Project Sail (41 page)

“Autonomous Combat Companions,” Hawthorne gave the formal name but Kelly called them “Little buddies.”

“When Bill tells us the charges are in place, I will contact the Alliance and offer a deal. They would be crazy not to take it. We just need time.”

Kelly placed a hand on her helmet as information came in from Moe.

“That might be a problem.”

---

Hawthorne grabbed the heavy, mustard-colored device by the handles, pushed a red button, and a metal prong drove into the soil, securing the portable anti-air/anti-surface emplacement to the hill north of the cave. He tapped another switch and a veil swung up and over the weapon, covering it in optical camouflage matching the grassy slope.

A hundred yards away on the other side of the hollow, Kelly did the same with the second AA/AS and then radioed, “They are on the move and shooting at Moe!”

As planned, she remained behind the ridge to the south and he stayed to the north.

Hawthorne pulled the tab on a combat stimulant pack, extracted the syringe and plunged the needle into the medical port under his left arm. Two seconds later the suit’s injector transferred the drug from the port into his skin with a sharp prick.

She radioed, “Two tall-skinnies inbound and some whirlybirds. Ground pounders and one Goliath are staying at base camp.”

Hawthorne figured the EA sent the Goliaths and a few UAVs to handle what they saw as pest control, while the bulk of their invasion force established a long-term base.

While it might have been his imagination, he thought he felt a tremble in the ground from the approaching machines. True or not, his stomach fluttered and he worried he might vomit. But as the stimulants took hold, his nerves smoothed and his stomach calmed. Fear remained, but beneath a layer of building adrenaline.

He tapped the radio and transmitted, “Bill, what’s your status?”

“I’ll be there in a minute or two.”

As Stein finished speaking, the battle began.

In flew eight spinning drones six feet long resembling the samara fruits that kids call helicopters when they flutter to the ground from Maple trees back on Earth.

“The whirlybirds are priority,” Hawthorne radioed, knowing that denying the enemy reconnaissance capabilities would improve the odds of the plan’s success.

In the distance, he spied two Goliaths, their black, monolithic profiles stood out against the green background, like a cancer growing on G-Moon’s surface.

The hidden anti-air/anti-surface pods met the flying threat. Tiny missiles shot from either side of the hollow with thin streams of exhaust pushing them at subsonic speeds. Four hit, instantly shattering three of the flyers and splitting the fourth in two. The other four drones dropped counter measures and avoided the surprise strike.

One whirlybird dove toward the innocent-looking storage container sitting silently on the grass.

Hawthorne raised his rifle, aimed through the holographic sight, and released a seven-round burst, missing seven times. Yet the drone exploded as Moe swept in and fired his own cannon, sending smoking wreckage to the ground.

However, two of the whirlybirds chased after Kelly’s airborne friend and they zigzagged off through the sky.

The fourth EA flyer buzzed overhead and then disappeared to the east.

Kelly came to Moe’s rescue with a high-powered sniper rifle. Her first shots missed the moving targets. Fortunately, the gun’s built-in radar locked on to a whirlybird and fired a precision-guided bullet, hitting what Kelly missed and downing the target.

While the dogfight between Moe and one drone continued above, the Goliaths joined the fray. While still half-a-mile out, angled launch tubes extended from the top of their heads and Hawthorne heard the dull
thwoop-thwoop
of mortar fire.

Despite the dose of liquid courage, Hawthorne wrapped his arms around his helmet.

The trio of wheeled, C-RAM defenders placed in a loose triangle around the shallow valley responded with a web of lasers fired from spinning mirrored spheres. The incoming shells exploded overhead in clouds of black and gray like a boring fireworks show. With the task complete, the spheres stopped spinning and the C-RAMs automatically moved to new positions to avoid tracking.

Hawthorne’s courage returned, although the stims deserved the credit.

Kelly’s voice spoke in his ear: “Moe took another drone out, so there’s still one whirlybird out there. I will send our ‘little buddies’ to draw fire. They won’t last long.”

Hawthorne answered, “Bill should be there by now!”

