Oleg clenched his eyes and his teeth. He curled his fingers and his toes. Perhaps most importantly, he clenched his butt hole as the sweeping rounds of artillery fire razed the surrounding trenches.

Explosions of earth, of metal, and sound rocked the world as the multitude of fellow soldiers either got lucky or vanished due to the sheer force of the shells.

Then the soldiers came.

The whistles flared to life.

At first, there was only one. Then two. Four. Eight...

On and on the sound traveled.

Oleg heard his captain roar. The young woman, Petra, screamed with the full force of her lungs. Without fear, she rose to her feet, peered over the line, and steadied her rifle.

For her valor, she was the cry that echoed down the line. Dozens. Hundred. Thousand.

Oleg rose with her. His rifle at the ready as the men beside him deployed a light machine gun.

In the hazy mist of dust, and still falling dirt, he saw them.

Their designs were similar. The skeletal soldiers modeled after movies.

Their red eyes and skull visage would haunt him to his dying days. This he knew.

Petra was the first to steady her shot. Her aim was true as her rifle let loose a hi-powered round. The bullet whizzed forth and struck true.

The robot’s chest exploded outward, it fell to its knees and moved no more.

Her cry of victory resounded after the retort. The eerie calm from her shot.

The line followed suit. Guns danced in the line, singing the promise of death and destruction.

Oleg grimaced as his first show missed. He reloaded.

His second shot hit. It didn’t fall. He reloaded.

Third shot.

Fourth shot. Kill.

Fifth shot.

Sixth shot.

Reload.

Repeat.

Oleg drank from his canteen. The warm water was soothing to his parched throat.

He heard the muffled fire from the front lines as he and his group rested and recuperated.

On and on the battle went.

Waves came and stilled. Came and stilled.

Artillery would rain. Then it would stop.

Oleg felt numb. His mind had dulled, and his body tired. His spirit was the only thing still moving.

Thus it was the maddening whistles. No.

Tweeting trills…

The first line had fallen? How?

Oleg and his group ran out of the bunkers. They moved and climbed onto the small trench bench that let them easily stand and yet remain behind cover.

Silhouettes and red eyes.

The inhuman gait of the machine soldiers.

Petra fired. Her aim true.

Tink.

Oleg and the others stared. The robot neither fell, nor faltered.

The line fired.

The robots did not stop. Nor did they lose their stride.

The light machine guns hammered into their forms. Staggering them. Yet they did not fall.

Oleg screamed as he fired his rifle.

Each step from these robots revealed their forms.

Heavily armored.

Heavily armed.

Their return fire swept the line.

Explosions rocked the trench.

Oleg didn’t even know what was going on anymore.

It was the hospital beeps that made Oleg aware that he was alive.

His body hurt.

He couldn’t move.

A nurse came. Her soothing voice told him he was awake. He was safe.

The Battle of Kohlmy was over.

Oleg stilled.

Oleg slept.

Oleg cried.

The squeaks of the wheelchair became common with Oleg’s world. He moved with the grace of a drunk horse, and at the speed of a feisty vole.

Oleg smiled as he saw Tatiana, his niece, run up to him. Her pale face was dusted with red from her energetic run up to him. She happily hopped onto his lap and gave him a hug with every muscle in her tiny frame.

It made Oleg happy to see her safe. His sister and his brother in law.

The battle had ended tragically for the coalition of free countries, but with their fall, the cities surrendered as the armies of Avalon reached missile strike distance.

For Oleg, his family had survived. The city of Omsk had fallen, and its ballooned population of 11 million people had been spared the ravages of war.

Most cities had, but not all. Those that tried to resist urban warfare. Guerilla warfare fared the poorest.

Avalon's military forces did not sleep. Curfews were enforced. The new government did not care about why you were out. There were emergency services active 24/7. There was no excuse to be out, and if you were shot… you were at fault.

Omsk had surrendered and obeyed the rules. Any attempts to rebel were not supported by the people, and thus martial law was never enacted. They had heard about the other attempts in other cities. About how they were simply forced into submission.

Food was properly imported to feed the burgeoning population. Transportation was slowly set up so that those who wanted to return to their original home towns could.

If those towns still existed.

The Battle of Kolmy had extended through the country, erasing entire areas into pockmarked wastelands.

Most left.

Some returned.

Many simply settled for other cities.

For Oleg, it no longer mattered. His family had survived, and Tatiana’s smile was all the proof he needed to showcase that his sacrifice. Their sacrifices. They were not in vain.

