samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
Miles insults everybody. Including himself. Especially himself.
And, huh, I guess he really doesn't treat Fusie any differently from his fellow officers.
Ya think?
Lieutenant Fusilier 2 (Abandoned, do not read)
- Thread starter open_sketch
- Start date
- Original Mature Sci-Fi
And, huh, I guess he really doesn't treat Fusie any differently from his fellow officers.
- Location
- Washington DC
Wow. I wanted more of Fusie, but I didn't realize I was signing up for heart-stabbing. Ow. Can definitely appreciate her inability to deal with women, tho. Feels very authentic.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Listen, allowing a robot girl to slowly squish you until you're flat is the one duty left to all of mankind
- Location
- Somewhere!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I dunno, I think Miles kinda had the idea right at first.
Yeah, this really is the emotional problem at the heart of this book, isn't it? My heart is gonna be at risk every update.
Heavy.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
I mean.yes dear we know, you're very butch.
go put on a flannel and work boots or something
Go figure.
She's basically the Terminator in a more attractively styled casing.
When you manufacture your robo-lesbian killbots with a goddamn drop-forge, you get some pretty butch robo-lesbians.
...Damn, now I'm shipping Fusie with Bubbles from Questionable Content.
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NotInventedHere
MSV, Desert Class
- Location
- UK
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We're shocked.
Hmmm. Interesting - I'm guessing that in this context "deprogrammer" is the machine equivalent of "therapist"?
Ooooooof. Poor Dora. Poor Diana.
Still working on that "not dismissing/shoving away feelings" thing, huh Dora?
Ooooooooof.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I swear Sketch, your closing lines always get a laugh out of me.
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- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
As i noted last time, a lot of Fusie's peers are pretty feminine. Doras just like that.
gotta soften the blow someways.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Now that is the kind of thing a really advanced robo-therapist would come up with.
I suspect there are human therapists who would maim for the ability to do that.
- Location
- Soviet Canuckistan
I just wanna give her a hug... At least Miles is being a good friend at this point.
- Location
- Universitas Oxoniensis
Awwwww, another great installment! Love it! Hope Fusie manages to work through her troubles...or find someone to make her forget about them?
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
anyway update incoming today
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
Interesting thought though.
Does mass industrialization still exist in this universe, or has it been superceded been individual artisanry given that all the robots are highly dedicated to their jobs. Is there a robot's robot, a cautionary tale about how increasing repression of feelings causes this very same alienation that the original robot referred to? Perhaps a Midean man, who thought he could improve profits by reduce robots to their barest essentials, and ended up with everything he touched turned to paperclips.
That's what happens when you fraternize with metaphors. You get metaphorical offspring.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
There is a level of industrialization, but its not large-scale automation, its, appropriately, closer to the still-fairly-intensive factories of the early-to-mid 19th century. Like, you have labour-saving machinery, but each step in the process is still generally 'manually' operated.
Adam Wrigth and Eve Weaver work in facilities like this.
Not like this:
Your speculation is weirdly revelent to the planned plot tho...
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- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
Her construction still marks her out as older: remember tech advances pretty quickly in the Galactic Concert. Dora often feels a little like an old nokia in a world full of iphones.
Estella
Happy Devil Girl
Woo robo lesbian Sean Bean
Now this boy makes me suspicious, given Ducos, I wonder how/if he's going to fuck over Fusie.
Also Captain Murray scares me given what happens with Captain Murray in Sharpe's Rifles.
As for the latest update I do feel quite bad for her, maybe she can patch things up as she deals with her feelings better and get a nice engineer gf.
Chapter 4 - Machine Officer's Club
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, slightly smaller than I'd grown used to, unsure exactly how I'd gotten there. It took me a long while to realize it was the guest room. I was having trouble focusing for a few minutes, virtual memory a bit overloaded perhaps, playing back snippets of half-remembered conversations as it cleared. I had only a vague idea of what I'd said, but what I could remember was embarrassing.
I reached up to disconnect my power cable at just about the moment the door clicked open, and thinking it was Miles I pulled the covers up, realizing all at once I was not wearing nearly enough to be decent. But it was Miriam, somehow, looking perfect as usual.
"How do you always know when I wake up?" I asked groggily, and she shook her head affectionately as she retrieved the battery pack.
"Good morning to you too, miss." she said cheerfully, "Before you wander out without clothes on, you're still in Lieutenant Beckham's house, I'll bring your uniform in as soon as the maids are done with it. How are you feeling?"