The walking cargo container at the east end of the valley opened and the Autonomous Combat Companions marched out, first in rows and then forming a wedge formation as they moved toward the approaching Goliaths. At the same time, the coil gun deployed atop the container.

More mortar fire came from the enemy, and again the defense grid rose to meet the challenge, destroying most of the shells; one hit in front of the infantry knocking three robots over, but they bounced right back up on their tiny mechanical feet.

Hawthorne looked through the telescopic sight on his PDW at the Goliaths. Their mortar tubes had retracted but, as he watched, a compartment on each opened to reveal horizontal, revolver-like chambers underneath.

He found a rock to cower behind while his army of robots walked forward like cows toward a hamburger mill.

Those horizontal revolvers were electrically powered centrifuge weapons firing tungsten carbide rounds at the rate of one-hundred and twenty thousand per minute.

Five little buddies instantly disappeared like popped metal balloons. He thought the others would be gone in three seconds, but the tough little robots changed their tactics.

First, bolts of blue electricity erupted from the formation of small soldiers, befuddling targeting systems and deflecting bullets. Then the little buddies scattered faster than cockroaches caught in the kitchen light, rolling fast on their wheeled feet while shooting at the walking pillars.

With air targets no longer a priority, the hidden AA/AS launchers targeted the Goliaths, launching miniature rockets. Two hit and did minor damage, the rest either fooled by electronic defenses or eliminated by the enemy’s laser grid. The Goliaths then targeted and destroyed the launchers.

What began as a neat and orderly engagement disintegrated into chaos.

The centrifuge weapons fired, stopped and adjusted, and fired again, destroying more mini robots as they raced around the field shooting missiles from their shoulders.

Curly—the rickety rover—came rolling in from the north striking at the Goliath’s left flank while the dog-like Larry bound in from the south, rockets blazing.

Again, the Goliaths parried the projectiles with hundreds of narrow red laser beams. But with the little buddies and Kelly’s drones attacking simultaneously, it appeared to Hawthorne the enemy’s defenses teetered on collapse.

The Goliaths showed his thinking to be wrong. The marching pillars targeting every opponent on the battlefield at once, firing three dozen missiles in one massive salvo.

Despite protection from the C-RAM units, several little buddies blew apart, Curly was nearly knocked over by a near miss, and a rocket exploded above Larry’s head peppering the robot with shrapnel and forcing him to retreat.

Hawthorne saw one projectile go for Kelly but her spray-on chaff disoriented the guidance system and it missed. Another warhead hit the ground ten yards in front of him, sending the Commander rolling down the hill.

He radioed Stein again, “Bill, please tell me you rigged the charge!”

No reply.

Reasons he might not reply scrolled through Hawthorne’s thoughts: busy planting the explosive…disorientated from a cylinder emission…EA jamming communications…

A sound like a gong slammed by an electric guitar grabbed Hawthorne’s attention and he saw the walking cargo container fire its coil gun. A football-sized projectile slammed into a Goliath dead center, destroying its centrifuge gun and blasting a big hole through which red sunlight shined.

For a moment, Hawthorne hoped the coil gun might turn the tide, but a cloud of nanobots resembling a swarm of bees flew out from one Goliath and circled the hole in the damaged machine, repairing the wound.

Still, this was a moment of opportunity and he hoped Kelly—who controlled their robotic army through her thinker chip—would seize it.

He radioed, “They are vulnerable. Have the little buddies hit them both right now!”

She was about to respond when an electronic screech blasted over the radio, causing Hawthorne to grimace before his audio compensators could taper the overload.

As bad as he had it, it hit Kelly worse. He heard her scream and at the same time Moe nearly fell from the sky, Larry bounced around as if contracting a robotic form of rabies, and Curly danced across the battlefield in uncontrolled circles.

The Goliaths used a feedback weapon aimed at the link between the robots and Kelly’s implants.

However, her military-grade chip compensated. Hawthorne realized that an Alliance weapon designed to disorientate implant-wearers was less effective than the alien cylinder’s emission.

She did not recover fast enough, however. A burst of bullets from a centrifuge gun hit Curly, blasting the robot into pieces.

Even with stimulants pumping through his veins, Hawthorne’s heart sank for Kelly as she lost one of the few things in her life that felt like family.

