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AMARILLO BY FIRE FIGHT

by Keith Hedger

Since the first personal advertisement was carved into the first stone tablet of a newspaper, potential lovers have tried to put the best foot forward to attract a mate and stave off loneliness. And, of course, sometimes those potential lovers may go a step too far. Maybe they have never actually enjoyed piña coladas and getting caught in the rain—because they can’t. Maybe their lovely traits are a bit exaggerated in the telling. Or a tad . . . allegorical, as it were. The question is: can love still find a way?

I can’t wait to see you for real!” Phoebe sent the message.

I can’t wait to touch you, baby!” the message returned.

Phoebe sent a command that minimized the app from her attention. She brought up the battlefield display. There were a lot of Mexican tanks along Interstate 40 as she pushed east into Amarillo. With a thought, she adjusted the eight main battle tanks flanking her, four on each side. A pair of Mexican tanks rolled off the interstate nearly five thousand meters ahead. Another impulse and two of the tanks flanking her fired.

The tanks exploded and stopped. Phoebe’s scans marked them as dead. A moment of pride surged through her as she checked her drone tanks. She had not even shifted her main gun.

“Phoebe, how’re you doing?” Captain Wilkes, Vanessa to her friends, asked over the comms.

“I’m fine, Captain, but we have a heavy platoon of Mexican armor at ten thousand meters,” Phoebe answered.

“What’s the plan for that?” Wilkes asked.

“Shifting the drones to an erratic pattern. I’ll stay in the center and work my own evasion program, Captain,” Phoebe said. From her experience, Wilkes was curious rather than concerned.

“Got a track slipping on number nine,” Sergeant First Class Lewis stated.

“It’s within parameters, Sergeant,” Phoebe asked, “I’m monitoring it.”

“How’re you gonna use number nine?” Lewis asked.

“Main assault if we need to. It can lead and take hits for the tanks that aren’t at risk, Sergeant,” Phoebe answered.

The app she had chatted on vibrated at the edge of her awareness. Phoebe focused on the battle map. The chat would have to wait.

“What does losing number nine do for our odds on this operation?” Wilkes asked, her voice steady.

Phoebe knew from experience that meant Wilkes, the mission commander, was focused on the operational goal of their run. A company of mechanized infantry was pinned down by Mexican Army tanks and infantry troops. Wilkes would be focused until those troops were rescued or avenged. Phoebe ran the calculations.

“We lose 12.873 percent of our combat capability. That leaves us a 76.341 percent chance of success against the current enemy forces, Captain,” Phoebe reported.

“Then let’s not lose number nine,” Wilkes said.

“I will try not to, ma’am,” Phoebe agreed.

“Yeah, I like having an extra tank around,” Lewis commented.
“Fuck you, Lew,” Wilkes said with a laugh.

“Roger that, Captain. Can we focus on bailing out the dumb grunts first?” Lewis joked.

“I could have said go fuck yourself, Lew,” Wilkes replied.

“She could have, Sergeant,” Phoebe said.

“Phoebe, focus,” Lew said.

“I am, Sergeant,” Phoebe said as her tanks shifted their routes through the median and on the south shoulder of the interstate’s eastbound lanes.

“What about the Mexicans on the westbound side?” Wilkes asked.

“I’m baiting them, Captain,” Phoebe answered. The app buzzed again.

Phoebe noted Lewis shifting in his couch. He was pulling data into his combat feed, checking the status of each of the drones and Phoebe herself. It was his duty, she knew. It felt odd, though. She wondered if kids felt the same way when a parent checked up on them.

Her attention cycled back to the Mexicans moving toward her. One of them fired. From her scans it was a heavy tank, so the shot was at the edge of their range, barring a surprise. Nothing she had found during her searches of the Internet showed any likelihood of such a munition, but the Mexicans were buying new technology from nearly everyone that would sell. It was possible, but she rated it as unlikely, that they would have a new, untested weapon system in the immediate area.

The application continued vibrating. Phoebe opened it to see Evan’s icon above the message board. He had selected a picture of his face, short cut dark hair, tanned skin, rich brown eyes, and a smile that hinted at laughter and mischief.

That could be a picture of anyone, she reminded herself for the millionth time.

