Mechanical
Authors: Bruno Flexer
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thriller & Suspense, #War & Military, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Military, #Thriller, #Thrillers
Mechanical
By Bruno Flexer
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Bruno Flexer.
Second Kindle Edition, 2014.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or part in any form.
Cover design and overall publication design by Bruno Flexer.
"This is breaking news. So, at this point, do we know for sure if it was one person or several?"
"Yes, well, it's not really clear at this point. Richmond Police Department is there on the scene, and we're told a good number of ambulances have arrived. We don't know if personnel from nearby Fort Belvoir are involved."
"All right, Danny Shepherd, adding to our coverage on the scene: the shooting on Pohick Road near Richmond, Virginia. We know there were multiple vehicle crashes, a fire, and more than a dozen victims injured victims injured injured jured jured ju ju"
*
"Hi, I'm Derek Burke, and with me is Heather Oh, in our New Jersey studios. We're experiencing some kind of technical difficulty with our New York station."
"Yeah, did you see that? They just got up and left the studio!"
"While we sort this out, we want to go back to our own Danny Shepherd, near the scene in Richmond, Virginia, who has been following the shooting there on Pohick Road. Danny, what can you see over there?"
*
“I'm told we cannot contact our stations in New York City, Atlanta, Chicago and Detroit."
"Anybody in particular you wanted to talk to, Derek?"
"Only my mother in law, but I already talked to her on Thursday, so I'm good for a few days. No offense, Betty. And now for other news. Last night, the Los Angeles Lakers lost their second round series against the San Antonio Spurs."
*
"Contact has been lost with seven major cities, including New York, Dallas and Houston. No phone calls, texting, Twitter, or Facebook statuses. Nothing."
"Yes, Derek. Complete silence for more than five hours now. What is the official word?"
"That's a good question, Heather. AT&T and Verizon announced they’ll fix the communications glitch in a matter of hours."
"Yes. The government is asking people to stay calm and wait for the lines to be fixed. We'll now go to a commercial break."
*
"We've just now received word that a state of emergency has been declared. Ten cities are now without communications. The administration is asking people to wait for communications to be fixed."
"Yes, thank you, Heather. We're now going to Edward Bailey, our correspondent over there in Washington, DC. Edward?"
"Yes, Derek."
"Can you tell us what's going on over there?"
"The press has not been briefed yet. We know an emergency meeting with the National Security Advisor and the Joint Chiefs of Staff has been called, but we don't know the details."
"What's the mood in the administration?"
"Derek, nobody knows much, but everyone is running down the corridors. I think they are taking this seriously."
"Thank you, Edward. He'll be with us throughout this situation."
*
"The Friday night preseason finals between the LA Lakers and Miami Heat has been canceled because of the unusual circumstances."
"Derek, we've been told refunds will be made to ticket buyers beginning Monday, but fans were really looking forward to this game."
"Let's go now to Edward Burke, our man in Washington, DC. Edward, can you hear me?"
"Yes, Derek."
"Edward, do they know who or what is behind this thing?"
"No, Heather, but the administration is now asking people not to go into the twelve affected cities. There's no need to store food and water."
"Edward, many frightened people are leaving urban areas now. Will more cities be affected?"
"As far as we know, only twelve cities have been affected from the start and no others."
"Okay."
"Military forces are now on high alert. Law enforcement and state officials have gone into emergency state but there are more questions than answers right now, Derek."
"We'll continue this coverage of the story. We'll now go to a commercial break."
*
"Is this true? Is this confirmed? This just in. The President has been taken to an undisclosed safe location. Derek? Is this right?"
"Yes, Heather. The president is now in one of the emergency underground bunkers."
"Let's hear from our representative in Washington, DC, Edward Burke."
"Heather, National Guard units are being mobilized. The White House has issued no formal declaration, but sources have informed us that military forces are now establishing safety cordons around the twelve cities."
"Why are they putting the cordons in place, Edward?"
"We still don't know for certain, but maybe to keep people out of the cities or keep something inside them."
"Yes, thank you Edward. And now for other news. The NBA season is in jeopardy. Twenty percent of the players are missing. Larry Brent has this story."
*
"This is Heather Oh. Derek Bailey has not been able to join us because of the curfews. We … ah … um … there's an unconfirmed report … ah … this is just speculation. We heard—that is, we received word—something in the twelve cities is affecting minds. We still don't … this is unconfirmed at the moment. Actually, let's talk to Edward in Washington. Ed?"