"Like shit." I muttered, flopping back against the pillow. "I think I made a fool of myself. Why am I still here, my house is two over-"
"It was hard enough getting you up the stairs, nevermind back home, and from what I saw of your friends, I doubt any of them remember it. To answer your earlier question, by the way, I wake up fairly early and stay in earshot of the door. I have very good hearing." she explained, wrapping my power cable around the battery pack and stashing both in a shoulder bag. "Now, what's on the agenda for today?"
"Uh… morning inspection, initial company briefing whenever it is that Captain Murray gets out of the regimental brief, then a training plan for the day, I think." I said, wracking my brain to try and remember, then checking my system clock in a panic.
"You still have time. Calm down." Miriam said, sweeping out of the room. She returned minutes later with my uniform, freshly pressed, and I dressed and staggered out in the best order I could. I caught brief sight of Beckham in his housecoat, red-eyed and poking at breakfast as Jim fussed over him.
"Morning, Fusie." he managed to sort of half-groan, and I waved goodbye before stepping out into the bitter cold and early-morning dark, Miriam at my heels. I retrieved my gear at the door of Number 18, then made my way alone back to the 9th company offices, my collar turned up against the cold. The weather controller, whoever they were, were clearly some kind of fucked-up sadist or had gone mad with power, because I can't remember the last time it was this cold, and the insulation of my coat couldn't do anything about being made of thermally conductive material. I swear, I could feel my batteries draining.
To my surprise, our company's little office space was filled not only with the ensigns and our aides and clerks, but four other machines, our company's Sergeants. Two from A section, as well as Senior Sergeant Theda Füsilier and Junior Sergeant Theodore Rifleman, both foreign transfers from other militaries, namely the Prussian Army and American Marines. It looked like both of them had only just barely beat me inside, as they were clustered close to the fireplace trying to warm up. The ensigns, red-faced from the cold, looked little better.
"Sergeants. Anyone have a proper temperature reading today?" I asked, and Sumner did that little bounce to attention she did whenever she knew something.
"It's five degrees today!" she said cheerfully.
"Why?" I asked flatly.
"I don't know. Maybe the Duke is doing something weird, this winter has been really intense." Sumner said, "It's supposed to be warmer tomorrow."
"Small blessings. So, Sergeants, what's the issue?" I asked. They wouldn't be here if something wasn't wrong somewhere.
"Regimental parade grounds have been annexed by the French Army." Theda said seriously. "They refuse to move or tell us what's going on, and told us to take it up with our officers. The Captain's still in her briefing and we have no orders."
"The hell? Do you know how long they have the field?" I asked.
"No, ma'am, but it didn't sound like they were shifting." Rifleman said.
"Absolutely not." I said flatly, stepping to the door. "Theda, wait here until I return. The rest of you, get the troops up and about. I'll get to the bottom of this, and we're getting our field back."
Normally, if the field was unusable for some reason or another, morning parade would take place on the road on the other side of the barracks. But there wasn't a chance in hell I was just going to default to that without getting to the bottom of this. If nothing else, the presumption had to be challenged.
I was back out in the bitter cold just a moment later, meeting Miles as he came down the way. I explained the situation as we walked the short way to the parade grounds, hunched against our coats. We came around the corner of the barracks building and sure enough, there was a full damned regiment of soldiers in tan greatcoats, standing in close formation despite the cold. Officers, each accompanied by a pair of what I presumed were NCOs, were walking the line, checking the soldiers over, and I took a moment to straighten my collar before walking over to the nearest officer.
"Excuse me, why exactly are you on our field?" I asked, very deliberately in English, and the officer turned, a curious look in her eyes.
"Well, look at this. It is lovely to see you again!" she called cheerfully, stepping over with a hand extended. "I'd call it better circumstances, but your weather controllers do not seem to agree?"
It was her. The one from the battle, with the perfect glass features, tall, beautiful, elegant. I no longer had to worry about the cold because I could feel my processors racing, fans spinning up under my collar as our hands met.
"Lieutenant." I said awkwardly. "Just what is going on here?"
"Were you not told?" she said, her eyes shocked, "Théo, I need a moment, please take over. My apologies, I assumed they would tell you. We are staying for a while for joint exercises, at the request of your General Andromeda."
"... okay, but you're in our field." I said insistently, unsure what else to do.
"Ah, you see, it is our field for now." she said simply, "I do not know for certain, but I believe you are to use the road? I'm surprised they didn't tell you."
"Well, um." I said numbly, my resolve crumbling. " An honest mistake. My apologies."
"Not at all! Say, once the day has concluded, would you perhaps like to get together, talk? I do not meet many machine officers from other services, you understand." she asked, her voice still cheerful. I stood dumbly for a moment before Miles nudged my arm.