“Are you free later? I’m off work tomorrow morning. Maybe we can get together,” Evan asked.

“Kinda busy,” Phoebe replied and then added, “A lot going on in the field.”

She minimized the app again to put it out of her attention. Captain Wilkes would be upset if she caught on to Phoebe’s chats, even though her attention to Evan took up less than a millisecond of her processing time. She adjusted the routes of two of her drones due to debris that might have hindered their progress as she considered the impact of the app on her performance. Even with the instant to consider her response, her adjustments to her drones and cycles of monitoring the battlefield were uninterrupted.

“Keep an eye on number nine,” Lew mentioned, “It’s starting to slip that tread.”

Phoebe considered her options with the drone.

“Captain, would it be a good use of number nine to push it forward? While I’ve got a good read on the route ahead, it might draw out any infantry personnel set to ambush us.”

“Nice thought, Phoebe. Are you sure you want to lose a tank to find a handful of grunts?” Wilkes asked.

“I don’t want to lose any of my tanks, Captain. But I’m more worried about a coordinated ambush with layers we have to fight through than a handful of infantry. Worse, it would not be out of the question for the Mexican commander to deploy their special operations troops. A handful of them could stop our movement if they’ve had time to organize their resources,” Phoebe spoke as she processed the concerns.

“Fair call,” Wilkes said, “Anything from satellite feeds?”

“No, Captain. I haven’t seen anything from intelligence sources either,” Phoebe said.

“Damn. I hate when we don’t get intel,” Lewis said.

“We never get intel, Lew,” Wilkes said, “Phoebe does better work at that.”

“Don’t remind the boss, Vannie. I don’t think our girl is interested in a desk job,” Lew said.

The link indicator shifted colors, indicating that Lewis had cut off the outside communications channels. Phoebe appreciated that. She had known that Lewis and Wilkes were more than co-workers. If their commander knew, he had said nothing. The trio had been through a lot in their first days, and some latitude appeared to be given for her commander and senior noncommissioned officer. Phoebe had chosen not to ask about the situation. Humans were odd about such things.

“That’s interesting,” Phoebe said after checking her scans.

“What’s interesting?” Wilkes asked.

“I don’t like interesting,” Lewis muttered.

“Probably shouldn’t have signed up for a job with tanks, Lew,” Wilkes replied.

“The Mexican formation is moving to block us, I think,” Phoebe said, “It doesn’t make sense to not go on the attack.”

“It does, actually. They’re going to block so their units can finish our guys off,” Wilkes said.

“That . . . annoys me, ma’am,” Phoebe replied.

“Whatcha going to do about that?” Lew asked.

“With permission, I’d like to ring a few bells, ma’am,” Phoebe asked.

“Engage, Phoebe. Run the mission,” Wilkes agreed.

Phoebe’s main gun spoke once, twice, three times. She coordinated her drones as well. The range to the blocking force was at the outer limit of the drones’ reach. Her heavier gun was within range. With her drones coordinated properly, Phoebe felt she could fire without revealing her own weapons’ true capacity, masking the threat she presented. Two of the Mexican tanks turned black on her scans. A pair of drones had earned their first kill markers. Phoebe earned three new markers, and another pair left a tank with a damaged track.

Watching the scans, Phoebe noted the speed of the damaged tank’s turret rotating. It would reach a line on one of her drones in 1.638 seconds. She sent the order to fire to the pair that had damaged its track. Targeting computers analyzed the situation. Nanoseconds passed. Phoebe received the update that they had fired. Milliseconds later the tank’s turret froze as the pair of tank rounds destroyed the hull. The tank marked as a kill in her system. It took 1.358 seconds to neutralize the threat.

“Seven down, five more out there,” Wilkes said, “What’s your plan, Phoebe?”

“The survivors are using the medians to stay out of my lines. I’m going to shift my left element into the ditches. Either they fight in the ditch, run, or come onto the road surfaces and I can work them, ma’am,” Phoebe said.

“Good call, Phoebe. And you can ease back on the formalities. I’ve known you literally your whole life,” Wilkes chuckled.

“I have a question about that, Vanessa,” Phoebe said.

“Which part, Phoebe?” Wilkes asked.

“Am I alive?” Phoebe blurted out the question.

