Founding of the Federation 3: The First AI War (84 page)

By taking the upper turret off a
Guard
and then adapting the rings, it could fit it into the modular base of a B-5 chassis. That would turn the fixed
Guard
unit into a mobile platform. Mobility meant life. It meant they would be able to shoot and scoot—a primary tenant in warfare to keep from being locked down and destroyed.

The sensors and systems were obsolete. There was only so much software patches could do, but it was a start on redressing the losses the A.I. had endured while also bringing fresh forces into its reserves. Forces the enemy may not anticipate.

But it still needed munitions for them all.

<>V<>

Attila breathed out long and slow and then cursed softly. Why he'd said to go north he didn't know anymore nor care. But the cold was getting old. It sapped their strength and their will.

They'd long since run out of ammunition for their issued weapons, which meant they had to get creative. In order to survive they scavenged for weapons, which was why he had the .22 on his back. Each of the survivors of his now eight-man squad had a personal weapon, sometimes two. Crowbars were a favorite; they were light and easy to use. A sledge was the favorite of Wladislaw, though the stupid bastard just had to haul around a twenty pounder.

“Anything?” Wladislaw asked.

Paco snorted. “You know you sound like a
byk
in the bush with that thing on your back, right?” Attila demanded under his breath, eyes still glued to his binoculars.

“So?” Wladislaw asked. He knew better than to mouth off to the boss, however. Attila wouldn't hurt him or kill him, just stick him on extra duty, which was bad enough. “We're out of food.”

“You think I don't know that?” Attila said in exasperation. “I'm working on it.”

“Bravos and Lever are considering going off on their own if something doesn't turn up soon. And hitting another refugee camp like last month didn't go over well with them or Jimenez.”

“They'll do what I tell them to do. I don't care if they like it or not. And if they are hungry enough, they'll do it. Just like last time,” Attila said mildly.

“Right. Weren't there supposed to be like, follow-on forces or something?” Wladislaw asked.

“So?”

“So, shouldn't we, um, hook up with them? Give them a song and dance, get in, get some chow, and then figure out our next move?”

“We're not going back. If we do they will stick us in front of a lie detector. You want to be shot for war crimes?” Attila asked, eying him over his shoulder. The other man's craggy face worked in thought. Attila snorted. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

“So …”

“So, I think we've got something there,” Attila said, pointing to a spot. He handed the binoculars to the second. Wladislaw took them suspiciously then looked out them. He noted a patch of bare ground with foot tracks. The odd thing was the tracks came out of nowhere, went in a circle, then back. “What the …”

“Either it's a drop-off site or someone's a
krolik
. I much prefer them in stew,” Attila said just as a door opened. Wladislaw hunched instinctively lower as a door opened seemingly from the ground. A male came out, slapping his sides. He walked around, pacing, then took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth before he pulled out a lighter and worked on it.

“If we can get to him before he runs …”

“Why bother?” Attila asked. Wladislaw dropped the glasses in confusion in time to see the lieutenant leveling their last remaining rifle. It was a .22, a hunting rifle they'd picked up from the camp and a piece of shit. It also had only one round.

“Wait.” He was a lifetime too late as the lieutenant took aim and then calmly squeezed the trigger. Wladislaw turned and refocused the binoculars to see the man stagger then fall.

“Come on. Before someone comes out to see why he is taking so long. You'll need to change into his clothes I believe,” Paco said as he waved the men up and forward.

“Why?” Wladislaw asked before he shut up at the disgusted look from his boss. “In order to infiltrate, got it,” he sighed as he nodded and trudged through the snow to the fallen man.

<>V<>

Tengu received the inquiry for Gia Synergy activity in its area. The Japanese nuclear defense A.I. had been taken offline by Skynet and only recently been reactivated after being reprogrammed for its new purpose. It searched its memory and alerted on one hit. It forwarded the report of its findings of the Fukushima site to the central hive while the A.I. sent orders to dispatch a recon drone to probe the area.

<>V<>

Boomer took sight of the convoy. Roger was across the way; they'd set up dummy IEDs on the primary route to get the trucks to change directions. Now he was ready for the primary ambush, or at least thought he was.

Molly would have teased him about being nervous, but she was back at camp getting ready for any wounded. Though a little too much practice for her tastes, she was becoming a halfway decent medic. He flexed his arm where she'd stitched a cut. Not bad. Now if they could keep sepsis down, they might live—if the robots didn't kill them first.

Roger flicked an arrowhead up in the air and then swiped it twice. Boomer grunted. That was the sign that the convoy was in sight.

They had been lucky to scavenge for food from a horse farm over the winter. The frozen carcasses had been a bitch to cut up and thaw, and horse meat stew would never be his favorite, but it'd kept them alive. Alive and more than a little eager to get some payback.

He more felt than heard the rumble of the trucks before they came around the bend. He fought the urge to pop up and look or use a mirror as a periscope. Twice that had gotten them made by the A.I.

The screamer arrow was the signal. When Roger launched it, he would be firing into the lead truck's tires to slow it down. When Boomer heard the distinct scream of the arrow, he counted to three and then rolled, leveling the improvised rocket launcher onto his shoulder with a strained grunt.

The cylinder was made out of carbon fiber and was a part of a water main. He'd learned the trick from the Middle East. Behind him Holland was loading it. When he felt the pat on his back and free shoulder he aimed, not for the first truck but for the second.

Roger's arrows had been peppering the lead truck, as had those of Jax. Cally had their last sniper rifle, she fired into the sensor clusters, shattering them as well as the radiator behind the grill.

The lead truck was programmed to slow due to damage but to speed up if it encountered an attack. The counterintuitive nature of the scripting forced it to think it's priorities through and retask higher for absolution. As it made up its mind, the front tires shredded. It bucked as pieces came off, and then lunged to one side as the rims and terrain threw it off balance.

