Chapter 20: West of the Patuxent River

04/05/65, 22:53, Prince George's County, Maryland

It was a cool night and PFC Edward Hopper was, along with the rest of his regiment, the 2nd Battalion, 12th Infantry Regiment, making a retreat across the Patuxent River, away from the skirmishes to the east. The river was a little over half a mile wide at this part. The moon was reflected in the calm waters. Elements of the 2nd Mechanized Response Brigade were retreating across the adjacent nano-constructed, provisional bridges, each of which were spaced evenly apart along the length of the river. As he sat in the back of the self-driven transport, he looked at the flashing lights in the eastern horizon. So did his fellow servicewomen and men sitting shoulder to shoulder beside and before him. They were all middle-aged or nearly so. Most if not all of the soldiers of the U.S. Army, as it had been called before it had been absorbed into the USRC, were way past their youth. Hopper was 39 and had been living a modest life as a concept artist before he had reenlisted.

His regiment and others of the 4th Infantry Division were retreating per the orders of the brigadier general, who had apparently deemed Maryland east of the Patuxent a lost cause. His friend, who sat beside him on the transport, had shared information circulating among the regiment that the swarm had already crossed the Chesapeake Bay, but had landed on the western banks wherever there was the least buildup of military forces. This revelation, which had later been confirmed by the second lieutenant, who had been an English Professor before the invasion, struck fear in everyone's hearts because of the implication that the swarm had discovered beforehand the spatial distribution of the defending forces in this region. The retreat would hinder a possible pincer movement, which, when his division had been fighting in Belgium two months ago, had led to the demise of nearly half of his Infantry BCT, near Liège.

Not a sound was heard beside that of the vehicles moving along the bridges. Most of the soldiers were too anxious to talk. They had expected a confrontation with the swarm that morning, but they hadn't fired a shot yet. The swarm had landed further north and south of their positions before noon, which had rendered their defensive preparations in their previous position in a line from Tracy's Landing and Owings ineffective. Before the forces to the east of the Patuxent, particularly elements of the 4th ID and 2ndArmored Division, could regroup to hold off the unexpected buildup to the north, the swarm had already made its way deep inland as far as Route 301 about two miles north of Upper Marlboro, having met with forces that had stalled any further inland advances for the time being. As he shifted his eyes to the distant flashes to the north and northeast, Edward Hopper yearned for normal days. He missed his simple morning and evening walks and his days sketching or painting on his tablet. He missed sitting alone by the small lake near his apartment. The starry night sky, which would have quelled his mind before the war, made him despair of his confinement to this planet. The others on the transport were grave as well, some with eyes downcast and some looking solemnly at the distant flashes. Sergeant Buckell gazed at the rosary in his right hand. He seemed to be praying quietly. Their sergeant sat on the seat opposite Hopper at the frontmost part. When they were about a third of the way across the river, the bespectacled man directly across from Hopper, a PFC John Carver, spoke.

"You would think that with the speed that those nano-bots can build these bridges, Zero Dawn would be completed just as fast," said the man to no one in particular, his eyes looking off in the distance, then downward.

No one spoke for a while. Zero Dawn had always been a subject of contention among Hopper's platoon.

"They need to come up with a weapon first of all," said Hopper's friend, Robert, quietly. "I imagine th—"

"Ah, what does it matter," said the youngest of them all, a 37-year-old private named Ben Armend, with a dispirited tone from his rearmost seat. "We already know that they're all stupid, otherwise these robots wouldn't be destroying the earth."

"Yeah," said the bespectacled man with a low chuckle and a sigh.

"Yeah, they are stupid," Robert calmly added. "But let's not be hard on those scientists behind Zero Dawn. We're gonna be thankful when they finish what they're doing. They have the biggest brains in the world with them."