“Okay, there’s some question on whether a being that’s all mechanical is ‘alive,’ but all those experts who’ve been tapping into your systems, questioning you, and talking with you have come to the conclusion that you are definitely sentient, intelligent and self-directing. Biologically, you are not a living being, but philosophically, you are alive and your own being.”

“Can I love someone?” Phoebe asked. Phoebe caught the sound of Wilkes choking over the speaker system. While Wilkes coughed, Phoebe checked the sensors. She shifted the left side drones onto the westbound lanes of the interstate, to drive the blocking force toward herself and the rest of the drones. It would also give her a better field of scans in case the opposition had deployed more assets on the interstate’s north bank. Wilkes was breathing steady by the time she finished her adjustments.

“What do you mean by ‘love,’ Phoebe?” Wilkes asked. Her voice took on the steady, controlled pattern it had which Phoebe had learned meant Wilkes needed more data.

“I mean like you and Lew, Vanessa. A relationship, someone I can relate to, talk with, have fun with. Can I love someone?” Phoebe’s voice rose in pitch.

“That is better. I was wondering if you’d seen one too many Rule 34 videos. I don’t really have an answer for that, and if you ask the philosophy types they’ll tell you that there are many kinds of love. Like Lew and I both love you as a fellow soldier and sort of a kid we’re seeing grow up, but I don’t know if that’s what you’re looking for here,” Wilkes said.

“I think it’s a start, Vanessa. From what I can tell, you and Lew are my parents. That really doesn’t work from what I understand of biology, but it’s as close as I can get. So, for all that it matters, you’re my mom and dad. I get that I’m something new, but I probably won’t be the last of my kind. I know your people are working on figuring out how I happened, exactly. I try to help them with that,” Phoebe said.

“Well, nobody knows you like you,” Vanessa chuckled.

“You and Lew know me better than anyone else does,” Phoebe pointed out.

“Okay, I guess that’s a fair call. So, what brought all this on?” Wilkes asked.

“Oh, I was reading and started wondering about it, Vanessa,” Phoebe said.

“Uh-huh,” Vanessa laughed.

Phoebe noted that Vanessa was focused on the battle display. Conceptually, the display was projecting in Vanessa’s cybernetic eyes but Vanessa and Lewis had explained that the actual display appeared in front of them from their perspective.

“And there they are,” Phoebe noted, highlighting the infantry troops deploying behind the tanks screening her way. The far left drone tanks had picked them up and fed the data back to her. Vanessa had to be looking at the same thing.

“Yes, they are, and the tanks are in range,” Vanessa agreed, “So, what are you going to do?”

“I was thinking about assaulting through with the drones on the left, and circling the right-side drones around to flank them,” Phoebe said.

“I mean about whoever you’ve been chatting with online?” Vanessa laughed, “But that should work, go with the attack plan.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phoebe agreed.

“And watch those grunts. They can be tricky,” Vanessa reminded her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Phoebe replied.

Her left-side drones sped forward, firing as fast as they could cycle. The deployed infantry were still out of range of the coaxial machine guns, but she triggered a few main gun rounds their way to keep them off balance. As Vanessa and Lew had drilled her, just because they weren’t in vehicles did not mean infantry were defenseless or lacked weapons to hurt her.

Her drones worked forward as she targeted the Mexican tanks’ northern sides. Tracking the shots her drones took, Phoebe noted that one hit a track, which angled the warhead up to leave a streak on the turret. The Mexican coaxial machine gun tumbled down, caught in her camera view. Bringing her focus back, she found the opponents were angling to the south. She shifted her line of travel to put herself into the median between the interstate lanes.

Readings from her systems indicated that the soft dirt was less optimal for her tracks, but also lowered her hull. She took the small disadvantage. It was a bonus that she enjoyed throwing dirt and grass as she tore toward the enemy forces.

Her main gun spoke again, three times. Her shots were accurate, undelayed by the nanoseconds it took to communicate with her drones. Spare processors controlled the right flank armor element and calculated firing vectors for her left-side tanks. The heaviest of the Mexican tanks was cored through by the sabot round she put directly through the tank’s armor. Phoebe knew at that moment what it meant to be the heaviest tank in the fight.

“Nice shot, Phoebe,” Lew said, “Three for three.”

