XII. Bury The Spur!
The Elusive Third Faction Returns, But Something is VERY Wrong...
WELCOME TO 365 INFANTRY: SPRING 2025! Get ready for a wild week of wolven adventure in these five exciting new stories from the world of Haven and the Wastelands! We’ll be releasing one story a day, and will also spring our brand-new episode of ALAN FIREDALE and news of the 365 INFANTRY QUARTERLY’s release on you as and when they occur. In the meantime, let’s catch up on how Lt. Gibson Blanc, Gen. Adam Knox, and the rest of the crew are doing. Enjoy!
“And that there tears it.” rang the voice of recon agent Roger Steele. “The whole damn thing. We got A.C.E.S. right where we want her. Whole floor plans, whole server racks. That’s where she keeps herself.”
Knox studied every item, every scrap of blue print, every blown-up photo. The dark gray General couldn’t believe it at first, but the past half-hour presentation the light-furred agent gave was beyond compelling. It was often easy to forget they had an inside man working the city, the Force’s past recon missions always fleeting in nature. Scraps of data here, machinery blueprints there. On and on it went, until The Avenger’s Creed led by Chief Ridgefield’s wife, Lita, and the official adoption of Agent Steele as their go-to recon man. A decade-and-a-half’s worth of intel finally came to one mighty head.
The leather-clad gray sat with a cigarette clenched between his fangs, waiting for the final words of his superior.
“What about the...phenomena?” Knox asked, almost defeated.
“Well...like all computers, once you unplug her, she can’t do shit.” Steele huffed a puff of smoke through his nose. “Her ability to manipulate Haven’s perception of reality is just as much a matter of mind as it is of, well, matter. Most of the cadre here ain’t chipped though.”
“Neither were you when she pulled the magic trick.” the darksome General scowled. “Don’t forget that either.”
“But if she’s weakening at the rate she is,” Steele pressed, “whatever she’s capable of now is going to weaken with her.”
“Don’t be a dumbass, Steele. This cocksure shit ain’t like you.”
Knox and Steele shared between them the kind of blue eyes that could cut a room in half, Knox’s all the sharper thanks to his fur’s darker complexion.
“15 years on this detail’s given me the right to be damn-near God almighty.” came the cool reply. “I know the risks inside and out, Adam. I got to her. I went right into the belly of the whale and I saw that she is DYING. Not just that, but what Grim and that civvy of his found inside the Black Country compound is also a part of Haven. He might not know us, but he trusts us enough to fight her out here while he’s doing what he’s doing in cyberspace. Trust me that every precaution has been taken. This is the locale, these are the directions. If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t be alive to tell.”
The General kept those cutting eyes on Steele while the realization set in.
“We’ve been dealing with everything from unhinged machines to clandestine sleeper agents, not to mention barking mad civvies who’ll fuck us for free. We’ve been done up the ass by every trick she has left up her sleeve, and twice by thugs who don’t give a shit who lives and dies anymore. She ain’t just a dying network. She’s a dying animal, backed by a half-dead world. And just as hard as the good half of this desert is fighting to be rid of both, her death throes are the most violent this planet has seen on the backside of those bombs. What we’re about to do to her has to be a total overtake. And I’m willing to go that distance. And I’m gonna need you, Lita, and the crew back there to hold the fort.”
Roger Steele put out the cigarette in the ashtray on Knox’s desk, and went for a handshake. His light gray palm hung in the air for a moment before his superior sealed the deal.
“We’ll keep the seat warm.” the agent smiled. “Don’t forget your tickets to the big show.”
The second the door closed, the sharp-dressed gray was as good as gone, back to the cybernetic prison he had slid in and out of with ease. And the second that door was closed, General Adam Knox was left with a hell of a future to plan for.
"It’s the bigger, sexier cousin of the Industrial Revolution.” That’s the way Chief Engineer Nic Ridgefield pitched it to everyone at Am Base Alpha, and he had the hardware to prove it. New hovertank bays had been established, a dry-dock of sorts for these tremendous machines they were about to turn loose.
Also of note was the growth of their flight program. The smelter’s yard afforded the Force a chance to build aircraft from scratch, and to fully refit some of the hollowed husks acquired during their scrap drives.
