"Very kind sir, thank you sir."
There were over a hundred here in the shipping bay of the factory, our main diversionary attack. They stood in neat rows, humming and eager to go. The front ranks were dressed in all the excess garments we had been able to assemble; some with uniform hats, others with jackets, still fewer wearing slacks. Most of the clothing had been donated piecemeal by the female shocktroops, which fact was not doing me much good in my new marital status. There was entirely too much tanned flesh around for a man to completely ignore. It was almost a pleasure to be with the robots for a change. Their forms were sleek but hard, their dress inconsistent and revealing of nothing of interest. And each of them clutched a length of pipe or plastic or some other object resembling a weapon. In the confusion that was soon to come my hope was that they would be mistaken for human attackers. I looked at my watch and raised the com-radio to my mouth.
"Stand by all units. Fifteen seconds to zero. Bombers stand ready. Keep away from the windows until the last second. Ready, keep low… trigger your bombs… THROW!"
There was a series of dull explosions from the street outside, that would be echoed on all sides of the building, as the girls heaved the bombs from the upper stories. Smoke bombs for the most part, though there were some irritants and sleep gas mixed in with them. I gave the bombs five seconds to maximum density then hit the garage door switches. The doors rumbled up to reveal little other than twisting coils of smoke that instantly began to pour into the garage.
"Go, my loyal troops, go!" I ordered and every left foot shot forward as one, and the ranks of my robot brigade surged forward.
"Thanking you sir!" mellifluously sounded in perfect tones from those metallic throats, and I retreated as they ran by.
There was firing now, from the windows above, echoed instantly by the troops outside. According to plan. I looked at my watch as I ran. Fifteen seconds from zero, time for the second wave. "All other robutler units—now!" I ordered into the com-radio.
At that moment, from the other doors and exits of the factory, into the shroud of smoke and gas, the remaining robots should be going into action. I had not taken the time to try and rig an eavesdropping circuit on the enemy's command net, but I could just imagine what was happening now. What I hoped was happening now.
The building was surrounded, all their troops alert, our stronghold visible in all details in the warm afternoon sunlight. Then the sudden change, smoke, chemical irritants, shrouding the building on all sides. A breakout obviously—and there it was! Dim figures in the smoke, firing, get them, shoot to kill. Zoing, zoing! Take that you rotten Burada guerrilla fink! What fighters these Burada are—men of steel!—shoot them and they don't fall. Panic in the smoke. The word that there are other breakouts. Which was the real one, which a cover? How to mass the troops? Where should the reserves be sent?
I figured that it would take about one minute for the first confusion to have reached its peak. After this the smoke would begin to thin and the dead bodies would be discovered to be robots and the word would get out. We wanted to get out before this word did. Once the bombs had been thrown Taze and her troops would be hurrying to get into position—and one minute was not very much time to reach the back of the factory from the upper floors. Yet most of them were there before me with Taze checking them off as they ran up.
"That's the lot," she said, making a final tick on her list.
"With five seconds to go." I looked at my watch and raised my hand.
"Now! Angelina stand ready with the grenades."
The small fire exit was unlocked and dragged open and Angelina buried her smoke grenades out to intensify the gloom before us. There was no more talking, and in the sudden silence the shooting and shouting could clearly be heard. I was sure that I could detect an occasional Thank you, sir among the voices. Fayda led the way and we followed in line, hands on the shoulders of the preceding marchers. I was in the middle of the line and Angelina just before me, so I held to her. This placement was accidental, I am sure, since she wouldn't have cared if I clutched one of the half-naked Burada cuties.
It was a little disconcerting moving helplessly like this through the darkness, particularly when the occasional missile whined by. By accident, I hoped. This street was narrow and blocked at both ends by Cliaand troops. If they knew what was happening they could sweep the street with a deadly crossfire. But hopefully they were involved with the robutlers for the moment. All we had to do was quietly cross the 20 meters or so of open road, to the apartment dwelling on the other side. If we reached this unnoticed we had a good chance of going through it to the mixed business and residential plaza on the other side. From here we would break up and scatter through the warren of streets and walkways and tunnels, hopefully merging into the civilian population and disappearing before our absence was noticed. Hopefully.
I was counting my steps so knew I had almost reached the building—which meant half of our number were safe—when the voice called out nearby.
"Is that you, Zobno? What did the sergeant say about robots? It sounded like robots?"
The line stopped, instantly, in breath-holding silence. We were so close. The voice was male and it spoke Cliaandian.
"Robots? What robots?" I asked as I pulled the hand from my shoulder and placed it on Angelina's shoulder before me. "Move," I whispered in her ear. Then left the line and stamped heavily towards him in my new boots.
"I'm sure he said robots," the voice complained. Behind me I was aware of the faint stir as the line started forward again. I stamped and coughed and moved closer to the unseen speaker. My hands before me ready for a quick clench and crush as soon as he spoke again.
All of which would have worked fine, and have given me a little sadistic pleasure, if the evening breeze had not sent eddies around the corners of the building. The wind moved coolly on my face and a rift opened in the smoke. I was looking at a Cliaand trooper, helmed and armed with his gaussrifle at the ready, a shocked expression stamped on his face. With good reason. Instead of gazing upon a fellow trooper he saw an unknown individual with snapping fingers, red eyes and unshaven jaw, dressed in totally transparent dungarees and ladies' boots, with bundles and packs slung on his shoulders. Gape was about all he could do.
This paralysis lasted just long enough for me to reach him. I grabbed him by the throat so he couldn't shout a warning, and by the gun so he couldn't shoot me. We danced around like this for a bit and the smoke closed over us again. My opponent wasn't shouting or shooting—but neither was he submitting. He was burly and well muscled and holding his own. Luckily he wasn't too bright and kept both his hands on the gun and tried to get it away from me. Just about the time he realized he could hold it with one hand and slug me with the other I got a foot behind his heel and went down on top of him. Before he hit the ground he managed to get two quick punches into my midriff which did me no good. Then we landed and I knocked all the air out of him. This freed my throat hand and, before he could suck in enough breath to shout with, I rendered him unconscious.
I sat on him, waiting for my head to stop spinning and for the knot of pain in my gut to ease, when another voice sounded close by.
"What's that noise? Who is it?"
I breathed in a deep shuddering breath, let a bit of it out and worked for control of my voice.
"It's me." Always a good answer. "I tripped and fell down. I hurt a finger…"
"Then you'll get a medal for it. Now shut up."
I shut up, took the gaussrifle from my limp companion and stood up—and realized that I was completely lost in the smoky darkness.
Not a pleasant sensation at all. The smoke was thinning and I was alone with no sense of direction. If I walked in the wrong direction it would be suicide.