The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War (23 page)

“Sir, I only
wish
we were up against Colonel Klink
and Sergeant Schultz,” chortled Vincent 286 (
Black Hole
, 1979),
Commanding officer of I Corps, 2nd Division, 3rd Brigade. “We could get Helga
to make a pass at Klink, feed Schultz some apple strudel and then get on with
business. But for us, it won’t be that simple.”

Paul nodded, a sense of dark foreboding in his thoughts.
“Then let’s come up with a really good plan that will get the job done with the
least risk possible. Oh, and one more thing. No word of this to Mom yet,
understand? Or to any of the Scotties with her. Not until we know more.”

“Clear, Dad,” Irona 222 replied but with a pained look.

Ω

“Dad?”

Paul sighed and slowly turned to face Daneel 1, who was coming
through the French doors to join him on the balcony.

It was past midnight. He had been staring at a star filled
sky, the mountain air around him cool, crisp and clean.

He was thinking. Wondering what lay ahead. Questioning
himself and his plans. Was he doing the right thing?

“Dad?” Daneel 1 asked again. “Are you sure that we are doing
the right thing?”

Paul smiled sadly, impressed at having Daneel echo his
thoughts so precisely. “No, I’m not. There are so many unknowns here. We might
find Bishop 911 and his patrol sitting in some theater somewhere, watching a Godzilla
movie marathon and having a grand old time.”

“Not likely, Dad,” the Scottie protested.

“No. I don’t think so either.”

“Shouldn’t we tell Mom? You know, that they are missing?”

Paul chuckled. “No, that is the one thing I’m sure we must
not do.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Cocking his head to one side, Paul turned to look back at
the stars. “They’re ageless, you know. Those stars. Our ancestors were looking
at those lights in the sky back in the days when they hunted saber tooth
tigers. Those early men. They protected their women too. They had too, for the
benefit of all mankind, for the propagation of the species. They especially learned
the hard way to protect pregnant women the most fiercely. If necessary, they
put themselves between the predators and their women, to protect them.”

Paul swept an arm at the sky above him. “They’ve seen it. Those
stars. They’ve seen our history. All of it. It’s written in our genes. Those
early men that failed—their children died in their mothers’ wombs, with their
mothers. The ones that survived were those that their men protected. Fought
for. Sometimes died for. No. It’s written in our genes. Protect our women.
Especially when they are pregnant. Especially then.” He glanced back at the
Scottie. “Understand?”

“Yes, Dad, I do. And I understand something else too.”

“What’s that?”

“Your name is mud when she finds out.”

Paul nodded sagely in total agreement. “That too is written
in our genes.”

Ω

Orders went out that night and the Scotties began arriving
in the early morning hours in huge numbers at three separate locations. Ziggy
386 (
Quantum Leap
) and his II Corps gathered at the Fairfax County landfill,
an open field of nearly 300 acres south southwest of Washington, a perfect
place from which to stage his part of the attack. Jarvis 186 (
Ironman,
Avengers
) with half of his 1st Division, with 1st Brigade under Dorian 223
and 2nd Brigade under Andrea 32 (
Star Trek
) were dropping in on an empty
beach north of the town of Claiborne, Maryland, along the eastern side of the
Chesapeake Bay.

1st, 3
^rd
, and 4th Brigades of 2nd Division, I
Corp, under Lenore 86, arrived via portal in an empty grassy field just east of
Harrisonburg and west of the Massanutten Ridge, with Paul and Daneel 1 bringing
up the rear.

Paul stood in the tall fescue, a gentle cool breeze blowing
in from the north down the valley. Around him floated nearly 10,000 Scotties
and their unit commanders: Daneel 7 of 1st Brigade, Twiki 586 (
Buck Rodgers
in the 25th Century
) of 3rd Brigade and Alpha 505 (
The Flash
, the
first series and
Power Rangers
) of 4th Brigade.

“Daneel 1, set us up a conference with all the Corps,
Division, and Brigade commanders by way of holographic projections via
microportals,” Paul ordered. Since Daneel 1 was expecting that command, it took
only a few seconds to arrange, the images of the Scotties in remote locations
displayed on large view screens hovering in mid-air.

