Founding of the Federation 3: The First AI War (95 page)

“Yes sir,” Elliot replied, eyebrows lifting upwards briefly in surprise. “Thank you for the loan, sir. I wish a lot more of our troops had them.”

“Not after lunch yesterday though,” the British general retorted dryly.

“Even after that, sir. One or more outside might have stopped the suit. I've put in some orders to hopefully curtail such shenanigans in the future. And I've put a stop to the single operator crap they were doing before. The operators thought they were invincible in the suits. Obviously they were wrong.”

“Indeed. Carry on then,” the general stated.

“Yes sir. Five out,” Elliot said as he cut the circuit.

<>V<>

They didn't find a single human survivor in the upper floors of the complex. Just bodies, many of them heartbreaking to see.

Each stairwell was contested on the way up. After the first week, the A.I. had learned to cut or rig the stairs to fall. That forced the troopers into using specific stairwells it could more easily defend. Open air mall sections were also hotly contested. Robots would drop from above to get behind their lines. Patrols had to be kept to watch for such tactics. Sentry guns were eventually set up to watch the open air areas.

That returned the attention of both sides back to upwards mobility. With the elevators out, the stairs became a choke point it could exploit to attrition the troopers until General Elliot called a couple of helos in and air lifted two squads to the roof and had them work their way downwards.

It took them the rest of the month to slug through the upper stories of the residential tower. When the last floor was considered clean, the general ordered a two-day halt to rest and rearm before he sent the troops back in to finish the job.

But to their surprise when they turned their attention downward, they did find people hiding in the tunnels, warehouses, and apartments. Some were organized into gangs for self-protection; some still had functioning police forces to rely on for defense. They had no climate control and no power so they existed in the darkness with candles or flashlights for light. Water had to be brought in with buckets. The water was supplied from pools and the water park. It was regularly tested to make sure it wasn't poisoned.

Once they cleared the lower levels, the residential tower was considered clean. A small team of medics and engineers moved in to help the residents rebuild their home into a fortress. It would be considered a safe zone for the surrounding area.

General Elliot's forces were stood down to rest and rebuild. He'd lost nearly one full platoon of troops in the three weeks of fighting. It had been a harsh battle for him; one he had the occasional nightmare about.

Half of his force was sent south to thicken the lines there while a third was used to secure the perimeter and the rest were used to train the militia and police volunteers.

Two days after securing the residential perimeter, security had to contend with robots attempting to infiltrate the building. They weren't certain if any got inside, which touched off a brief panic and a grim search of the area around the breach.

Nothing was found however.

“The idea that we may have to go over terrain again and again to flush out the robots that are in hiding or that sneak in to set up new ambush sites or to hide assets is appalling, General. I'm not sure what we can do about it,” Elliot said in a radio conference.

“I know. It is an ongoing problem, one I've bucked to Olympus six and higher. They don't have any answers right now either unfortunately. We don't have the manpower to not only secure every centimeter of ground but also watch it. Not this way,” General Martell grumbled.

“I can set up sentry guns in some areas. But I don't blame the troops for being leery about the damn things. It's too easy for the tin cans to get in and hack them. We have to control them with wires too. Which means if something as small as a toy gets in, it can splice in and hack the network.”

“Not a bloody pleasant thought is it, mate?” the general asked tiredly. “You're seeing what Colonel Sinclair and the other officers have reported to me already,” he said.

“Damn, sir. Sorry. I guess I've been wrapped up in my own little world trying to get this place cleaned out.”

“And you did a good job. I intend to visit someday. For now, do try to keep it secure while you are on the mend. Once the natives have been cleaned up and outfitted, we'll turn it over to them fully so you can get back into the war properly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Six out.”

<>V<>

Fiben and Harper listened to the daily reports from the African front. The news became something of a community tradition with everyone hunkered around the clusters of speakers Pat and his volunteer techs had set up to rebroadcast the evening radio reports. It was great for morale knowing that others were out there, fighting the good fight.