"Heather, these are just rumors. I've heard them myself. Maybe because there's nobody—no one left in the twelve cities since we lost contact with them."
"What do you mean?"
"Heather, communications were lost with all these cities at exactly the same time, two and a half days ago. Since then, no one has talked with anyone inside the cities, and no one has left them. Emergency forces have been monitoring events closely, but they saw no one escape the cities."
"So, are the rumors true?"
"Heather, we only have wild guesses at this stage."
*
"It's been five days since communications with the twelve cities have been lost. We're now going to Casper Trent, who's with the army's 3
rd
Mechanized Infantry Division in New York, right outside Manhattan. Casper?"
"Well, Heather, right now we're approaching Brooklyn Bridge. The column that I've been traveling with has moved through downtown Brooklyn, and the few people still in Brooklyn cheered when we passed them. Manhattan is up ahead, silent and threatening."
"Casper, can you tell us something of what's going on?"
"Heather, the army is moving into Manhattan from all sides, through the tunnels, the Bronx and the bridges."
"Isn't this classified?"
"Heather, there's no hiding this amount of US forces traveling the roads."
"Casper, can you see Manhattan?"
"We're just now going over the Brooklyn Bridge and I'm trying to see into the Manhattan streets. I can't see any cars or pedestrians over there. It's just quiet, as if no one's there. Okay, we're entering Manhattan."
"Heather, are the soldiers protected?"
"Yes, everyone's using NBC suits, including gas masks and gas and masks and gas and and aaaa aaaaa … "
"Casper? Casper? Can you hear me? Casper? Okay, our cameraman has dropped the camera. We can see it fell upside down. There's Casper now! Casper? What's going on? Casper! He's removing his suit and his headset and microphone. Our cameraman's walking away. Casper, what's going on? We can see—there are the troopers, dispersing into Manhattan, abandoning their vehicles and weapons. Casper!"
*
"This just in. The President has issued an official statement. The United States is now officially at war. They are calling this the Twelve Cities War."
*
"Check with your local authorities to get the new food rationing timetables. Remember, under the emergency martial law rules, it is a capital offense to obstruct the military forces in any way.”
"Thank you, Heather. It's been one year since the Twelve Cities War started but, incredibly, the enemy in this war is still unknown. Millions of Americans are still held by the enemy and the country is ravaged by famine, civil unrest and crime sprees. People are fighting to get food, tools and clean water. We're now going to check with Ed at the temporary administration seat in Davenport, Washington. Ed?"
Day One, Fort Belvoir, Virginia
"Room! Attention!"
Lieutenant Tomas Riley rose to attention, along with the two other soldiers in the briefing room. The door opened, and a four-star general entered. While still staring straight ahead, Tom tried following the general out of the corner of his eyes as the man closed the door after him and marched to a podium at the front of the room.
"At ease, men. I'll make this short. You all know that we managed to take back only one city from the twelve major cities we lost. Every other operation since then has failed. What you don't know, because it is top secret information, is that we're losing the war. The United States is actually losing the war on its own turf."
A gasp came from one of the other two soldiers in the room and Tom glanced at him. The soldier was an army sergeant, a big man with blue eyes and cropped blond hair. The other soldier was a thin Marine Corps lieutenant who lounged back in a plastic seat, holding a sharp serrated military-issue dagger in one hand and testing the blade by running a finger along the dagger's edge. The Marine Corps lieutenant hardly seemed to care about the general's speech.
The general paused for a moment and Tom looked at him closely. Was the general judging the three soldiers in the room? Tom did not fail to notice the general's hand resting lightly on his holstered sidearm.
"While we've managed to take back Detroit, we' lost more than twelve thousand men, and we haven't been able to duplicate this success. The battles of New York City, the Charles River and the Maricopa County campaign of last summer have all been disastrous. Worst of all, we know the area of control of the attackers is expanding fast. Our intelligence indicates that if we don't act within a week, we won't be able to take our cities back at all."
The general paused again, and Tom took a good look at him. The general's stance was rigid, and his pose hadn't changed at all since he started talking. The general's eyes were cold and hard, and his face was a stiff unmoving mask, lined with deep worry lines; those lines were actually the only thing that made him seem a little bit human. Tom's eyes narrowed. The general had no name tag and he didn't say his name.