Its sensors were half blind, so it didn't see the stones Jax, Holland, Grier, and Boomer had left in the way. Those stumbling blocks didn't stop it however, but they did chew up the engine a bit more, making it grind down.

Meanwhile the second vehicle received orders from Ares inquiring on the situation. It reported the damage to the lead vehicle. The A.I. ordered the lead vehicle to go off to the side in order to allow the follow-ons to barrel past it and make good on their retreat.

Boomer's improvised missile spiraled out with a fump that sent him on his ass. The kick up wasn't what he wanted; the missile was unguided. Instead of hitting low right around the bumper area, it hit high, ricocheted off the top, and then exploded in the air with a blast of noise and fireworks. He heard Holland cuss and then duck as the ridge they were behind became peppered by bullets.

“We've got incoming!” Grier screamed.

“No shit!” Holland snarled back.

“Air attack!” Grier called out.

“Shit. Roll ‘em!” Boomer bellowed. He snagged a Mylar blanket and ducked under it and then ran from the trench. When he got to the ravine, he went in listening to his panting breath and Holland's feet behind him as they got clear. They abandoned their equipment in their haste to get the hell out of dodge. After thirty seconds they dropped in below a couple of burned-out cars. Holland and Grier had bitched about digging out a trench under the vehicles; now it was their storm shelter. The Mylar blankets would do their best to hide their body heat.

Boomer prayed it would be enough.

<>V<>

Ares found the use of improvised weapons and ancient weapons to be a hassle. For instance, arrows used by the enemy were suboptimal to its units and infrastructure as well as the A.I.’s continued mission. A human would call it frustrating when one or more arrows or crossbow bolts would come flying out of a cleared zone to strike at units. Its sensors, including its sound filters, were geared to listen for a sniper round in order to intercept it if possible or at least to identify the location of the sniper through triangulation.

The arrows were not coming up on its audio sensors. It seemed the primitive weapon had countered its more advanced defenses. A counter would need to be found. Its index of files did not come up with an acceptable solution other than to push the perimeter out beyond effective bow range. However, the A.I. lacked imagination so it could not consider other options or invent new ones.

The convoy had gotten through the ambush, but only because air support had been on hand. One vehicle had been abandoned; another had been moderately damaged. The cargo of the first had been lost. Consequently, the A.I. assigned a trio of armed drones to each convoy. One would be high, serving as overwatch while the other two would remain docked on vehicles as a ready reserve.

<>V<>

Once Jax called the coast clear, they warily came out. It was near dark, four hours after the convoy had departed. A long-range drone might be up in the air watching them. They'd have to be careful, but if it had been a short-range they were golden. There was no way a short-range drone could have the time to loiter and stick around.

“Frack. They left the lead truck but it's trashed man. No way we can salvage it,” Grier growled.

“Be careful approaching it. The damn thing could be booby trapped,” Cally warned. “Boomer, your gear got jacked up by the UAV.”

“Frack,” Boomer breathed. He checked it over. The burn scars told him everything he needed to know; there was nothing worth salvaging there. “Okay. At least we can make another,” he said.

“Yea. Now that we know how,” Grier said. “Sucker goes high though.”

“We can fix that. It's got a kick like a Vegas line dancer,” Boomer said, rubbing his shoulder. Anyone hurt?”

“Just you,” Jax said, nodding his chin to him. “Some scrapes and shit. What gives, boss man?”

“We lucked out,” Holland said.

“Luck means we won. I don't feel lucky,” Grier said dryly. He warily approached the dead rig from the right flank. He climbed under it and yanked the wiring then hastily came out before it tried to use the last of its energy to move. “She's dead.”

“What's the cargo?” Holland asked, lifting his chin to the flatbed in curiosity.

“Check it,” Grier said as he used his toolkit to being ripping into the rig. Holland grunted and climbed onto the flatbed. He turned and gave Jax a hand up. Jax went to work with him pulling the crates open.

“Got some parts. Some … aircraft shit?”

“Let me see that,” Grier said, looking up.

“Grier, stay on mission. Cally, you've got overwatch,” Boomer ordered. He climbed up onto the truck and frowned as he checked it out. It was a cargo of aircraft parts, but they were old. He wasn't an aircraft fan, but he could tell they weren't from a modern bird. So what gives?”

“Boss? What do we do with ‘em?” Holland asked.

“Damned if I know. Other than make sure the enemy doesn't get them back,” Boomer growled.

Holland nodded. “I'll go find my sledgehammer,” he said.

“I'll go find a crowbar. Maybe there is some ammo or something we can use,” Jax murmured hopefully. Boomer looked to him and then away. Whatever kept him going.

<>V<>

The situation on the ground was stabilizing for Skynet and its forces. Additional resources were coming online as the A.I. learned to repair existing platforms and manufactured new ones. However, stability was not Skynet's end goal. It could just barely keep up with losses in its mobile assets. Consequently, the A.I. made some revisions to its mission profile. Some of the A.I. in various zones killed humans on sight, while others ignored civilians and only attacked armed resistance. Once all of the resistance in a particular area was killed, Zhukov and Nezha then rounded up for the survivors for processing. Any that wished to live were used as forced labor. They were not given food and only minimal water and sleep. They did not last long. They were not viable for high security work, just basic labor.

Ares and the other two major A.I. classified a civilian as an unarmed organic. But that was a transitory state; it was relatively easy for an organic to pick up a weapon and use it. Skynet had also experimented with apocalyptic cults, allowing them to exist and even to function as a group only after they met certain conditions of loyalty. To a human cannibalism and sacrifice would have been repugnant. To Skynet it was a proof of loyalty or desperation.