-Advice from a retired soldier who survived the Family raid on ICantBeliceItsNotMeat, 2057
Two… vehicles(?) land in short order. The first being a garbage truck that is very, conspicuously clean, with yellow and black stripes mimicking warning tape, as opposed to bees. As it lands, a large working man hops out, tied back greasy black hair, overalls over a yellow flannel shirt with a bright hazard vest over it all. Obviously Bub, as he rushes towards what I assume is his wife and son.
The second vehicle is more akin to a smooth drop pod, simply fell from the sky, only slowing down enough not to create a crater where it landed. From within came a thin, tall man in shorts and a t-shirt, rushing over to Alice and Cari.
“Talk later.” I say and I leave the call, walking over to Cari with Jill in tow.
The thin man, whom I assume is High Noon, glances over to me and, after giving Alice a quick hug, turns to face me, hand outstretched. “Thank you for your help today, War Games.” He says as I shake his hand.
“It's what I should have done, High Noon. Bestlé got very bold today, and if they didn't decide to go after my family, they might have succeeded.”
His face flashes with a hint of rage for a moment. “Fucking corpo cum dumpsters!” He hissed. He takes a deep breath, then says “I spoke with Black Log about this and he mentioned collaborating with you on an overhaul of our systems. I had no idea how vulnerable we really were, even with the lax security. I owe you, Victor.”
“As do I, little buddy.” A bassy voice resounds as Bub approaches. “Log said their convoy is making their way to us now, so I took the liberty to move mine and Shrew’s family to a bunker I made a while ago. Damian, you want me to send Alice over?”
“That would be grand, uncle Bub.” Alice answered, leaning on Cari. "I don't trust there aren't any other idiots in town, so a bunker sounds nice. Want me to invite the others?”
Bub nods. “You have their contact info, so here's the location.” Bub then sees my confused look, so he adds. “She means the rest of the Samurai families in New Phoenix. While Opal sure as shit could handle her own, her mom is more on the vocal side of violence. And the others are much more mundane comparatively.”
As I nodded, I saw Shrew's Mole land in the clearing, with her jogging out soon after. “Good work, Victor, and thank you, Bub. Now, is there anything else that needs to be done here, or can I go attack the convoy?” She said with steel in her voice.
“Give me a minute, I need to figure out why the EMC from these guys worked so well against me and mine. I just bought Class II communications equipment, so they should not have been able to do this.” I say.
They all nod heavily, understanding the danger that implied, as I move away, calling Morrigan on my network.
[Victor! Glad you got Jill. I have the other eight shuttles being prepped for combat, with Vulkan, Jim, and Baba Yaga loading up with their minions.]
[Ah. Yes. Right... The Class II Hardened Communications…. So, I may or may not still be experimenting with that tech.]
[Look! It's really neat stuff that works not just with direct laser connections, but by hijacking the electromagnetic field of the Earth itself! It took me some time to figure out the optimal configuration for The Screen, let alone the shuttles.]
I sigh.
[Five minutes for the shuttles, all ten of them, and ten minutes for the commanders. I can adjust twenty swarms in a minute, so-]
As I say that, my shuttle takes off towards my tower with Leman and his pack inside.
[What! No, the Cruiser is just days away from being done! Shifting production now will increase its time to three weeks! Please, Victor!]
I narrow my eyes at her pleading before sighing.
[It will be, Victor! I swear it will be!] She says before leaving the call.
I turn back to the other Samurai and approach. “Good news! Their EMC didn't overwhelm my Class II comms, Morrigan just didn't install them. She's getting the shuttles and my Commanders upgraded, which will be done in ten to fifteen minutes. Once they're done, Shrew, I would be happy to provide firing support for your Mole.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Shrew nods as the others make their way to their vehicles. “Thank you, Victor. I have a labour of Moles enroute to the column now, moving underground. They will intercept Bestlé in thirty minutes if we want to coordinate. Damian is heading back to his Canopy and will disable any anti-air that they have while also targeting any supers, while Bub protects the bunker. He's not able to fight other humans, no matter how disgusting they are. And Black Log is sending some PMCs to the area to clean up the trash, as we have no use for it.” She turns to Cari and Jill. “Will the two of you be joining us?”
Jill shakes her head. “Much as we want to, I can't fly those shuttles, don't have the implant for it. I've called for my car to pick us up. It's a damn sight stronger than Buddy's SUV, so if another attack happens, we will be safe.”
Cari walks over to me, giving a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Ruin them, love.” She whispers in my ear.
Jill's car arrives soon, though car might be a misnomer, as car-shaped tank is a closer description. It had the shape of an old muscle car, small trunk, huge engine bay, with room for two, but that's where the similarities end. Twice the size due to all the armor, with two micro missile launchers, two forward facing guns, and one rear facing laser gatling, it was what she called a ‘War Machine’, which was apt.
As they take off, going from zero to sixty in one second, its ‘engine’ thundering away, Shrew walks back to her Mole while I wait for my shuttle. I took the time to gather my thoughts, centering myself for the conflict to come. As my shuttle touched down and I made my way to the cockpit, passing pallets of munitions and missiles, I thought to myself. ‘Time to reissue the Memo.’
