Reality 36 by Guy Haley Read Free Book Online

around once they realised they were fighting cyborgs, fighting Ghosts.
      More trucks and pick-ups rounded the bluff. No aircars or other aircraft, easy prey for AI drones or laser sats. In the middle was a three-man stealth tank, early twenty-first-century Scandi model. The radar-baffling edges were chipped, black absorption paint faded to grey. It had been state of the art once, like them. The thought came unbidden to Otto, insidious.
      He thought out to Lehmann, painting up the tank in red on their iHUDs for the gunner to see. When we attack, take that out third. They think they're being clever, force us to get three rounds off – front, back and the tank. They might even get to fire back.
    It belongs in a museum, not on the battlefield. Lehmann . No problem.
      The convoy's final vehicle, a twelve-legged forestry truck, rounded the bend. Muller came online, his icon blinking.
    Fifteen vehicles, sir. I see mostly food and personnel, some thermal blanketing, but nothing I can't see through, more or less. We can talk freely, they have nothing more sophisticated than personal music players.
      Fifteen vehicles in all, a good haul. Maybe there'd be some supplies they could redistribute. The rebels could feed their countrymen instead of murdering them.
    Sir, thought out Lehmann. Shall I take the shot?
    On my mark. Three, two…
    Wait! Muller, urgency belied by the MT's soulless drone. I'm getting something. There is a sixteenth vehicle in there, camo-scaled and heat masked.
      Otto wiped the sweat from his face and blinked, searching where Muller indicated. His eyes ached; a fuzz of interference tracked across the left side of his field of vision every fourteen seconds. They needed servicing, all of them.
      He scrunched his eyes shut, opened them. The interference cleared. Sure enough, there was the tell-tale shimmer in the air of camolam, ahead of the legged truck. He switched to infrared, and vague orange blotches lit up in his sight.
      The rebels had a bag of cheap tricks to baffle heat sensors, but to hide something right in front of you required sophistication. Otto was mildly surprised, but then the EU and the USNA were not the only interested parties involved in Brazil's disintegration. Every power had its proxies here, the dress rehearsal for the next world war.
      The orange blotches lurched up and down; legged vehicle, Otto thought. Grinning faces flashed next to his men's icons.
    Something big here, do you think, sir? Buchwald.
    Maybe they're moving camp. There are more of them than we expected. Kaplinski.
    What is it? asked Buchwald. Bullion truck? Weapons?
    Can't tell, Muller's reply. It's too well masked, weak heat signatures, that's all.
      Otto ran a tactical analysis through his adjutant. Threat indicators are not high enough to call off the attack. Stay focused. We take the column down.
    I can get all four in a few seconds. It will not be a problem, said Lehmann,
      Otto's sweat stung his cracked lips. Good. Wait for my mark. Ready , he thought out. Three, two, one. Fire .
      Four muffled cracks in quick succession. Lehmann's feed in Otto's mind jerked with the recoil from the cannon. The GMM exploded in a ball of red fire. It slewed half off the road, the truck behind it braking hard. By the time the wrecked pick-up had come to rest against a tree, the forestry truck was listing to the right, right leg set torn off. The stealth tank billowed black smoke. The turret had traversed forty degrees before Lehmann's cannon had punched a hole in its side, the hi-ex shell destroying the interior, leaving the outside eerily intact. Whatever impact the shell had had on the fourth target was hard to tell, but its camo scales were undamaged; not a good sign.
    Open fire! thought out Otto. Gunfire burst from the cyborgs' positions, felling pickets, and the convoy erupted with shouts. A few rebels panicked, diving to the floor or spraying the forest blindly with bullets, but the remainder showed