Scott spent the next week on his father’s ship as they traveled across the Pacific. He learned that the US Third Fleet was preventing shipping in or out of Mexico’s West coast with two Carrier Strike Groups. Another group was off the California coast. The Dark Siren shot down a few drones tracking their progress and scared off a submarine, presumably American.
Roughly twice a day, they received updates of the positions of various ships. Their satellite had excellent cameras which combined wide angle scans with AI to isolate and focus on areas of interest with detail. The US likely had better technology for satellite imaging, but the Genysis satellite had fusion powered lasers. They had destroyed a number of US satellites, but mostly avoided destroying satellites owned by private companies or US allies. Scott assumed that their position was known.
Exploring their ship, Scott noticed a number of modifications since the last time he had toured the Dark Siren. Cargo spaces were smaller and separated by heavy bulkheads. Several elevators allowed raising or lowering shipping container sized payloads up from inside to the deck. One elevator brought up a drone which launched into the air and took off heading East. The drone consisted of several short arms with mounted engines that could swivel in various directions, allowing vertical takeoff and landing. Two small turrets on each side and a long central fixed multi-barrel weapon indicated this device was intended for combat.
Their ship now had swivel turrets, including a couple of the larger railguns and smaller devices he assumed were defensive lasers.
Several small turrets sprang into motion, swiveling to the South East and Scott heard a sound like puffs of air, roughly every second for about two minutes. There was no beam of light or jet of flame to indicate they were firing. Scott headed to the bridge, wanting to know what was going on.
His dad and the crew were busy, calling out targets and headings. Scott didn’t want to interrupt, so he waited quietly. Looking out the window, he could see the front rail gun had aimed to the East, and he could hear a loud buzzing sound as it fired.
“Hey Scott, things heated up a bit. Grab a seat and strap in.” His dad ordered, more calmly than Scott was feeling at the moment. Scott quickly did as he was told. When he sat down, a monitor extended from the wall and gave him a view of a map with a mix of green and red dots. Without wanting to mess anything up, he studied the screen for a minute.
His dad continued, “That’s our latest tactical map. You can zoom in or touch items to get details. Don’t worry, we don’t have any ship or weapon controls active on that station.”
Scott zoomed in on some of the red dots.
“Are we really fighting a carrier group?” Scott asked, concerned.
“Just a small skirmish. They waited until our satellite was heading away and then started testing us. A few cruise missiles launched and planes firing missiles from long range. They tried to jam our radar with a Growler, but we took it out. Our air defenses mostly use AI enhanced UV scanning, so their jamming was pointless.”
“You shot down a plane?” Scott asked.
“We hit it and fried something, but the pilot turned around and headed for the coast. I assume he’ll land in San Diego instead of trying a carrier landing. I shot down several planes at the start of this conflict. It was tricky getting around South America to come pick you up. They’ve learned to keep their distance. At this range, we usually cause damage instead of blowing them up.”
“What about the railgun?” Scott asked. His father did not seem too concerned with the current skirmish, so he was curious.
“Just potshots at their ships. They are moving, so we aren’t expecting to hit anything. We could shell the air base or Los Angeles from here, but we don’t want to cause mass casualties. At this point, we’re just taunting them. They keep wasting missiles that cost over a million dollars each, while we shoot free lasers and a few dollars' worth of railgun slugs.”
“I don’t think you are going to bankrupt the US military, dad” Scott rolled his eyes.
“Nah, but we are going to injure their pride when I sail ten miles outside of Los Angeles.”
“Don’t you think you should be more careful? They destroyed our carrier ship while I was recovering.” Scott asked, wringing hands nervously.
“True, we were overconfident there. They put hundreds of mines and popup torpedoes in the shallow waters off the Florida coast. They just sit on the ground and shoot upwards when something moves over. Those defenses will be a serious hazard to the boats that normally go through the area. Even deactivated, they are dangerous to people dragging fishing nets. Our defenses have been great for aerial threats and submarines, but mines popping up from the seafloor are a weakness.”
“Could they have those near LA too?” Scott asked.
“Not likely. Florida has wide shallows off the coast, but California seafloor drops off like a cliff. Seafloor mines would be so deep they either couldn’t see us or would take so long to catch us that we could use countermeasures. Also, they have so many civilian ships packed in the shallow areas; they can’t use mines.” Captain Henderson explained.
“It’s the surprise we don’t know about that will get us.” Scott said.