It was as if a whole new regime was in charge of the Force, even with the same heads in Top Brass, and the same dogged crew of Lieutenants and Corporals. Evelyn Blanc joined her husband Gibson in the role of Lieutenant, officially team-leader of the M56 division of “heavy artillery” and test-pilot for everything not nailed down.
Including the Force’s first Sherman.
The earth-toned tomboy relished the thrill of a real tank as she lined her shots and decimated target after target, the wolf’s fighting hands steady as a rock on the joystick.
“How’d I do, Am Base?” she grinned.
“Well you got the targets, Teddy, but you also got more than them.”
No sooner had the remarks came, the roar of a swift avalanche followed. The shots had been of such high caliber, they ate away at the base of the hill they were set up against.
“Soooooo...that’s what we mean by dial down the energy regulator.”
“Yuh-huh.”
“Take five?”
“Take five, Teddy.”
Elsewhere, back on Base, Gibson was helping a fellow hellion out on the driving range. With the revolt put down for now, the Force could turn their attention to rebuilding and improving more than just their armaments and rolling stock. At Corporal Metcalfe’s behest, the tan biker was aiding young recruit Chick Glenn.
The speckled brown hound, some five years Gibson’s junior, had been turning himself around after joining the Force. Metcalfe’s meditations helped alleviate some of his personal struggles, but he found riding side-by-side with the seasoned Lieutenant gave him the release he was really after. A biker just like him, rocking a jet-black hog and jet-black leather. When they got to the edge of the range, Gibson kicked Exciter’s stand down, Glenn following suit with his silver machine.
“How we feeling now champ?” Gibson grinned, armed crossed over the handlebars.
Chick scratched at his crimped left ear and let out a deep breath. “Much...better, I think. Ain’t really gotten to ride that much since I got here. What with all the commotion.”
“I know the feeling.” the tan officer nodded. “Don’t get to savor the ride as much anymore now that I’m running around with a half-dozen responsibilities.”
“Think they’ll clear me?” Chick asked innocently. “To get to work building?”
Gibson grinned and slapped the young wolf’s leather-clad back. “That’s ol’ white horse Metcalfe’s decision. You seem pretty square to me. You got bitching taste in machines with that silver bullet of yours, and you sure got Exciter sounding better than ever with that tune-up.”
“How’d you get her anyway?”
Gibson’s smile faded and he looked off into the distance, the horizon cutting a clean line across his sunglasses.
“If I tell ya, you’ll keep it to yourself?”
The dark brown hound nodded.
“When I first defected from the city west, I didn’t know what the hell I’d do besides get past the canyon made of the Marshall settlements and go from there. I’d seen enough death for one lifetime, but I had to stomach one more to get out here.” He paused for a spell and gulped as the memories came back. “There was this gray fella on a black Vincent. Nothing but a jacket, jeans, harness boots, and a cross. Right round the neck. Something done him and done him good. He wasn’t gonna make it more than the five minutes I got to know him. I tried to help him to the canteen I had taken with me, but he just pushed it away. ‘You need it more, son.’
“I asked him to tell me about himself and he did. I was told a tale of a town’s salvation. Been getting hit by them nasty scavengers, the raiders, over and over, and most of the folks were too scared shitless to stand up for themselves. This fella wasn’t. This fella drew both his Colt revolvers and put a hole in each hound’s head he could. The fellas he dropped got their shit taken back by the town, and that one little showdown of defiance got more hands filled than an all-you-can-snag ammo festival. Ain’t no one done that town a wrong deal since.
“Those who didn’t die by his hand or the others found him one night, and man, did they take him dead to rights. Or wrongs rather. And that’s where they dumped him. I asked if there was anything I could do for him. He said, ‘take what I got, and do some good with it.’ When I asked him his name, first word was ‘Gibson.’ I never heard the last.”
The young hellion’s eyes were wide as the desert plains.
“Only thing I left him with was his shirt and drawers. Got his bike back up and running, hightailed it into the East, didn’t stop running till I hit a recruitment drive for the Force. Been rocking with these hepcats ever since.”
Gibson patted Chick’s back and flashed a cocksure grin. “Glad you’re rocking with us too. Let’s take it just a hair further then we can—”
“CALLING ALL OFFICERS. CALLING ALL OFFICERS.”
