(According to the date on the file, I was 15 when I wrote this.)
Robot Battalion
“Squadron Commander #4 calling Base!” said the soldier into
his communicator huddled up behind an over-turned car.
“Squadron
Commander #4 calling Base!” the soldier repeated “Come in! Come in!”
“Base responding!” the
communicator burst into sound “We read you loud and clear!”
“It’s
no use!” screamed the soldier above the deafening sound of lasers, bullets,
crunching and grinding.
“I’ll
take over here, Edwards!” said a voice “This is Chief General Williams!”
“It’s
no use sir!” the soldier continued “We’ve got to retreat! The Cybots have
already destroyed half our platoon! The artillery’s no use either! Private
Jones advanced on one of the Cybots in a specially armoured tank but the Cybot
lifted its foot and brought it down hard on the tank! Squashed it flat!”
“Private
Jones?”
“Jumped
out of the tank just in time, sir.” The soldier went on “ But his foot may have
to be amputated!” The thought of it sent a shudder through the soldier.
“Any
other serious casualties?”
“Well
. . . there’sssssss ffffffzzzzzzt ssssssshhhhhhgggggppp!
Gggggglllllllppppttttt!” The communicator went dead.
“Squadron
Commander #4! Squadron Commander #4! Will you come in!”
“Squadron
Commander #4 here sir.” The
communicator stuttered back into life.
“What
happened?”
“A
missile sir.” Came the reply “Aimed straight at me! Only just spotted it in
time!” the voice sounded out of breath.
“As
you were saying?”
“What?
Oh yeah,” the soldier continued “Sergeant Brown. Fell on piece of extruding
metal. Caused a deep gash in his side. The soldier heard a sigh at the other
end.
“Who
else?”
“Err
. . .” Squadron Commander #4 struggled to remember specific names. “Corporal
Atkinson – broken leg, Commander Higgins – shrapnel in the eye, General
Mitchell – hit his head on a girder, Sergeant Woods – broken wrist, Acting
Colonel Green – dislocated shoulder…” the list went on. Finally it broke off.
“Very
well Commander. Call a retreat.”
“Yes
sir.” Replied the soldier “Over and out.” The radio cut out. Radio operator
Charlie Edwards leant back in his chair as the Chief General moved away. A
small smile spread over forlorn and miserable face.
Humans
were pathetic. They were never happy. Whatever they were given or discovered
they wanted more. This was an addiction that had destroyed them. Not happy with
computers as themselves the top scientists had gathered together and decided to
create a machine that could think like a human. A humanoid. A robot able to
understand the meaning of human words and be able to reply correctly. The
finished result was perfect. Unfortunately it was too perfect. It had made
improvements to itself, expanded its knowledge database, updated its software
and ultimately become superior. A super robot. Then it had created a duplicate,
which had created its own duplicate which had… and so on. Now there were at
least a dozen of the creations roaming the earth. The Cybots. Towns were
deserted or destroyed. Most of the people had been evacuated to Astral Bay 6 of
the moon, which once had been conquered by humans in 1969. Gravity making
machines had been created and Oxy-generation hotels now covered most of its
surface. But those in careers of the earth’s defences (army, navy, air force,
etc.) had had to remain behind in an attempt to defeat the invaders. Chief
General Williams took a look around the radio room before going out into the
corridor. He sighed in hopelessness. Here he was – Lord High Chief General
Commander Williams of the Deadly War Dragons Battalion Division in the year
2023 and it didn’t mean a thing. He half-shrugged his shoulders and moved on
down the corridor until he came to a large metal door in front of him. A voice
spoke out.
“If
you request admittance please type in the digital password in the key pad next
to the door!” Chief General Williams unhappily lifted a finger and typed in –
1, 5, 89, ENTER. There was a click and the sound of a bolt being slid back.
Suddenly the door slid back to reveal the war room. Chief General Williams
walked forwards. The door slammed shut behind him. The other generals turned
round from the large table to see who had come with inquisitive looks. General
Williams answered all their questions with one.
“Overpowered.”
A sigh was heard around the room. General Williams sat down in his place at the
table. Silence. Suddenly Rear Admiral Lieutenant Corporal Adams spoke.
“Well,
gentleman, I don’t know about you but I think we ought to ask…”
“I
don’t know…” said Grand Colonel Johnson.
“What
have we got to lose?” said Chief Lieutenant Spencer.
“Nothing
now.” Said Head Sergeant Major Rosen. Silence.
“Let’s
put it to the vote.” said Rear Admiral Adams. “All those in favour.” Slowly
hands started to arise around the room.
“Carried.”
Said Rear Admiral Adams. “I’ll go and see him.” Chief Lieutenant Spencer stood.