"Oh. Yes. Of course." I said, and she nodded, and awkwardly I turned and beat a hasty retreat back into the officers, Miles snickering behind me. As the door clicked closed and the warmth returned, he burst into laughter outright.
"Stars Fusie, you poor thing." he chided.
"Shut up, Miles." I said, still reeling. "Don't even start." I looked over to Theda at the fireplace, seeing her turn away with some kind of mirth in her eyes. Like she was one to talk.
"We're on the road." I said bitterly. "Go get the parade assembled, I'll be there in a moment."
A few minutes later, I stepped out to see the regiment arranged haphazardly along the road back to the officer's quarters, a line of shivering machines in grey greatcoats. Unsurprising given the thrashing they'd received yesterday, the terrible weather today, and the various delays, the troops were in low spirits, and not even the arrival of the captain cheered them up much.
Their relief was palpable when Lt. Colonel Harrison came by on his horse, looked them over approvingly (and perhaps a bit hastily in the temperature) and they were dismissed back into the warmth of the barracks. We returned ourselves to the office, crowded as close to the fireplace as we could get.
"So, yes, the 96th Line Infantry Regiment will be staying on base with us for the next two weeks, and yes, as guests they have priority on the parade grounds." Captain Murray said, "General Andromeda is worried about our performance and wants us to coordinate on weapons and tactics. No, I'm not happy about it either."
"It's not tactics, they've got a portable energy screen! Just give us one of those!" Kelly declared loudly. "Right?"
"It's more situational than that, it's a shock element. Our grenadiers have something similar. Remember, energy screens are two-way, Horace, it's why your pistol is a back-up." I explained, and he just looked glum.
"We don't even have pistols." he said, a bitter edge to his voice. Not until they pass the exam, no.
"Honestly, it's our own damn fault for letting them come at us." Miles said, "Screen only works in one direction, and the column means putting all their eggs in one basket. We needed to pressure a flank, but we were too busy getting trashed by their artillery."
"That's more or less what the General concluded, so guess what we're going to be practicing." Captain Murray said, tapping the desk with a sense of finality. "Fire and maneuver drills. Get used to it, it's going to be our week."
---
We didn't make much progress on that first day, practicing transitioning between formations to be more proactive in the face of such assaults. With the French providing our opposing force, we ran through dozens of formations and scenarios, accompanied on both sides by ghostly holograms on the field to simulate a combined-arms environment.
We learned a French company consisted of 140 machines with eight companies in a battalion (as with us, battalions and regiments had become effectively interchangeable: we had little use for reserve formations). They had a company of grenadiers, five fusilier companies, and two skirmisher companies. That last one was unexpected, almost three times as many skirmishers as our regiments deployed.
The French game plan was quite straightforward: they'd get the lay of the land, fan skirmishers out ahead of the main column, and begin bombarding: their artillery was attached at the division level, and was simulated here by holographic elements. Even if they couldn't break an enemy's screens, they had smokescreen and chaff shells which did an excellent job obscuring their movements. They would then simply push at the enemy line either wherever they were weakest, accompanied by a special screen-projector built into a little caterpillar track horse. There wasn't much more needed.
Yes, it was simple, but that didn't much matter. A tactic is a trick that works even if the enemy knew it was coming, and even though we knew exactly what we faced we still struggled. Attempts to maneuver were hampered by their skirmishers: they were called voltigeurs, vaulters, which was originally because they were supposed to jump on friendly horses to get around, and was now because they wore repulsor packs which let them move like they were in reduced gravity, sprinting at breakneck speeds across the field.
Thus, any time a section or company tried to shift to flank the incoming column, the voltigeurs would be there in a flash, firing and harassing at their flanks, melting away if the enemy got too close. With the sheer number in the regiment, they could quickly swarm a line element pushing forward, and they had our less numerous and stealthier skirmishers completely overwhelmed.
What we played out was less mock battles and more like chess puzzles, small scenes where occasionally our commanders would pause everything and walk the field to assess what was going on. A few of the Theos and Doras amused themselves by freezing in exaggerated or outlandish poses whenever this was called, which I admit I appreciated. I swore I heard General Andromeda suppress a chuckle walking past our line before shuffling us about.
The day, frustratingly, ended inconclusively, our officers not sure what the next steps would be, and the soldiers wandered off free for the night as the officers piled into the regimental office for a debrief of the events of the day. I'd really grown to enjoy meetings like this: figuring out what should be recorded in notes, and how to condense it, is a unique little challenge every time. I'd heard the human officers sometimes complained about them, but honestly I think this is more to do with attitude than the differences between us.
Sumner enjoys them, after all!
