Citadel City

  "It's a madhouse around here," Tycho commented as he rode the elevator down to the ground floor. He was accompanied by his assistant, Lieutenant Finnegan.

  The stout Irishman replied, "You'd think none of them have seen a war before, sir."

  Despite their words, the floor they arrived on—like the rest of Citadel—was completely quiet. There was no clerical or administrative work to be done today. Everyone was at their battle stations, awaiting their frag orders. As they made their way out to Tycho's waiting staff car, the streets were empty except for the constant patrols of military security. Finnegan drove.

  Tycho got in the back seat and met with his next appointment, one he had been waiting to see all day. Periscope's massive form had to bend over considerably to fit inside the vehicle, despite it being spacious for a normal human. His newer body he inhabited was similar to the last, but with notable differences. For one, it was bigger and combat oriented. Empty hardpoints for weaponry were visible on the forearms, shoulders and back. His sensor pod the same angular and stealthy polygon shape.

  "Query: preparations go well?" the AI asked.

  "You're tapped into the entire comms system. You tell me," Tycho retorted. He still viewed the AI in an unfavorable light after Persephone's breakout.

  "I mean the Leader-Commander," Periscope clarified.

  "Well enough. He's getting better at politicking. I coached him all day yesterday. He should be fine going before the UN," Tycho said. A meeting of the General Assembly was scheduled for the following morning, after Whirlwind completed their tasking. It was deliberately timed to coincide with the commencement of general strikes on vampire targets around the world. The goal wasn’t to win anyone over. Rather, it gave the Vanguard an immediate explanation for violating global airspace and territories with military action. "The Leader-Commander is an odd man. I explain the simplest things and they go over his head. But when I present information as an enigma or an immensely complex strategy, he gets it immediately."

  "The human mind is complex and prone to inefficiency," Periscope said.

  Tycho didn’t appreciate the comment, but the AI had always been fickle.

  "On to business. The Verde nuclear plant has a Soviet uranium core in its custody. It sits in place of a missing uranium core, which was found under Monte Cassino at the heart of a nuke."

  "I have processed the briefing."

  "So you've done your review?"

  "All radioactive material in Research and Development's custody is accounted for, including samples strategically acquired from world nuclear powers."

  Tycho tapped his chin. "Verified?"

  "Personally."

  The robot turned his sensor pod to look out the window but quickly refocused on Tycho. The AI rarely made unnecessary movements. Tycho noticed. He glared at the machine, compelling it to speak.

  "Perhaps it is beyond my station," Periscope said.

  "Speak. That's an order," Tycho said, now deadly serious.

  "ISR has endured several failures in the field. Some beyond coincidence."

  Tycho's expression darkened. "Choose your next words very carefully."

  "We may have a mole."

  The accusation was unthinkable. None in the Vanguard could ever turn traitor. For Christ’s sake, they had all come from the light. They had seen the afterlife and knew what awaited all humanity on the other side. To betray their comrades to the darkness was an utterly impossible conclusion. But that was why Periscope existed, so the Vanguard could see beyond itself. A bad taste, like poison, filled Tycho’s mouth.

  Texas Panhandle

  What remained of Whirlwind regrouped and linked up with militia forces and surged forward. Tetsu and his Kilo-class brothers led the charge—combat robots like charging bulls, slamming into cultists and thralls with hydraulic strength and mowed them down, by bullet or by fist.

  The psychic vampire was run down by a duo of horseback riders and a pickup truck. A rider tried to lasso the monster but it turned and vaporized both horse and rider into bloody ribbons. This bought it only mere seconds before it was run down by a diesel truck like a deer on a highway.

  "Activate jamming array." Federov ordered.

  The electromagnetic spectrum immediately became saturated and wireless communication faded into white noise.

  "Array active. Be advised, all radio communication will be subject to fratricide. Laser-line-of-sight from here on out." Olsen reported. His voice was clearer over the laser comms system than radio.

