John Ringo - Von Neumann’s War

“Marathoner,” was all Cady said.

“I never thought the Army running program would come in this handy,” Shane replied.

Cady just grunted.

Shane had gotten well into the rhythm of the run. He was feeling good about that if nothing else; there was a mind numbing pleasure to just running. But dodging the people around them, young, old, male, female, mothers carrying their children, was a pain in more ways than one. Shane had seen civilization end in less than an hour. And even if these people made it to England, the Channel wasn’t going to stop this invasion. Nothing would. Most of the people he saw around him were going to die. Of starvation. Of exposure. Of disease. At each other’s hands. The fabric of society was going to crumble and with it everything that had kept these shocked people alive in a technological womb. The law of the jungle was here again and probably here to stay. Unless somebody, and he knew which somebodys he was thinking of, could figure out a way to win . At the moment, he didn’t see one. But that was what the eggheads were for . All he wanted to do was get back to the States and dump it on them. Strykers and Abrams clearly weren’t going to win this one.

As they got deeper into the tunnel they began to see vast condensation-covered pipes lining the walls, which radiated cold. Shane glanced at them and then at Cady and shrugged. He wasn’t sure, but he thought they probably went through to the ocean high above. The pipes were steel and the concrete in the walls most undoubtedly had steel rebar in them. That was all he needed to know.

They passed through the French crossover tunnel, which was a bit of a pain, though uneventful. They had to hop over the train rails of the scissors crossing at the crossover point, which slowed their pace. The slowing of their pace and the widening of the crossover cavern allowed the few runners who were still pushing through to spread out a bit. It also gave Gries and Cady the opportunity to isolate themselves a bit from some of the other runners. Not that they did not want to help, but their mission was more important on the scale of helping humanity survive as opposed to helping a few humans survive.

Shortly after they’d gotten back into the rhythm of running, they began to see the first signs of organization since the battalion had been wiped out. A group of English soldiers in camouflage dress were clustered around one of the pipes, rigging it with explosives. The group of sappers were surrounded by guards who directed the hurrying refugees into the exit doors rather than let them continue down the walkway.

Shane and Cady slowed to a walk as they approached the soldiers and held up their hands as they walked forward.

“Please enter the car, sir,” a British private said politely, gesturing at the open door. “Buses are being shuttled down to—”

“Bad idea,” Shane said. “Private, I’m Major Gries with the Neighborhood Watch organization. I need to talk to your officer right GOD damned now.”

“Sir, we’re supposed to—”

“I said right now , Private,” Shane snapped.

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied unhappily. “Sergeant!”

“Leftenant Porter,” the lieutenant in charge of the demolition squad said, saluting the disheveled American major in ripped uniform and pink and blue running shoes. “Royal Sappers. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir, but—”

“We don’t have time, Leftenant,” Shane said, saluting in return. “Do you have commo to higher?”

“Yes, sir, there’s a phone—”

“Get me to it,” Shane said. “And get ready to pull out. You do not want to be here even as we speak.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Forsythe, Royal Engineers. To whom am I speaking?”

“Colonel, this is Major Shane Gries, Neighborhood Watch,” Shane said, sighing to finally be in contact. “Sir, you need to pull out your demo squads, right now, sir. We were present for the assault on the Stryker battalion as observers. If we don’t make it, please immediately inform the Neighborhood Watch group that the probes simply eat formed metal and then reproduce. That is their only attack. But, sir, your men are going to die down here. The probes rip rebar right out of concrete walls and will eat those big pipes as soon as they find them, flooding this tunnel. And they’re going to find this tunnel, soon, sir. They also pluck bullets fired directly at them right out of the air. They appear to ignore carbon — the master sergeant killed one with a stick. But, sir, this tunnel is about to start flooding as soon as one of those things finds a pipe. Sir, is this clear, sir?”

There was a pause and then a sigh.

“Thank you, Major, yes that is clear,” the colonel replied. “My orders, however, are also clear. The pipes have to be rigged. However, I will give orders that you are to be brought to the surface as rapidly as humanly possible. And I will send on your observations. That is the first clear intelligence that we have gathered on their attack method. Did anything work?”

“Shooting them didn’t, sir,” Shane said. “There’s a type of bullet I saw that might work, but…, sir, I don’t have time for this, sir.”

“Agreed, Major,” the colonel replied. “Give me the leftenant.”

“Was it bad over there, sir?” the private driving the truck asked.

The vehicle was a railway support truck that ran on the rails of the bed. As they drove down the tunnel, Shane could see soldiers rigging pipes every mile or so. It seemed like overkill. And unnecessary.

“It defies description, son,” Cady responded for him. “And I’d put your foot down if I were you.”

“Why, Master Sergeant?” the private asked nervously.

“Because these things eat metal, Private Thorgate,” Shane replied distantly. “And as soon as they get in the tunnel and find one of those pipes on the French side, it’s going to flood. How well can you hold your breath?”

“Not well, sir,” the private said, pushing his foot down. “Sir, all those sappers—”

“Are dead as yesterday’s news,” Shane replied.

“Oh fuck,” Cady said, quietly.

Shane looked over his shoulder and could see lights going off behind them in a shower of sparks. But in the sparks he could see, as well, a wall of water.

“Floor it!” Cady yelled, pushing his foot down over the private’s and shoving the accelerator of the truck all the way down.

“The sappers!”

“They’re dead!” Shane yelled. “And so are we if we don’t make it out of this damned thing!”

“Probes,” Cady said, looking over his shoulder. There was no “driving” the truck; it was on rails. All you had to do was push the accelerator or the brake. The private had taken a look over his shoulder and made the decision not to try to use the brake.

Shane looked back and he could see one of them. But it seemed to be caught in the water rather than flying or… assimilating. As he watched it was slammed against the wall of the railbed and began to come apart like a child’s toy. He got a brief glimpse of the interior, which was just so much metal bits. He also could see bodies being washed on the wave, which was still down in the railbed. Of course, so were they. And the bodies were being torn apart just like the probe. Some of them were civilians from the clothing, but others were in uniform. The sappers hadn’t made it out.

The water got closer and closer despite the fact that the truck was hurtling along at well over a hundred miles per hour. But just as it seemed the water would catch up — it was less than thirty meters behind — they entered the broad crossover cavern and it spread out through the cavern, receding in the background as they started to climb up the slope to light and air.