As Paul looked around, he marveled at the sight of 10,000
black cubes floating in the air around him, the images of their Scotties on top
of their cubes, together with the faces of Scotties in the two remote locations
displayed on nearly a dozen view screens. It sobered him to see all of their
smiling faces patiently waiting for him to speak.

“Commanders,” Paul began. “The attack is set for 2000 hours
tonight, local time. All of you know the plan, since you helped create it.
Roberta 300, Irona 222, the two of you have the most to do to get your troops
ready.”

“We’ll be ready in time, I promise, Dad,” they replied, in
unison.

“And Vincent 286, you have the most distance to travel,”
Paul reminded him.

“No sweat, Dad. Just a milk run,” he boasted.

“Alpha 505, your approach to the battleground will be the
trickiest,” Paul cautioned him.

“We can handle it,” Alpha 505 pledged.

“Gort 737 with the 4th Brigade, 1st Division, I Corps, and
Arcee 77,” (from the 2007 film
Transformers
) “with the 4th Brigade, 1st
Division, II Corps will act as the reserve,” Paul informed them. “Gort, Arcee,
your Brigades will be with me at the Manassas Regional Airport, south of the
city. We will go in first, a few minutes ahead of the attack. In some ways,
your job may be the hardest, since you must be familiar with everyone else’s
plan of attack and stand ready to jump in anywhere to help out.”

“We’ll have ’em covered,” Gort 737 assured him.

Paul looked at all of their countenances on display in front
of him, a deep feeling of pain in his heart. “People, I am not going to kid
you. I am worried about how this will go. I want you to get with your troops,
warn them again that
Errabêlu
is up to funny business here and to be on
the lookout for disappearances of other Scotties during this battle. If that
starts happening, I want that information transmitted to Daneel 1 as quickly as
possible. It will be his job to determine what we are up against. If wholesale
disappearances start to happen, like maybe whole companies start to vanish into
thin air, I want everyone in your Corps to pull back. Is that clear to
everyone?”

“Clear,” they all responded in concert.

“There will be nearly 38,000 of you in the first wave of the
attack,” Paul reminded them again. “With Gort 737’s and Arcee 77’s 6,000 in reserve
and another 3,000 in Washington DC in case we need them. It’s virtually all of
the Scotties except what is with Mom in Africa, so this constitutes a huge
gamble.”

“We understand.” Once again, they all responded in concert.

Paul was touched by their willingness to march off to
battle. Was this what it was like for eighteen and nineteen-year-olds headed
off to war in America’s history? His heart felt heavy. He looked at their
smiling expectant faces on top of their cubes and he instantly realized that he
couldn’t just give them a pat on the back and wish them well. For a moment, he
regretted never having served in team sports or in the military. Right now,
what his Scotties needed was a pep talk—and he didn’t know how to do that. But
he also knew that he had to try to give them one anyway.

He bowed his head, trying to find the right words.

“I want you all to know how proud I am, how proud Mom and I
both are, of each and every one of you. Of what is in your heart, of the type
of person that you are. And yes, you are people, even though you don’t wear a
body of flesh and blood, you are human.”

He looked back up, into their eyes. “You were born for this
day, you know. For this specific day, right here, right now.” He let his voice
rise some. “Throughout history, there have been many pivotal moments, events
that have shaped and changed the world as a whole, sending the whole planet in
a new direction. The Renaissance. The Gutenberg Printing Press. The discovery
of electricity. The American Revolution. World Wars I and II. The nuclear bomb.
All of those and many many more.

“This is another one of those moments and you are the pivot
point now. On you hinges what happens to the world for the next thousand years.
On you hangs life, liberty, and justice versus slavery and death. Right now,
the bad guys have the upper hand. They are in control. But you have advantages
over them that they are unaware of. You are smarter than they are, individually
and as a team. You are better trained, better focused, and individually more
powerful. But most of all—and make no mistake, this part is the most important
factor of all—you fight for a better cause.
They
fight for power, money,
and control.
You
fight for the human race, for liberty and freedom and
righteousness. Yours is the better motivation by far. This is who you are. This
is your time, here and now. It all comes down to today. Your heart, your
character, your integrity, your cause. Fight with every joule you have.
Remember the cost of blood and lives that the human race has paid for the last
thousand years. Remember the goal you fight for today. This is your chance.
Fight for it!”

