Chapter 23
“We have lost all contact with Manhattan Island, Mr. President,” Dr. Vicki Johnson said calmly. The National Security Advisor had been with the current administration since before the President was governor of Oklahoma and they were good friends. Vicki feared that even speaking candidly as his friend now would not be enough to convince him what they should do. “General Mitchell and I think it’s time to—”
“No! We’re not going to nuke New York City!” The President pounded the conference table in the War Room. He looked at his friend in the eyes and shook his head. “I don’t care if that entire map of the world turns red. We’re not nuking our own cities.” He pointed to the continuously updated world map that showed the occupied areas in red. All of New York City including the outer boroughs were under bot control.
“Sir,” General Mitchell sighed. “It might slow them down. We laced the major cities with enough HE, fuel air bombs, and nukes to vaporize them. We might wipe out millions of the bots. But we would have to do it now before we lost communications with the bombs or before the bots eat them or render them useless.”
“What about our new fighters and bombers?” the President asked.
General Mitchell shrugged. “Sir, it’s likely that there are nowhere near enough to support an all-out attack against the bots. There are just not enough of them. We will use them to support evacs and defense of the redoubts.”
“Did it slow them down in China and in Russia and across the Asian continent? No, it didn’t. If we ever take back our country, I don’t want it to be so radioactive that we can’t move back in.”
“Then, uh, sir, what are your orders?” the general asked.
“We wait.” President Colby hung his head and then leaned back in his chair. “That is all we do. We wait and hope the redoubt scientists figure out what to do.”
Ronny Guerrero and Roger Reynolds were poring over the current intel data on the New York invasion hoping for some insight into stopping the alien machines. They were having very little luck. The two men had once only known each other through brief customer-to-contractor acquaintance and interaction. But over the last three years they had become coworkers, then friends, and now refugee scientists in a redoubt city hoping to find a way to stop the Von Neumann probes.
“I don’t see any patterns, Rog. But what I do see is more of the same,” Ronny said in his soft Cuban accent.
“What do you mean, Ronny?” Roger looked up from his laptop for a second.
“They land in a tubule and spread. Nothing different. We can expect a tubule to jump from New York City to some other major city soon.” Ronny scribbled some notes on a pad in front of him and tapped wildly at a calculator. “See, following exponential growth, I’d say in a few more days we’ll lose another city.”
“Yeah, I was guessing that but hadn’t run the simulation yet. I’ll get Traci to work out the sims for the President in a bit.”
“Good idea. But, what to do now? We need a strategy at least.”
“Well, I guess we sort of have a strategy. I mean hide and survive as long as we can until we can figure out a way to stop them is a strategy. It’s a tactical approach that we’re completely lacking.”
“Ah, yes. Should we try to defend the cities, blow them up, or let them fall?” Ronny nodded in agreement.
“Yeah. Well, of course the President’s tactic is to let them fall. Perhaps he’s right.”
“I hate it, but you’re goddamned right we should let the cities be.” Sergeant Cady wiped the sweat off his forehead and continued loading the ceramic ammo into the composite troop buggy. “What the hell does it matter if they’re evacuated?”
“I agree, Top.” Shane Gries nodded. “We aren’t gonna beat them by shooting them one on one. There ain’t enough bullets. I think the President is doing the right thing here.”
“Yeah, but I still hate it.”
“Me, too.”
The pickup truck loaded with what appeared to be everything the family owned had barely made it up the old logging road. The recon bots had stolen the gate weeks before so there was nothing stopping them from driving up the hill to the cabin or to the mine entrance.
It beat all Richard had ever seen. Were these people living in a vacuum? The Internet was all abuzz about how the bots eat metal and how you should stay away from metal and so on. But here was a young man in his late twenties, his wife of about the same age, a toddler maybe three years old, and an infant parading around in an old beat-up extended cab Toyota Tundra that was loaded down with everything from camping gear, mountain bikes, and firearms to strollers, baby gear and kitchen utensils, and cases and cases of canned goods, bottled water, baby food. Even a microwave and television set. There was probably a kitchen sink in it somewhere.
Their approach had tripped some of the fiber-optic sensor cable Richard had stretched out down the road for early warning of visitors, so he and Helena had walked up the mine shaft main tunnel to meet them. Richard hoped he could convince them to leave. He didn’t need any liabilities or distractions from his work. His hope was that they were just lost and needed directions. The fact that these two adults were driving around with these kids and knowing those bots were out there made his skin crawl with fear and anger. He scratched at the nape of his neck and then just shook his head. Helena made no particular telltale signs of being upset that anybody except the man who had been living with her for the past couple of years would notice. She was pissed.
The young man parked the truck about twenty meters from the mine entrance and seemed a little nervous when he saw the odd couple coming out of the mine shaft entrance. To the young man, the old man approaching them appeared to be in his late forties to early fifties, was average size and had a wiry build with graying hair and graying beard. He guessed the woman was in her early to mid-twenties, could tell she had a light complexion since she was wearing cut-off jeans and a tank top; her milky white arms and legs revealed she spent little time in the sun, and her long dark hair suggested a slight “gothic” appearance. What frightened him most was the fact that the young woman was carrying a large homemade club in her left hand and from the looks of the dings in it she had used it on something before.
“Don’t worry honey, I’ll take care of this,” he told his wife.
“Well, whatever. I’ve got to mix the baby a bottle. It’s been nearly three hours since she’s eaten anything.” She shushed the baby and bounced her in her arms. The toddler was strapped in a car seat in the back of the pickup’s extended cab. He was screaming bloody murder.
“Hello.” The young man approached Richard and Helena and smiled timidly.
“ ’Ello,” Helena smiled and nodded at the children. “Look Richard, dey have a beebee with dem,” she said rolling the “r” in Richard.
“Uh huh. Hello, what can I do for you? You are on private property, you know,” Richard didn’t like where this was going. Why weren’t these idiots at a shelter?