“I’ll
go with you.” He said. The two stood and moved towards a small door at the very
back of the room. They entered the combination, turned the key, lifted the
lever and slid the door sideways. They got down on their hands and knees and
began to crawl down the tunnel behind it. They seemed to have been crawling for
ages when finally the saw ahead of them another small door. When they reached
Rear Admiral Adams kicked it open with his feet and they both crawled out into
another room. However this room was not like the war room or any of the other
military rooms. This room had a blue tint to its walls and was practically
empty except one singular bluish light that shone from directly above to the
centre of the room. In the centre of the room was a plump blue cushion and on
this sat a small, wizened old man with a twisted, grey goatee beard and a long,
thin moustache. It was impossible to tell the colour of his eyes for they were
embedded deep in the many wrinkles of dark skin. He was dressed in a silken
blue and purple robe, which hung in long folds all around him. On his head was
a small purple cap on top of the grey hair that ran from his head to his back.
For a moment the two soldiers could not speak. Then Rear Admiral Adams moved
forward. He opened his mouth to speak.
“I…”
the old man raised a long, wrinkled hand.
“I
know de reasan dat yoo seek de Kochi Sage.” Said the wise, old man. He had a
pronounced accent and rolled his R’s. He continued.
“Yore
countree is in dire need of help.” The men did not or could not answer.
“I
nor of a ware that yoo and yore peepel can acheeve peesse. Yoo must seek owt a
young man haw gaws by de name of `Jaz Coook`. Remembar that name. Repeat it now
plez.”
“Jaz
Cook.” The soldiers breathed. The sage nodded.
“Well
dun. I advize yoo to surch in a far off plaice where yore enemeez hav not yet
reeched.”
“Good.
Now go.” The two men went back down the tunnel back to the war room. The others
greeted them and asked to repeat the sage’s message.
“He
said to search for a young man called `Jaz Cook.`” Chief Lieutenant said. The
others looked round the room puzzled.
“Did
he say anything else?” one of them said.
“Only
to look to a place to where the Cybots have not reached.” the lieutenant said
“But that can’t be possible for the machinery war rages across the globe.”
“Not
quite.” Said a small voice. It was Chief Field Marshall Clarke.
“Pardon?”
said Lieutenant Spencer.
“I
said `not quite`.” Field Marshall Clarke repeated.
“There
is one small island to the south-east of Iceland known as Gr-ea-t Br-i-tai-n.
But it is such a small country we did not bother to search for recruits there.
Nor have the Cybots seen any worth in it.”
“Well
now it looks like you should have searched there!” said Head Sergeant Major
Rosen. “We’d better set off for there right now!” So a military convoy was sent
to the British Isles to England to search and retrieve Jaz Cook. They found him
at his home in the suburbs of London. He was young, quite good-looking man of
about 30 with short, blonde hair and sky blue eyes. Eyes of wisdom. Eyes of
care. Eyes of courage. They told him why they had come and explained the
situation. The young man accepted the mission eagerly and accompanied the men
back to the war zone. He followed them through the base and was stunned when he
discovered that the code was his date of birth.
“It
was suggested to us by the Kochi Sage who first informed us of your existence.”
Said one of the convoy soldiers. “I now see why.” In the war room he was
quickly briefed, given a bazooka and wished good luck. He strode bravely out
into the world to face the attackers of the human race with practically no
protection. He had no armour, no shield, no tank or any other type of vehicle.
Just himself and the bazooka he had been given. He was instantly spotted by one
of the Cybots who quickly advanced on the solitary rebel. It lifted its flat,
metallic foot and brought it down hard on where the soldier – had been! Jaz had
quickly rolled out of the way of the foot to one side where he began to fiddle
with his single weapon. He wrenched out a missile and held the dangerous object
in his single, mortal hand. But not for long. He pulled his arm back and threw
the missile straight at the Cybot’s head. There was a tremendous explosion and
the Cybot fell to the ground. Its circuits shorting all over. One down, eleven
to go. Jaz jerked the built in sword out of its socket. He hurled it like a
javelin. It hit a second Cybot’s control box in its chest and it collapsed.
Falling on a third robot and destroying that one. The others sensing the danger
that their comrades were in advanced towards Jaz. He did not panic and decided
to use the bazooka itself. He loaded it three times and then pressed the
trigger. A massive fireball shot out of the weapon and flew straight towards
the nearest robot. It hit its mark and felled the robot instantly. But that
robot felled the next four in a domino fashion. Three left. The next two
pursued Jaz around the derelict town. At last Jaz dodged behind an abandoned
car. As his first attacker came thundering up Jaz pushed the car up on its side
so that the approaching Cybot tripped and fell. The Cybot behind it thundered
up oblivious to the danger and tripped. It fell, crushed the first robot and
then broke apart. The remaining Cybot trembled and shook before standing to
attention, saluted and activating its self-destruct mechanism. There was a
massive explosion and the Cybots were no more. Everyone charged out of the
secret base and crowded round the hero.
“Hooray!”
“Woo-hoo!”
“Three
Cheers. Hip! Hip!”
“Hooray!”
“Hip!
Hip!”
“Hooray!”
“Hip!
Hip!”
“Hooray!”
“Ray!”
“Yahoo!”
Mankind
had learnt its lesson and I hope you have too. Be happy with what you’ve got.
Be careful what you wish for. For what you think you want is not what you
really want. However this story was in 2023 about 34 years in the future so
we’ve still got a chance as have you. Don’t waste it!