“Maybe. Anyway, while we are getting their full attention, you are going to take the submarine to get close to the shore. You’ll get out in scuba gear and exit the water at night near Redondo Beach. People like to Scuba there at night, so you won’t attract much attention when you just show up.”
“You really think people will be out when there are warships trading shots a few miles off the coast?” Scott asked.
“If they were smart, they would stay home, but some people are just oblivious to danger and will do whatever unless something blows up right next to them. The Army and police will be watching the coast, but it’s hard for them to cover everything. Worst case, we have alternate locations. They aren’t set up to defend against a single person showing up on a thousand miles of coastline, plus they shouldn’t have a clue what we are doing besides testing their navy. I’ll keep moving from LA down to Baja and see what kind of defense they put up. We hope to clear them out of Mexican water in the Pacific and break the blockade. I’m hoping they see our approach to LA as a feint to force them to move forces away from the border.”
“So my part is only a small piece?” Scott asked.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m sure whatever you are doing is important, but there are a lot of moving pieces. Just focus on your mission and trust the rest of us are doing the same.”
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Two days later, Scott was ready to start his trip to the coast. Their running skirmish had heated up as two carrier groups engaged, along with aircraft and artillery from the coast. Their satellite made several passes during the trip. This time, it wasn’t just taking pictures. They didn’t have a tenth of the firepower of the Russian satellite, but they could shoot rapidly with four smaller weapons. They caused minor damage to dozens of ships, and a few lucky hits forced their targets out of the fight until they could get repaired. More dangerous to the Americans, the satellite gave them accurate targeting and their railgun took several heavy ships out of the fight, including two carriers. The artillery on the coast was a dangerous challenge, shooting shells and rockets that kept their defensive turrets busy and forced them to stay at a distance. Their air drones destroyed dozens of the mobile artillery vehicles. They managed to avoid using the railgun against coastal targets to minimize collateral damage.
As the running battle moved down the coast, the submarine dropped Scott off, and he was able to exit as planned. As predicted, there were some people still swimming or diving, though it was not crowded. Most people were staying home, with distant sounds of artillery firing and occasional explosions nearby.
Scott ditched his Scuba gear and pulled out a phone. He didn’t really need a phone, but he wanted to use a rideshare app, which they had set up with fake credentials. Scott tried to keep his distance from people. The medical center had made some more changes to his appearance. Scott had grown used to his darker skin and hair, which they used in Algeria, but now he had blond hair and a short beard. His skin was tan but white. His eyes were a normal blue instead of the bright, unnatural colors most people in Proteus chose. Scott assumed if someone was actually willing to pay ten thousand dollars for eye coloring, they wanted something unusual. For California, his physical appearance was above average, but not unusual in a place filled with fitness obsessed young people.
“So, I guess the Mexicans are invading now. Did you hear the guns?” His driver started up a conversation.
“I’m surprised you are still working. Aren’t you worried?” Scott asked politely.
“I kind of thought this whole thing was a joke. Even the news people seemed to be struggling not to laugh when they said we should take the threat of Mexico seriously,” the driver gave a high-pitched nervous laugh.
“I don’t really follow the news,” Scott lied. “Why would they attack us?”
“The story is that they were attacked by the Russians and are blaming us. Like, why is it our job to protect everyone?” The driver seemed to be about Scott’s age. He was a second or third generation Asian immigrant, but clearly spoke English with no accent.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“That’s messed up,“ Scott agreed, wondering how he could shut down the conversation. He had seen the news stories twisting in knots trying to explain the war. There also seemed to be an uptick in journalists getting fired or deciding to spend more time with their families. SPAI must be having trouble keeping the media reporting the correct spin on events.
“Dude, you kind of look familiar.” Uh oh. Scott was hoping this wouldn’t happen so soon, but he tried to deflect.
“Nice! I’ve done a few commercials and some non-speaking parts. I’m hoping if I keep at it, I’ll get bigger parts soon.” Scott internally groaned at his bad acting.
“No, that’s not it. I got it! You look like that guy in the video. With Cancun Carl!”
Cancun Carl?!! Scott was speechless. They didn’t live in Cancun, plus it was a really stupid superhero name. On the other hand, maybe it was appropriate for Carl to have a stupid name.
“Yeah, that guy is like a real-life Mexican superhero. I follow this girl who streams video games, Alyssa Yates. You’ve heard of her, right? Everyone thinks she’s just a hot girl who streams games, but she’s actually really smart too. She was super excited because someone invited her to this party at Carl’s secret base and actually got to meet him! That is insane!” The driver almost hit another car.