A moment after, low-altitude jets flew overhead and to the northeast. Their outlines were barely perceptible in the moonlit darkness. They had flown from Andrews AFB, which was about eight miles to the west-northwest. It had been about twenty minutes since the previous flyover. As the jets receded in the distance, all was quiet again beside the sound of the retreating convoys. Hopper was in awe at the show of military might all around him. As he looked at the vehicles retreating westward on the adjacent bridge in front of him, to the right of his convoy, bright tracer rounds emanating from multiple points nearby to the east shot into the sky. A few seconds afterward, the tracer rounds terminated in small explosions. These tracer rounds continued to rapidly target the imperceptible, incoming rounds from the distant swarm. It was the work of the various C-RAMs destroying the incoming barrages from the KPs as they called them, the Khopeshes, which had mobile artillery functions. Hopper had no doubt that the KPs were targeting the makeshift bridges, which expedited the westward retreat. He knew that if the KPs were directing their fire at them, then that meant that an Ace scout, an ACA3 in formal terms, had discovered and informed the KPs of their position either by direct visual contact or signal interception. The enemy barrages were being answered with counter artillery fire from our own artillery batteries to the west, but the KPs were armed with C-RAMs as well. Fortunately, the green tracer rounds managed to destroy all of the incoming rounds, thereby keeping the retreating forces safe and providing them with a sublime light show in the moonlit night. Hopper was captivated by the scene.

"Look at that," said John Carver as he watched the explosions in the night sky. "They crossed the whole Atlantic to get us all."

"The bots don't want things like us," Hopper retorted, disturbed by the idea of being chased by the swarm. "They're like your car; they're just programmed to do this."

"Yeah, I know," said Carver matter-of-factly. "It's just amazing, you know, that all this firepower, all this devastation, is for their next meal. I've never been that fucking hungry before."

"It's funny when you put it like that, Carver," said Robert, attempting humor. "They're probably just hungry for your ass."

"Oh, yeah? Well, it won't be easy for them."

A few chuckled, but most were too lost in thought or dejected to care for humor.

Hopper could not get the idea out of his mind. He had shared it with his friend Robert after they had returned from the prolonged war effort in the England. He wanted to leave the war behind. He had wanted to desert ever since he had seen that large Horus machine, that titan, in Belgium explode into a shower of dark red blood after a Belgian squadron had fired its rockets on it. Before that monumental battle in Mons, he had become friends with some of the local residents in the area. He had realized that the blood of those friends of his had been in that red mist that had showered from that destroyed Horus that day. He had lost all desire to remain a soldier after having found two members of his platoon hanging from a rope in an abandoned house in Charleroi the day before his regiment was to conduct another counterattack. The double suicide had been premeditated. He wanted to go back to his childhood home in Colorado to wait out the war. He wasn't meant to be a warfighter. Maybe in a regular war, he would've fared better, but this war that he found himself in was more like an armageddon. It seemed to be the onset of a natural disaster in that the swarm was unfeeling like nature. The swarm simply invaded and consumed as their programming commanded them too. There was no martial spirit there or a hope for glory.

His friend had agreed to escape one late night when they had been waiting in defensive positions near Winderemere in Cumbria, England. They had formulated a plan to retrieve a car upon making it back to the U.S. With it, they would head westward until they reached Colorado Springs. As they had discovered beforehand, there were no strict rules in place to prevent desertion. A sense of duty and shame was all that prevented anyone who wanted to flee from fleeing. However, Hopper knew from his time fighting in Belgium and the UK that human armies had no chance against the swarm. It was truly a miracle that his regiment was still intact after the intense defensive efforts in the Lake District. They were fortunate to have escaped with the help of the Fifth Fleet of the U.S. Navy before the country had completely succumbed to the invasion.

He might have decided to remain in the army if it hadn't been for the motivation that other deserters had given him. Many in his company, after having arrived back in the United States, had simply vanished overnight, never to be seen again. No one held hard feelings toward the deserters because they were all equally old and weary. The zeal of youth was gone, and patriotism had died with the end of human armies in the 2050s. Those who loved to fight were sustained in their enthusiasm by an expectation of ample compensation after the war and complete trust in the eventual success of Zero Dawn. Everyone in his regiment had high hopes for Zero Dawn, which made the issue of desertion less of a problem. They all believed that it would save the world within the next few months if not in the present month.