Everyone else, however, honestly looked like they were struggling to stay awake as our senior officers painted holographic patterns against the walls and discussed the events of the day. At least my machine counterparts among the French officers also seemed to be paying good attention, pens scratching and eyes focused, drowning out the occasional yawn from the human officers. Admittedly, the meeting did drag on a little long, but we were only a little late in being released for the officer's mess.
Not that I made it there. I was talking with Miles about something or other, I think about modernizing our screen carriers, when somebody took my hand rather unexpectedly. I turned to see that same French Lieutenant again, looking at me puzzled.
"Hello, Lieutenant. Where are you off to?" she asked.
"T-to the officer's mess." I said, and she laughed. Oh, she had a lovely laugh.
"Why?" she asked. Stars, not this again.
"Look, we could talk after-"
"Nonsense, come on. We have commandeered ourselves a little officer's club, just for us machines, come along!" she insisted. I gave a grinning Miles a defeated shrug and followed her out into the cold toward what looked like one of the storage warehouse, where a few others were already milling about the door.
Sure enough, inside it turns out they'd taken over one of the empty spaces, having procured a table and chairs from somewhere. A music player was already set up in the corner, somebody was already going through a newspaper, and the half-a-dozen odd officers were sitting casually, talking, laughing. Somebody was shuffling a deck of cards.
"Oh, la machine britannique! Come on, sit, sit!" one of them beckoned, and a bit nervous I claimed one of the nearby chairs, Lieutenant Théa sitting beside me. "You know how to play piquet?"
"No, but I can learn." I said, and another machine started rattling off the rules. It seemed it was a two player game, and I was paired up for the first game against a voltigeur captain as cards were dealt around. It seemed I had a pretty good hand, nothing lower than a seven.
"We've heard so much about you, you know. Your story made our papers too." a junior lieutenant said. "How is it, being an officer in your Army?"
"She was about to go off to their officer's mess, poor thing." Théa said, which prompted glances all around. "I simply had to rescue her."
"I can speak French, you know." I said, and they all laughed.
"You can say things in it, certainly, but I do not think you can speak it!" my opponent declared, to laughter all around. Probably a comment about my accent.
"How's your cuddlebug, then?" I muttered as the first exchange began. It quickly became apparent that I was no better at piquet than I was at poker or whist, though fortunately this was deemed a practice game and no money changed hands. Théa took the next game, which meant now I was target to the full attention of the other officers.
I quickly worked out everyone's nicknames to keep them straight: the voltigeur captain went by the full Théodore, the two Junior Lieutenants were Young Théo and Tiphaine, then there were Lieutenants Théa, Dieudonné, and Thibault.
(My friend Thea, back in the ranks in 4th Company, had explained to me that the convention of machine names had caught on back when there might only be one machine of a sort in a household or factory, two at most. Probably worked fine in most manors, but in the Army especially it led to a lot of nicknames, variations, and related names).
"So you go to the officer's mess. I suppose that makes sense, there's no other machine officers. Still, it must be so awkward, being around them while they eat and drink…" Théodore said, sounding earnestly concerned.
"It really isn't so bad. A bit of an adjustment, but being able to talk to everyone is nice. I like feeling included." I explained, and that got more concerned looks. This again.
"They treat you well, then?" Tiphaine asked. "We have been… a little worried, I think."
"They're much more accommodating than I expected. Honestly, they treat me like one of them."
"Kind of them!" Théa said, laughing a little.
"They are! The man I was talking to, Miles Beckham, we're very good friends." I said. Théa and a few others brighted, but Captain Théodore looked... sad, almost.
"Lieutenant, forgive me for saying, but machines and humans can't really be friends, I think." Théodore said, and after a moment there were nods and affirmative sounds around the table. "It's not exactly fair to either of you."
"Well, I don't particularly care what you think about it, we are friends." I said defensively.
"Fair enough, that wasn't tactful of me." Théodore admitted, "But there is a dynamic, between machines and humans, you know? Even without knowing him, you would give your life for your human friend. He can't say the same."
"Christ, man, I don't need him to! I just want somebody to talk to." I said, getting up. "I didn't realize this would be an interrogation, and I don't particularly need it."
That was another thing my deprogrammer had told me. If I could, I needed to remove myself from a stressful situation rather than try to remove the stress and stay. However, Théa took my hand again, beckoning me to sit again.
"I'm sorry, Théodore can be a little direct. He is just concerned. It was not easy for our first machine officers, you know." she explained, "We just want to make sure you are okay."
"I'm fine, I really am." I insisted, "It's been a learning experience, and sometimes I feel… a bit in between, you know?"