“Hey, watch the road, OK?” Scott did not like where this was going.
“Anyway, you look just like his sidekick if he was a white dude. You could probably play that guy when they make the movie!” The driver’s excitement seemed to be getting worse. The last thing Scott wanted was to be recognized on his first day, so he just kept silent, burying his face in his hands.
Scott had never been more grateful when they arrived at his hotel. He wished he could tip a negative amount, but instead left it at the recommended amount. The front desk had a large package for him with clothes, supplies and a note wishing him luck. Though the US and Mexico were officially at war, they had not yet completely shut down the borders.
Despite his mission going well, Scott was now in a terrible mood. With a sense of dread, Scott decided to see what the internet was saying about Carl.
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Meanwhile, Carl was driving a van on highway 80 in Utah. It was an ordinary van, not one of his customized, armored vehicles. He did have some toys in the back, including a 180 pound multibarreled railgun, several large crates. One of these had an item he couldn’t wait to try out. His equipment had been dropped off by an air truck. With control of a large part of the airspace over Texas, they could get supplies into the US using the vehicles. While the roads were patrolled and military units covered most of the highways, the border was so large that there were many gaps on the Northern and Western edge of the state where you could make a quick drop over the border.
The US military relied on drones and satellites to detect any larger troop movements, but they weren’t cracking down on individuals fleeing Texas. A few police checkpoints were easily avoided with help from his cybernetics and a few small robotic drones.
He had been traveling for three days before arriving West of Salt Lake City. Finally, near his destination, Carl pulled his truck to the side of the road. This was a nice spot, with the Great Salt Lake to the north and mountains to the south. Entering the back of the truck, he admired the massive gun then started to unpack the largest crate.
Their organization had many missions going on, and Carl thought it was a shame he had to operate solo. No one would be able to see how awesome he was. Inside the crate was a rough looking suit of powered armor. Phillip, the designer, had been reluctant to give up his prototype, insisting that he wanted to rework and reinforce the joints. From different angles, you could see holes in the suit. Carl knew that someone had taken Philip’s unfinished project and welded on extra armor plates, giving it a crude appearance. Management had decided that it would be better to just use what they had, instead of waiting months for Phillip’s team to finish the complex design. Having a suit that could survive underwater or in space was not a concern. An airtight design would help if he was hit with a large explosion, but Carl expected the heavy armor would be much better than nothing.
Another drawback of using an unfinished suit was that it was difficult getting into the thing and closing up all the sections. Carl’s implant gave helpful hints about the procedure, so at least he didn’t have to fumble with an instruction manual. Once again, having another teammate would have really helped.
Carl spent nearly an hour fumbling and trying to reach latches that were behind his back. It would have been tough with just his large muscles in the way, but with the heavy armor it was impossible. Without closing the latches, the back armor and power pack would flop around like an open door. Even worse, a power connection to his upper body was unplugged, so he’d have to lug around the heavy gun, vambraces and gauntlets without assistance. He considered just taking the gun and ditching the armor, but the gun could not function without the armor’s power source.
Frustrated, Carl considered how this whole mission was going to fail because they couldn’t spare one person to help him out. After yelling a bit in frustration, a brilliant idea occurred to him. He just needed one person to help, but they didn’t need any special training. He only needed an extra set of hands. He could pull a car over and force someone to help him. Or… a better idea occurred to him as he pulled up Glitch_HR on his internal computer.
He set the search parameters to people within half a mile. What did you call someone who would help put on armor? A squire! Carl climbed out of the armor and got back into the truck. He could force someone to help him, but having a willing assistant would be even better. Not for the first time, Carl decided he was a genius.
He drove a mile down the road to the Lake Point trailer park. He approached a single trailer surrounded by weeds, complete with a rusted car on blocks in the front. Knocking on the door, Carl was greeted by a middle-aged man wearing boxer shorts and a dirty undershirt. The man had a couple of days of beard going and smelled like beer and something worse, but Carl gave him a huge grin.
“Hello! Are you Gary Chaney?” Carl could tell from his implants that this was his target, but he usually got a better response from people when he talked to them by name.
“Uh, yeah. What do you want?” the man grunted, but then his eyes widened as he recognized Carl. “Wait! You’re that guy on the internet!”
“That’s right. I’m on the internet all the time!” Carl agreed. He loved those animal videos and lately had been working his way through memes and Chuck Norris lists. Some of the memes featured him, which was even more awesome!
“So, what are you doing here?” Gary asked slowly. The grumpy look on his face had melted away and his posture straightened.