“Take this bullshit I guess.” the tan wolf grumbled. “C.C. to HQ, reporting in. Gimme the scoop.” He waited for the rest of the call-ins before the answer came.
“T. Jeff to All Brass.” rang the voice of General Knox over the radio. “We got an escort mission in deep jeopardy out past the third ring of Outposts. Reports from the enhanced surveillance system tell us it’s desert-born and rocking white spurs on their tails. Meet me up front of Base for a full briefing.”
“Shit, sounds serious.” Chick sighed.
“Sounds like Knox is gonna be leading a team himself.” Gibson added. “Tell you what, the least we can do is race back to the garage.”
The hellions throttled up and booked it back down the driving range. While Chick beat him by an inch, Gibson had the longer journey ahead. With a quick salute, he bolted around the Base’s outer wall to meet up with the rest of the leadership.
Everyone from the darksome Captain Herrera to Chief Garret was there and at attention. When Knox counted off everyone, he took a seat on the hood of his deep green Hemi Cuda and explained the task plainly.
“0800, a team securing supply reserves in the northwest-most quadrant began making their way back down towards Am Base Alpha. Last scheduled check-in was 1030, last message 1042. ‘Task Force 352 under attack from enemy craft, white spur sighted on backside. Consider them Black Country.’ Even after Captain Herrera and Mr. Wellman’s successful efforts, it appears a holdout cell is still in operation in the known desert. Furthermore, when pressed for description, the crafts mentioned fell under no prior classification. Neither A.C.E.S. designs or re-purposed Old World.”
Knox raised his bronzed metal arm and pointed to each and every one of his officers.
“I called you all here because we’re about to stamp these bastards down once and for-fucking-all. We’re going to have full platoons as active guards around the Base. Am Base Alpha’s on Red Alert, every hound working the Outpost network will demand clearance of all passersby and will detain all who fail to comply. I’ve got the Ivory Coast stations doubled up and ready to bury the first thing sent out of Haven. We’ve the strength of thousands and I’m about to damn well use them. I’m bringing a full battle formation to the rendezvous point, the old Cooling Towers near Outpost 308. I’m leading the joint division to that point. Herrera’s head of the Auto Corp formation, Commander Douglas the Moto Corp. They’ll get the rest of you sorted. Captain Westley’s Acting General here at Base, and we’re getting our first full heavy unit on the way from Am Base. Lieutenant Evelyn Blanc with all ten of the M56s, Chief Ridgefield on standby with the Dragonfly. The hour’s 1100, we leave 1110. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!?”
The snapping salute and echoing cry of “SIR YES SIR” rang like music in the haggard gray’s dark ears.
“Chop-chop!” he clapped. “Let’s not keep the devil’s playthings waiting.”
Like that, hundreds of bikes, muscle cars, pickup trucks, and rat rods flew out of the garage in single file before marshaling into their formations. Head of the pack was Knox in the Hemi Cuda, hands tight on the wheel, and a single photo peering from the glove box. A photo of that beautiful white wolf of his from what seemed like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once.
“Let’s make ‘em pay, babe.” he growled before snatching up the radio. “COMPANY! ROLL ON!”
Engines and tires alike screamed a battle cry like no other as the unit bolted from the now-heavily guarded, one-story compound. The desert blurred into a slurry of blue, beige and the black of the hills, the unit making their rendezvous with the heavy artillery unit and soldiering on towards the old nuclear power plant.
Above, the skies darkened; that rare desert rain set to dampen the dust of battle. An air of that long-distant apocalypse hung over the roaring entourage, something the Blancs chatted about on a P2P connection.
“I don’t think he’s been the same since the Desert Council.” Gibson said plainly. “Can’t blame him, but...he’s got something real big in mind.”
“Maybe he thinks something real big is coming.” Evelyn replied. “Hound’s seen enough hell for most of us, bet he’s fixing to bury this spur for good.”
“What the hell they got left is the deciding factor ain’it, babe?”
The earthy-furred gal chuckled. “Welcome to War 101, Professor Blanc. Don’t draw no dicks on the syllabus now.” When she heard the laugh of her man over the wire, she knew his nerves were soothed for now.
He switched back on the main network in time for a call from Knox.
“T. Jeff to C.C.” radioed the gray general. “Quick chat on Line 278.99”
He turned the dial on the handlebars and picked up. “What’s cooking?”