  "Mount up!" Perelli ordered as the slew of vehicles belched carbon and clawed their way out of their dug-in positions. The crews left their ramps down and dragged them through the dirt as Rifles boarded the moving vehicles. Perelli was quick to tap into the vehicles' sensors. He overlaid the various gun-cams and ground-radar emitters over his HUD, tracking the battle.

  The vehicles surged across the rugged terrain, throwing up large dust clouds behind them. The Texans fell in on the flank in pickup trucks, horses at a gallop, and dirtbikes. Some of them came dangerously close to collision. One technical trailed their LAV so close that Perelli could see the driver struggling to maintain a straight line.

  Enemy combatants lay between them and the comms hub. A quick thermal scan showed they were almost entirely human. Perelli transmitted a quick burst to Federov.

  "Assess we've broken the enemy spearhead. Infantry front is composed entirely of human cultists. Recommend high-speed breakthrough. No stopping."

  Federov acknowledged and ordered a full frontal assault.

  The formation gained speed. Small arms fire pinged off their armor. The LAVs worked with precision and speed, laying down machinegun and cannon fire on enemy concentrations. The cultists were in complete disarray, having been caught in the open. Some of them attempted to run, only to be gunned down or runover.

  As they approached the comms hub, Perelli noticed a pattern in the layout; one he had failed to notice during mission planning. The buildings were all exactly what would be expected for a large communications center. One large rectangular building of multiple stories, covered in antennas and surrounded by smaller support facilities. What the reconnaissance officer realized was that none of them were laid out in a manner befitting a commercial complex. They formed a jagged star shape. And as they drew closer, sensors revealed hidden fighting positions; from machinegun nests to large-caliber cannon.

  This wasn't just a comms hub, it was a fortress.

  Incoming fire intensified. An LAV took a rocket to the nose and shed exterior fixtures. Its front four wheels lifted off the ground before slamming back down, but it kept moving. Mortars were called in and the mortar carriers went to work. The high-speed carriers were little more than a stripped-down SUV with auto-loading 81mm mortar tubes affixed to the back. The weapons coughed and their explosives shells landed ahead of the charge, softening enemy resistance.

  The Texans were not just witnesses. Perelli saw more than a few drones with square packages that looked like IEDs hanging from their frames fly forward. They exploded against enemy defenses with mixed results. Some did nothing. Others exploded spectacularly.

  Ten LAVs successfully crossed the desert with a dozen more additional vehicles from the militia.

  Everyone braced inside the LAV as the comms center loomed large. The LAV was going to slam directly through the exterior wall, as had been the original plan. The gunner rotated his turret and optics away from the impact angle to avoid damage.

  Cinder block was thrown high and concrete dust rolled through the air like fog as the first LAV punched through the outer wall. The interior of the facility was not empty—red-robed cultists scrambled behind overturned desks, machinegun nests barked from hastily erected barricades. The lead LAV slammed its brakes, rear end fishtailing on the concrete floor as the gunner rotated back into position. The 50mm slammed away at close quarters.

  The autocannon tore through a row of defenders, shredding flesh and steel with equal ease. The ramp dropped, striking the floor with a loud metallic bang, and the Rifles spilled out. Perelli was the third man out, rifle up, sweeping left. Muzzle flashes danced in the smoke. Return fire clattered off walls and composite plates. It was a chaos of noise and light as many saw fit to activate their strobes, dazzling the enemy.

  “Push the breach! Collapse the left flank!” he barked into his mic, the laser-comm working as intended.

  A wall exploded inward as another vehicle tore through, disgorging troops. The Texans were next, one truck skidded sideways through a whole created by the larger LAV and its bed-mounted M2 .50 cal opened up, sawing a cultist in half mid-run. Most of the lighter cavalry stopped outside. They began forming a perimeter around the breach. Though some ventured into the facility. Rifles chided them loudly, telling them to get back. AR-15s with 5.56 cartridges were NOT optimal against vampires in close quarters.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Then came the frames, who quickly moved to the front, blocking incoming fire for their more fleshy and less-expendable comrades.