"Not really." Young Théo said, as the cards passed around to him. "How do you mean?"
"Well, it's something one of your human counterparts said in the mess yesterday. In Britain, the role of officer is not just a job, it is a station, it came with some baggage I wasn't really prepared for. I have a servant, for instance… I notice you all have clerks?"
"We have clerks who help us with our paperwork, all of us. We take that very seriously." Théodore said, "The humans have their valets and maids as well, of course."
"Well, our clerks are attached to the company rather than to individual officers, but they assigned me a Maria, you know? Or… I had to attend a ball, which was fairly strange."
"Ooh! That is interesting!" Théa said, leaning in. "We have to sometimes show up at events, but usually only for a brief moment, fortunately."
"Nobody throws a party like palace servants after a ball wraps up, you know." Théodore added, and there was laughter around the table, some in-joke.
"I attended as a guest proper. Dinner, mixer, dancing, everything." I explained. Théa looked utterly charmed by that.
"Oh, interesting! Did you bring another officer? There are some handsome-"
"Good God, of course not!" I replied, recoiling. "Why would I do that?"
"Who did you dance with, then? Did you meet somebody there?" Tiphaine asked curiously.
"I brought a date, a tailor!" I explained, aghast at the accusation, "I went through a lot of trouble to avoid any entanglements with the human guests, you know."
"Why?" Théa asked, looking utterly confused.
"This is the English being uptight." Dieudonné added sourly.
"I'm sorry?" I was utterly lost.
"Why is the idea of dancing with a human so… much, to you?" Théa asked.
"It's… you know…" I stumbled, searching for the right word. "It's romantic!"
Rather than clarify anything, Théa just looked even more confused.
"Well, yes. What's wrong with that?"
I reached up to disconnect my power cable at just about the moment the door clicked open, and thinking it was Miles I pulled the covers up, realizing all at once I was not wearing nearly enough to be decent. But it was Miriam, somehow, looking perfect as usual.
"How do you always know when I wake up?" I asked groggily, and she shook her head affectionately as she retrieved the battery pack.
"Good morning to you too, miss." she said cheerfully, "Before you wander out without clothes on, you're still in Lieutenant Beckham's house, I'll bring your uniform in as soon as the maids are done with it. How are you feeling?"
"Like shit." I muttered, flopping back against the pillow. "I think I made a fool of myself. Why am I still here, my house is two over-"
"It was hard enough getting you up the stairs, nevermind back home, and from what I saw of your friends, I doubt any of them remember it. To answer your earlier question, by the way, I wake up fairly early and stay in earshot of the door. I have very good hearing." she explained, wrapping my power cable around the battery pack and stashing both in a shoulder bag. "Now, what's on the agenda for today?"
"Uh… morning inspection, initial company briefing whenever it is that Captain Murray gets out of the regimental brief, then a training plan for the day, I think." I said, wracking my brain to try and remember, then checking my system clock in a panic.
"You still have time. Calm down." Miriam said, sweeping out of the room. She returned minutes later with my uniform, freshly pressed, and I dressed and staggered out in the best order I could. I caught brief sight of Beckham in his housecoat, red-eyed and poking at breakfast as Jim fussed over him.
"Morning, Fusie." he managed to sort of half-groan, and I waved goodbye before stepping out into the bitter cold and early-morning dark, Miriam at my heels. I retrieved my gear at the door of Number 18, then made my way alone back to the 9th company offices, my collar turned up against the cold. The weather controller, whoever they were, were clearly some kind of fucked-up sadist or had gone mad with power, because I can't remember the last time it was this cold, and the insulation of my coat couldn't do anything about being made of thermally conductive material. I swear, I could feel my batteries draining.
To my surprise, our company's little office space was filled not only with the ensigns and our aides and clerks, but four other machines, our company's Sergeants. Two from A section, as well as Senior Sergeant Theda Füsilier and Junior Sergeant Theodore Rifleman, both foreign transfers from other militaries, namely the Prussian Army and American Marines. It looked like both of them had only just barely beat me inside, as they were clustered close to the fireplace trying to warm up. The ensigns, red-faced from the cold, looked little better.
"Sergeants. Anyone have a proper temperature reading today?" I asked, and Sumner did that little bounce to attention she did whenever she knew something.
"It's five degrees today!" she said cheerfully.
"Why?" I asked flatly.
"I don't know. Maybe the Duke is doing something weird, this winter has been really intense." Sumner said, "It's supposed to be warmer tomorrow."
"Small blessings. So, Sergeants, what's the issue?" I asked. They wouldn't be here if something wasn't wrong somewhere.