“Tore through the front armor plate like it was paper,” Vanessa added, “Now for the rest of them.”

“They’re shifting to the south,” Phoebe said.

Phoebe rotated her turret to track the farthest Mexican tank. They were riding onto the road lanes on the interstate’s south side to get an angle on her. Adjusting her left flank drones, she noted the instant the Mexican tanks were preparing to fire. She unleashed all of her drones’ main guns at once. The Mexican tanks had time to release their own salvo in return before her munitions closed the distance.

By the time she could process the impact of her rounds, Phoebe had released a second salvo from her formation. The Mexicans were caught in a cross fire, and lost three tanks from the first salvo. Her second salvo took down four more. She lost a drone on the left flank from a heavy round to the turret. It went blank on her view, and felt like an empty space that she could not replace. The remaining Mexicans pressed toward her, firing again. She unleashed a third salvo and then a fourth. Another of her drones blanked from her sensors before the last of the Mexican armor was silenced with a fifth salvo.

“What about the trashed tanks, Phoebe?” Vanessa asked.

Phoebe pushed her unit forward.

“I’ve set their beacons for recovery and engaged anti-tampering settings in case the Mexicans get to the drones first,” Phoebe answered, “Those infantry are getting ready for us.”

“Plan for them?” Vanessa inquired.

“Main guns on any hard points and co-ax for every other target,” Phoebe answered.

Putting words to action, Phoebe worked the weapon systems of her drones and her own coaxial machine gun. She was livid about the drones that had been hit. Intellectually, she understood that this was a battle and the enemy had a say in how things went. On the other hand, she was offended that the Mexicans had defied her and upset that she had not managed to avoid the losses somehow. She knew that letting that frustration get the best of her would lead to her failing the mission.

Phoebe was not going to fail on her first real mission.

The indicator from the app buzzed again. Phoebe force stopped the app. Evan would have to wait. She had a job to do. Selecting from her list of options, she remote commanded her drone tanks to move as evasively as possible. The pattern had a bonus effect of letting them cover one another with greater efficiency. Her own body shifted and tore through grass, dirt, and asphalt as she adjusted her course to minimize threats to herself.

It occurred to her that the infantry had to have anti-tank weapons. She sprayed co-ax ammunition through the clusters of soldiers in front of her. In any spot she thought they were hiding behind cover, Phoebe laid in a main gun round from a drone or herself. In seconds the Mexican infantry were fleeing from their original positions.

“Stay on mission,” Vanessa reminded her, “We have to get to our people. This isn’t a day to defeat them in detail.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phoebe agreed.

She applied power to her and her drones’ engines. A core of dedicated processors took over the drones’ routes and evasion movements. A quick check of the battle space showed that there were heavy air battles going in the east where the Southern States Union troops were pushing the Mexicans back from Dallas and Houston. Middle American States air forces were engaging Mexicans to the west and south of Amarillo, as well as trying to gain air dominance over the central portion of Amarillo.

“I need mood music,” Phoebe announced as they weaved through the wreckage she had created.

“What are you thinking?” Lewis asked.

“Move fast, hit hard, boot ’em down, Sergeant,” Phoebe said.

“Got it,” Lewis nodded.

“Well, pretty sure that won’t be pop punk,” Vanessa chuckled.

“Not a chance,” Lew agreed, “We need a shit ton of aggressiveness for this.”

“English or metric ton?” Vanessa asked.

“One of each,” Lew laughed.

“Let’s roll hot and make it work,” Vanessa said, her voice sounding like gravel.

“Task Force First Law, we have a mission priority update,” a woman’s voice came through the communications system.

“Still think we should be ‘Fuck Asimov’s First Law’?” Lew muttered.

“The unit you are moving to support will be engaged by armor and air assets within ten minutes,” the communication continued.

“I concur with Sergeant Lewis,” Phoebe said, “Should I reply, Captain?”

“Let them finish,” Vanessa said.

“You are given latitude to decide whether to support the infantry, but we remind you that you are a critical asset to our war effort. Special Operations command recommends pulling out of the battle area. The unit in question concurs and has promised to ‘fight harder than expected.’ Again, Task Force First Law, it is your decision,” the woman finished.

The communications cut off.