  The first thrall to meet them was lifted by the jaw and hurled against a support pillar with a crack that snapped its spine. Another had its arm torn off, then its chest cavity opened by a steel fist. The robots moved with terrifying coordination, each step measured, each blow exactingly fatal. A cultist screamed and fired a full magazine into Tetsu’s chest, most rounds went high as he failed to control the recoil.

  The bullets sparked off his armor. Tetsu stared, unblinking, before gripping the man’s rifle and crushing it—and his hands—with a single movement.

  "Enemy leadership confirmed. Center hallway, moving fast." Perelli shouted as he saw a vampire in an important looking suit running away.

  "Do not engage! We're not here for them. Punch through and secure the data farm." Federov's voice hissed through the laser comm.

  Across the compound, breaching charges lit the stairwells. Rifles and Texans surged upward, clearing floor by floor. The report "Clear!" was heard more often than not; a good sign. Tetsu and the Kilos took point, bodies soaked in enemy blood, optics flashing with kill confirmations.

  The fortress was falling. But something about the silence in its core, the geometric layout, the sigils beneath their boots, it told Perelli this facility was more than it seemed.

  Gunfire inside the building slacked off. Though, fire outside continued as occupants of the adjacent buildings attempted to dislodge the attackers. But the battle had stalemated in the Vanguard's favor as vampiric forces couldn't get past the mixed militia-Vanguard forces defending the captured building.

  Two entire elements stacked up beyond the ominous steel double doors that led to the data farm. Olsen's demolition team wired up the doors and blew them off their hinges. Weapons drawn, they rushed in.

  What the Vanguard found staggered them immediately. It was not just a data farm, though there were row upon rows of servers blinking lights and processing data. But at the center was an unholy and barbaric creation. As troops entered, they immediately broke discipline, awestruck by the horrifying structure that occupied the center of the room.

  There, amongst the servers, ascending towards the ceiling like a tower, was an amalgamation of flesh and machine. Several computers were plugged into the bottom. Thick cables ran up and down its length. But the structure was covered in human remains, which appeared to still be alive. Faces, frozen in expressions of agony, adorned many sides.

  Then, off against the walls were cages. Prisoners stood, watching the Vanguard enter. There were men and women of all types and ages. The only commonality was their gaunt faces and emaciated forms. The stronger ones beckoned for release.

  Chief Weber overcame the shock quickly. "Alpha team! Secure this space, Bravo get these people out!" he flicked on his mic, "Trauma team standby, we have hostages, roughly two dozen. Bringing them out now. Standby to receive."

  The Rifles choked on the stale air, a mixture of blood iron and electronics so strong it was overwhelming. Most activated their CBRN protocols and sealed their armor.

  Federov entered and swore, "Ay, blyat.", but his own shock quickly turned to resolve.

  He saw several Texans attempt to enter the data farm. "Hey! keep them back!" he ordered, not allowing them to see what was happening. He justified it with practical terms. The Texans didn't need to be back there, they'd just get in the way. They also weren't equipped with sufficient protective gear to be in such a space. But in his mind, he was sparing them. These were likely the missing people, many of them loved ones, who had been abducted. Federov was sparing them the anguish of seeing what had been done to them.

  There would be relief outside as the still-alive prisoners were brought out. He didn't need them seeing the ones that been integrated into the pile. There was nothing he could do for those besides release them from the pained existence forced upon them by the vampires. But first they had their primary mission.

  Perelli entered the data farm and an odd feeling overcame him. It wasn't much at first, but it quickly grew into an unpleasant sensation. He could tell it was coming from the pile. It made his head-no, it made his soul hurt. He soldiered through it and kept directing his element.

  A technician was brought in, with other Rifles carrying several metal suitcase-sized boxes. He quickly began setting up his system to break into the vampire network. He briefed Federov. "This is not going to be easy. We expected some kind of wild card, but nothing like this. I might have to map an entirely new OS to break in. Please disable the jamming array. He don't have to worry about them sending anything off. I'll need CYBERCOM's support fort his one."

