Wed PM, March 19th 1966

We had spent an hour rigging trip-wires near all the entrance points to the camp. Each was connected to a flare and would trigger when the enemy intruded. Robinson had complained bitterly about the non-violent nature of the traps, and had suggested several times that placing mines would have been a far better approach. Sarge patiently reminded the redneck that we didn’t know where the other Marines had gone or when they might return.

Personally, I was glad that had been the call. it was nerve wracking enough setting up booby-traps without making mistakes potentially fatal. Somehow, I’d managed to place several of them without accidentally releasing a flare. When all the entrances were covered the squad retreated back into the armoured transport and waited.

Sarge didn’t tolerate talking, noise could give away our position to the enemy and he wasn’t going to take any chances. The others sat scratching at mosquito bites, while I took the opportunity to update my journal.

--

After what had seemed like hours of waiting, the battle started without warning. A sharp crack kicked things off. Then instantly the flash of fluorescent light erupted from the southernmost entry gate. The flare had exploded at ground level, and a cascade of sparks danced randomly through the air before landing on the surrounding tents. Violent crashes echoed over to us, confirming that the camp wall had been breached.

Robinson looked unapologetic, "Ooops, I may have accidentally aimed that flare at the tripwire." He shrugged, "My bad." A smirk flickered across his lips, and I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh. I swear, that guy is a couple of steps away from going full-on psychopath.

"We will discuss this later," Sarge said in a low meaningful tone. "There is work to do people. We'll drive to the entry point and assess the situation. If the injured are returning Marines, then we'll assist them to the infirmary. If they're enemy forces, then we'll engage."

There was a low grumble as Schmidt persuaded the reluctant Diesel engine to wake. The growl became a mighty roar as the vehicle started to move, its heavy tracks grinding forward through the dirt. Sarge crouched low in the command position beside the massive M2 Browning machine gun.

"Approaching the target," Sarge informed us. There was no visibility for those of us hidden away in the belly of the beast. Rising, we stood near the rear of the bay, prepared to disembark.

The left-hand tracks suddenly locked up, and an acrid burning smell started to waft through the cabin.

Slewing violently, the battle taxi tipped wildly before righting itself and skidding to an abrupt halt. Everyone went flying. Schmidt landed heavily upon my midriff, knocking the wind out of me. Apologizing, he quickly started to rise, then dropped prone beside me as a bright light suddenly flashed through the cabin. It cut through the side of the vehicle like a hot knife through butter. Sunlight shone in through the fist-sized hole in the armor plating.

"Shit, what was that?" Schmidt shouted as smoke started to fill the cabin. This wasn't good.

Sarge shouted over the loud stutter of the vehicle's gun opening up, "Deploy and find cover. Tango at one o'clock, down by the communications bunker. It's a big fucker!"

The back of the transport dropped away with a clang. I watched as the others sprinted across the ground, skidding to a halt behind a wall of sandbags. Sarge glanced over, "Get out of there!"

The stuttering beat of the M2 stopped, and I knew I should move. Time was frozen for me. My heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears, and fear held my limbs rigidly locked in place. Seconds ticked slowly away; then pain exploded as I was abruptly tackled from behind, tumbling down the ramp I landed face-first into the mud.

A bright beam flash-heated the air where I'd been standing a moment before. Sarge ignored it as he rolled off me and reached out a roughly calloused hand to pull me up. "Private, we need to move. Now!"

Behind a low wall some thirty feet away, a tall metallic figure loomed ominously. Over ten feet tall, it appeared to be a caricature of an Arthurian knight revised for the modern-day. Complete with a precisely painted green crest on its breastplate. There was no way of knowing what the knight inside that armor looked like, but it was apparent from the destruction of the transport that they didn't come in peace.

His only visible weapon was a gigantic shoulder cannon. The imposing metal gun was presently pointed directly at me. Looking straight down its barrel, I could see a smoldering glow slowly increasing in intensity.

My mind screamed that I was about to die, but my legs remained locked in place, and all I could do was watch my fate unfold. It was only a matter of time before the weapon fired, and death claimed me. I continued counting the seconds off since the last shot had fired, three seconds, four seconds.

"Move now, or I'll shoot you myself!" Sarge shouted as he slapped me across the face. That did it. Shocked out of my indecision, I started running.

Behind us, the light flared again, arcing through the space we'd just left. Flames erupted from one of the buildings it connected with.

"Come on in boys, the water's lovely," Robinson shouted as we skidded in beside him. He was grinning as he took potshots at the enemy. The man was a dangerous, borderline psychopath, but I was jealous of his ability to act under pressure.

Clangs rang out a frenzied beat as bullets found their mark. The knight didn't even try to take cover, as far as I could tell it was impervious, I couldn't even see a dent in that pristine armor.

"What the hell is that thing?" Sarge asked no one in particular.

I shrugged, not knowing how to answer. I'd read the H.G. Wells classic 'The War of the Worlds,' and these knights seemed similarly alien to those invaders. Not that I was going to tell anyone else this, I didn't need them to think I'd lost it completely.

"I..I don't think it matters." I stuttered out, finally finding some words, "We have to keep moving, that gun takes five seconds to recharge between shots." Everyone looked at me, "I've been counting?" I sputtered as I felt my cheeks flush.

"You heard the man," Sarge indicated. 'Hodges, Robinson, Schmidt go left. The brain and I will take the right. I want all kinds of hell raining down on that metal monstrosity. If you've got grenades, get into range and use them."