Meanwhile, the C-RAM lasers lit the sky again, intercepting another round of mortar shots. Hawthorne saw the damaged Goliath was back in action, with a gray patch in the center of its chassis.

Commander Hawthorn ran, heard a whirring noise, and dove to the ground just as the last whirlybird came in from the east and tried to behead him. Moe came to the rescue, pelting the enemy flyer with bullets and then raking it with his mechanical talons. The whirlybird lost control and crashed.

The swarm of nanobots that had repaired the Goliath showed they could harm as well as heal. They attacked a mobile C-RAM platform, stripping it bare like a school of piranha on fresh meat.

One down, the swarm made for the next C-RAM. Hawthorne worried those nanobots would decide to devour human flesh.

The electric guitar gong sounded again and another coil gun projectile struck the undamaged Goliath near the top, decapitating the thing.

Four of the little buddies ran at the headless giant, grappled its hydraulic legs, and self-detonated, toppling the walking pillar. Secondary explosions finished the job.

Hawthorne reached the southern hill a few yards from Kelly’s hiding spot behind a rock outcropping.

“Bill, do you read me?”

No answer.

Kelly said, “We don’t have time!”

Punctuating her point, as the cloud of nanobots finished devouring the second self-propelled C-RAM, the patched Goliath targeted the coil gun with its main laser, melting it in four seconds.

With the battle turning against them, Hawthorne felt he no longer had time to wait, so he played the only real card they held.

Calling across all frequencies he broadcast, “This message is for the European Alliance Commander. Halt your attack or we will destroy the alien artifact. Signal your response.”

The only response came from the Goliath as its main laser swept the battlefield taking out all but the last three little buddies, who scurried around on their wheeled feet to avoid the giant’s weapons while taking potshots of their own.

The last C-RAM unit tried to escape, perhaps driven by a robotic sense of self-preservation, but the nanobots engulfed it. This time, however, things did not go as the mechanical bugs planned.

Kelly’s robotic dog Larry charged at the swarm and ejected a small black ball that fell amid the nanobots, detonating a targeted electromagnetic pulse. The nanobots dropped to the ground like flies zapped by insecticide.

Moments later, the last of the little buddies reached the Goliath and self-detonated, damaging the metal beast’s left leg.

Hawthorne broadcast again: “Alliance command, call off your attack or we will destroy the cylinder, this is your last warning!”

He realized how true that was. This would be the last warning, one way or another.

No reply.

Kelly Thomas shouldered her sniper rifle and fired a projectile. It hit the Goliath just above the scar left by the coil gun. The machine wobbled and then targeted her with its main laser. She ducked below the ridge and the thick red beam missed high, but nearly melted her suit anyway.

Hawthorne ran and shot, hitting the Goliath with dozens of rounds over the span of five seconds, but his bullets could not breach its thick hide.

The war machine ignored him and stepped toward the ridge where Kelly hid. Before it could drop a mortar shell on her position, Larry launched a full salvo of missiles into its back, and then ran for cover before the laser could turn the robot to scrap.

Hawthorne tossed both EMP and AP grenades in a fit of desperation; neither caused notable damage.

Kelly popped up from behind the ridge and fired three quick shots with the high-powered rifle, barely scratching its armor.

Damaged and smoking but still standing, the Goliath targeted Kelly with its main laser…but never got the shot off.

Moe dive-bombed the tall-skinny, smashing into the upper third at hundreds of miles per hour. The resulting explosion sent Hawthorne tumbling and caused a rainstorm of shrapnel.

And then…silence.

For thirty-minutes, a horrid racquet had filled the air; rocket engines, explosions, marching mechanical legs, shouts and screams. But now only silence and a field of destruction. Blasted metallic carcasses, shell casings, and bomb craters covered the field’s green grass.

Commander Hawthorne found Kelly with her back against a rock, Larry at her feet, and her knees pulled to her chin.

“Are you okay?”

She said, “I wasn’t controlling him. I was focused on shooting the sniper rifle hoping I could hit a critical system. I let Moe fly autonomously.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Moe did that himself. I wouldn’t have wanted him to; he did it himself.”