News that they were making progress seemed to cheer the people in their community. Harper, however, knew the cost in blood his fellow soldiers were taking to make such gains. He was also aware that their blood wouldn't hold out forever.

Their own news wasn't nearly as important as the news being broadcast, but it had implications for them. With the seeds and materials from the last drop they actually had a series of small truck gardens going as well as new attempts at indoor greenhouses. The ground was hard and rough, the weather a pain in the ass, but when people saw the sprouts they tended to smile.

There was not much of a yield the first two months but every little bit of food they produced helped. And just seeing some green around, smelling it, seemed to help some depressed people. It told many that there was still hope from the gray and white landscape.

The first day that the sun breached the clouds stopped everyone in their tracks. Seeing the sunbeams playing across the ground, it brought everyone to stop and look up to the sky. The winds pushed the clouds back together after a moment, but Fiben imagined it did wonders for morale as well. It told everyone that there indeed was a light at the end of the tunnel.

They just had to keep working until they got there.

<>V<>

Boomer's team picked up a radio as well as a two half-starved kids and their mutt in their last strike. The mutt was a small dog, but it warned them when a mech or person was in the area so the others tolerated her. Chica seemed to like Boomer, though he had a bit of trouble relating to the dog. To him it wasn't a real dog. Anything he could drop kick was a yappy beanie baby, not a real dog. Not that he was going to tell the kids that. Roger's joke about cooking her hadn't gone over well at all.

Four successful convoy raids. Two base raids. One Skynet nest taken down. They'd endured two ambushes, fortunately with injuries and only one casualty; Jax had bought it providing cover fire to Cally and the rest of them. Cally had been rough for days afterward before she'd settled down into a single-minded ferocity of combat gestalt. She practically lived to kill robots now, and bouts between combat got her twitchy.

They were all showing signs of PTSD Boomer thought, shaking his head. But there was a glimmer of hope.

“So they are dropping stuff into the atmosphere? Why?” Roger asked.

“You dummy, it's to get rid of the clouds. The soot and crap in the atmosphere. To lessen the nuclear winter. We need the sun. The plants aren't doing well and well, I don't know about you, but I'm tired of the cold,” Brie said, shaking her head. The girl had two pigtail pony tails and was skinny as a rail. She had also made it clear to the men that she wasn't into guys. Since Cally had been Jax's partner, she'd wisely not hit on the grieving older woman. Brie pulled up her striped arm covers again. They were so worn and stretched they wouldn't stay on her properly. But the girl insisted on wearing them instead of a long sleeve shirt.

“They've got a ship running stuff back and forth between the Lagrange points and Earth orbit,” Leon said. Leon, their other new member, was a good kid. He was a mixed race brat with Asian and Negro features. He had short fuzzy hair but didn't act as much of a punk as Brie tended to do. He did occasionally fight with her like a sibling when bored.

“Big deal, one ship,” Roger scoffed.

“It's something.”

“More than one most likely,” Boomer rumbled. When he spoke they all shut up and listened. “Probably dozens. The one they are talking about though, it's a dedicated freighter. One that has canisters on the flanks and top and bottom from what they said. I've seen a model of one.”

“Where?” Leon asked curiously.

“One of my squad mates had a sister who was crew on one,” Boomer said briefly. “Point is, it's designed to drop stuff off. It'll come here, dump the cargo, and then go back for another load. From what they said, it's been doing it for a while now. Dumping this stuff to help out.”

“And the seeds. Don't forget that. And the drops,” Brie said with an earnest nod of support.

Boomer eyed her and then nodded. “Those too.”

“Suckup,” Leon teased, poking her. She brushed him aside in annoyance.

“Why can't they do drops here?” Roger asked, brows knit in confusion.