Without further ado, we moved, attempting to flank the enemy. A fluttering whoosh told me the weapon had fired again. No one screamed in agony. I hope that meant it had missed.

My heart pounded as we sprinted forward. Keeping my eyes fixed on the patch of ground directly in front of me, I followed Sarge into the next patch of cover. No sooner had we slid into its reassuring shadow than he hurled a round, egg-shaped grenade towards the enemy position. We both face planted instantly. The training instructors will tell you that an M61 fragmentation grenade has a kill radius of 5 meters and a casualty radius of 15 meters. What they don't advertise is that the shrapnel can fly as far as 230 meters, it probably wouldn't kill you - but that is little consolation if you're blinded or have a limb amputated.

I mentally counted down the four-second fuse. Before I'd reached zero, a 'BOOM' rang out, and I heard the clatter of shrapnel impacting. Damn military gear was never wholly reliable. Still, my limbs appeared to be intact, so I shuffled to my knees and peered timidly towards the wall where the enemy had been situated.

You couldn't still describe it as a wall; it was now more a cluttered pile of broken rubble. A large metallic arm was visible, unmoving under some of the debris. The stutter of assault rifles continued to echo out from the left sporadically.

"Hold your fire!" Sarge commanded.

The scene faded into silence, then slowly over the course of several minutes, the usual sounds of the countryside came back. Birds sang, and insects chirped. In the rubble, nothing moved. It appeared we'd won the day.

No one cheered, this wasn't a movie. In real-life, celebration and complacency were an excellent way to get yourself killed. The Fire Team advanced cautiously towards the enemy's remains. We all held our guns at the ready, even me. I'd never actually fired it in the three months I'd been in Vietnam, but its weight gave me reassurance and confidence. With an assault rifle in my hands, I wasn't just the studious deadbeat my father had thought I was. I was a badass marine. Ready to rock and roll.

"Brains, snap out of it. I need you to look at this." Sarge was lifting rubble off the battered remains of the knight. The grenade had torn a huge rent in the enemy’s impressive armor plating. Underneath it, small metallic ribs could be seen. In each rib a long rectangular metallic slab jutted out. Each of these slabs had a tiny street constructed upon it. Miniature streets of tiny black buildings were aligned in neat grids, just like an American block. Around them were intricate silver highways.

For a split-second, I imagined a society of miniscule creatures living within the knight and piloting it. This fantasy evaporated as I examined the remains more closely, there was no movement on those streets. I had no idea why they had been constructed or what their intent was. My father would have stated that it was God's creature and not for us to understand. He was a straightforward man and would have accepted his ignorance and moved on. I wasn't my father. This was a puzzle which intrigued me.

"Well, what was it?" Hodges asked impatiently, shaking me out of my musing. The group were standing around me in a defensive fan with their weapons at the ready. I could see their muscles were taut, and Robinson twitched erratically at the slightest noise. Several minutes must have passed while I examined the remains, time in which they'd watched over me, guarding me.

"It wasn't alive, if that is what you mean. Well, at least not in the normal way." It would have been nice to be able to explain more clearly, but I didn't understand myself. I blundered onward, musing out loud, "The creature wasn't made of flesh and blood in the way you'd expect. It seems to be a construct, more like a car if you will."

Then it hit me, like a freight train. This wasn't like the craft in 'War Of the Worlds.' This knight was more like the mechanical hound from Ray Bradbury's 'Fahrenheit 451.'

My words rushed out of me in excitement as I slotted together the pieces of the puzzle. "This isn't a corpse. It's an empty suit of armor, animated by technology. You didn't kill something, it had no soul to begin with."

The others looked at me with bewilderment in their eyes, but It was clear to me now, this was indeed a construct but not made by humans. It was far beyond the capability of any scientist in the United States. This had been created by someone from another country or perhaps something from another planet.

Sarge nodded, "Alright, we're done here. Fall back to the infirmary."

Without thinking, I reached into the torso, yanking on one of the smaller rectangles that was slotted into the board. It came away freely like it had been designed to do so. My joy at this was short-lived however, as a deadpan voice spoke up loudly from somewhere inside the corpse.

"This Droidoryx battle simulation droid is equipped with a self destruct mechanism. You have fifteen seconds in which to clear this area. We hope this educational experience will encourage you not to interfere with the battle simulation droids in the future. Thank you for your cooperation."

Sparks started to emit from the casing with increasing frequency. My mouth dropped open as Sarge hauled me away. The squad kept moving, double-timing it through the camp, away from the battle zone.

"You know he's going to get us killed at some point, right?" Robinson said vehemently. No one replied, so he added. "One of us should 'off' the specky git before that happens."

"S-s-sorry," I stuttered.

Sarge ignored me replying directly to Robinson, "Peters was following my orders, do you have a problem with that?"

Robinson was saved from the uncomfortable exchange by a loud whooshing noise and the feeling of ferocious heat against our backs. A torrent of fire shot up into the sky behind us, it was an impressive and humbling sight, rising some thirty feet into the air. Looking down at the small metal stick in my hand, I knew that was all that remained of the battle droid.

As the flames flickered and died, the voice from the invisible tannoy echoed out once more.

"Congratulations on completing your initial training mission successfully. Your group's designation has been changed from 'Level 0 - Speculative' to 'Level 1 - Rookie.' If you return to the infirmary, you will find your reward is waiting. Your next mission will be assigned to you at oh-six-hundred hours tomorrow morning."