For a moment, the Scotties all looked at him in stunned
surprise. Then Daneel 1 grew a set of arms and hands and began to clap. All the
other Scotties present and in the displays quickly did the same. A cheer went
up followed by a growing chant.

“Victory. Victory! VICTORY!
VICTORY
!”

Paul smiled and waved both arms in their direction, joining
in with their voices, shouting at the top of his lungs. “
VICTORY
!
VICTORY
!
VICTORY
!”

Harrisonburg, Virginia

Truck and Trailer rental facility

Wednesday, 10:49 a.m. EDT

June

A
t a trucking
rental firm near Harrisonburg, Virginia, not far from Interstate 81, four men
sat waiting in the cheaply paneled lounge, watching an antique CRT color
television as a clerk behind the chipped wooden counter prepared a set of
paperwork on metal clipboards.

From a grassy field just south of the Manassas Regional
Airport, Paul watched a view of the lounge on one of a dozen large holographic
displays hanging in mid-air in front of Gort 737, Arcee 77, and himself. The
video was transmitted through a microportal strategically located in the upper
left corner of the lounge of the trucking rental office, just below a ceiling
tile.

The clerk behind the counter finished stamping the forms and
jerked his head at one of the waiting men.

“We need your signature here, Mr. Idaho,” he said, waiting
for the holographic image of Duncan 454 to get to his feet and approach the
counter. “Please sign here, here, here,” he lifted two sheets, “here, here, and
here. Then we will do a walk down inspection of the trucks, sign one more form,
and you and your men can be on your way.”

Duncan 454, aka Duncan Idaho (from the Frank Hebert Dune
series), smiled crookedly in reply. “Thanks. Much appreciated.”

The clerk waved it off. “I don’t think we’ve ever rented
three semi rigs to the same customer on the same day before. Must be quite the
emergency.”

Duncan 454 nodded smugly. “Yep. We’ve never done that before
either. Yes, you could call it an emergency. We have an important delivery to
make by tonight. We’ll have the trucks back first thing in the morning.”

“No problem,” the clerk replied with a smile. “Shall we go
do the walk-downs?”

All four men (well, one man and three Scotties in human
disguise) went outside, where they did a damage inspection of the three tractor
trailer rigs. The final forms were signed and the three Scottie human images—in
cowboy boots, jeans, and white Texan hats—strolled across the asphalt lot,
pulled open the doors and swung themselves into the cabs. In seconds, the three
diesel engines kicked over with a rattle, sending brief gusts of black smoke
out the tops of the stacks.

“There are some that would call this stealing,” said Kitt
427 (from the
Knight Rider
TV series) to the other two Scotties over a
WiFi link as they shifted the trucks into first gear, edging them toward the
gate in the chain-link fence.

“The trucks will be back in the morning,” said Olympia 402
(Jacques Offenbach’s 1881 work
The Tales of Hoffmann
). “And we did,
after all, fill out their forms and pay the normal rental fee for a day’s
usage.”

“Yeah, but we sort of forged our identity papers,” observed
Kitt 427, with a grin on his face.

“Nobody is out a cent,” Duncan 454 replied. “And I can’t help
it if some people on this planet are in love with paperwork. That’s their
problem, not mine.”

“Yeah,” said Kitt 427 as he drove his truck through the open
gate. Olympia 402 was a very close second, with Duncan 454 third.

“We will have these babies back before anyone spots any
funny business,” promised Duncan 454.

Paul chuckled at the Scotties’ comments and swung to check
the progress of one of the other teams.

Ω

From Hagerstown in the north down to Staunton in the south;
from Fredrick, Maryland to Charlottesville, Virginia; semi-trailers and trucks
rolled forth from a variety of rental centers.  Each one, driven by a Scottie
in the guise of a human, headed for the nearest interstate and set a course for
the same place: Exit 6 on I-66. All ten trucks.

There was a schedule to keep.

Ω

At 6:30 p.m., with the sun hanging low on the western
horizon, Vincent 286 of I Corps, 2nd Division, 3rd Brigade emerged through a
small portal (one of four such) into the Gum Spring Road Quarry, a large stone
pit in the ground just north of Sudley Springs, Virginia. Each of the four
portals were just large enough for four Scotties to come through at a time. The
size of the portals were kept as small as possible, to mitigate the level of
magical energy being expended and thereby reduce their risk of exposure to the
enemy. Fortunately, the stone quarry was beneath ground level, which helped to
further shield the portals from detection.

