Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

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.

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.

"Go. Get us out of here."

Dante spun the car around and raced to the southern bridge. The tree lined riverside boulevard hosted gorgeous old homes gazing upon the metal buttresses of the second bridge. That boulevard ran red with the blood of primitive aliens and Trevor’s Grenadiers.

Dozens of dogs lay dead or dying from spears and arrows. Dozens of Red Hand warriors lay dead or dying from K9 teeth and talons. Like a hole in a levee, the alien warriors poured from the narrow bridge onto the street. Their numbers grew quickly and the K9s lost the advantage. Spears and arrows got the better of teeth and talons.

"Stop the car!"

Dante did as ordered, coming to a standstill in the shade of a huge Oak tree.

Trevor opened the rear door and shouted to his Grenadiers, "Retreat! Retreat!"

His personal warriors heard his call although Dante did not know if they heard through ears or thoughts. Tyr and Odin separated themselves from the battle like officers leading troops.

Trevor pulled his M4 rifle from the rear seat and shot at the Red Hands. The aliens winced at the sound. That surprise helped the K9s disengage to dash south on Route 11.

Arrows flew at the Humvee again. Trevor climbed inside.

Dante hit the gas pedal, maneuvered around the fleeing dogs, and withdrew from battle.

The Red Hands crossed the river.

– Nearly a dozen deactivated Roachbots lay in pieces at the big intersection. Some had fallen to the explosive cars, more from heavy fire from armored vehicles. Despite such firepower, the machines pushed and pursued Jon and his men from the grassy slope.

A-hehehehe. A-hehehehe.

Jon’s front line retreated inside a convenience store; a mid way point between what had once been his forward position and the Wyoming Valley Mall.

The Abrams tank idled next to that store. The turret swiveled.

Thwoop!

An anti-armor shell obliterated the lead Roachbot.

A second, third…six Roachbots hopped from the road to the parking lot of the convenience store.

Another Abrams shell blasted another Roachbot.

A-hehehehe.

One of Jon’s men-an oriental fellow wearing a Nike T-shirt and carrying a shotgun-sprinted for the cover of an overturned 18-wheeler. Dozens of hard projectiles fired by the bots sliced through the man. He fell to the pavement a bloody mess.

More enemy fire sought out the tank. Those shots that were so lethal to the guy in the Nike T-shirt could not penetrate the hide of the Abrams, but they did make a racket akin to a rainstorm of ball bearings.

Jon watched from the convenience store as the robot attackers demonstrated that they had dealt with armor before.

Three bots targeted the tank. The first fell victim to a blast from the Abrams. The second leapt into the air and landed atop the turret with a clang. It fired at point-blank range into the war machine. At such close proximity, the rounds from its guns chipped away at the armor plating.

The third bot stood twenty yards from the Abrams and opened fire. At that range, the projectiles merely bounced off the armor. However, those projectiles obliterated the Roachbot that had leapt onto the turret.