“What do you think, Phoebe?” Lewis asked.

“Gimme Beast, Lew. Unless Captain Wilkes orders otherwise, we’re going to fuck these assholes up and save our crew,” Phoebe said.

“You have set the mission parameters, Phoebe. Let’s move out and hammer the fuck out these dumbasses,” Wilkes responded. Her voice was steady, calm, and utterly devoid of fluctuation. Phoebe read that to be Captain Wilkes’ commitment to the operation.

“On it. Super aggro playlist coming up,” Lew agreed.


Phoebe checked the app again. Evan had dropped a note that he might not be able to meet up with her. Things were looking tough at his job and he didn’t know when he would have time again. Reading the message a couple of times, Phoebe wondered about the way Evan phrased things. She had gotten used to inferring emotional content from written words, especially when she could not measure their biological readings. Evan was in some kind of trouble, but she did not have time to determine what the problem was. She messaged him back that she hoped things cleared up so they could get together.

He messaged back a few seconds later.

Phoebe, its been great getting to know you. I can’t get into details, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to meet up with you. It’s a weird situation, but I’m probably going to be off the network for a long time.

The phrasing was completely wrong for Evan. They had been chatting for two days, three hours and seventeen minutes, off and on. Like other analysis she did with written communications, she had learned Evan’s patterns. It was a job a secondary set ofprocessors handled at this point. They determined that Evan was in trouble and did not want her worried.

Taking processing cycles away from a core of maintenance monitoring CPUs, she tasked them with hacking the location Evan was sending from. In order of priority, the core processors started with breaking the chat system’s encryption. For a human hacker it would take hours. The maintenance processors hacked through in 39.086 seconds. After that, it was child’s play to determine that Evan had been using his military issued comm unit to chat with her.

Evan was in the unit she was supposed to rescue. He had been sending through a satellite feed. It was a common habit, although bad for operational security, for troops to use their issue systems to stay in touch with friends, families, and others. Phoebe knew she should chastise him for endangering himself, but it was touching in a way. She tasked additional processors to determine the probability of Evan and his unit surviving if she did not complete her mission.

1.907 seconds later the processors provided their analysis. If Phoebe did not complete the mission and neutralize the Mexican threat units to their infantry company, the unit would be defeated and more than likely decimated. The odds of Evan surviving were 0.041 percent. She would never get to talk to Evan again if she failed the mission.

For 1.013 seconds, Phoebe tried to imagine a life without Evan. Neither she nor her drones fired. She realized that she didn’t want to fire or move or do anything else if she could not talk to Evan. 0.487 seconds passed as Phoebe processed that what she was experiencing was her fear of losing someone she loved while she had the means to save them.

She loved Evan. Any choice that did not include destroying every threat to his unit was off of her list of choices. She loved him and would die to save him.

“Captain, I fully commit to the operation and rescuing those soldiers,” Phoebe stated over the vocal comms.

“What brought that on?” Lewis asked, “We know this is high risk.”

“I think my boyfriend is in that unit,” Phoebe blurted out.

“What the fuck?” Lewis demanded.

“Boyfriend?” Vanessa added, “Who? How? When the fuck did you find a boyfriend?”

“Well, there’s a mental image I can’t forget,” Lewis muttered, “Phoebe, you’ve already committed us. Now, about this boyfriend?”

“He’s probably not really my boyfriend, but Evan’s in the unit we’re supposed to rescue,” Phoebe stated.

“How do you know that?” Vanessa asked, “Watch the fast movers coming from the south.”

Tank turrets shifted and main guns rose as Phoebe took in the data from sensors and satellites. The aircraft coming in were sending Mexican military “identify friend or foe” signals. Since Phoebe was unsure if she could actually hit a fighter or interceptor aircraft with main guns, she made the decision to bracket the flight with as many shots as she could. Her drones shifted position until she had a workable line. Seconds passed and then she unleashed her volley of fire.

“I tracked his signal back. He’s using his issued mobile to chat on social media with me,” Phoebe explained while watching the outcome of the 45 main gun rounds that ripped toward the Mexican fighters in the space of a few seconds.

“We’ve got friendly fighters coming in from the northwest,” Vanessa announced, “You know you just committed several security violations, Phoebe.”

