by B. V. Larson
The Corporal walked past me into the camp. “I’m with you, Riggs,” he said. “The government boys will screw this up.”
In the end, all of them walked into camp and climbed into the trenches we’d been plowing up here and there. I’d chosen them well. I only hoped I hadn’t led them to their deaths. Even more strongly, I hoped I wasn’t screwing up everything somehow.
The big push didn’t come until about two a.m. We almost had the second turret working by then. Major Robinson was in the trenches, his nanites having repaired his body enough to fight. You could understand what he was saying now, as well. His cheek wasn’t a hundred percent, but at least he didn’t drool blood all the time. It cheered the troops to have a second officer walking around the camp shouting orders with me.
“Major, I want you to supervise the completion of the second turret. Kwon and I will shore up our defensive positions.”
Robinson agreed without an argument. He was still pretty shaky, and I knew from experience when you first got nanotized, you weren’t ready to operate your own body. He was likely to screw up in combat. He needed days to adjust. I figured he would be most useful under one of the turrets calling targets.
Kwon and I inspected the perimeter. Each shed sat on a concrete pad, but the pads didn’t extend out from the buildings more than a few feet. We had the men dig trenches between the buildings and piled up sandbags in front of the trenches, setting up good firing positions. The ground was cleared about a hundred yards out in every direction from the sheds. We had a spiral of concertina wire out along the tree line, marking the camp border. Our beamers and turrets would have to stop them in this open area.
“Short of blowing up the camp,” I said, “I can’t see how they can take us out other than using an overwhelming infantry force.”
“I agree,” said Kwon, stumping along beside me. “It’s going to be bloody if they try it.”
I didn’t answer him. We’d set up some reliable communications systems by now, nothing but open radio lines. The enemy didn’t seem to be jamming us, but they were probably listening. I told the men to assume the enemy could hear every word. We didn’t have the tech advantage in the communications.
I heard something about half an hour later. Something that rumbled and squeaked. I looked at Kwon, who was taking a break with me. Our backs were up against one of the innermost sheds.
“Armor?” asked Kwon, voicing my thoughts.
“Has to be,” I said grimly. I hated being wrong. This must be what they had been waiting for, the arrival of vehicles. How the hell had they gotten heavy vehicles down here so fast?
“Sounds like they are coming in from the east,” Kwon said. “They are using our own road.”
I nodded slowly. Had we lost the main camp already? Had Barrera switched sides on me? I had to assume the worst. “What kind of vehicle does it sound like to you, Kwon?”
He listened for a second or two. “Not heavy enough to be M1’s. Maybe Bradley fighting vehicles. Something like that.”
“Yeah. Something amphibious. Something they’ve kept out there offshore, waiting for a moment like this to deploy on my little island and run us off.”
Sandra spoke up in my ear then, on the open channel. “Kyle? I’ve got contacts on the road.”
“I know.”
“What do I do?”
“Hold your fire until they do something.”
About a minute later, the sounds of the advancing vehicles stopped. They were waiting for something. Nothing happened for about twelve tense minutes.
Then the smart-missiles came screaming down. The missiles were all coming for my new turret. A steady stream of them. They could have been launched from ships or subs off the coast, or dropped from high-flying aircraft miles out over the ocean. I wasn’t really sure, what I cared about was our programming, which took over and did a fantastic job.
The first thing I heard was the turret moving on its own. With spooky movements, it twisted and aimed upward.
“Kyle?” Sandra called. “This thing is doing something on its own.”
Then I heard the warm-up thrum and the singing sound. The turret had found a target and fired upon it. The sky split apart with light. Immediately, the turret retargeted and fired again. The machine repeated the steps twice more, burning down things in the sky I couldn’t even see.
“Out on the road, they are moving in,” shouted Kwon.
