Every once in a while one of the big artillery guns would go off, raining its destructive ordinance down on the distant, unseen Essentialist position far to the west. Nobura watched in disgust, no doubt imagining the toll it must be having on his people. “It looks like we have our window,” wheezed Nobura. “Let’s use it.”
“Let me check in with Owen,” Cecile said.
She took out a communicator and moved farther into the house, away from the windows, holding it to her ear. She returned moments later.
“It’s okay to use your communicators,” she said, distributing small, phone-like objects to them all. “The EMP that Duncan blew up should prevent any nearby eavesdropping. Our main targets are the crow’s nests on the two towers in front of us and the closest major artillery gun. The other big gun is out of range from here.”
“I get the artillery gun, but what’s the point of taking out those guard towers?” Flora asked. “There’s no one down there on the railway lines. What about helping the others to the east or west of us?”
“Those are the diversions,” Cecile said.
“Diversions for what?”
“There’s no time to explain,” Nobura’s voice clicked as he spoke. He nodded to his man who was carrying a large sack. The Shinogi turned and headed down the stairs.
Nobura pressed on his neck and wheezed. “We will be four houses down. When I give the word, we begin our attack.”
Cecile hesitated, perhaps reluctant to relinquish her command. After a moment of pensive thought she showed no objection. “Confirmed,” she said.
Nobura, Talon, and the other Shinogi stepped out of the room and swiftly descended the stairs. Flora almost said something to Talon before he left, but like the rest of them he was moving quickly, keenly focused on his next step, intent on his purpose. Before she could find the words, he was gone.
THE BARNYARD ASSAULT
Madison couldn’t stop biting her nails. It was a bad habit she’d kicked thirty years ago—or so she thought.
She was clustered in the corner of the bunker below Monticello with Owen and Benjamin. They were poking their heads at the small computer display. Littered about them was much of what they’d taken from the sanctuary. There were a few computers, some power generators, weapons, and an assortment of small droids and drones. Together, they occupied less than a tenth of the underground bunker space. Not exactly what they were hoping for.
Their only company was a number of chorus larks that had been caged and brought down to the bunker. They hummed and chirped a rather dry version of “Fur Elise” that the Sentinel kept playing for them.
Having the chorus larks for company was strange, but Owen liked them there. The Sentinel also obstinately refused to change the song playing in the background. Perhaps it was supposed to have a calming effect on all of them. Or was it possible for a machine like the Sentinel to like “Fur Elise”? It was hard to say. She certainly wasn’t qualified to understand their superintelligent benefactor.
She had to admit, despite it being odd, the birds did make the space feel friendlier. The chirping also reminded her of those times she had sat in front of the Meriwether Lewis statue, before council meetings. She had much more hope then. It was a time where she felt she had a great deal to contribute. Now she mostly sat and watched, while others were putting their lives in jeopardy.
“Here they go,” Owen said, pointing at the screen. The display showed the Barnyard from the perspective of a communicator that had been placed in a window of the high-rise apartments.
A flurry of rocket launches and gunfire burst out of the high-rise condos, targeting the undefended northern reaches of the Barnyard.
Two rockets veered past the nearest artillery gun, completely missing, but one struck true. For a moment it looked like there was little damage to it—like it had only just caught fire. Then some of the live shells must have ignited inside, completely exploding the head of the tower and tearing apart the exterior casing of the canon turret.
“Yes!” Owen said in jubilation, clenching his fist. Madison smiled.
The other rockets were targeting the south wall but did no more than tear off a cosmetic strip of the exterior.
“Garrett’s bomb blast weakened the wall more to the right.” Owen squinted at the picture while speaking into the mic. The Sentinel overlaid a graphical image of a target on the wall. “Try about ten feet to the right from your last volley.”
“Got it,” someone squawked out of the speaker.
The entire subsequent volley of rockets was directed at the wall. This time they broke through, collectively forming an impressive fissure. A significant slab of the wall beside the hole collapsed inward a few moments later. At the same time, the two nearby crow’s nests had succumbed to a hail of gunfire. Whoever was manning them was either dead or in hiding. There was no visible activity.
“Nobura wants to move. We’re going in,” Cecile chirped into the speaker.
“Good,” Owen said, nodding. “It looks like the enforcers and guardians are still busy to the east and west, but that could change in a hurry.”
“Good luck,” Madison said from behind Owen. She knew her words held little value, but the least she could do was cheer them on.
“And remember,” Owen said, “that other big artillery gun on the south side—that should still be the main objective.”
“Got it,” Cecile said.
“Owen, may I remind you of the convoy of cars heading toward Monticello,” the Sentinel interrupted in a calm tone. “They will arrive in twelve minutes.”
“I know, I know,” Owen said, unmoved. “I want to make sure everything is going well here first.”
They could see the heterogeneous band of Essentialists, Adherents, Yorktown men, and mules stream out of the lower levels of the high-rise condos, hustling over the train tracks toward the newly formed aperture in the wall. They easily scrambled over the rubble and formed into nimble squads that spread out into the northern part of the Barnyard complex. One contingent took a position next to a nearby bunker. Another group took up a position next to a large warehouse. Yet another group hung back and crept east up the interior wall near the aperture. The upper levels of the high-rise condos continued to support them with suppressing fire.
In the periphery, Madison could see the railroad forces were reacting. Large contingents of enforcers stationed at the western and eastern fronts of the Barnyard started to collapse inward to face the new threat. Spider bots had streamed out of the Barnyard building, some climbing up into the crow’s nests. They must have kept many of these in reserve. They must have been protected from Chester’s EMP pulse by the bunkers.
There remained a large expanse between their forces and the southern artillery gun tower. Any assault would have little cover, and the area was out of range from the high-rise buildings.
As she watched, one brave group of Yorktown men tried to advance through the expanse, but they were quickly gunned down by a number of entrenched enforcer positions.
“Owen,” the Sentinel’s voice came through again, this time with a louder intonation. “The defense of Monticello is of critical importance. The destruction of the sanctuary has significantly reduced my available resources and access to computing power. I do have redundancies, but without Monticello it would take a long time to formalize centers of defense where I can reassert myself.”