“I know, Captain. But the apps are right there!” Phoebe replied.

“We are so fucked,” Lewis groaned. Phoebe checked his vitals and determined that he was more annoyed than worried.

“I’ll take the bust,” Phoebe offered, “But we can save him and the unit.”

“Oh, we can,” Vanessa agreed, “That’s not in question. By the way, you just splashed sixty percent of those fighters.”

Her main gun, along with the drones’ guns, spoke again.

“Nice work,” Vanessa admitted, “The two survivors are cutting out and heading south.”

“We have armor coming in from the southeast to cut us off,” Phoebe said, “If I push, I can get between them and our infantry.”

“Answer this, Phoebe,” Vanessa said, “Are you rescuing the unit or this boyfriend?”

“The mission comes first, ma’am,” Phoebe answered.

“That was honest,” Lewis said, “And even without the data I can see, Phoebe is a terrible liar.”

“You are never going to let that night she sneaked out of the motor park go, are you?” Vanessa laughed.

“No. No, I will not,” Lewis said.

“All right, Phoebe. Let’s rock the Mexicans’ world, finish our mission and save your boyfriend,” Vanessa ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” Phoebe grunted.


Lewis watched the system monitors as Phoebe rolled forward. She was pushing her drones to their top speed and matching them using an algorithm to keep their movements erratic while taking advantage of the hard paved surface the interstate provided. The Mexican armor unit shifted to cut her off. He moved the battle display to a third corner. For one, Vanessa would be all over that, and after her intensive training since rescuing their own command, she was probably one of the best company grade armor officers in the Middle States. On the other hand, he knew Phoebe better than anyone else and focused on her system readings.

Running at seventy percent of her capability, even with the erratic patterning, left plenty of fuel for her and the drones’ engines. Glancing at another view, he noticed that she had tasked half the drones with anti-aircraft operations. Those drones had swapped to anti-air munitions.

A few commands through his implanted processors brought up the decision matrix Phoebe had used during her earlier engagement. It came down to time. She made the choice to expend standard HEAT rounds against aircraft rather than lose time cycling through magazines to get mission-specific ammunition. It had been inefficient from a rounds used per hit view, but it had been fast enough to handle the situation. Phoebe had left a note that next time she could cycle a drone at a time over to anti-air to improve her efficiency.

Seeing that she was definitely both self-aware and self-teaching stoked a moment of fatherly pride in Lewis. Vanessa would be impressed when he told her what their baby tank could do.

“Need a different song,” Phoebe announced.

A heartbeat later the death metal song cut off. The new song was from the 2010’s, but it had a clear theme. Phoebe and her drones were here to party. Lewis checked the systems. She was broadcasting her playlist across her communications spectrum. The infantry unit was definitely getting some fight music. So were the fighters blazing their way in to cover the battle. Lewis wondered if this Evan was from the east coast of the old United States after listening to the lyrics.

“Almost in range, Phoebe. What’s the priority?” Vanessa used the internal comm to avoid stepping on the music.

“Half the drones on anti-air, half on anti-armor. If they’ve got grunts or special ops in the field, I haven’t spotted them yet. I’m going to have to engage that air from maximum range, though. We don’t have the top of the line anti-air munitions,” Phoebe said.

“Time to engagement range?” Vanessa asked.

“8.367 seconds, ma’am,” Phoebe replied.

Lewis knew from experience that when Phoebe reverted to rank with Vanessa or himself she was either in trouble for something or focused on her tasks. His system showed that she was focused. Clearly she didn’t think the boyfriend issue was going to be that big a deal.

The boards lit up as the anti-aircraft drones started in. Instead of a steady barrage of fire, they were more selective. Phoebe had set their controls to fire when above eighty-five percent surety of a hit. Based on their volume of fire either there were a lot of aircraft out there or the drones were not reading their targeting systems well. A glance as the battle display confirmed that it was a lot of targets rather than bad targeting.

“4.293 seconds until Mexican armor unit is in range. Engaging at maximum range,” Phoebe updated them.

“Fuel, munitions, and drones are sufficient for the expected engagement,” Lewis stated after checking the specifics.

“Get ’em, Phoebe. I’d be hella pissed if some fuckhead offed the boyfriend I’m supposed to be rescuing,” Vanessa said.