I breathed fast and thought faster. I could see it all now. They were engaging our turret, forcing it to target and destroy incoming missiles from the west. In the meantime, the armor column of vehicles would hit us from the east and probably fire shells at the turret. It could only handle so many targets at once.
“Get a dozen men out of their holes, Sergeant!” I shouted. “Don’t use the radio. We’re going to have to take those vehicles out before they break through the trees. We can’t let them get a clear shot at our only big gun.”
“Sir!” acknowledged Kwon. Without hesitation, he got his big bulk moving. Roaring at the men nearby, he got them moving, too. Somehow, his bass voice was audible above the growing din of whines and explosions overhead.
I followed behind at a trot. I eyed the forest line. If they were ready with an infantry rush, this might be a good time. But they didn’t come instantly. Maybe the enemy couldn’t run fast enough.
“Any new contacts, Sandra?”
“Only the missiles and the vehicles.”
“Keep firing at the missiles,” I said, knowing the enemy was listening. “You must stop them all.”
“It’s doing that by itself.”
Kwon had a hustling team behind him. I gestured toward the road. They set off in ground-eating leaps. I followed.
We met up with the first of the mechanized units as it did about thirty miles an hour right out of the trees. We had to stop the first vehicles from getting out into an open field of fire. They came in a column, of course. They really didn’t have any choice, as they weren’t heavy enough to knock down trees and the forest was too thick for them to drive between the trunks.
The vehicle leading the charge was an APC-an armored personnel carrier. I recognized the design immediately, it was a Bradley M2. It had a 25mm autocannon on top, which instantly began ripping fire at us. My men scattered and threw themselves down into the grass. One marine was hit right off, I could tell from the way he flopped and didn’t get back up.
It was the twin TOW missiles mounted on the side of Bradley’s turret that I feared the most. The missiles were designed to take out tanks. Given a shot at close range, they should be able to make quick work of my big laser.
“Everyone, aim high! Take out the cannon and the missiles!”
It was a close thing, but four beams stabbed out, then three more. The missiles never launched. When the crippled, flaming vehicle rolled to a stop, the back ramp fell open and two men squirmed into the grass. I felt a little sick. These APCs were loaded with infantry. I couldn’t do anything about that now, however. We beamed more M2s as they appeared, each time aiming high. Unfortunately, secondary explosions often caused the vehicles to explode. A few survivors managed to get out and crawl away. I ordered my men to let them retreat.
After we’d knocked out six M2s, they couldn’t get through into the open anymore past their own burning hulks. The crews must have figured out they were screwed and stopped coming.
Shortly after that, the missile barrage from the sea stopped, too. I’d lost several good men, but we’d won-for now.
— 11-
In the morning, I was awakened by Sandra’s touch. I startled, and grabbed her wrist with automatic, heartless speed.
“Ow!” she complained.
“I’m sorry,” I said, releasing her. “I guess you surprised me.”
She rubbed her wrist and her features smoothed out. “That was a bad idea. At least it’s not broken.”
I gently touched her fingers, and she pouted at first, but let me kiss them lightly. She offered me a can of som
ething. It was stew meat, or something like it. I took it and ate the stuff cold.
“We have fake orange juice or fake coffee to go with that,” she said.
“Give me both,” I said.
I ate and looked out the window of Shed Thirty-Six. This unit had been giving us problems. Something had jammed in the factory’s craw when it tried to digest its previous project for raw materials. I must have fallen asleep trying to fix it.
“We made it to morning, at least,” said Sandra.
“How are the turrets?” I asked.
“We’ve got two operational. The third will come up soon. Major Robinson has been asking for you, but I told him you needed a few hours sleep.”
I looked at her, uncertain if she were a danger to military discipline or a godsend. She was a little of both, I supposed. It certainly wasn’t standard operating procedure to have the commander’s girlfriend chasing off his second-in-command. However, we were anything but a standard military, and she had a point. I had needed rest.
“I’ll go get him while you wake up,” she said.