**************************************
First Sargent Flanders stood in his specially made Mobile Command Center, the pride and joy of his PMC, Reclamation. Sure, his super heavies were impressive, equipped with the finest weapons money could buy and some that money couldn't, but even they didn't compare to his Bastion of Dawn.
Three times the size of a normal MCC, six hundred feet from tip to tail, two hundred feet from Port to starboard, and one hundred and sixty feet tall at its highest, it was bristling with six battleship batteries, twelve anti-air batteries, nunerous point defences, and two foot thick alien alloy armor that cost more than three of his super heavies, he was certain that he could solo an hive that could produce anything smaller than a Model Twenty Four with nary a scratch. In fact, it had.
He stood in front of his custom command table, monitoring his column in real time, the surrounding ten miles of terrain, as well as his target, New Phoenix. He received a report that the Mad Pack had diverted from their course to intercept him, but he was not worried. All reports state that their weapons and defenses are barely what could be considered Class I in nature, being more dedicated to cleanup operations and self sustainability than combat. They would shatter against his Bastion if they attacked.
He took a sip of his coffee as he checked the time. His infiltration agents should have left New Phoenix airspace by now, but due to the jamming, he was unable to check. The expected report time was in five minutes, and he trusted his men. Intel stated the only targets that might prove problematic was War Games's family, but they were leaving a heavy training session today, and they were never shown to be armed, only in that simple SUV, so things would work out well.
With most Samurai gone from the city, and the only notable defense of the city being the Wall, having had its teeth gutted by incompetent councilmen over the years, once the hostages are secured, the city would belong to Bestlé once again.
The time for the infiltration team to report arrived, so he signaled one of his men to tune to their frequency, awaiting the good news. Seconds passed with only static on the line, then a full minute. Soon, five minutes passed and there was still no contact.
First Sergeant Flanders furrowed his brows before turning to his adjutant. “Bailies, turn on the news, scrub for Samurai movements. The plan might have gone awry.”
Staff Sergeant Bailies' augs flared to life as she began scrubbing through different news feeds. Three minutes pass before she responds. “No news, sir. Reports of a blackout where Team One launched their assault from, but no specific mentions of any Samurai movement.”
First Sergeant Flanders raised am eyebrows. “No news whatsoever?” That didn't bode well. At least one of them should have been alerted, most likely High Noon, yet no movement, no sightings, nothing. “Change combat readiness of all troops to Red Alert, prepare for imminent Samurai contact.” He said with an even, heavy tone.
A flurry of activity broke out in the command room as he saw his Column begin to shift, from a straight convoy to a fan formation. Launchers primed themselves, the super heavy tanks activated their secondary generators, and the convoy slowed to a crawl as troops began disembarking their transports, spreading out and taking up anti-tank weaponry.
His Bastion shuttered slightly as its cannons adjusted and his specialized radar dish activated.
“Ten aircraft detected coming from NP, Sir! Their profiles match Samurai War Games's shuttles.” One of his men shouted.
The holo map updated, showing ten craft flying in a V formation rapidly to his location. “Eta seven minutes before they are in effective range of our main cannons, five before they are in range of out missiles.”
“Get a lock on them, then open fire the moment they are in range.” FS Flanders ordered calmly. “Use hypersonic rounds to knock them out of the sky.” He felt the munitions shift below him, the loading sequence something he delighted in each time it happened.
Five minutes later, like clockwork, dozens of missiles launched towards the shuttles in staggered volleys, all with the goal of acting as a smoke screen. However, a few hundred feet from their targets, they all exploded, as if that hit a wall. That didn't matter, they were conventional arms anyways.
FS Flanders stared at the map, seeing the shuttles approaching the boundary line of his effective range. Ten seconds… five seconds…one se-
The Bastion shifted heavily to the right by sixteen degrees, causing FS Flanders to fall with a number of his men. He landed hard on his arm, feeling a bone crack. As he struggled to stand, he felt vibrations happening through the Bastion of Dawn, coming from outside.
Standing awkwardly, he saw the ten craft having split, encircling his PMC, firing numerous shells and missiles into it, causing vehicles to disappear from his map. He saw a number of super heavies seemingly having fallen into super large pot holes that were not there moments prior, then seeing one disappear from his network, his sensors indicating it flattened into the hole.
He saw the slew of communications fly from each squad and division, doing their best to reorganize, but being unable to damage the shuttles. Then a number of reports came in, saying some shuttles disgorged two massive power armors, one with twenty smaller versions of itself, and the other with car sized wolves in armor and how they were tearing through his men. Another dropped ten hover tanks that began to fire plasma beams into the remaining vehicles.
His Bastion tried to drive out of the hole it found itself in, but its massive twenty five foot tires were shredded on its right side, unusable. His cannons were unable to aim properly, and his AA guns and other point defences did nothing against the shuttles either.
Suddenly, his holo table shifted, no longer showing the battle map, but instead the upper torso of a man in a futuristic military ceremony fatigues, his eyes glowing a piercing green as he looked down at me with barely concealed disgust.
“I'm here to deliver the Memo.”