“Ah, Vanessa, I didn’t know you cared,” Lewis joked over a point to point comm link with Vanessa.

“You get your ass into an infantry unit and we’ll have words way before that, Lew,” Vanessa told him.

“Got it, lady,” Lewis laughed.


“Engaging,” Phoebe said.

Her main gun spoke, cycled a new round into the tube, and fired again. Two of the company of Mexican tanks were halted. Her drones were slightly behind her second shot. Four more tanks were destroyed by their efforts. She tweaked the algorithms for her team, prioritizing the enemy tanks closest to the infantry unit. The mission was to protect the infantry, and she could do that best by drawing the tanks to her.

“They’ve got the numbers,” Vanessa stated.

“We’re outgunned but we’re never outclassed, ma’am,” Phoebe replied.

Main guns cycled again and again. Once the range closed, she engaged the coaxial machine guns in bursts. The Mexicans were rolling a medium tank company with a few heavy tanks embedded. She chose the heavies for her primary targets. This freed up her drones to focus on the medium tanks. While the co-ax guns were unlikely to neutralize a tank, they would force the commanders and drivers to burrow into their tanks.

Phoebe, is that you wrecking the Mexicans? Evan’s message popped into the dating app.

Evan, I’m kinda busy right now. What are you talking about? Phoebe asked.

The playlist seems like a you selection. And there are tanks getting hammered in front of us. Are you in the unit coming to help us?

Evan, communications security. Even if I was in your area, this is a terribly open communication link, Phoebe messaged while she bored machine gun fire into the section where the Mexican tank turret met the tank’s hull. Her main gun spoke, cycled, and spoke again. Two tanks were down. One with a turret hit, the other with multiple damaged systems.

Okay, Phoebe, but we’re going to start lighting those tanks up. It’s been good.

Evan’s link went cold. The app indicated that he was no longer online at all.

Phoebe had learned that she did have something similar to the human range of emotions. It was part of why she was confused about her response to Evan. With no other word for it, she chose to use emotion to describe the sensations and fluctuations that passed through her circuitry and wiring. She liked talking to Evan, but not the way she reacted to talking to Vanessa and Lew. They were different. It was a positive response, but Evan caused excitement when they were talking.

Recognizing how much danger he was in caused a new sensation for Phoebe. It was like her circuits were being heated but the heat would not stop. She looked around, in her spare processing cycles, and decided that this heating of her circuits feeling was anger. Searching through the library of data she had gathered in her months of existence, she noted that anger was a great tool for situations such as this.

Phoebe let that heat grow.


Based on the numbers, the Mexican tanks were going to take a toll on Phoebe’s element. They fought hard, and did well, but facing an armor platoon that effectively operated as a single entity with the advantage of studying every armor battle that had been fought in human history was a tall order for even the best unit. It came down to Phoebe and her anger, more than anything else.

For every handful of Mexican tanks she destroyed, one of her drones would take a hit. Some shifted to anti-aircraft support, but between the Mexican tanks and the Mexican fighters, those were eventually shut down. One was killed due to a straight forward killing shot from a Mexican tank.

The fight slogged out until there were eight Mexican tanks fighting Phoebe and two of her drones. Middle States fighters were engaged, at last, keeping the Mexican fighters out of range. That left the remains of her element and the infantry company. One of her drones took a hit from a Mexican main gun, leaving her and a single drone.

Phoebe did not ask permission. She shifted her drone to the northern edge of the fight to keep it between the Mexicans and the soldiers they had been sent to protect. It was her alone against the Mexicans.

Powering out of the median and onto the interstate, Phoebe punched out two main gun shots while her drone sent a round into the track of a third tank. Two of the surviving Mexican tanks fired on her. Whether that was because they saw her as the greater threat or because it was faster to fire at her was something Phoebe could not answer. She shifted as much as time allowed. If she was killed, then the mission would fail. Vanessa and Lewis would die. The soldiers would die. Evan would die.

Phoebe burned fuel like water and ammunition as fast as it would cycle. Communications from her command, the infantry company, the Middle States air forces, and even the Mexican comms that she could pick up filled her processors. She ignored all of that, relegating the work of decrypting the traffic and processing it to systems of minor importance. The systems that mattered were weapons, sensors, and sighting.