As Hopper thought over his plans for escape, the tracers suddenly ceased, and the whistling of the incoming barrage followed soon after. Without the tracers, nothing came between the swarm's artillery barrages and the retreating forces. For about three minutes, the retreating convoys were bombarded. Most of the shells exploded in the deep waters of the river between the widely spaced makeshift bridges, each of which were about 100 feet apart, thereby saving most of the vehicles from most of the incoming fire. An MRB tank with white tally marks on its barrel on the adjacent bridge was immobilized by a loud and bright direct hit to the top rear of its turret. Fortunately, the bridge was wide enough for the preceding vehicles to go around the tank. A shell landed to the left of the vehicle directly behind Hopper's transport and was also immobilized. The hard-light projection that covered the back of his transport shielded them from any shrapnel that headed their way. After the third minute, the tracers to the east resumed firing into the night sky to counter the incoming barrage. Hopper wondered if the swarm had decided to send a larger force through the middle of the Calvert Peninsula, which had the Patuxent River as its western border and the Chesapeake Bay as its eastern border. The Calvert Peninsula was only about seven miles wide, which the swarm could quickly cross. He was reassured that part of his division had stayed behind to cover their retreat. The higher ups didn't want to risk having the regiment be cut off from behind should the swarm break through the defenses to the north or south. As stated previously, the swarm had only attacked far to the north and south of the Calvert, probably to avoid having to cross another river, which the Khopeshes were incapable of doing.

Soon, they had made it to the western bank of the Patuxent and continued on toward the outskirts of Joint Base Andrews. The convoy drove amid empty grass fields, which had recently been cleared of trees. Not a stump remained. Jets continued flying eastward and northeastward, while VTOLs airlifted tanks westward. The importance of airfields was well known among the soldiers, so Hopper assumed that they would be tasked with defending the base. Most of the trees had been cleared long ago to allow the military to maneuver freely and to prevent the swarm from using the trees as biofuel. The Calvert peninsula was also devoid of trees for the most part, which allowed a clearer view of the eastern horizon, at least as far as the variations in elevation of the land allowed it.

About half a mile away from the river, Hopper's convoy passed by defensive emplacements, which overlooked the bare grass fields. It was a chilly night. The defenses consisted of tank emplacements for the most part. Human-sized hard-light projectors were spaced evenly apart to shield the defenses from incoming fire. From behind a wide line of trees (about 200 feet wide), which had been spared nano-dissolution and which were behind the line of defenses, a hidden artillery battery fired into the sky. Based on the small explosions overhead and to the west, laser C-RAMs, the intercepting lasers of which were invisible, were protecting the battery from the swarm's own counter artillery fire. Hopper wondered where the ACA3 scout was hidden if it hadn't been discovered yet. Considering that the C-RAMs to the east of the river had stopped firing a few minutes ago and no more explosions had shown on the makeshift bridges and river since then, the scout was no longer relaying information to the KPs and had, therefore, likely been destroyed. Hopper understood that the defenses were stronger here because of the proximity of Joint Base Andrews. The retreating divisions continued to drive along in lines to squeeze into the gaps in the defenses, which had been left to take into account such a movement of forces.

As Hopper's transport passed through the layers of defenses, Pvt. Ben Armend spoke.

"The flashes have stopped," he said, looking eastward.

Everyone else shifted their gazes in that direction. Hopper saw that the flashes had indeed ceased. One minute passed and another and not a flicker of light was to be seen. Hopper feared that the rearguard elements of his division had succumbed. Silence reigned for a while as they looked on.

"Why did they stop?" Armend asked of the older sergeant.

"I don't know," said the sergeant matter-of-factly. "They might've pushed the swarm back into the bay."

"Yeah, the swarm ignored that area. The rearguard likely held them off," said Hopper's friend.

Then, the sergeant appeared to be listening intently to his invisible radio. After about ten seconds, he spoke to them all.