“I don’t want you wandering around the base. There could still be snipers around.”
“I don’t think they would be gunning for me.”
“Probably not, but stay on station inside Fourteen, okay?”
She put her hands on her hips. “After I opened that can of cat food for you to eat and everything? This is the thanks I get?”
“You don’t make the most obedient of soldiers, Sandra.”
“I hope to hell I never do,” she said and left, swinging her hips.
I smirked after her. I hoped she would never change. The door creaked open a few minutes later. I didn’t look around. I was busy tapping on the same tablet I’d lifted from the operator of Unit Fourteen yesterday. I had to work out the maximum number of ships I could produce from the supplies I had left. I figured three turrets were enough for now to defend the base. We needed mobile forces to push them off the island. An exhibition of force was required to get them to take us seriously again.
“Robinson?” I said, “tell me about the turrets.”
Major Robinson cleared his throat. When he spoke, I heard a little slur to his speech, as if he had had a stroke or something. I supposed his cheek hadn’t completely healed over yet. “We’ve got another problem, sir,” he said.
I turned around and got my biggest surprise of the day. Leaning in over Robinson’s shoulder was a smiling face. I knew that face. It was Admiral Jack Crow.
My mouth sagged open. “Crow?”
“The same, mate!” he said, grinning. His teeth were big, white and square. His blue eyes glowed beside his hawk-nose.
I stared at him for a second, blinking.
“Thought I was out of the picture, did you?” he said, clearly enjoying my shock. “Well, anyone will tell you an old Crow doesn’t die easily. I may be even harder to kill than the famous Kyle Riggs.”
“Colonel,” interrupted Robinson, eyeing us both uneasily. I’m sure he wasn’t quite sure who he was supposed to take orders from at this point. “There’s something I need to show you out here.”
I stepped out into the sunlight, and got a second shock. Men were streaming into camp. Unlike Crow, most of them were armed. They were my marines. Nearly two full companies of them.
“Are these the men Barrera told me he sent?” I asked.
“The same, mate,” said Crow from close behind me. He’d followed us out to gloat. Somehow, having Crow at my back made my skin crawl. I didn’t turn around, though. I didn’t want to look worried.
“Thanks for bringing them in, Crow. You’ve done better than I could have hoped.”
The men all stared at one another and Crow and I. It had to be hard for them. I was the hero, but Crow had always been the superior officer. I’m sure they felt divided loyalties. With such a small, half-broken organization, it was dangerous to have anyone feeling uncertain. I felt, suddenly, like a member of some rebel camp hiding in the jungles of a banana republic. All I needed was a beret and a cigar.
“Perhaps we should talk privately?” suggested Crow, still standing behind me.
I nodded. I tossed my head in the direction of Unit Fourteen. What had once been a shed had transformed into a metallic anthill. The turret on top swiveled in twitches and jerks as the brainbox reacted to stimuli.
I walked to Unit Fourteen. Crow followed me. I never looked at him. I knew that every eye in the camp watched us. I knew that I couldn’t show any fear, or dismay. But I was feeling dismayed all right. Somehow, I’d figured I was in charge of this outfit, or what was left of it, and I had been left with no real rivals for power. It wasn’t that I was power-mad, mind you. It wasn’t even that I disliked Crow all that much. But somehow, other people in any power structure tended to get in my way.
As we reached the base of the shining conical tower, Crow whistled with admiration. “This is your work, isn’t it, Riggs? I’m constantly amazed by the things you manage to come up with. Scared the shit out of the dirtsiders, I bet.”
“It did indeed.”
“Why does this thing keep shivering and moving around?” he asked, pointing up at the projector, which was tracking something. I didn’t know what.
“It might be sensing distant aircraft,” I suggested.
“Or, it might be tracking a flock of storks, right?” asked Crow.
“If they so much as crap on this facility, this baby will toast them.”