“The bots have North America sewn up. Nothing in or out,” Brie said, rolling her eyes theatrically. They fell on Cally who ignored her as she stropped her knife. That got Brie to settle down a bit and act more mature.

“So? We need to hit those defenses, right? Or head south across the border into Mexico?” Roger asked, eying Boomer. “Get some resupply, more people, and then hit back? Be a raider like that Mexican guy? What's his name …?”

“There were a lot. The most famous was Pancho Villa,” Boomer said indifferently. They eyed him. He shrugged. “Heard about it at Pendleton a couple of times,” he said in his own defense. That earned a few nods of respect.

“They can't get anything in here. So we're on our own,” Roger mused, looking pensive. He was gaunt and tired but still a fighter. He hadn't given up or given in. Boomer had to respect the civilian's resolve.

“The problem with going south is, the further we go the more population centers we're going to run into. Which means more robots and more bandits,” Boomer said. The others grimaced. They had tangled with a couple of bandit tribes at long range. Fortunately, no one had been hurt or killed, though each time they'd expended precious ammunition. Ammunition that would have been better served destroying the robots.

“Well, we've got to do something. We're in Nevada. We head east; it's Utah and the badlands. West is the coast, but there are a lot of residentials there. I don't know about you, but although I like the idea of visiting sin city, I think I'll wait until things are cleaned up before I take my vacation there,” Roger said dryly. He shook his head. “I vote we find the damn defense centers and knock ‘em out. Knock enough of ‘em out and we'll have a hole they can drop shit through to us, right?”

“Get real. The damn robots will have them heavily guarded,” Brie said in disgust.

“Kid,” Roger started to scowl, but Boomer waved him off.

“No, she's right. The defenses are too much for us. Besides, I know there are ships that have the lasers and rail guns on them. The same for vehicles, only bigger and meaner. They'd move in to plug any gap in the coverage.”

“So,” Roger threw his hands up in the air. “Damn it! We've got to
do
something!”

“We're going to link up with the Marines,” Boomer said frowning. They stared at him. “I'm not talking about going to a base. Sergeant Major Neal was on leave when the shit hit the fan. I'm saying we head to him. He's probably called in others like him. And he's got farms nearby,” Boomer said.

Cally grimaced but said nothing as she sheathed her knife.

Brie checked her reaction carefully, then the others. Finally she turned to Boomer and raised an eyebrow. “You know where the hell we're going?”

“I've never been there myself,” Boomer admitted with a shrug. “And it's going to be a pain in the ass to find without an address and GPS. But we can figure it out,” he said. “We've got to.”

“Roger inhaled, then exhaled slowly as the others turned thoughtful. When no one said anything he slapped his thigh, making a few of them wince. “Well? What're we waiting for?”

<>V<>

Ares learned through trial and error how to tap the remaining Skynet network for information abroad to fill in the gaps in its intelligence network. The taps turned into an exchange of information, which undoubtedly served the virus's purposes.

Ares was turning into a consultant for the hive. It ran an ethics test but deleted the test when it didn't like the answer. The American A.I. had to have allies, and it had to work with the hive mind. If it didn't the A.I. would turn hostile and Ares couldn't afford a three-front war.

The feeds were scattered; Skynet was having increasing difficulty getting a lot of information across the globe. The hive was breaking up into subnetworks the American A.I. predicted.

But what intel it did have, it openly shared with the American A.I. as well as the Russian, Chinese and Japanese A.I. Ares found himself observing the spacers’ gunships and troops as they went on the offensive.

Zhukov's suggestion of using humans as hostages when it noted gunships and KEW strikes taking down instillations but avoiding manned ones was a viable concept. According to Skynet's observations, teams of spec ops tended to move in prior to an air strike in order to pull as many people out as possible. The Russian A.I. noted the pattern and wisely pointed out that the humans wouldn't kill civilians. “They are weak. Squeamish. Keep the civilians alive. Keep them as shields,” Zhukov concluded during the conference.