“How you hanging, son?”
Gibson hesitated at first, caught off-guard by the casualness. “Doing fine, sir. How about you?” He caught a grim chuckle from his superior before he answered.
“When’s the first time you ever felt alive?”
“Permission to speak—”
“Freely? Of-fucking-course.”
“First battle.” the tan officer smiled. “One I pulled my arm out on. One I met Teddy after. Took down a U1, took home a girl. Not a bad score for a rookie.”
“That’s what I thought. Tell you the truth...I don’t think it was until I came out from under the coma. First back in Haven, after my arm. Second after the shot they took at me. Third’s right now. Hands on 10 and 2, boot’s on the floor, itching for that big red button under the gearshift.”
“Same thrill I got with this V-twin rocking out from under me.”
“Who’s the better ride, Exciter or Teddy?”
The laugh Gibson let out was loud enough to cut through the bevy of rumbling engines and catch his quadrant of the platoon off-guard. The tan-furred hellion steadied himself before answering.
“The hell y’all making me feel this good for?” he hollered over the radio.
“‘Cuz I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”
The laughter dropped dead as Gibson realized just what Knox was talking.
“Oh you’re gonna see plenty of me.” he shot back. “Gonna see me burn up these lily-livered ass-wipes. And I’m gonna see the best damn da...best damn driver I know out here. We didn’t go through hell together for nothing, right?”
“It ain’t ever for nothing, son. God love ya. Back on main channel.”
Gibson switched back over and kept quiet the rest of the ride. He didn’t like the tone Knox was taking, but he also wasn’t sure just what that shot to the electric arm did to him beyond the scare. Not that he had the time to ponder all these hidden meanings.
When the towering stacks loomed into view, so too did the supply team, rocketing past the rolling army. This included a semi-truck hauling a road train of trailers, carrying the rusted-out remains of a massive railway gun. Something the size of what A.C.E.S. would cook up in an afternoon. The supply team saluted the platoon, and Knox radioed the team leader.
“Where the bastards at?” the general barked over the radio.
“Small band of men wanted to hold them off to get the goods back.” came the reply. “They’re coming up here shortly.”
The shrill cry in the distance told otherwise.
“T. Jeff to C.C. You and your squad go make sure of that.”
“Copy that!” Gibson replied. “COMPANY 5, WITH ME!”
The quintet of motorcycles blew past the rank and file of the Infantry’s numbers, and into the haze to find what appeared, vaguely enough, to be the bog-standard Caza-6s. The monstrous black androids clung to the sides of the fully-loaded pickups, one tumbling back into the distance.
“GUNS UP!” the tan Lieutenant ordered. “FIRE!”
The revolvers on each set of handlebars bit into the sides of the androids like electric fangs, sunk deep in the nano-woven metal that made them near-indestructible. Deeper and deeper they drilled, the mechanical bodies bifurcating and tumbling to the ground. All but one were dispelled this way.
The white driver of the jacked-up bullnose clung furiously to the wheel as a massive metal hand went for his throat.
“LEAN BACK!” Gibson bellowed, swinging Exciter around to keep pace with the pickup.
The driver did so, the tan lieutenant quick to pop his Colt off the handlebars. Just as the android lifted his other hand off the window
BANG!
The shot landed square in the metal wolf’s visor and sent him tumbling back beneath the mighty pickup’s wheels.
“YOU ALRIGHT?”
The white-furred driver flashed a thumbs up and waved his men on. The remaining pack of trucks roared past the army, the bikers alongside.
Hot on their tail was the real prize; the remains of the Black Country. The closer they came, the more Knox realized why a firm identification couldn’t be given.
“Jesus God, they can barely roll right.” the dark gray grimaced. “COMPANY! GEAR UP! All carguns online, all arms on handlebars, NOW!”
The collective clack of hundreds of carguns snapped out from beneath their rides. Gibson hurried his hounds back into the formation, waiting for the automated devils to reveal themselves.
The enemy in question was indeed the Black Country; the spur insignia was unmistakable. Also identifiable was the malformed metallic bodies of these...things. Metal made liquid, flash frozen. The machines advanced slowly, with twisted barrels and off-kilter hover engines. Those who hovered anyway; the remainder running on equally misaligned treads. They limped along like a pack of wounded beasts, barely held together by a shredded, frost-bitten skin. Yet for all their feeble appearance, they possessed tremendous firepower.