Vincent 286 waited impatiently while his troops emerged
through the portals and gathered along the floor of the quarry. 

“Come on, come on!” he said over a WiFi link. “We haven’t
got all day!”

Ω

Paul’s instructions to Ziggy 386 had been to leave one
battalion in Washington DC as a rearguard, in case some of the
Errabêlu
wizards attempted to sneak around behind them and attempt some type of
skullduggery in the nation’s capital.

Airborne, the rest of II Corps left their start-off location
at the Fairfax County landfill at 6:30 p.m. and traveled swiftly, as a column,
at a mere altitude of thirty feet above the Ox Road, heading northwest. In
order to remain unobserved by traffic on the road, the Scotties were cloaked.

Fifteen minutes later, the lead unit swung further to the
west and followed the Fairfax County Parkway. The rest of II Corps made the
same turn, right behind their leader.

Ω

At 6:45 p.m., four small portals opened up near the
southeastern end of the airstrip at Manassas Regional Airport, above the mowed
grassy field. Gort 737 and Paul watched as the Scotties of I Corps, 1st
Division, 4th Brigade began to pile through.

Paul glanced upward again, checking on the deteriorating
condition of the weather for the nth time since his arrival. The sky above him
was now filled with dark grey clouds and the wind was blowing fitfully from the
northwest. When he turned in that direction, there were angry black clouds
above the treetops on the far horizon and an occasional burst of lightning in
the distance.

He grunted in fretfulness. “I saw the same sort of
phenomenon at Devils Tower,” he grumbled to Gort 737. “All the magical energy
being released over there is affecting the weather.”

Gort 737 nodded and cheerfully predicted, “It will probably
get worse.”

The Scottie was likely right. Worry gnawed at Paul. There
were elements at work here that he didn’t understand.

Ω

As the semi-trucks arrived at Exit 6, they pulled into a
truck stop and fueled up, their drivers taking time out for a short break. A
portal opened up inside the box of each trailer, disgorging Scotties until the
inside of the trailer was stacked completely full.

With the fuel tanks topped off, one by one the trucks pulled
back onto the highway and headed east.

It wasn’t quite a convoy, not with the trucks spaced thirty
seconds apart. But 20,000 Scotties, with all their magical energy emanations
shut-down, were on their way to the battlefront, using the same avenue of
approach employed by Longstreet and the Confederate Army to such devastating
effect in The Second Battle of Manassas, threading through the needle of
Thoroughfare Gap.

Ω

Ziggy 386 and II Corps, traveling along Fairfax County
Parkway, reached I-66 and momentarily rose above the overpass before turning
westward, the highway traffic below oblivious to their presence.

Less than five minutes of flight time took II Corps past
Centreville to Exit 52 where they “exited” the interstate and followed the Lee
highway westward. As they approached the intersection with Bull Run-Post Office
Road, the lead element, 1st Platoon, 1st Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Brigade,
1st Division, slowed slightly and hung a right. They were followed by every
other unit of 1st Division. However, 2nd Division stayed on the main highway,
maintaining a westward course.

2nd Division did not have to go far, only a mile before
reaching Stone Bridge, one of the most prominent landmarks in the area, spanning
as it did, the small Bull Run. There the Scottie cubes stopped, setting down in
a small grassy field along the north side of the highway. The time was 7:05
p.m.

Ziggy 386 quickly called his unit commanders together.

“We hold here for a bit. I’m sure by now that
Errabêlu
knows we are here,” he said, his holographic head nodding toward the west. He
too was impressed by the angry black clouds and the sporadic bursts of
lightning and thunder in the sky in front of them.

“There seems to be quite a storm brewing,” he muttered
sullenly.

In the meantime, 1st Division, under the command of Roberta
300, sneaked 2.6 miles up the Bull Run Post Office Road and made their way
westward across a wooded lot to the banks of the Bull Run. Without faltering,
they swung to follow the river upstream, flying along just above the water and
below the overhanging tree limbs, into the gathering darkness.

