Shepherd gazed at the rolling mountains to the south.
Thwoop…BOOM.
Thwoop…BOOM.
Reverend Johnny reported, "Blasted trees! It seems the thick cover of the forest is diluting the effectiveness of our mortars. However, we have beaten back the devils. I believe it was merely a probe along our lines, Mr. Shepherd. However, I-wait a moment. What is that?"
While the crack of gunfire subsided, a new sound descended upon the rear area. A sort of chopping noise, as if they air vibrated.
Reverend Johnny broadcast: "General Shepherd, I fear our friends do have a trick up their sleeve. Some kind of catapults…"
A red ball arched over the mountain directly toward Shepherd’s muster zone. He realized in that instant that the ‘Vikings’ knew a great deal about counter-battery fire.
"Oh…shit…INCOMING!"
The first shot hit the highway next to the men unloading supplies from the Trailblazer. It erupted not with sound but with quiet: almost anti-noise, Shepherd thought.
In the first split-second, a round flash of red caused a tremor that knocked the men to the ground and rocked the Trailblazer, but no shrapnel, only a glowing red sparkle hovering in the air above the impact zone.
In the next split-second, that red sparkle sucked everything within the zone of effect into itself, yanking the two screaming men into the air and toward the red singularity. The Trailblazer SUV tumbled horizontally side over side.
The men…the truck…chunks of highway concrete…made contact with the red sparkle and disintegrated before the singularity collapsed.
That chopping sounded again from over the hilltop.
"Fall back! Fall back!"
The artillery crews followed Shep’s order immediately, abandoning the guns and hurrying away. Shep raced to the driver’s wheel of the RV, turned the ignition key, and slammed the transmission into reverse.
Another red ball hit the highway, tearing away rocks and dust and sucking it all to its deadly center like a tiny black hole.
The men ran; their artillery silenced.
– The first wave of ‘Roachbots’ arrived at the bottom of the hill.
The odd machines walked in an unsure gait, as if using new legs. Each sported a faceplate with eyes resembling thin horizontal LED displays positioned above a rectangular speaker.
Jon Brewer watched through field glasses as the robotic nightmares started to cross the long straightaway his position overlooked.
The van-sized bots made a mechanical whirring as their six legs worked. Jon thought they resembled more a child’s wind up toy than some kind of sophisticated artificial intelligence. Indeed, he half expected them to get stuck against the cars parked along their path.
Still, the guns mounted on the sides of the robots’ faceplates appeared dangerous enough.
Jon held his hand aloft.
"Wait…on number five and seven…"
The lead row of robots stumbled around an old Chevrolet Camaro and a Toyota Camry.
Brewer dropped his hand, shouting, "Now! Five and seven!"
Boylen worked the demolition array. The Camaro and the Camry exploded. The concussion blasted two of the robots into halves. Sheet metal shrapnel from the cars tore the faceplate off a third; it wandered off, blinded.
The rest of the Roachbots, however, continued their approach without pause, without consideration, as if the other robots had no clue that three of their number had been destroyed.
"Two and four! Fire!"
Bam! Bam!
A commercial van and a Honda detonated. Three more robots suffered grievous wounds.
This time, however, the remaining force took notice. Several of the lead robots came to a complete halt. That’s when Jon heard the noise the creatures made, giving him his first clue as to what made the Roachbots so…so strange.
A synthesized sound came from the speakers on their faceplates. A sound similar to a doll with a pull string voice box, except the batteries of this doll ran low.
The chorus came. A chorus that could have passed for laughter. Electronic laughter.
A-hehehehe. A-hehehehe.
Then the forward most line of robots rocked side to side on their six legs like track stars stretching before a race.
A-hehehehe.
Next, they fired their guns on the remaining parked cars along their path. For some reason, those guns reminded Jon of a gangster’s Tommy gun.
In any case, the rounds ignited more of the explosive-rigged cars. Those wrecks erupted into shards of metal and engine pieces. Streams of smoke rose to the air from the burning hulks.
A-hehehehe.
The bots fired without precision. They sprayed the entire area with an absolute storm of gunfire. Their weapons swiveled on spherical mounts and shot in all directions.
Two of the lead robots crouched on their legs and jumped-hopped like frogs-over the mass of burning cars. They landed with a heavy thud on the far side of the graveyard of vehicles.
A-hehehehe.
Yet the robots remaining farther back continued to blast away at the burning cars in the same wild manner, destroying the two robots that had leapt forward with friendly fire.
"Jesus Christ," Jon mumbled to Boylen. "These robot things…my God… they’re insane."
A-hehehehe.
The robots finished destroying the trap of exposive-laden cars and marched forward.
32. The Battle of Five Armies
Trevor explained to Dante what Nina had just radioed: "They’re having trouble with the gun on Braggs’ bird and Nina’s got a mechanical problem. But they’ll both be airborne soon."
"Soon? Soon? Man, these guys are smartening up. We don’t need her here soon; we need her here now. Do you see what they’re doing?"
Trevor, standing in the cupola, answered, "Yeah. I see."
The Red Hands had noted the second bridge across the Susquehanna and divided into three groups: one group marching toward the northern bridge, one toward the southern one, and a third group in reserve as if to exploit any breakthrough.
Dante gritted his teeth and said, "We can’t stop them without the choppers."
Trevor gazed at the northern bridge in front of the idling Humvee. He had dispatched the Grenadiers to guard the south bridge. As the sun dipped toward the mountainous horizon, the Red Hands came.
They moved fast but orderly, jogging across the northern bridge lined in rows by weapons with archers behind spearmen.
Before he started firing, Trevor heard barks and snarls from the far side of the neighborhood. Apparently the Red Hands engaged the K9s blocking the other span. He knew they would eventually overwhelm the dogs and breakthrough.
Fifty-caliber rounds fired, slamming into the approaching warriors. Spearmen collapsed; their bodies in pieces. Regardless, the rows continued forward, not letting the slaughter dissuade their advance. A dozen…two dozen…fifty of their number lay in piles on the bridge. The machine gun smoked…the barrel grew red hot…shell casings spat in a continuous flow…
An arrow hit the hood of the Humvee. Then a downpour of bolts smashed on and around the car one after another forcing Trevor from the gunner’s position into the safety of the armored cabin. Arrowheads clanged and scraped off the roof and hood.
Dante’s voice sounded distant and awe-struck as he gasped, "Look…look at them, man. They’re just like…they just keeping coming. They don’t care. You could kill…you could keep killing them and they’d still keep coming."
Trevor said, "Someone set all this up. Maybe The Order. Whoever. Point is, these guys-these Red Hands-they’re just cannon fodder."
"Cannon fodder? Huh?"
"Something more for us to shoot at. The robots and them Vikings, they’re the heavy hitters. These guys here, I'm guessing Voggoth sent them to die just to make us waste bullets."
A particularly heavy arrow smashed directly into the windshield, popping loose a chunk of reinforced glass.