Founding of the Federation 3: The First AI War (125 page)

“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 to 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.”

The lion nodded slowly. “Yes, sir,” he said miserably. It seemed it didn't look good for his old mentor Lieutenant Jaga. He'd sucked up too many rads from that damn dirty bomb. That sucked. He'd have to find a way to let the others know,
after
they got through this mess. He was pretty sure they already knew or at least suspected the outlook was poor. Jaga had looked like a skeleton before his collapse.

“Go on, get out of here so I can take my nap, Captain,” Claudis ordered, dismissing him.

“Sir?”

“You heard me. If I've got to put up with a promotion, so do you.”

“Yes sir,” the Captain nodded, about-faced and then dropped to all fours as he trotted out of the area.

<>V<>

With word of General Martell and General Schlock's demise came the inevitable shifting upward motion of the promotional ladder to fill vacancies. Major Shier Khan received orders promoting him to lieutenant colonel by a harried General Elliot.

“You've got a hell of a job, Khan, get it done. Congrats on the promotion and all that. Now get your people moving. We've got a war to win,” Elliot said before he immediately closed the channel.

“Promoted again,” Baloo said from the open door of the bombed-out building. He snorted explosively as Khan tiredly looked his way. Khan could see the neo-elephant Lieutenant Anet pass behind the bear on his way to do his job. “Well, whoop-de-do and la-di-da,” Baloo mocked. “Can we get back to work now?”

Khan eyed the bear coldly for stealing some of his triumph. It was like a bucket of ice water on an objective he'd set for himself as a cub. Now the bar had risen higher, to a general's rank of course. But there remained little time to get there before the war concluded.

He was tired too. Exhausted, not just physically, but also mentally. It was a lot of pressure to lead the troops. He finally grunted as an explosion went off outside. “Indeed,” he drawled.

“About time,” Baloo said, waving to the door. “After you, Colonel?”

<>V<>

Captain Collins hadn't been surprised when he had been field promoted to Major. They had lost a lot of people, too many. They had to keep the chain of command running. He wasn't sure he could handle it, but he'd learned long ago not to give up or give in.

To his surprise he didn't have to go far. He was put in charge of the MASH units along the Poland front. Triage, get them sorted out, then move to European hospitals.

He hadn't time for a tour. When he came out of the HQ tent, he looked up to see missiles streaking by overhead. Zhukov's last gasp of hoarded nuclear weapons were rising in the air off the coast and from hidden bases in Siberia. The Marine defenses cut them down from orbit as well as the ground before the nukes could go off.

“Well! That's a relief,” Harper said when the news reached them over the PA system. Not one nuke had gone off. He eyed the staff who were frozen immobile, still looking up at the sky warily. “Get to work, people!” He barked. That startled them out of their frozen state. “People are dying, get your shit together and your heads in the game. Don't worry about what you can't control. We can't run from it anyway,” he snarled. “Our enemy is death. Make sure he's beaten back,” he said, moving through the group before he settled on a moaning cat who was missing a leg. He was doped up, but his movements had torn something holding an artery. “Get me a cauterizer here, stat!” Harper barked as he pushed the cat down and got to work.