Ω

At 7:20 p.m., the first of the semi-rigs, the ones carrying
Lenore 86’s 2nd Division, steadily made their way through the tight twisting
turns of Thoroughfare Gap, heading eastward at exactly the speed limit. Eight
minutes later, the first semi took the circular off-ramp at Exit 46B, heading
away from Gainesville on the Lee Highway, approaching the Manassas National
Battlefield Park from the west. Every thirty seconds, another truck took the
same exit, all heading in the same direction.

The first truck carrying 1st Battalion, 1st Brigade, of the
2nd Division (and, incidentally, Lenore 86 and the unit commander, Daneel 7)
slowed as it approached the intersection of Lee Highway and Pageland Lane. Then
it turned left, heading north. The lane itself was positioned west of Stony
Ridge and made an ideal approach vector to the west side of the Civil War
battlefield. The drivers and passengers of the few cars heading south on that
narrow country road were greatly surprised by the steady procession of
semi-tractor trailers going slowly northward and wondered why so many big
trucks were using the small county road.

As each truck passed the crossing of the Little Bull Run,
the Scotties inside bailed out of the passenger side of the truck, passing
their molecules through the sheet metal sides of the trailers. There they hid
among the bushes and thick trees of the small creek, waiting for the rest of
1st Brigade. The trucks continued northward bound, their part in the operation
finished.

The trucks carrying 3rd and 4th Brigades of the 2nd Division
(with Twiki 586 and Alpha 505) also turned north on Pageland Lane but the
Scotties bailed out a few hundred yards earlier, following the pathway through
the trees for a set of electric high voltage tension lines. Silently and
hopefully undetected, they approached Stony Ridge from the southwest.

“What marvelous weather we are having,” lamented Lenore 86
with a snort as she was jostled by the gusting wind from the northeast. The
black clouds hanging overhead were positively ominous as well as depressing. The
occasional blast of lightning and thunder made her skin crawl—well, it would
have if she had any skin!

She took one more look around and flew onward cautiously.

Ω

Vincent 286 waited impatiently in the bottom of the stone
quarry. The last of his troops had arrived through the four portals over
fifteen minutes earlier.

He checked his internal chronometer. It was 7:40 p.m. “Okay,
everybody, listen up,” he shouted over his WiFi link. “Our orders are clear. We
will travel underground to the southwest and approach Stony Ridge from the
northeast. Follow the Scottie in front of you. And don’t get lost! Okay, ready?
Time’s up! Let’s go!”

Turning, he cast a spell and plunged himself into the side
of the quarry wall, merging his molecules with the rock and earth, heading
south southwest underground, arrow straight for Stony Ridge. Unit by unit, I
Corps, 2nd Division, 3rd Brigade was right behind him.

Ω

Roberta 300 and 1st Division of II Corps reached the path of
the unfinished railroad just south of Sudley Springs on the Bull Run River. Their
position put them east-northeast of Stony Ridge. And they were running a few
minutes late. Not too surprising, considering the thickness of the growth along
the banks of the Bull Run. With a little luck, Roberta 300 was planning to make
up the time on the next leg of the approach.

There was a quick bolt of lightning and the heavens opened
up, suddenly pouring forth a deluge of rain.

Roberta 300 sighed in frustration.

The unfinished railroad that Southern General “Stonewall”
Jackson had used so well in the Civil War had never been completed, but
sections of the early embankments still existed. Roberta 300 had no difficulty
following the railroad bed as it led to the southwest, even though there were
no railroad ties or rails. The uneven hills of dirt were enough.

“This way, everybody!” she yelled, flying down the trail as
the rain fell harder.

“Sir!” screamed Lisa 486 (1985,
Weird Science
),
commander of 1st Brigade, in protest, just as a blast of plasma hit Roberta 300
from the right side, knocking her out of the air and into the bushes.

First contact with the enemy at the Third Battle of Manassas
had just been made.

Ω

“Dad!” shouted Daneel 1. “Look!” And he pointed at one of
the displays. “Roberta 300 is badly hurt! Lisa 486 of II Corps reports that
they have been attacked by Oni!”

“Where?” Paul bellowed, spinning around to look at the
display, a sudden stab of pain in his chest. With frenzied haste, he studied
the display map of the battlefield intently.

“Just southwest of Bull Run and Sudley Springs, along the
railroad embankment,” Daneel 1 reported smartly, throwing a blinking red light
onto the map.

Paul studied the chart. It made no sense for the Oni to be
at that location unless it was a patrol or observation post of some kind.
Unless…