"Let's go through the facts before we get to you three. We’ve lost twelve major cities, thirty million people, and more than six thousand square miles of American soil in an attack that started three years ago. While trying to retake our cities, we lost the equivalent of seven divisions, one armored battalion, and four attack helicopter squadrons. The United States economy is almost crippled. The United Nations has put a blockade around us. They say that as long as we don't know who is attacking us, and why, they cannot afford the risk of the attackers spreading from the United States. They are probably right. Martial law has been in effect since the food riots two years ago, and the United States military forces are completely mobilized, including all National Guard reserves. Unfortunately, more than two thirds of our forces are engaged in urban order-keeping operations, helping the local law enforcement agencies, instead of contributing to the war effort. Food rationing is in effect and the population in fourteen states has already declined sharply because of internal migration. There were two mutinies by local southern militias and Mexico and Canada have started shooting any US refugees they catch crossing the borders. In short, we are losing the Twelve Cities War."
Tom's eyes wandered to the officer and the NCO sitting next to him, both listening to the general. The army sergeant was sitting at attention, his big, open face slightly sweaty, listening to the general raptly, his eyes fixed on the general's face. The Marine Corps lieutenant, on the other hand, seemed to be listening to the general, but Tom noticed how the lieutenant had sunk deeper into his seat. Now, he was covertly flicking his dagger under his chair, throwing it up and catching it without looking, occasionally letting the gleaming blade touch the floor and leave a deep scarred mark.
"Am I boring you, Lieutenant Riley?" The general's words whipped Tom and the lieutenant flicked his eyes back to the front.
"Sir! No Sir!"
The general's eyes bore into Tom's eyes an instant longer before he continued.
"Sir, if I may," Tom said, and the general's eyes landed on him again, making him flinch under their cold weight. However, Tom went on.
"Sir, I was just wondering if we had tried talking with the enemy. Sir."
For the first time some expression appeared on the general's face, proving it was not made out of steel.
"Talking?"
"Yes, Sir. Negotiating. Parley. That sort of thing."
"Negotiating?"
"Sir! Yes Sir! Trying to understand what the attackers want. What their goals are. Trying to find a solution to the war that—"
"Lieutenant, you're an intelligence officer. How many tours of duty have you gone through?"
The general now moved towards Tom and Tom flinched back involuntarily, though the general was small and wiry, almost skeletal.
"Three, Sir. Two in Arizona and one in the Dallas quarantine zone."
The hard mask that was the general's face now became even tougher, the worry lines cutting ever deeper into the general's sun-beaten skin.
"And what have you learned about the enemy? What is your intelligence assessment?"
There was an undertone to the general's words that Riley couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Sir, no patrol that approached the occupied cities' borders ever returned. We've all heard reports of soldiers that turned their weapons against their own units. The occupied cities have all maintained radio silence. We've never seen any of the enemy's soldiers, only our own people who shoot back at us. No one ever escaped one of the occupied cities." Tom's voice became grimmer with the telling. He noticed the army sergeant grip his chair tightly, while the Marine Corps lieutenant just kept idly scratching the floor with his blade.
"You have your answer there, Lieutenant. Until now, no one we've ever sent in ever came back. There is no talking with this enemy. It is them or us. It has always been so, since the war started."
The general's eyes stared into Tom's a moment longer, searching for something. Tom tried keeping his face impassive until the general finally turned away, and Tom slumped down, released from the general's gaze.
The general walked back to the front of the room and suddenly turned, making Tom freeze, but the general just picked up the remote control for the room's projector, and turned it in his hand twice before he put it down again.
"Gentlemen, you've no doubt noticed I've said 'until now,'" the general said, while he turned to face the three soldiers. "We're now deploying a prototype weapon system, something mothballed since the Cold War."
The general paused, his eyes moving to the sitting officers, looking at them with an expression Tom could not understand.
"We know the attackers' power is increasing. We've watched it happen before, during the last three years. During the summer operation two years ago, the enemy's zone of control suddenly expanded, and we lost the two mechanized brigades. We learned what we could, and we are now able to predict the next stage of the war. The attackers' area of control has been expanding in steps, and we believe the next step will happen soon. Our best intelligence estimates are that in seven days, the attackers will conquer New Jersey entirely, and bite into New York State. Even with evacuation attempts, this means a further two to five million people will fall under the enemy's rule."
Tom heard the army sergeant gasp. Even the Marine Corps lieutenant stopped playing with his blade.
"That's why we brought you here to Fort Belvoir. We've searched for the best people in the four military branches and we've found you." The general stopped and breathed in deeply. Tom started, seeing the tough soldier display such weakness.
"Your particular specialties, coupled with your operational experience, have made you particularly suited for this mission. We know you have lost family and friends in the war. We know this makes you stronger."