  Federov nodded. "Done. Our position holds. You have 8 hours."

  The technician went to work, operating four different computers at the same time.

  Perelli stood and watched. As the technician breached their system, the pain inside him grew more intense. It was no longer just irritable. It was quickly becoming debilitating. He closed his eyes and tried to bear it.

  "4 hours." Someone called out.

  Perelli opened his eyes, bewildered. It had only been seconds for him.

  The technician grew agitated. "Shit!" he moved away from his setup. "I'm getting nowhere." he looked up at the monolith. "This is more than digital architecture. There's something in here I can't tap into without extra-digital means. I, uh, I need the 'asset'." he told Federov.

  Another box was brought in. This one the size of a casket. When it opened, Perelli's eyesight grew narrow. His head felt light. A ringing started in his ears. He grit his teeth so hard it hurt.

  A figure lifted from the box, covered in chains and restraining devices, holy symbols adorning their length.

  Perelli's boots moved automatically, hand reaching for his holy knife. Only for someone to suddenly stop him, an iron grip on the back of his rig. "We need her."

  The JO seethed, not looking away from Vespera. "Why is she here?!"

  "For this exact possibility." Federov said.

  Vespera spoke. "This is the same necro-logic as that which was used on Kotlin to create unavoidable jammers. You can't get inside because it is not a digital or analog system. It merely interfaces with these systems. The communications going through this spire are transmitted on the backs of tormented souls." She looked up at it with something akin to wonder. "It is undetectable on the electro magnetic spectrum and can hold terabytes of data in a single transmission. It is how we communicate without being able to be tracked. Only a vampire can interface with the network."

  Perelli did not relent. Federov held him in place and his subordinate did not try to wrench or kick free, but he did not slack. Like an unstoppable force attempting to separate itself from the immovable object. That was the depth of Perelli's desire for revenge.

  Some of Vespera's restraints were removed and she began tapping on a keyboard. As she did, the servers lit up with paranormal activity. Blood began to drip from the monolith. She typed with one hand while making strange gestures with the other, like a conductor. The blood pulsed and moved in unnatural flows as it bent to her will. "They have changed their security protocols. Give me... 20 minutes."

  An RPG exploded against the side of the building, showering defenders in rubble. Wilhelm pivoted his machinegun and lit up the shooter. He fell quickly.

  LTJG Olsen shouted over the net. "We're getting pounded. Enemy has renewed offensive efforts. Ammunition condition orange. Request resupply!'

  Amongst a concrete debris wall, Vanguard Rifles intermixed with Militia returned fire in volleys against a renewed attempt to take back the central building. The cultists and thralls brought heavy weapons. RPG trails crisscrossed the terrain intermixed with heavy machinegun fire. Casualties were beginning to mount.

  "It'd be nice if we had some air support." A Rifle remarked, sifting through discarded magazines, looking for bullets.

  "Wait, y'all need air support?" A youngster asked. He was barely over 18 and carried a thick backpack with an array of antennas sticking high above his head. Wilhelm didn't like that the a kid that young was brought onto the battlefield. But he was barely 17 when he shipped off to Gettysburg with the Army of the Potomac, so he couldn't say much. Besides, the kid was making good use of himself by flying kamikaze drones into the enemy. He was au naturale.

  "We have an attack aircraft on station. Guns and bombs. Where do you want it?" The kid asked.

  "What!? Yeah, I could have used that information ten minutes ago!" Olsen said, exasperated. He pointed out over the rubble, where cultists were advancing under coordinated covering fire. They were moving in bounding overwatch, supported by thralls dragging what looked like an autocannon into position. They were about to have a bad day if it got set up.

