Jean Preston: Sledgehammer

They made slow progress through the wood, they saw no animals, no birds, nothing but trees. The canopy was so thick in places it felt like riding through the night – but then they would come to a clearing and the drizzle would whip at them again, they’d see the silver sunlight through the clouds. And they rode on.

There was a recess ahead, the flat ground dipping suddenly, the horses stumbled down it, and as they trotted on, it appeared they had waltzed into a massive crater, kilometres wide, few trees grew here – mostly just long grass. They would be easy targets in the clearing, so they headed back and walked the perimeter of the crater, shadowed by the forest. They rode in utter silence now – the break in the monotony sobering them.

“I see something,” whispered Robin, pointing to the clearing.

They both stopped, dismounted and pulled out their swaddled rifles from the saddle bags. Through the scope Alana saw a red rusted hulk of a thing, motionless, propped up, leaning on a rock, black cables festooned about it like liquorice.

“Could be a trap,” whispered Robin.

“Yeah,” Alana sighed. “We need to check it out though.”

They tied up the horses, hid their gear and proceeded on foot. Still sticking to the edge of the crater, hugging the forest. The red thing dipping in and out of view, hidden by trees. When they found a suitable spot, Robin built a nest. A vantage point to observe the clearing. He was perfectly still, hood up, prone, looking down the scope, nestled on high ground. Alana continued on alone, towards the clearing. From this distance the thing seemed like an enormous dead crab with all its legs pulled off.

She crouch-walked, so only her head and shoulders rose above the grass. Even this hardy plant seemed to struggle to grow around the wreck, it gradually withered and died as she approached, till she was utterly exposed – face to face with the red monster. It was the size of a house, vaguely oval, metal – with rivets all along the edges. It looked to have been crimson red in its youth, but now was faded and scratched. It lay on its side – or so it seemed. It had 4 gaping sockets that Alana thought might have held legs, or guns.

From underneath there were thick black wires that poured out, diverging and multiplying like veins, they looped back down under the shell, so their purpose could not be ascertained. She walked all around the thing a few times, keeping her distance. She knew Robin was keeping an eye on her surroundings, but she decided to have a look herself, her peripheral vision always on the wreck, looking for any sign of movement.

Satisfied, or at least less paranoid, she walked slowly back towards the metal beast. It looked utterly inert. She pressed it gently with the butt of her rifle and then jumped back. It remained dead. No lights flashed, no engines rumbled, no secret compartments slid open. She exhaled with relief and then climbed atop the thing. She swung her rifle onto her back and crouched on the shell, looking for clues. She had absolutely no idea what this thing was. From her belt she drew a small knife – she tested a dent in the shell for weakness – it wouldn’t budge. She would need a crowbar or a driller to break the shell open and get to all the tech inside. She slid off and looked for Robin. She couldn’t quite see him but she motioned a sign of safety.

She had a go at one of the wires with her knife. It was thick, glossy, rubbery. She sawed away for a while until an opening was cut. A few oozing black globules dripped out onto the barren ground. It smelled like oil. She collected what she could into a little plastic bottle, but the wire was soon milked dry. Looking around, she suddenly felt uneasy. She made her way back to Robin.

They did not know what to make of the thing, it was utterly alien. They did not have the tools to salvage it, nor the knowledge to determine what parts, if any, were salvageable. They marked the spot on their maps and continued on. They would leave it to the top brass to figure out.

The Chrysanthemum flew over black seas and through black air. It was almost silent, powered by an ancient radiation generator. It was smooth, white and bulbous, like a worn down pebble, plastic windows bubbled it, and two exhaust ports vented out rippling heat.

Inside, the troops were lit by a single red light, they were strapped in, a flat metal bar over each pectoral. They wore black armour, its material glossy and hard like ceramics, intricately tailored for each individual trooper – they were perfectly sealed. Their helmets obscured their heads – a perfect glassy black plane over their faces. The underside of their hands and fingers were coated in a ribbed, softer substance. To an outsider it might seem that they waited in silence, but inside the helmets, through their voice coms they chatted breezily, like old comrades, which they were.

Loma was their pilot, she wore the same uniform, except hers had little indentations of wings on the shoulders. She wore no helmet. Much of the mechanics of flying was handled by the ship’s AI – but if this software were compromised in some way, she could take the reins fully.

Her duty was that of an overseer, observing the drones that accompanied the soldiers, scouting ahead. She offered tactical counsel and relayed new orders when it was appropriate.

She viewed their journey’s progress through satellite. They would soon reach land, and fly over foreign territory. Avalon was a beacon of peace and harmony in the mid-Atlantic, their mastery of the waves and the air was unmatched, nothing could touch them there. On land, thousands of miles away however…

Loma had been on the mainland before. When the gates of Avalon finally re-opened, and the expeditions inland started, she was among the first to volunteer. Her early enthusiasm turned grim, the expeditions became a duty only. She had seen what depravities the human ape could fall to when left to its own devices, memories of the gnashing of teeth and the hollow mad eyes of the barbarians filled her with unease.

She was more than happy to be sealed within the Chrysanthemum this mission. Her boots would not be tainted with the scum of the old world, soon she could plant them back on the firm ground of the artificial island, with its alabaster and jet blocks, so smooth, so clean and so soothing.

They were now over land, they flew higher, into the clouds, out of range of anything. There could be some ancient tin-pot anti air devices still buzzing away on the ground, their programming re-knitted by dirty grasping hands. The Chrysanthemum would be a great prize, even in pieces.

As they approached their destination, the Chrysanthemum dipped below the clouds. They would land two kilometres from the extraction point, and the soldiers would proceed on foot, accompanied by drones. The ship’s landing thrusters burned blue and it drifted slowly downwards, hovering for a moment over grass before 4 metallic legs emerged, the gentle humming ceased. They had landed without incident. Their landing position was not ideal – it was low and easily accessible, but satellite had shown the area to be uninhabited, it was a grassy plain surrounded by forest. It was early night, they would be back to Avalon before sunrise.

In the cargo bay, the metal bars that held the soldiers in place lifted and folded into darkness. The troopers picked up their rifles from their overhead containers, and loaded a battery each. The cargo bay doors opened, steam wisped out, and the 8 troopers exited in synchronicity two by two. On either side of the cockpit, doors slid apart and 4 drones emerged buzzing into the night. They were flat and cylindrical with a slightly domed head, each possessed three black ‘eyes’. They followed the soldiers as they spread out into the forest.