Even if robots filled the streets, and military guards could be found on every literal corner.

Oleg’s heart pounded in his chest. The train ride to the hospital was the longest in his life. His sister had called him in tears. Tatiana has collapsed!

The hospital service had her, and they were currently at the hospital. Tatiana was in an intensive care unit.

He tapped at his legs. He hated this. This crippled life.

The inability to freely move. The regulated lifestyle was any desire to travel involved hurdles that normal people did not have to even consider. It was of little matter at the moment. He had bigger issues to worry over.

The moment he had entered the hospital, a robot was there to meet him. It scanned his face, and simply moved up behind him to push.

The disgusting robot smoothly moved him towards the ICU wing and informed him about his niece's status.

She had the finest robot doctors. Sensors that filled the room, and in-depth scans of her body.

The tumor in her body had 88% of clean removal. 8% chance for minor complications. 4% chance of major complications.

Robot doctors. Robot guards. Robot servers. They were everywhere in the city and indisputable part of his life now. He had no choices.

Yet he felt relief. She would be fine. The robots would save her.

He was conflicted by the need to feel gratitude, and the horrors of Kohlmy.

He felt his brother and sister hug him. Yet his eyes were glued to the monitor that showed the operation room. His niece’s pale face was as pale as the angels he always said she was.

The only sign of her life was the heartbeat monitor and the small puffs of steam on her respirator.

For his niece. He would give up his arms as well. So long as she was okay.

“Left leg!” Tatiana ordered.

Oleg moved his left leg.

“Right leg!” Tatian ordered.

Oleg moved his right leg.

Left leg.

Right leg.

Then he was right there. In front of her.

“You did it!” Tatiana cheered as she gave him a fierce hug.

“You are getting heavy,” Oleg complained as he happily let her stand on his feet.

The exoskeleton easily took on the extra weight and allowed him to smoothly walk.

“I am a growing young lady!” Tatiana pouted as she blew up her cheeks in indignation. She was growing so quickly now that those tumors had been removed last year.

Oleg laughed hugged her to him and laughed as they both slowly danced around.

The doorbell rang.

Oleg blinked from as he looked up from his recipe. The glowing holographic instructions floated over his stove.

The sensors detected the guest at the front door, and it lowered the temperature. It marked his last completed instructions.

Oleg walked to the front door, and the door turned translucent on his half. It showed a pretty young lady with crimson red hair. She wore aviators and a long coat as the spring weather was sunny, but still chilly in the city of Omsk.

The hair coloring services were amazing nowadays, and Oleg pondered on it himself. Lord knows that Tatiana sent him enough color samples on what she thought was trending this season.

You would think a middle schooler would have better things to do in her spare time. Accessorizing your uncle should be lower on the list.

This lady, however… he was not expecting guests, and he doubted it was criminals. The Supreme Leader did not like criminals and the police would be on-premise in minutes

Oleg frowned but opened the door. She took off her hood and scarf to reveal someone he did know.

“Oleg?” she whispered as she took off her aviators. He knew those eyes. That voice

“Petra?” Oleg whispered as the woman he had considered a good friend simply took a step in and wrapped him into a tight hug.

His ears could discern her exoskeletal unit with his.

“I… how?” Oleg asked as he hugged her back with his own frantic need.

“I was found and frozen. The new wave of tech allowed them to fix me. Us. there are more survivors of the 112th,” She laughed as she stared at the much older man.

“They are alive?” Oleg whispered as he backed up and held her at arm's length so that he could see her.

The lines for the synthetic skin was visible. One of her eyes was a little brighter than the other. Artificial parts, but they were so common recently.

“Some. Not all… You have gotten old, Oleg,” Petra giggled as her eyes tightened. There was grey flecking his temples, and the occasional streak lined his head. To her, it looked rather striking.

Oleg smiled, and his heart strained.

He remembered their meetings. When she had voiced her concerns and fears. He had been afraid during those days as well.

Today? Between his mandatory AI therapist, his regular visits with the doctors...

Oleg smiled. His days were often filled with happiness.

If he had brothers and sisters alive from the 112th, then he must meet them.

“Please, come in. I am cooking stew. A little late, but a man should keep his promises,” Oleg said as he guided in his captain. The memory was hazy, but he was sure that he said something similar long ago.

The woman laughed. To her, the memory was only a few days old. To him… a lifetime ago.

Together, they talked away the night. About the new world and their fight that was honored by history.

They were not wrong.