John Ringo - Von Neumann’s War

Caller: That’s right. The Internet is still working and everybody needs to know that there is a bot intelligence trying to attack all our servers!

Ret Ball: How do you know this, girls?

Caller: Our parents are part of the defense scientists and told us.

Ret Ball: Is there anything we can do to help?

Caller: Uh, sure, like, all you hackers out there could start hacking back at the thing or at least that’s what my mom says.

Ret Ball: You heard it here folks. Any hackers out there start attacking the alien intelligence on what is left of the Internet.

“Internet’s under full-scale assault,” Traci said, munching on a sandwich and watching her monitor. “On the other hand, I think every hacker on Earth is going after that source from France. And they seem to be fighting the attacks against servers here, too. There’s probably a lot of them in the refugee camps; you oughta see about getting them some support. Too bad we can’t just send The Atom and the rest of the Justice League of America, huh?”

“The Atom? Hmmm…” That gave Roger an idea. “Put it in my to-do file and make a reminder note about The Atom. That’s a good idea,” Roger said. “But right now we have some heroes to say goodbye to. Right after the funerals.”

Most of the lost soldiers had family requests to be buried at the Huntsville memorial site. A few, including posthumously promoted Sergeant Allen Nelms, had family requests to be buried at other locations. A memorial service would be held for those at the Huntsville site later in the day.

Two probes, their surface now shifted from glittering steel to bands of red, white and blue, held the coffin a meter off the ground as honorary pallbearers walked on either side.

On command, they gently lowered it into the hole blasted into the top of the mountain by other probes. Sergeants Jones and Mahoney held onto the flag, both one-handed since Mahoney had a fractured wrist, as the casket was lowered into the ground. The remaining pallbearers fell into line, holding their weapons, standard M-4 rifles, at salute. There was supposed to be a separate honor guard, but nobody was willing to give up either slot.

“It is fitting that this soldier be laid to rest, here on the site of his last battle,” General Riggs said to the gathered soldiers and civilians. “Many fell this day, but none led the way so well or with such conviction as this soldier. He stood at the gates, defending his home, his honor and his land as sternly as any Trojan and leading by example so that others stood there with him. By holding this line they gave everyone else the most precious thing possible in war: time. Today, the enemy that killed him works for us. Through the efforts of many people, some here today and others far away, we found the Achilles’ heel and Paris’s arrow flew true.

“Sergeant Gregory will be missed. But others take up the battle in his stead. They continue to shine in the light of his leadership and devotion, and they will continue to carry the battle to the enemy. No soldier could ask for more.

“Sergeant Major.”

Cady’s right arm, which had been almost severed by the falling probe, was neatly capped by a black cloth. Dr. Reynolds had assured him that the remaining resources of Asymetric Soldier could craft him a prosthetic that was damned near as good as new. Maybe a little better. But he didn’t need it for this duty, only his voice.

“Detail, prepare to render salute! Present Arms! Fire!… Load Arms!… Fire! Load Arms!… Fire! Order Arms!”

Jones and Mahoney had to get help folding the flag. But after it had been presented to the general — Gregory’s wife and kids were somewhere in a refugee camp in Kentucky — they got in line to drop dirt into the hole.

“So long, Sergeant,” Jones said. “Keep the fire warm.”

“Yeah,” Mahoney added, trying to think of something appropriately clever and philosophical.

Overhead four of the new bot propulsion fighters flew by. The sleek craft were piloted by the only surviving “Rednecks.” One, piloted by Colonel “Bull” Ridley, banked off into the missing man formation. All four of the swept wing forward canard fighters glittered red, white and blue in the bright afternoon sun. Behind them came rank upon rank upon rank of red white and blue flying machines, all under the control of humanity. They filled the skies momentarily and then banked down into the valley to land on the remains of Huntsville, there to await their next command.

Mahoney looked back down and gave up. In the end, all the philosophical words were hollow, so he said goodbye as a soldier.

“We are so going to kick those machine bastards’ asses.”