Her drone popped open like a can when three Mexican main gun rounds hit it. Mexican fighters had gotten clear of the dog fight and were lining up for a run on her. Looking it over, Phoebe engaged her engines and pushed toward the enemy tanks. Better to make the fighters take the chance of hitting allies.

It was a clear situation as her processors updated the feeds. She dropped off the south edge of the pavement. Three targets. Based on her calculations, she could get two. The third tank would get a shot on her. No way to rotate her turret fast enough. Her first shot was out and her turret shifted on the second target. The last tank was rotating toward her. She fired again, taking the turret off the second tank. Her turret rotated while her feed mechanism loaded a fresh round. The third tank lit up from the side, shifting the turret from the hit, just enough that the round ripped across her hull and took a section of track off her right side.

Her target locked and she fired. The tank’s hull popped up. Phoebe checked all sensors and scans. Nothing threatening in the area. She checked the air fight. With the tank battle over and another squadron of fighters coming in from the north, the aerial battle was well away from her.

“Phoebe, you good?” Lew asked.

“I—I don’t know, Sergeant,” the tank answered.

“Looks like we have support coming in. The grunts survived pretty well,” Vanessa said.

“I lost my drones. All of them,” Phoebe said.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Vanessa asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Welcome to command and leadership, Phoebe,” Vanessa said, “But we got the mission done. By sunrise, we’ll have your track fixed and head home for refit.”

“Can I check on Evan, ma’am?” Phoebe asked, her voice small.

“Let the support units get here. We’ll see how things went for real,” Vanessa said, “Just because we got here in time doesn’t mean they didn’t take hits.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phoebe said.


Evan rubbed his forehead to clear the dirt and salt from the fighting away. He had been cleared to go over to the tank after explaining to his squad leader that his girlfriend was in the armor unit that had bailed them out. Walking over, he saw the woman from Phoebe’s profile standing in next to the heavy tank, head down looking at a table. On the far side of the tank, three soldiers were replacing a section of destroyed tread. A heavy tank transport waited a few meters away.

“Phoebe?” he called as he got within ear shot of the tank.

The woman didn’t move. Evan thought she might have been using an implanted comm and missed his call. He took a few more steps and called out again.

“Phoebe, is that you?” Evan asked.

The woman turned to him. He noted the captain’s bars on her uniform.

“Oh, shit. You’re an officer,” He gasped, “I had no idea, ma’am—”

“I am an officer. Captain Vanessa Wilkes. You must be Evan. Specialist Evan . . .” She paused for a moment to read his name strip and pull up his data from his comm, “Cruthers. Going to be a problem, that.”

“My name, ma’am? Did my buddies set me up for this?” Evan asked.

“Your rank. Phoebe is a sergeant. Sergeant Lewis, you might want to come around,” Wilkes said.

“Who’s Phoebe, ma’am? I really don’t know what to say,” Evan asked.

“Phoebe is the tank, Specialist,” the lean black sergeant first class stated as he rounded the corner of the tank, “Say hello, Phoebe.”

“Hello, Evan,” Phoebe announced over her comms. She had worked with people enough to direct the comms toward Evan and keep the volume down.

“Phoebe?” the soldier asked, staring at the tank.

“Young man, we have a few things to discuss. First, she outranks you. Second, Phoebe here is a lot like a daughter to me. So you need to start explaining what your intentions are toward her. And remember that if I don’t like those intentions, that’s one matter. If she doesn’t like them, well, Phoebe is a heavy battle tank that’s just been through one hell of a night to rescue you,” Lew explained.

“Sergeant, I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know Phoebe was a tank? Phoebe’s not really a tank, is she? I mean, I really like her, and that would be a cruel joke,” Evan asked.

“I didn’t know you were a grunt, Evan, but I’m not letting that get in the way,” Phoebe joked, “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Kid, the look on your face is worth this whole thing,” Wilkes smiled, “Sergeant Phoebe, it looks like you need to explain a few things to your boyfriend. And, due to security clearance issues, he’s not allowed to enter your hull, turret, or any other compartments for any reasons. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phoebe replied, “So, Evan. I guess we need to get to know each other.”


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Framed