Von Neumann’s War

The sound was indescribable, a screaming maelstrom of shrieking metal unlike anything Jones had ever heard. He was being continuously pounded with chunks of metal falling on his arms, his head, his legs. He tucked into a ball, trying to take as much of the impacts on his armor and helmet as possible, his hands tucked into his stomach and legs drawn up under him. But some of the “chunks” were spitting enough electricity to supply a large home and much of it was arching into the bodies of the survivors. He was continuously jolted with lighting bolts. If he survived this he swore he would never come near anything electrical again. Other chunks were nearly full sized probes and when one of those slammed into him he felt at least one bone in his arm crack, which elicited another scream.

Life had become trying to survive the clash of two behemoths of destruction. There was nothing to do but try to live through it.

Corporal Zirnheld can kiss my ass. I just want a nice quiet house someplace with a garden and pool…

* * *

The scenario on Monte Sano Mountain was being repeated. But this time his troops were caught in the maelstrom and Shane could see them being covered in chunks of metal. They hadn’t had time to get their masks on so even if they survived, they were liable to die from the gaseous metal they were breathing.

The worst part was, the probes were now over the rim and they were starting to flip upwards. Most of them were being killed but he watched as one group finally managed to flip so that those cannon-like projectors faced the bunker.

And then the screen went blank.

* * *

With a final series of rending crashes, all the sound stopped.

Jones just lay still for a moment wishing that whoever was screaming in pain right by his ear would just stop for the love of God. Then he realized that it was him. The sound was being reflected back by the piles of melted bots covering him.

The air tasted and smelled foul with metal so he reached for his gas mask and let out another, quieter, scream when he realized that his left arm was the one that was broken. He reached across his body and got the bag open, then pulled the mask out and fitted it. He had to take off his helmet. This required moving a few bits of probe wreckage.

He finally managed to get the mask fitted and sealed one-handed, then pushed up with his right hand, shoving upwards and shedding off the cloaking layer of metal.

The first thing he noticed was metal. Lots of it. Scattered. Metal. Lots. Ouch. Some of it was still sputtering with electricity.

Looking around he realized why the bots had left. The bunker had been chewed. Either they were using some sort of explosive round or a gee-whiz science-fiction ray that they hadn’t shown off before. It was definitely something explosive; the chunks taken out of it weren’t uniform like they’d been cut out by the probe recycler beam or whatever. They were big, nasty explosive holes.

The line of bodies at the base of the bunker he almost didn’t notice. Apparently the 82nd guys had taken shelter by the bunker. Fat lot of good it did them; it looked like the bunker buster beams or whatever had hit some of them. And the rest had probably been killed by spalling.

“Top?” he croaked, “ ’Torres?” then was shaken by a round of hacking coughing. He managed to get his mask off and spit out the nasty metallic-tasting phlegm, sealed the mask, got a breath of air, unsealed, got a drink, sealed and got another breath. Then another set of coughing, repeat.

“Top? ’Torres? Mahoney?”

“Fug ib,” he heard from under the rubble and then Mahoney slowly pushed his way to the surface. He had a mask on as well. “Fug ibs!”

“Yeah,” Jones replied, looking at where Letorres and Top had been. He wasn’t sure about anyone else. There was a big pile where Top had been and one of the bots…

“Oh… fuck,” he muttered, stumbling towards the spot.

* * *

“General, Laser One is down,” the J-3 said. “Forty percent of the defense points on the mountain are out of communication. Penetrations on tunnels four and nine. Penetration halted, temporarily. Forty percent penetration across Phase Line Ugly. And there’s a new wave of bots headed for the mountain. Some of them are configured for antilaser attack and they appear to be vectoring for the discovered tunnels.”

“Play the music,” the general said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. Like a gambler who has turned his last card, tossed his last chip and thrown his wallet on the pile, all he could do now was see what Lady Luck would turn up in the other player’s hand. He’d keep his poker face on to the end.

* * *