When the first of the shots came and sent a fountain of wet desert sand rocketing into the air, General Knox knew they were not to be trifled with.
“Captain Herrera, fan yours rides out and FIRE!”
“Copy that,” Herrera answered, the black-furred vaquero staring down the twisted machines with a vengeful ire in his eyes. “Auto Corp! Open ‘em wide and let ‘em fly.”
Every four-wheeled machine throttled up and came alongside General Knox’s Cuda. In a split-second, the sound of a hundred boots hitting a hundred floorboards set off two hundred rounds of laser fire, lighting into the advancing machines with everything they had. Faster and faster the front line drove, the needles climbing and the electric Gatling guns unrelenting, drilling into the Black Country’s slovenly mess of an offensive.
When the first machine blew to pieces, so followed all the rest, like a line of dominoes, the other machines behind them stumbling and detonating upon impact. While his troops began to cheer, Knox stayed them with a solemn “it’s never that easy” over the radio.
Sure enough, it wasn’t.
Herrera’s findings about the Black Country being powered by a part of A.C.E.S. had proven true. The electric blue fireball began to recombine, metal grafting onto metal, parts slowly stitching themselves back together. Sure enough, the nanotechnology indigenous to Haven had found its way into the offshoot. The fact it could reform from fires once thought to sever all connections sent Knox slamming his metal hand into the wheel in fury. At first, it seemed like an improvement. A sign of the battle shaping before him. He would’ve bent his Cuda’s wheel out of shape had he not taken a second look at what was actually happening.
The nanobytes weren’t grafting as they should have.
The metal did not recombine into a better, faster, sleeker machine. It continued in the gelatinous tradition of its previous incarnations. The metal grew more globular, its many-pronged laser cannons pointing askew, firing into the nearby coolant towers, the empty desert, and finally into the Force themselves. It was here that the enemy finally drew first blood, landing a clear shot in the Moto Corp section, sending the bikers scurrying to avoid the next blow. In that terrible moment, Knox knew just what to do.
“COMPANY! FLANK ‘EM ON THEIR SOUTHSIDE AND LET MOTO DRILL RIGHT THROUGH THE BASTARDS! HEAVY ARTILLERY, STAY THE COURSE AND NUKE ‘EM FROM THE FRONT. BURN EVERY ELECTRIC END THEY GOT!”
The full-throated roar of the commander and the full-throttle response, the road warriors raced alongside the enemy forces, every biker firing wildly into the metallic mound. Lieutenant Evelyn Blanc belted out a piercing howl and brought all ten of her scrappy minitanks to bear on the bastards. The blob was drilled from the sides and fire fanned by the Scorpions at the front brought more and more flaming fireballs of blue, the nanobytes caught in a furor of heat that made the bodies molten. The pressure from the side and the front pushed the metallic mass closer and closer towards the coolant tower. The harder they hit them from all angles, the further against the base they went. Even in their weakness, when the dead nanobytes began to solidify, the metal grew heavier and pressed hard against the base of the tower.
Knox looked down the chain of cadaveresque tanks and zombified mobile guns. The parade of death stretched back for almost half-a-mile.
“MOTO, WIDEN THE BERTH! HEAVY, HOLD YOUR LINE! AUTO CORP, WE’RE GOING PERPENDICULAR!”
The bikers broke away into the desert, the muscle cars and trucks taking their stand and firing into the encroaching metallic mass.
“ROTATE ON MY SIGNAL!” Herrera bellowed. “DON’T FRY YOUR ENGINES!” The black captain marked the changing of the guard with a loud “¡AHORA!” over the radio, the front line of the Auto Corp formation pulled away and made way for the next row to dig into the liquefied corpse of the Black Country’s automated forces. The pressure on all sides built a vine of flaming nanobytes, vainly climbing the coolant tower while the base continued to dig into the concrete. Deeper and deeper until a phenomenal CRACK rang out across the desert.
The tower began to go, just as the rain began to fall.
“MOVE DOWN THE LINE, GIVE THE TOWER A WIDE BERTH!” Knox bellowed. He stayed at the front, grinding his proverbial heel on the machines, only to realize he had spun himself a deep hole. He jerked and rocked the Cuda, trying to get her out of the rut, but to no avail. So focused was he, he didn’t have time to take into account the further cracking of the tower.
