Jean Preston - Sledgehammer

She saw the cut in his wrist. Tears trickled down Alana’s cheeks. Saburo looked down.

“We have to go,” he said.

They rode on Saburo’s bike through the forest, she rested her head on his back. Her throat stung horribly.

They joined up with the remnants of Loma’s army, making their slow retreat down a smooth road that intersected through forest. Many were injured. Those that could not walk or had nobody to carry them were left to the Immortals – they would do with them as they pleased. This fact was an ulcer in the heart of many who walked along, limping, stumbling with makeshift splints and bandages. All were sullied, with blood, mud or burns. As Alana and Saburo passed the army, they saw a yellow-jacketed fellow amongst them, who turned to face them. At once Saburo knew him as Bill, and saw that he supported a limping comrade. His friend held a bleeding stomach, his face was white and woozy. Saburo halted his bike and dismounted. He held his hand to Alana, helping her do the same. Bill nodded weakly at them.

“Take my bike,” said Saburo. “He needs it more than us.”

Bill raised a hand weakly to protest, but relented. He helped his friend sit, then took to the handlebars. He offered a hand to Saburo. They grasped tightly.

“We’ll get them next time,” said Bill, and he released. He sped down the road, disappeared.

Alana and Saburo stumbled along together. The tattered remnants of the army marched on, some moaned, the adrenaline had left their bodies, they no longer feared for their safety, now the crushing weight of defeat pressed down on them.

They heard the roar of a plane approaching.

“Get down!” cried Saburo. “Scatter!”

The plane slowed down and hovered strangely, a bright spotlight shone down onto the road. Wind was kicked up, the sound of the engines was overpowering. Alana had given up. She couldn’t fight anymore. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t have any weapons. She didn’t feel like running, she was sick and tired of running. She stood in the middle of the road while soldiers around her scattered like roaches.

The ship landed, blue flame pouring from the landing thrusters. The walkway collapsed down and soldiers poured through. They wore black armour, like Loma’s. The spotlight faded and Alana saw the ship was white and glossy like Loma’s, though several times larger. Their helmets had a black plume, like a Roman soldier’s. They marched down in a perfect square, one of its corners detached and approached Loma. He had two large yellow boxes, one clipped to each hip. He spoke in a male voice, slightly robotic through the filter of the helmet.

“I am commander Farron. Do you know of the pilot, Juarez?”

“Do you mean Loma?” asked Alana, timidly.

“…Yes.”

“Yes I knew her. She was – my friend.”

“Then she is dead?”

Alana nodded sadly.

The soldier bowed his head for a while. But he got up.

“As her friend, the honour should fall to you,” he said, unclipping one of the large yellow boxes from his belt. He handed it to her – it was heavy in her hand.

“What is it?”

“This will end the war. Use it only when I tell you.”

The flat cylindrical drones flew over the citadel, scanning. Hooded figures looked up and took to firing. The drones were battered and shook by the bullets, but returned fire with perfect accuracy, evaporating a few before they suddenly and simultaneously ceased all movement and fell crashing to the ground.

“It’ll take time to recharge, this is our cue, stay behind us,” said Farron. He gave further orders in his helmet to his own people.

The Avalon soldiers marched in a perfect square, and in perfect synchronicity fanned out into a thin line. The remainders of Loma’s army, followed, a great shambling horde by comparison.

The Immortals responded, spraying automatic rifle fire at the invading army. Bullets bounced off the Avalon armour. At worst it cracked their visors and pained them. Those who ran behind were less fortunate. Farron and his men opened fire on the enemy positions. 40 beams of light burst forth, scorching windows and trenches, they walked in step as they fired. They ceased firing. Loma’s tattered army divided either side of them, diving into the trenches, taking shots at the windows of the Citadel. The Avalon soldiers reformed into a square, Alana crouch walked behind them, bullets whizzing past them, thudding uselessly into the armour. They approached the main entrance.

Two figures emerged from the door. Cyborgs with elongated mechanical skulls, they carried grenade launchers. The Avalon guard dispersed and took fire at them. But they were shielded like Gabriel. The beams burnt at their shields, and the Avalon guard advanced cautiously. In time their rifles overheated, and they ceased firing. The two cyborgs fired grenades on either flank of the Avalon guard, sending armoured figures flying. The remaining Avalon soldiers open fired again, but the invisible shields had returned.

Alana heard a thumping run behind her, she saw a golem marching straight for them. Before she could scream it had leapt, it sailed above them, crashing to the ground ahead of the Avalon soldiers. Alana saw that it was Fortinbras. An Avalon soldier turned to fire at him, but Alana held his gun away.

Fortinbras sprinted up the steps and grabbed at the leftmost cyborg. The Avalon soldiers ceased firing on this one, turned to the other. Fortinbras bear hugged the shielded cyborg, his skin singing. He wailed inhumanly. With great effort he lifted the invisible sphere, and the cyborg inside it, he held it above his head, the palms of his hands steaming, he stretched back and tossed the sphere several hundred feet in the distance. It fell into the roof of a barracks. Fortinbras turned to the remaining cyborg and pushed it off the steps, wrestling with the shield.

“GO GO GO!” cried commander Farron, the remaining Avalon soldiers sprinted up the steps, into the main entrance, Alana followed behind them, clutching at the yellow box in the crook of one arm. She picked up a sledgehammer that lay strewn on the floor. They marched into the maze of the Citadel.

They encountered pockets of resistance as they hurtled through the building, and then the maze of tunnels underneath. Silently Farron ordered pairs of his men to hold positions, keeping the enemy at bay while the remainder marched on. By the time they entered the control room – a large circular metal space surrounded by consoles – only two soldiers remained with Loma. They needed to access an adjoining room, but time was of the essence so they had no opportunity to unlock the portal through the consoles. They fired their rifles into the thick metal door, till it glowed white and pulsated.

“WATCH OUT!” screamed Alana.

Cyborgs approached from behind them, four of them. The Avalon soldiers turned to fire, but again the beams of light met impenetrable, invisible shields. The rifles soon overheated, and the cyborgs unleashed blades from their forearms, cut into the bodies of the Avalon guard, who slumped to the floor. The cyborgs approached Alana. She dropped her sledgehammer to the ground.

“STOOOP!” She screamed, holding up the yellow box.

The Immortals ceased their movements. They looked at Alana with dead eyes.

“You know what this is?” she demanded. “It’s an EMP. If you take one more step, I’m gonna hit this switch. You understand?”

The Immortals stared at her placidly.

She coughed, her throat ached. “ Why are you doing this? All of it… Why?”

An Immortal stepped forward so Alana could see it clearly. Its chest and face were flesh and blood, but the rest of it was black metal. It was riddled with wires and tubes, tubes that went up its snout and into its mouth. It was earless, bald, its eyes were large and dead. It spoke to her in a soothing voice.