"Regimental parade grounds have been annexed by the French Army." Theda said seriously. "They refuse to move or tell us what's going on, and told us to take it up with our officers. The Captain's still in her briefing and we have no orders."
"The hell? Do you know how long they have the field?" I asked.
"No, ma'am, but it didn't sound like they were shifting." Rifleman said.
"Absolutely not." I said flatly, stepping to the door. "Theda, wait here until I return. The rest of you, get the troops up and about. I'll get to the bottom of this, and we're getting our field back."
Normally, if the field was unusable for some reason or another, morning parade would take place on the road on the other side of the barracks. But there wasn't a chance in hell I was just going to default to that without getting to the bottom of this. If nothing else, the presumption had to be challenged.
I was back out in the bitter cold just a moment later, meeting Miles as he came down the way. I explained the situation as we walked the short way to the parade grounds, hunched against our coats. We came around the corner of the barracks building and sure enough, there was a full damned regiment of soldiers in tan greatcoats, standing in close formation despite the cold. Officers, each accompanied by a pair of what I presumed were NCOs, were walking the line, checking the soldiers over, and I took a moment to straighten my collar before walking over to the nearest officer.
"Excuse me, why exactly are you on our field?" I asked, very deliberately in English, and the officer turned, a curious look in her eyes.
"Well, look at this. It is lovely to see you again!" she called cheerfully, stepping over with a hand extended. "I'd call it better circumstances, but your weather controllers do not seem to agree?"
It was her. The one from the battle, with the perfect glass features, tall, beautiful, elegant. I no longer had to worry about the cold because I could feel my processors racing, fans spinning up under my collar as our hands met.
"Lieutenant." I said awkwardly. "Just what is going on here?"
"Were you not told?" she said, her eyes shocked, "Théo, I need a moment, please take over. My apologies, I assumed they would tell you. We are staying for a while for joint exercises, at the request of your General Andromeda."
"... okay, but you're in our field." I said insistently, unsure what else to do.
"Ah, you see, it is our field for now." she said simply, "I do not know for certain, but I believe you are to use the road? I'm surprised they didn't tell you."
"Well, um." I said numbly, my resolve crumbling. " An honest mistake. My apologies."
"Not at all! Say, once the day has concluded, would you perhaps like to get together, talk? I do not meet many machine officers from other services, you understand." she asked, her voice still cheerful. I stood dumbly for a moment before Miles nudged my arm.
"Oh. Yes. Of course." I said, and she nodded, and awkwardly I turned and beat a hasty retreat back into the officers, Miles snickering behind me. As the door clicked closed and the warmth returned, he burst into laughter outright.
"Stars Fusie, you poor thing." he chided.
"Shut up, Miles." I said, still reeling. "Don't even start." I looked over to Theda at the fireplace, seeing her turn away with some kind of mirth in her eyes. Like she was one to talk.
"We're on the road." I said bitterly. "Go get the parade assembled, I'll be there in a moment."
A few minutes later, I stepped out to see the regiment arranged haphazardly along the road back to the officer's quarters, a line of shivering machines in grey greatcoats. Unsurprising given the thrashing they'd received yesterday, the terrible weather today, and the various delays, the troops were in low spirits, and not even the arrival of the captain cheered them up much.
Their relief was palpable when Lt. Colonel Harrison came by on his horse, looked them over approvingly (and perhaps a bit hastily in the temperature) and they were dismissed back into the warmth of the barracks. We returned ourselves to the office, crowded as close to the fireplace as we could get.
"So, yes, the 96th Line Infantry Regiment will be staying on base with us for the next two weeks, and yes, as guests they have priority on the parade grounds." Captain Murray said, "General Andromeda is worried about our performance and wants us to coordinate on weapons and tactics. No, I'm not happy about it either."
"It's not tactics, they've got a portable energy screen! Just give us one of those!" Kelly declared loudly. "Right?"
"It's more situational than that, it's a shock element. Our grenadiers have something similar. Remember, energy screens are two-way, Horace, it's why your pistol is a back-up." I explained, and he just looked glum.
"We don't even have pistols." he said, a bitter edge to his voice. Not until they pass the exam, no.
"Honestly, it's our own damn fault for letting them come at us." Miles said, "Screen only works in one direction, and the column means putting all their eggs in one basket. We needed to pressure a flank, but we were too busy getting trashed by their artillery."
"That's more or less what the General concluded, so guess what we're going to be practicing." Captain Murray said, tapping the desk with a sense of finality. "Fire and maneuver drills. Get used to it, it's going to be our week."