Fortunately, Gibson could.
“GRIM, THE GENERAL!” he roared into his radio. The black wolf’s deep blue pickup bolted into action, shoving the Cuda forward. The deep green muscle car spat the wet desert sand back into the Scout’s grill.
“Sorry for the whiplash, Señor!” Grim radioed plainly.
“Better a smash than a squash!” a grateful General Knox replied. “EVERYONE, BACK AWAY NOW! SHE’S GOING!”
A mile on both ends was formed, just in time for the final cracks of the foundation to groan and explode. A massive cloud of dust shot out of the base and, like any demolition, brought the tower straight down. Down on top of those cursed machines, the liquid metal calcified around the base. It still favored the side facing the Infantry’s platoon.
“¡BANDANAS SOLDADOS!” Grim roared, everyone in Moto Corp and some of the open-air drivers pulled up masks over their muzzles. When the tower hit the ground, a shock-wave of dust blasted the Force, cars and trucks pelted with a plethora of debris. Between the rain and dust, it was hard to tell what had even happened to the metallic monstrosity. Only when the dust settled, patted down by the heavy rain, were the soldiers able to see the results.
At first, the vine crept into the cracks of the debris, ropes of black metal peering through the concrete. It was only when they looked westward, towards the trailing machines that it all came into focus.
In their Hail Mary of laserfire, the flames had made their way back down the line. The flames turned the nanobytes malleable, but the damage done by the water solidified them in their slurry. The entire army, pureed and chilled, enmeshed in the remains of the Old World.
“Will the current salvage detail among us roll forward and sort out this mess?” Knox ordered. “We got one mighty autopsy to tend to.”
Nic Ridgefield had been locked away with the samples for days. No news, no minute-by-minute reports. It was enough to get General Knox biting his claws if he hadn’t his present company. The Lieutenants Blanc—Gibson and Evelyn—and most of Top Brass, with Captain Herrera standing tall among the seated wolves. All waited patiently by the General’s desk in his oak-lined office, the warm wood-paneled walls an extra comfort on the fifth day of this bleak rain from out east.
Almost everyone leapt for the receiver when the call came through.
“You’re on projection.” Knox nodded. “What’s the readout?”
“I won’t mince words, General.” Ridgefield began in his low soulful voice.
The concerned glances ricocheted throughout the room as the black-furred engineer got his thoughts together.
“This is big. Big bad news...for A.C.E.S. If the damage done by Herrera and Wellman’s operation out east is anything to go by, all the strengths of her programs and manufacturing apparatuses were damaged severely. I’d wager that a base like the one up in the northern hills wasn’t as useless as we thought. It was a holding cell for the movement of cloaked machinery. Only problem was, the ones manufactured in this batch were completely malformed from word go. Their cloak circuits, if they had any, were dead by the time you got ‘em. Musta died before they jumped the supply route. The nanobytes’ receivers were completely D.O.A. too. No relays from the Black Country base, none from A.C.E.S. They didn’t have any guidance to pull on, hence why they just kept piling on into that self-destructive mishmash.”
“When you say bad for A.C.E.S., do you mean this goes beyond her little enterprise of the Black Country?”
“Yeah.” Ridgefield nodded, fixing his cowboy hat. “These nanobytes were backdated two months ago. Meaning these were in operation before Herrera and Wellman even got to the base...she’s dying Adam. I mean, I think she’s finally in the death throes. If things are breaking down on the closest to atomic scale for her, we might not even have a real fight going into that city.”
General Knox spun round in his chair and looked to his stunned audience of officers and team leaders. The devious grin that split the dark gray’s muzzle was followed by the magic words the entire Force had been waiting to hear: “if I get word back from Lita and Steele, and if this truly is as big as you say Nic...ladies and gentlemen. I think it might finally be showtime. We’re about to raze that digital bitch to the goddamned GROUND!”
He was careful to press the button for the base-wide PA system, and just as soon as the Top Brass erupted into whoops and cheers, Knox heard the whole base erupt into the very same. If the call came through affirmative, it was finally time to ride on Haven, once and for all.
If the call came at all...
That art is fantastic.