"They're going to rejoin us," he said, referring to the rearguard regiments of our division. "Everyone's converging on Andrews and D.C.; the swarm has broken through the 301 up north."

Everyone on the back of the transport mulled over his words for a while in silence. Then, Armend spoke again.

"Aren't we spread too thin? We should've been further north," argued Armend.

"You're oversimplifying this," retorted the sergeant. "We can't know what the swarm will choose to do. We can only adapt to their strategies. That's why we're regrouping near Andrews."

No one said anything more because the sergeant was right. The swarm was unpredictable. It used strategies that humanity knew about, but it could recalculate with more speed and precision than any human army.

A few minutes later, the convoy halted to wait for the rearguard to catch up. Hopper kept his eyes on the dark horizon to the east. The east, empty of trees, seemed like the Cheshire Plain at night when his regiment had been waiting in defensive positions a few months ago. After about 20 minutes, the flashes continued again, but closer this time. Being still so distant, nearly four miles away, and the variations in elevation hiding the battle from view, Hopper could not see the swarm. Despite that, he strained his eyes to see the serpentine limbs of the Horus machines amid the brief flashes. He knew that the Horus machines, being so important for the propagation of the machines, rarely operated in the frontlines. He looked for it anyways. He was frightened by the thought that the swarm had followed him, just him, across the Atlantic to make him suffer. He had got off too easy, whereas his old friends, civilians and soldiers, young and old, had become biofuel in Europe. Hopper looked along the defensive line, which stretched from north to south as far as he could see in the night. The emplacements had a clear view across the fields of grass before them, which stretched to the river. He believed that they would hold off the swarm if they happened to mount an offensive this way.

—23:32—

Until 15 minutes ago, the flashes had continued around four miles eastward. The sergeant had informed the soldiers that the rearguard elements, which partly consisted of regiments of the 4th ID, were skirmishing as they hurried to rejoin their counterparts west of the river. They were being supported by the air force, which had carpet-bombed the land to the east, giving the rearguard the freedom to retreat without being pestered from behind. During the carpet-bombing, Hopper had watched the black specks, the bombers, flying high above the clouds. Presently, the rearguard was crossing the makeshift bridges that Hopper's regiment had crossed 40 minutes ago. Hopper's position had a clear view of the river, which was made barely visible in the dim moonlight. Considering that the C-RAMs to the east of the river, which had covered our retreat, were then being moved across the river too, C-RAMs from the defensive line west of the river were moved toward the western bank to cover the retreat of the rearguard. However, no artillery barrages pestered the retreating vehicles, which meant that there were no enemy scouts watching them. It may have been that the extensive carpet-bombing had destroyed the KPs that had been attacking them earlier.

After about thirty minutes, the whole of the rearguard had rejoined Hopper's retreating element behind the quiet defensive line. The artillery batteries were then silent. The 61st Cavalry Regiment rejoined Hopper's convoy and halted. A few minutes later, the two regiments, along with other regiments to the north and south, continued on in a northwest direction toward the part of Route 4 near Andrews. Behind the defensive line, the trees still remained, although wide paths had been cleared some time ago to allow for ease of movement. The nano-bots could quickly rid the land behind the defenses of its trees if necessary.

The soldiers were then looking at formation of mid-altitude military transports flying northeastwardly. Hopper remembered those planes from his time in Belgium and the UK. They were the "clean-up" task force; symbols of the USRC's scorched-earth strategy. They were going to release numerous pill-shaped containers over the abandoned peninsula. Within the containers were plant-eating (phytophagic) nano-bots, which would destroy whatever plant-based life was left on Calvert. Hopper remembered a past scene of those nano-bots scouring a field in Belgium after a similar retreat.

"We're gonna set up behind the defenses between Brock Hall and Upper Marlboro ," said the old sergeant. "Our buddies are holding off a push to the northeast. We're going to give them a breather."