---
We didn't make much progress on that first day, practicing transitioning between formations to be more proactive in the face of such assaults. With the French providing our opposing force, we ran through dozens of formations and scenarios, accompanied on both sides by ghostly holograms on the field to simulate a combined-arms environment.
We learned a French company consisted of 140 machines with eight companies in a battalion (as with us, battalions and regiments had become effectively interchangeable: we had little use for reserve formations). They had a company of grenadiers, five fusilier companies, and two skirmisher companies. That last one was unexpected, almost three times as many skirmishers as our regiments deployed.
The French game plan was quite straightforward: they'd get the lay of the land, fan skirmishers out ahead of the main column, and begin bombarding: their artillery was attached at the division level, and was simulated here by holographic elements. Even if they couldn't break an enemy's screens, they had smokescreen and chaff shells which did an excellent job obscuring their movements. They would then simply push at the enemy line either wherever they were weakest, accompanied by a special screen-projector built into a little caterpillar track horse. There wasn't much more needed.
Yes, it was simple, but that didn't much matter. A tactic is a trick that works even if the enemy knew it was coming, and even though we knew exactly what we faced we still struggled. Attempts to maneuver were hampered by their skirmishers: they were called voltigeurs, vaulters, which was originally because they were supposed to jump on friendly horses to get around, and was now because they wore repulsor packs which let them move like they were in reduced gravity, sprinting at breakneck speeds across the field.
Thus, any time a section or company tried to shift to flank the incoming column, the voltigeurs would be there in a flash, firing and harassing at their flanks, melting away if the enemy got too close. With the sheer number in the regiment, they could quickly swarm a line element pushing forward, and they had our less numerous and stealthier skirmishers completely overwhelmed.
What we played out was less mock battles and more like chess puzzles, small scenes where occasionally our commanders would pause everything and walk the field to assess what was going on. A few of the Theos and Doras amused themselves by freezing in exaggerated or outlandish poses whenever this was called, which I admit I appreciated. I swore I heard General Andromeda suppress a chuckle walking past our line before shuffling us about.
The day, frustratingly, ended inconclusively, our officers not sure what the next steps would be, and the soldiers wandered off free for the night as the officers piled into the regimental office for a debrief of the events of the day. I'd really grown to enjoy meetings like this: figuring out what should be recorded in notes, and how to condense it, is a unique little challenge every time. I'd heard the human officers sometimes complained about them, but honestly I think this is more to do with attitude than the differences between us.
Sumner enjoys them, after all!
Everyone else, however, honestly looked like they were struggling to stay awake as our senior officers painted holographic patterns against the walls and discussed the events of the day. At least my machine counterparts among the French officers also seemed to be paying good attention, pens scratching and eyes focused, drowning out the occasional yawn from the human officers. Admittedly, the meeting did drag on a little long, but we were only a little late in being released for the officer's mess.
Not that I made it there. I was talking with Miles about something or other, I think about modernizing our screen carriers, when somebody took my hand rather unexpectedly. I turned to see that same French Lieutenant again, looking at me puzzled.
"Hello, Lieutenant. Where are you off to?" she asked.
"T-to the officer's mess." I said, and she laughed. Oh, she had a lovely laugh.
"Why?" she asked. Stars, not this again.
"Look, we could talk after-"
"Nonsense, come on. We have commandeered ourselves a little officer's club, just for us machines, come along!" she insisted. I gave a grinning Miles a defeated shrug and followed her out into the cold toward what looked like one of the storage warehouse, where a few others were already milling about the door.
Sure enough, inside it turns out they'd taken over one of the empty spaces, having procured a table and chairs from somewhere. A music player was already set up in the corner, somebody was already going through a newspaper, and the half-a-dozen odd officers were sitting casually, talking, laughing. Somebody was shuffling a deck of cards.
"Oh, la machine britannique! Come on, sit, sit!" one of them beckoned, and a bit nervous I claimed one of the nearby chairs, Lieutenant Théa sitting beside me. "You know how to play piquet?"
"No, but I can learn." I said, and another machine started rattling off the rules. It seemed it was a two player game, and I was paired up for the first game against a voltigeur captain as cards were dealt around. It seemed I had a pretty good hand, nothing lower than a seven.
"We've heard so much about you, you know. Your story made our papers too." a junior lieutenant said. "How is it, being an officer in your Army?"
"She was about to go off to their officer's mess, poor thing." Théa said, which prompted glances all around. "I simply had to rescue her."
"I can speak French, you know." I said, and they all laughed.
"You can say things in it, certainly, but I do not think you can speak it!" my opponent declared, to laughter all around. Probably a comment about my accent.
