CLIFFHANGER! (Sans Stallone) (Inconsistencies Continued, Part 10)

A week had passed and they were unloading looted materiel from a Union Army outpost they’d raided. The Union Army soldiers were easier targets, but their equipment was found wanting when compared to that of the Germans. The Doctor and the Robot had managed to cobble together some tungsten plating and had managed to run it over the new seam in the Robot’s hide. He and the Gangster were unloading the Chevy while the Driver worked beneath it.

“I still do not understand the humor.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, we’ve been hashing it out for the past few days. You’re a damn metal man, you understand?”

The Robot set down a crate of ammo near the Gangsters workstation and said, “I am.”

“You understand that anyone lookin at you can tell you’re damn big an made of metal?”

“I do understand that as well.”

The Gangster set down a small crate of grenades and paused to light a cigarette before speaking, “Now, it ain’t funny because you look anything like old Hitler. It’s funny because you’re a metal man with black marker all over your face pretending to imitate Hitler.”

“I still fail to see the use of such tactics, or the humor.”

“There ain’t any tactical use other than making people say ‘what the bloody Hell’ when they’re looking at you. It’s funny ‘cause it’s a ridiculous lookin scene. You’re a big metal man stomping around with marker on your face yelling like your Hitler yapping about blacks an Jews. It’s funny because it’s stupid.”

The Robot paused and cocked its head to the side, mysterious things within it whirring quietly.

“The humor stems from the fact that no one takes it seriously as a tactic of war?”

The Gangster took a long drag while shaking his head back and forth then said, “To a certain extent. Everyone recognizes Hitler’s mustache and most know his hairdo, but mainly it’s the mustache that makes it obvious you’re trying to imitate the little bitch. It’s also just as obvious that you’re a metal automaton and not Hitler and with the mustache in marker on your face it’s obvious what you’re tryin to do. The humor comes from the whole situation being ridiculous looking and it also being blatantly obvious what you are and what you’re tryin to do. You follow?”

“I believe so.”

“You follow it all any better than you did two days ago?”

“I believe my processors have a better understanding of humor as you define it, yes.”

“That’s something I guess.”

As was fitting, that was when sirens began going off and the walls around them began shaking. The Doctor leapt to a console and cut the sirens off, bellowing as he did so.

“Germans and Union Army soldiers in the streets above, the vibrations are from artillery two blocks away shelling us. They seem to know exactly where we are.”

The last was aimed at the Gangster, his only response was to slam a drum into his Tommy gun and say, “My contract is all paid up for the next six months. If they sold you out they didn’t mention it to me.”

“Comforting,” muttered the Doctor dryly as he checked his sensors before continuing, “the artillery is pulling out, we should have infantry moving in shortly.”

The Driver had the Chevy idling and the garage exit rumbling open, over the noise he yelled a question to the Doctor, “How the Hell did they manage to creep up on us so easily?”

“If I had three hours I could tell you, at a guess I’d say it has to do with the fact that our sensors are cobbled together from German and American components and perhaps I missed some encrypted files in the American components.”

“Swell,” muttered the Driver as he bolted a slightly less robust Gatling gun than the Robot’s onto the Chevy’s hood.

The Robot approached the Doctor and with a hiss of static he did his best to whisper to the scientist, “Something feels wrong within my programming. I feel as if there were programming there once that is no longer there but is still attempting to carry out its parameters. It is disconcerting.”

“What kind of programming?”

“Sensors of some kind I believe, or perhaps software for the decoding of sensory input.”

“Are the Germans attempting to remotely hack your programming?”

“Negative. I have removed the components that allowed them to do so and have hardened my logic centers and processors. If they were able to hack me we would be in a much worse situation than we currently are.”

The Robot paused before continuing, “I believe that my sensors are detecting something in the vicinity that I no longer possess the software to understand the meaning of.”

“You’re telling me something is there but you cannot see it.”

“It is not a visual sensor that is detecting this object.”

“What kind of sensor is it then? Aural? Olfactory?”

“I cannot determine that, all I can determine is that some manner of sensor has detected an object or emission that it was designed to detect. There is missing software that would indicate all of this to me.”

“If you saw it would you be able to know it was what you detected?”

“Yes, if I saw what I was detecting I would be able to program myself to understand the sensor in question and be able to use it actively.”

The garage door finally rumbled open and revealed half a dozen SS soldiers. The Driver had finished bolting toys to the Chevy and was in the driver’s seat. He sprawled across the front seat of the Chevy and grabbed the control for the guns on the passenger side and killed four soldiers before anyone had noticed them. Then he hit the horn and ducked beneath the dash as the Germans opened fire.

In the blink of a human eye the Robot had moved away from the Doctor and to the front of the Chevy, shielding the vehicle from rounds with his own armored bulk. The hail of fire emitting from his arm tore the life out of six more soldiers and red beams from over his shoulder took the lives of the last two. When the Robot turned and the Driver poked his head out of cover they saw that is was the Sorcerer and not the Doctor that was responsible for the death dealing beams. Where the Doctor’s were lasers emitted by his gauntlets, the Sorcerer’s bracelets could store and shoot lethal red beams of fire.

“We should flee,” said the Robot.

That was when the far wall of the lab caved in and revealed thirty Union Army soldiers and another two dozen soldiers of the SS.

“I agree,” said the Doctor as he joined them near the Chevy.

The Gangster had taken cover behind one of the many work tables in his armory and began letting loose with his Tommy gun.

“Evidently we have opted for another course of action,” said the Robot as the barrels of his arm began cycling and hurling rounds at their foes.

The Doctor leaned a head into the Chevy and said, “Keep the engine running and be prepared to get us the Hell out of here.”