Tom blinked in surprise. He did not expect to hear such a statement from the general. It just seemed too…sentimental. Weird.
"We need you for the most important mission in this war. We need you to get into New York City, find the enemy, and destroy it. I don't like melodramatics, but if you fail, the United States will probably cease to exist as a nation within seven days."
Tom sat straighter in his seat. His eyes kept tracing the deep worry lines etched on the general's face. He shook his head once. Tom was an intelligence officer, and he had served in the quarantine zones, though not on the front lines. The general's previous comment had made him think about his family. They had been killed in the Mississippi River Riots two years ago, and his little sister had been held by the enemy in Atlanta since the war began. Tom carefully kept his facial expression neutral, but it took some effort. The general's comment had hit a little too close to home.
But still, to enter the attackers' area of control?
"We'll give you all the information we've accumulated: top secret intelligence we have paid for with heavy casualties. And, we will be arming you with the best weapons system we can, a weapons system whose development started thirty-four years ago, but only recent technological advancements have enabled us to produce working prototypes," the general said, looking straight at Tom. "Captain, you can come in now."
The room's door opened and Tom jumped out of his seat. Tom faintly heard the army sergeant fall backwards with a curse, as the big soldier scurried backwards on all fours. However, the Marine Corps lieutenant moved forward, blade forgotten on the floor, an eager light suddenly kindled in his dark eyes.
A gigantic hand emerged from the other side of the door: an inhuman black hand with long fingers; a machine hand composed only of sharp angles and long, razor-tipped edges. Tom's eyes bulged and his mouth opened. The extremely long fingers were rectangular and angular, tapering into sharp points. The joints were some type of ball bearing, slightly wider than the fingers, and small spikes emerged from their joints. The huge hand itself was thin and lean—almost skeletal—dark and unreflective.
The door continued swinging inwards, and Tom realized that the huge robotic hand was two or three times larger than a man's hand. The robotic arm now came into view. It was made of the same dark, unreflective material that somehow seemed slightly oily. The arm's elbow resembled the ball bearings used for the hand’s wrist and joints, only much larger. Tom could now see thin wires crisscrossing the matte surface of the robotic limb.
A foot had stepped into the briefing room, and Tom stared, dumbfounded, at a three-toed, clawed machine foot sporting dark talons along with a single, backward-pointing spur. The foot landed on the floor, and the talons retracted slightly, grasping the floor tightly and producing an unpleasant grating noise.
Now Tom moved back a pace. The entire robotic entity came into view, entering the briefing room. A matte black armored body, thin and gaunt, seven feet high. The lean body was covered with overlapping plates of the same dark material that, nevertheless, moved lightly and elastically. The whole thing moved with a fluid grace that Tom found offensive coming from a robot or machine or whatever the hell this thing was. The many spikes on the machine monster seemed to move and occasionally vibrate, like the spines of an unimaginably huge porcupine.
The machine had two arms and two legs, but its limbs were somehow folded, the articulated knee coming way up above the hips of the machine, and the bearings serving as the elbows resting well below the ball bearings of the shoulder. Tom realized that the machine was now folded down in order to move in what was a restricted space for it; the mechanical monster gave the impression of a daddy longlegs spider, elbows and knees flying all over. Its real height, when it straightened up, would be in the vicinity of ten feet.
Tom could now hear the noise the machine made when it moved. Dozens upon dozens of electric motors, all working in unison, all making soft subdued tones that joined together to form a machine harmony that was almost music.
Though Tom could not see any visible weapons, he had no doubt he beheld a machine that had one purpose: destruction. It was in itself a weapon, a black matte instrument of destruction that moved gracefully and lithely with its own accompanying precise electric song, filling space with its sharp black angles.
Finally, Tom looked up to see the machine's head. The head was squat and elongated, vaguely triangular, with horned ridges rising up on both sides. There were no eyes, just a blank surface of the same black matte material that covered the rest of the machine. More than anything else, it resembled a viper's lethal head. It had horns and spikes.
The Marine Corps lieutenant stood so close to the machine that he almost touched it, though it loomed above him. Tom saw him actually raise his hand a little, a strange fire in his eyes. Tom did not have to turn back to know the army sergeant was as far away as possible from the machine, pressed against the wall.
"How—," Tom's voice broke and he had to try again. "How did you make—I thought this was not possible … ," Tom croaked.
For the first time the general smiled. "A recent technological breakthrough made this possible. Gentlemen, this is the Serpent MK Two personal battle tank. You have three days to learn how to pilot it and learn to act as a team. You and the Serpents are our last chance to win the war."