"How's your cuddlebug, then?" I muttered as the first exchange began. It quickly became apparent that I was no better at piquet than I was at poker or whist, though fortunately this was deemed a practice game and no money changed hands. Théa took the next game, which meant now I was target to the full attention of the other officers.
I quickly worked out everyone's nicknames to keep them straight: the voltigeur captain went by the full Théodore, the two Junior Lieutenants were Young Théo and Tiphaine, then there were Lieutenants Théa, Dieudonné, and Thibault.
(My friend Thea, back in the ranks in 4th Company, had explained to me that the convention of machine names had caught on back when there might only be one machine of a sort in a household or factory, two at most. Probably worked fine in most manors, but in the Army especially it led to a lot of nicknames, variations, and related names).
"So you go to the officer's mess. I suppose that makes sense, there's no other machine officers. Still, it must be so awkward, being around them while they eat and drink…" Théodore said, sounding earnestly concerned.
"It really isn't so bad. A bit of an adjustment, but being able to talk to everyone is nice. I like feeling included." I explained, and that got more concerned looks. This again.
"They treat you well, then?" Tiphaine asked. "We have been… a little worried, I think."
"They're much more accommodating than I expected. Honestly, they treat me like one of them."
"Kind of them!" Théa said, laughing a little.
"They are! The man I was talking to, Miles Beckham, we're very good friends." I said. Théa and a few others brighted, but Captain Théodore looked... sad, almost.
"Lieutenant, forgive me for saying, but machines and humans can't really be friends, I think." Théodore said, and after a moment there were nods and affirmative sounds around the table. "It's not exactly fair to either of you."
"Well, I don't particularly care what you think about it, we are friends." I said defensively.
"Fair enough, that wasn't tactful of me." Théodore admitted, "But there is a dynamic, between machines and humans, you know? Even without knowing him, you would give your life for your human friend. He can't say the same."
"Christ, man, I don't need him to! I just want somebody to talk to." I said, getting up. "I didn't realize this would be an interrogation, and I don't particularly need it."
That was another thing my deprogrammer had told me. If I could, I needed to remove myself from a stressful situation rather than try to remove the stress and stay. However, Théa took my hand again, beckoning me to sit again.
"I'm sorry, Théodore can be a little direct. He is just concerned. It was not easy for our first machine officers, you know." she explained, "We just want to make sure you are okay."
"I'm fine, I really am." I insisted, "It's been a learning experience, and sometimes I feel… a bit in between, you know?"
"Not really." Young Théo said, as the cards passed around to him. "How do you mean?"
"Well, it's something one of your human counterparts said in the mess yesterday. In Britain, the role of officer is not just a job, it is a station, it came with some baggage I wasn't really prepared for. I have a servant, for instance… I notice you all have clerks?"
"We have clerks who help us with our paperwork, all of us. We take that very seriously." Théodore said, "The humans have their valets and maids as well, of course."
"Well, our clerks are attached to the company rather than to individual officers, but they assigned me a Maria, you know? Or… I had to attend a ball, which was fairly strange."
"Ooh! That is interesting!" Théa said, leaning in. "We have to sometimes show up at events, but usually only for a brief moment, fortunately."
"Nobody throws a party like palace servants after a ball wraps up, you know." Théodore added, and there was laughter around the table, some in-joke.
"I attended as a guest proper. Dinner, mixer, dancing, everything." I explained. Théa looked utterly charmed by that.
"Oh, interesting! Did you bring another officer? There are some handsome-"
"Good God, of course not!" I replied, recoiling. "Why would I do that?"
"Who did you dance with, then? Did you meet somebody there?" Tiphaine asked curiously.
"I brought a date, a tailor!" I explained, aghast at the accusation, "I went through a lot of trouble to avoid any entanglements with the human guests, you know."
"Why?" Théa asked, looking utterly confused.
"This is the English being uptight." Dieudonné added sourly.
"I'm sorry?" I was utterly lost.
"Why is the idea of dancing with a human so… much, to you?" Théa asked.
"It's… you know…" I stumbled, searching for the right word. "It's romantic!"
Rather than clarify anything, Théa just looked even more confused.
"Well, yes. What's wrong with that?"
- Pronouns
- He/Him
oh France~
- Location
- Washington DC
Oh. Oh NO.
Oh this is gonna get so awkward that even Awkward Turtle is gonna have trouble.
Of course it would be the French robots that have no problem with human/robot romance.
Tithed_Verse
Vainglorious
- Location
- Iowa
- Pronouns
- They/Them
But they have a problem with robot human FRIENDSHIP. Friendships are more valuable and important than romances.Of course it would be the French robots that have no problem with human/robot romance.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
I still say her surname should be Füsiliere...