Hopper was beyond glad to be heading further inland, even if only a few miles. Somewhere between Brock Hall and Upper Marlboro, there had to be a car that he and Robert could override. Although most of the population had driven westward months ago, there had to be those cars that had been left behind by soldiers. Having been mainly positioned in rural areas on the Calvert Peninsula since arriving back to America a few months ago, Hopper had rarely seen any abandoned vehicles in the few residential areas that his company had passed by.

—00:26, Marlboro Village—

Hopper's company had stopped in the abandoned Marlboro Village. Although the residents had evacuated some time ago, the quiet neighborhoods seemed normal for the hour, it being a little past midnight. In a nearby parking lot, a mobile artillery battery was firing away without pause. Hopper, Robert, and Carver were then walking along the empty streets of the housing area. The rest of the company was temporarily set up on the main road. The soft glow of the lampposts suffused their surroundings. As they walked in silence, a white-tailed deer scurried across the street 20 feet away and disappeared between two houses, brushing past a shrub in the yard on the way. They were looking for any abandoned cars in the driveways of the nice houses. A few weeks ago, Carver had joined in on their plans to escape westward to Colorado.

"Where're the cars?" Asked Carver. "There has to be at least one here."

"We'll find one," said Hopper. "We'll check the garages too if we have to."

They continued walking, having gone onto the sidewalk. Hopper walked on the grass between the sidewalk and the curb. Their DEWs were hanging diagonally across their chests by their slings. As they wandered along, doing so casually to avoid looking suspicious, Hopper listened to his integrated radio.

"1-2, this is 1-4, stay on John Rogers Boulevard near the Farmer's Market. We're waiting for the nano-phage run to clear the woods. Over."

…

"Will do 1-4. Over."

Shortly, the trio turned a corner in the sidewalk. To their unified surprise, a lone car was parked in a driveway three houses down, about 30 feet away, on the opposite side of the street. It was barely lit by the nearby lamppost. They hadn't changed their pace upon seeing it and casually crossed the street, heading straight for the maroon car. As they neared it, Hopper could see that its windows were tinted.

"What'd I tell you," said Hopper. "We were going to find one eventually."

"Let's hurry," said Robert, beginning to jog toward the car. "No one's around."

"Yeah," said Carver.

Shortly, they were beside the car and Robert was working to override its lock. Carver stood behind the car and looked around with nervous eyes. Hopper cupped his hand on the back-seat window to peer inside. After about five minutes, Hopper looked up. In his peripheral vision, he saw that the interior of the house was lit through the nearest window. It hadn't been lit when they had approached the driveway.

"Guys," said Hopper with a hushed voice. "Look."

"Fuck. It wasn't lit before," said Carver, who had turned around to look.

Suddenly, the curtains of the window were pulled aside, and an elderly, bespectacled man appeared, staring right at them in his driveway. As quickly as he had spotted the trio, the man stepped away from the window in the direction of the front door. Hopper and the others looked apprehensively at the front door. Shortly, the front porch's lights turned on and the front door opened immediately after. The old man walked slowly onto the porch, looking at the trio all the while.

"What are you doing to my car?" Asked the man.

"Hello, sir," greeted Hopper. "We need it for military purposes."

"Military purposes? What do you mean? Are you with the USRC?"

"Yes sir, we are," Hopper replied.

"What do you need it for?"

"We need it to get supplies from a supply depot ten miles to the west," said Hopper.

The elderly man stared at the three men for a while. Hopper kept his composure despite having lied and stood perfectly still, waiting for a response. The man eyed each of them one by one.

"If you're trying to flee, go ahead. But...wait now. I will allow it under two conditions."

Hopper and his friends waited for the man to continue.

"Tell me where you'll be heading."

Hopper looked at Carver and Carver looked at Robert.

"Colorado, sir," said Robert. "Colorado Springs."

"Colorado, huh," said the old man, pondering for a moment. "Take me with you then. I couldn't leave all alone at my age."

"Alright," said Carver. "But we have to leave fast. Come on."

—

A/N: Thank you readers. What are your thoughts so far? Share them with a review.