  "Tell your pilot: Put it all on on grid Mike-Kilo-Seven-One-Three-Five, keypad three. Target is a linear formation, troops in the open, heading 0-9-0, moving under fire. Danger close to friendly line. Marking target with green smoke and laser designator. Requesting one pass, one strafe, guns and bombs. Authenticate Delta-Six-Niner, over."

  The Texan stared at him blankly. "I don't know what that means."

  Olsen tapped Marcus' leg. The assault trooper caught on and fired a green smoke grenade into the enemy formation.

  "Just tell him to aim for the green smoke!" He told the militiaman.

  The kid nodded and spoke into his own mic, in a far more casual drawl. “Yup, hey Bird-Dog, this’s Hawkeye—light ‘em up by the green smoke. All the bad guys. Don't hit the good guys. We’re real close to ‘em, so, you know… don’t suck.”

  Then he turned back to the Rifles. "Y'all might wanna get down. Bubba's near sighted." He and the other texans got behind hard cover, leaving the Rifles bewildered. They quickly followed.

  Over the din of battle, a distinct droning increased in volume until it overpowered the rest of the noise. Weber's eyes went wide. "Du verarschst mich!" "You're shitting me!"

  He looked up to see an immense silhouette come out of the sun. Twin radial engines thundered in unison as a diving aircraft came down in a shallow attack angle. Olsen recognized the American B-25 Mitchell bomber of Second World War vintage.

  Fifty caliber rounds shredded the enemy line, punching holes in everything caught in the open. The first burst shredded the cultists like wheat under a scythe. The second ignited something volatile either an ammo cache or fuel barrow and a fireball rolled skyward.

  It was immediately followed by two explosions from 250lb dumb bombs, dealing a death blow to the renewed attempt offensive, completely blowing apart the adjacent building.

  The aircraft pulled up so late that the props nearly contacted terrain. Huge dust plumes were thrown up in its wake as the pilot redlined the engines and clawed back into the sky. Despite the reckless maneuver the ordnance had arrived exactly on target.

  Wilhelm cheered, cutting loose another burst from the machinegun. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

  Olsen just muttered, “Splash. Good effect on target.” Then keyed up again on the Texan radio frequency.

  “Bird-Dog, Vanguard. Re-attack left of previous line, same ordnance, egress north. We’ll smoke'em.”

  The young Texan gave him a sideways glance.

  “Y’all speak like dweebs.”

  Olsen smirked. “We are professionals." he corrected.

  Vespera stood upright, her posture perfect.

  "I am beginning to understand the meaning of arrogance," she muttered, mostly to herself. The system's security had shifted, but not in any way that would bar a former Executor. Clearly, no one expected her being a vector for unauthorized access. She admit it felt a little bit good to be underestimated.

  “No one imagined I would ever betray the blood,” she added. “Their mistake.”

  Then, suddenly, she stilled. "It is done," she said, “System breached. Transmission ready.”

  An officer advanced warily, rifle half-raised, a printed list clutched in one hand. He handed it to her with visible hesitation. "Is this everything?"

  "More," Vespera replied. "Their entire mainframe is yours. Everything they had. Everything they tried to hide. You’ll have data they didn’t even know they were storing.”

  He nodded once. "Initiate transmission."

  She struck a key with finality. A low thrum passed through the floor, followed by the sharp whine of spin-up fans and processors going active. Racks of servers lit up. The air grew colder. The monolith bled more freely.

  As guards stepped forward to reseal her restraints, Vespera turned her head toward Perelli. Her voice was mocking. "It’s good to see you again, Ensign."

  Perelli sneered and stepped forward with intent to kill. But his knees buckled. Federov caught him, taking on his full weight as he gripped the back of the plate carrier.

  “I’ll kill you,” Perelli rasped, his voice barely audible as his eyes rolled back. His vision tunneled. A sound like ocean waves roaring inside his head. The pain wasn’t physical. It was metaphysical and quickly grew to agonizing heights. He wanted to scream but nothing emerged.

  He collapsed to the floor. His last sight was Vespera, tilting her head curiously.

  “Medic!” someone shouted.