“The Old Man and the general think the probes are gonna go for the laser as soon as it opens up,” Cady answered. “Our job is to make sure they don’t get here.”
“Top,” Jones argued, “if they can take out the laser, we’re not going to be able to do much.”
“That’s to be seen,” Cady answered equanimably. “There’s a dead zone here under where the lasers can fire. That’s our priority. You let the big boys handle the rest. For now, spread out around the laser. Everybody gets a zone. If a probe comes into your zone, kill it. It’s that simple.”
“Simple,” Jones muttered as Cady and Staff Sergeant Gregory spread the short platoon around the perimeter.
“Very,” Mahoney said from his position. He and Jones had managed to snag the best view, which also meant they were probably going to be the first hit. “Very simple. But important point, keep your head down.” Mahoney was leaning up against the concrete bunker, apparently enjoying the view of Huntsville being chewed to bits. The laser bunker was mounted on the very summit of Mount Weeden. Off to their left was a lower bit with, of all things, a small swamp. It was an odd feature to see on the top of a mountain.
“Why?” Jones asked.
“Because, if your head gets too high…” the other specialist said and then thumbed over his shoulder. “Those lasers don’t have target discriminators. They’ll shoot you just as soon as one of the probes. And it’ll go through you easier.”
“Ouch,” Jones said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “I don’t like being out here; we’re exposed as hell.”
“Tell me about it,” Mahoney replied as Sergeant Gregory came back around.
“Listen up,” Gregory said, waving them over to huddle around him. “Couple of safety points. Top was watching the video from Monte Sano Mountain. First point, watch where you move. The laser’s not going to miss you if you get in its path—”
“I already pointed that out to Jones,” Mahoney said.
“Right, good…” the staff sergeant replied. “Stay close into the bunker. The laser is set to skim the edge of this ridge. If you’re close into the bunker, you’re out of its line of fire. Second point, when the laser hits these things it chops them up. When they get close, we’re going to have pieces of probe slamming into the ground all around here. And into us. Keep your damned helmets and armor on. It might keep the damage down. When they get real close, the air starts getting filled with burned up metal. It’ll rip up your lungs. When they close with us, go to MOPP one, mask only. The mask will keep you alive. Clear?”
“Clear,” Jones said. “How’d we draw this shit detail, Sergeant?”
“Somebody’s got to do it,” Gregory replied with a grin. “You don’t expect them wind-dummies to get their berets all dirty, now do you?”
“Got it,” Shane said, keying the com for the intel section. “Sir, would you take a look at the group of probes located at 5413 by 3845? That’s right by the Oak Park athletic field. Looks like about… hell, maybe a thousand of them. I don’t have backtrack, but it looks as if they stopped there and are just… sitting.”
“Good eye, Major,” the J-2 colonel said. “Let me get a couple of people to eyeball them.”
“Over fifty percent across Phase Line Groovy,” J-3 reported.
“Prepare to lase—” General Riggs said and then stopped, holding his hand to his earbud. “Roger.” He looked up and then clicked a control, zooming the main viewscreen into the group that Shane had spotted. With the zoom cranked up, it was apparent that the probes had changed shape slightly. There was now a circular opening that looked very much like a cannon mouth on the front of the probes.
“Laser targeting, Weeden East only, designate that group of modified probes as high priority.”
“Roger,” Lasing called. “Slewing. We have the group targeted.”
“Initiate lase,” General Riggs said.
There were a few probes between the laser and the presumed “anti-laser” group. They didn’t really pose much of a problem except for creating small clouds of gaseous metal. But as soon as the lasers hit the first probe, the modified group began to move, dropping down to the deck and accelerating towards Weeden Mountain.
They also began jinking in and out of the shadow of the remaining buildings, flying down roads not much off the ground. There were enough buildings, and enough rubble from buildings, that the group was able to an extent to avoid the lasers. For that matter, it was hard to tell, but it appeared that some of the laser-killers might have taken brief hits and kept going. And they weren’t the only group headed for the mountain. It seemed as if the lasers were the signal for most of the probes to drop what they were doing and head for the Arsenal.
“That got their attention,” General Riggs said. “Where’d the killer group go?”
“Disappeared into the mass,” J-3 responded.
“We’re trying to pick them up again,” Lasing called.
“Negative,” General Riggs replied. “Open up full lasing across the area. Engage at will.”
“Roger.”
“There they are,” Shane called as the killer probes exited a corporate park and started crossing the “no-man’s land” that had been established around the perimeter of the Arsenal. Among other things, the “no-man’s land” was the first line of anti-probe mines. But those mines depended on the probes pulling the metal out of them to function. And the “killer bots” weren’t interested in metal, just lasers.
The inner edge of the no-man’s land was also where the lasing stopped. Once the probes crossed it, and more than half made it across since the lasers were targeting the whole sky, they were under the fire basket of the lasers. The only thing between them and the lasers were the few troops on the mountain and the platoon around the laser site.
“Vampire, vampire,” Shane called on the platoon net. “Approximately four hundred bots with unknown weapon approaching from the northeast, coming in low. Top, shift to heavy on the northeast.”
“Sir,” the EWO officer said over the channel to the general, “we can initiate IBot at any time.”
“Hold it,” Riggs said, nodding. “If we can stop them from getting the lasers and let more of them come into the basket I’d prefer it. I don’t want them outside the basket and passing on that we’re spoofing them.”
“Roger.”
“Start broadcasting.”
Weeden Mountain had long been known to the general Arsenal public as “Antenna Hill.” It had a vast array of antennas on it used for everything from cell phones to satellite uplinks. And the probes liked radio.
On command, every single antenna started broadcasting. And those few probes that were still eating Huntsville dropped what they were doing and headed for the redoubt.
Private First Class Jason Soldiers had lived with his name his whole life. But despite his name, he had enlisted in the 82nd Airborne at the ripe age of eighteen. One of the few books he had ever read, and enjoyed, was called Starship Troopers. In it he ran across a point that really resonated with him. The main character had just joined the military in that book and, much to his chagrin, had ended up as a simple infantryman. He had told this to the one NCO he had met, the recruiting NCO, and gotten a very odd, to him, reaction. The recruiting NCO, a former infantryman missing a couple of limbs, had told him that “the infantry’s the only really important arm. Everybody else supports us. Because we’re where the rubber meets the road.”