Crow nodded and ran his hand over the smooth metal admiringly. “Yes. I have no doubt of that. I like these things you’ve made for me, Kyle. They remind me of Snapper. I miss her. Do you miss Alamo?”
“I haven’t had time to miss her, really,” I said. I rapped out my code on the door. The door dissolved open.
Crow recognized the code and laughed. “High security, eh, mate?
I gave him a wintery smile and gestured for us to go inside. He followed me.
The second I stepped inside and the door sealed itself behind us, I knew something was wrong. I began to turn, to raise my arms.
I caught a glimpse of Crow behind me. He had his fists balled up around something, a rock? I couldn’t tell. His eyes were bulging with effort, they were half-mad. I realized vaguely this must have been the face he’d worn when he’d killed people aboard the Snapper.
Truthfully, I wasn’t all that worried. He was older and in worse shape than I was. Much more importantly, he’d never been nanotized. What did I have to worry about? My biggest concern was not to accidently hurt the crazy old codger.
His balled fists came down on my temple, and I felt shocked. Not just from the power of the blow, but the speed of it. How could he?
A purple explosion went off in my brain and I went down. I rolled away from him, struggled to spring up again.
He was on me in an instant. I saw what he had in his hands now. They were big, round steel balls. Ball bearings? Something like that. He’d picked them up somewhere and had kept them in his pockets. Now, he was beating the crap out of me with them. The skin on his knuckles opened up. The skin split over the bone. I saw metal in there. Then I knew.
Training saved me. I was on my back, but I managed to yank my knees up to my chest and piston them into his body. He flew away from me like a toy tossed by a child. He crashed against the far wall, bounced off and came back at me.
By that time, however, I had gotten to my feet again. My face was a patchwork of dented flesh by then, I knew. He had hammered me in the head a half-dozen times. I was woozy, but I didn’t let on.
I grinned at him with blood outlining each white tooth. My hand were up, but I waved him forward with a flick of my fingers.
“Always wanted to take a few pokes at you, old man,” I said. I did my best to sound excited, feral-confident.
It worked. He hesitated. His face registered surprise. We circled, kicking chairs out of the way when they came near. He threw a punch or two, but I slapped them away. We were both breathing hard. Each second t
hat passed my head cleared. I needed a break badly.
“You thought I was out of the picture, didn’t you Riggs?” Crow asked.
I nodded. “My bad. The second ship,” I said, pointing at him. “You were on it. What did you tell the Snapper to get the Nanos to let you go?”
Crow didn’t answer. Maybe he’d figured out I was stalling. He came at me, throwing roundhouse swings. I caught one with my shoulder, another with my ear. The one in the ear really hurt. I threw one uppercut into his chin that must have rattled his brains. It would have broken the jaw of a normal man.
We clinched up and wrestled for a minute, then pushed off each other again. Crow had a heavier build than I did, and I could tell he’d been in brawls before. But he was older and hadn’t had much time to adjust to being full of nanites. At first, it threw a man off, like steering a new car.
“So, what’s this all about?” I asked. “Do I owe you twenty bucks?”
Crow snorted. Blood fired out onto the floor when he did so.
“You cocked-up everything, that’s what you did.”
I gave a small shrug. “Like what?”
“Like what?” he screamed suddenly, disbelievingly. “Kyle, I flew seven hundred ships at the Macros. I left this world behind with thousands of followers and billions in cash. We met the enemy, ran them off, and somehow a few hours later I found my fleet disbanded. I couldn’t even talk to them. I finally talked the Snapper into returning, and what do I find? You had dismantled my organization, pissed off every power on the planet and setup for a last stand out here in the woods.”
I took a deep breath. I straightened up. “You’ve got a point there,” I said.
“Oh, so you admit it?”
“Yeah. I can see it from your point of view. Too bad it has to end like this, though. We had a great partnership.”
He looked troubled at that. He nodded. “You were my best man. But I was almost an Emperor. Do you realize that?”
