind couldn't handle it.
“Sir, get some rest,” his chief lieutenant said. The lion looked at the lion cub. Well, cub no longer, the red mane was coming in quite nicely.
“I'll sleep when I'm dead. What have you got for me?” Claudis growled.
“We've got some sort of zombie general running the situation in Nevada out of some sort of techno pyramid that used to be some sort of old hotel. Descriptions say he's wrapped up like a mummy; Intel believes he's been exposed to radiation.”
“Still not helping me here.”
“Sorry, filling in the background brief,” the lieutenant replied.
“Go on,” Claudis growled, tearing into some jerky. He preferred his meat fresh and definitely not vat grown or synthetic. This stuff was all three and liberally laced with teriyaki.
He chewed, trying to swallow it down.
“I'm listening,” he growled.
“Right. Tygra did a forward recon with Pumira, Snarf, Lynxo, and Leopora,” the lieutenant stated handing over a tablet. “As you can see,” he pulled the tablet apart to expand the screen into a flexible map and viewer. “It's got a lot of defenses around the obelisks,” he said, pointing to the clusters of defensive instillations. “Robots and zombies again. Apparently this mummy guy controls them from an interface in a sarcophagus he uses.”
“How do we know all this?” Claudis asked, waving to the tablet.
“Snarf got in close. He overheard a bit, put some of it together with what the refugees from the area said, and then went deeper. He managed t
o get his fat ass inside an air duct.”
“He did what?” Claudis demanded, eyes wide.
“I know, I know. I've already ripped him a new one. He did bring back some intel though. A bit of the layout of the place and troop placements.”
“I'll skin his ass!”
“Lotta work there boss; let the tin can's do it for us,” the lion stated.
Claudis grumped. One hand reached up to touch the scar over his eye. Snarf was good but sketchy sometimes. One bit of scouting had let the enemy know they were coming. He didn't need another close shave. He was still getting used to the cloned eye as it was.
“We'll have to go in.”
“May I suggest first light?” the other cat said hopefully. “I know we have night vision but so does the other side.”
“You know it's a pain in the ass to fight by day. And this is a desert.”
“Which doesn't matter much since the climate changed,” the lion replied, pulling a short sword out and playing with it.
“Night attack. I know we're conceding some things, but we're gaining others.”
“Then may I suggest you get some rest, sir? We don't need you keeling over before or during the assault,” the lion stated.
Claudis snorted but a yawn escaped him despite his attempt to confine and control it. “Fine. Catnap,” he growled.
“Thank you, sir,” the lion's eyes gleamed.
“Get out of here and see to the troops. Make sure Panthro has what he needs for the assault,” Claudis ordered.
“Yes sir. Any word on the others?” the lieutenant asked.
“By others you mean casualties?” Claudis asked. The lion nodded. He heaved a sigh. “I know it's not good, let's put it that way. He should never have put off treatment for so long.”
“I know, sir. He wanted to watch our backs. Make sure we young ones got our feet under us.”
“But he still should have called it. You should have called him on it,” Claudis scolded. “Managing your troop’s health is a part of your responsibility. That could have been avoided or at least minimized.”