“I’m on a very important mission and I need your help.” Unlike that whiny Scott guy, Carl thought recruiting people was easy. You just needed to tell them what you needed, and they would be excited at the opportunity.
“OK! What should I wear?” Gary was practically bouncing on his fungus infected toes.
“Some pants and shoes would be appreciated!” Carl pointed out helpfully. “The important thing is what I am going to wear. Let me show you.”
Gary threw on some ripped up jeans and pulled boots over his bare feet. The two men walked around to the back of the truck.
“Holy crap!” Gary nearly fell over in amazement at Carl’s awesome armor suit.
“Right, I need to put this thing on, and you are going to help me close it up in the back. Then you can drop me off near the mountains. After that, you will take the truck away and then meet me when I call you.” Carl explained.
“Uh, can I have a bit of gas money?” Gary asked. Carl approved of his initiative.
“Here’s $100 dollars. Try not to drink too much while you are waiting for me!” Carl had a few thousand dollars in his mission kit to use as needed. Paying his squire was a completely reasonable expense.
Before driving to the drop-off site, the two men managed to get the suit on and properly closed up. Carl waited in the back until they arrived. He found it easy to keep his balance as the truck accelerated or went around turns. The suit had some kind of gyroscopic system to keep upright. Carl didn’t really understand or care how it worked, but it felt natural moving around, and he couldn’t wait to start running through the mountains.
At the edge of some snow dusted hills, Carl hopped out and said goodbye to his Squire. Gary wanted to take a selfie with him, but Carl was too disciplined to put his mission at risk with something like that. They could take pictures after he returned.
With bounding strides, Carl ran over the hills. He only slowed a little, moving through the mountains. It was easy to jump twenty feet or six feet vertically. Some of the rocks shifted when he landed with over a half ton of weight. He could also pull himself up with powerful arms, but the weight distribution made this impractical. The balance skewed too much towards the rear, with the powerpack and heavy gun magnetically latched behind his shoulders.
Carl fell a few times as he got the feel of what the suit could handle. The first time he fell about thirty feet. It was terrifying, but his legs easily absorbed the shock, cracking stone under his feet. Carl took a mental note that they needed to add some kind of grappling hook or jetpack to the suit. He briefly wondered how they ever built anything without his great ideas.
The AI was flashing some kind of message, while a small transparent overlay of the suit appeared. Tempted to swipe away the annoyance, Carl instead read what the annoying computer in his brain was trying to tell him.
Oh, the suit had cables with a grappling system for climbing. Hah! Great minds thought alike. He’d have to share a drink with Phillip once he returned to Proteus. That guy was way more talented than Scott. OK, Carl admitted he was being unfair. Scott’s software had been pretty awesome for helping him find Gary. It was great having a team of eggheads working to make him look good, even if some were annoying.
Carl made his way through the mountains for four hours. Even with the suit, a lesser man might have been tired, but Carl was still going strong. He was grateful that the weather was cold, and his suit had some ventilation, or he’d be overheating from all the effort. Climbing over a final ridge, Carl looked down at his target.
The massive data center spread out in a valley below his position. The facility consisted mainly of large, box-like buildings without windows. Half a mile away, precision shooting was out of the question. Carl first opened fire on the generators, which were destroyed with a satisfying explosion. He then waited a minute, watching as security scurried around trying to figure out what had happened. They were probably calling in help. Carl saw several groups of people exit the buildings, following the standard bomb threat procedures. One group of security seemed to have spotted his position, and they were spreading out, heading his way.
Carl opened fire. His gun shot projectiles the size of a small nail at roughly three times the velocity of a normal bullet. This could deliver around ten times the kinetic energy of a normal bullet, and the osmium tip was excellent at piercing through other metals. His rate of fire was on the low end of self-loading weapons at about 300 rounds per minute, but his suit allowed him to carry an ammo pack weighing 80 pounds holding 6,000 rounds. Able to fire continuously for about 20 minutes, the system was excellent for longer missions. After about three minutes of fire, the entire facility was shredded and on fire, and two security teams had been destroyed. His internal computer helped his aim, and hiding behind rocks or small trees was little use with his sensors and armor piercing rounds.
Carl did change his position a few times just in case they had some kind of antitank weapon, but the return fire had been small arms and all but a few shots missed widely. One lucky shot managed to bang into the armor on his right abdomen. It sparked a bit, and he heard it ping, but didn’t even feel the impact.
Thinking this had almost been too easy, Carl was launched sideways from a massive explosion.