[u][b]Downtown Indianapolis - Ruins of the Indiana Historical Society[/b][/u]

For a moment, Tullius paused as the Cult militants began erupting from the manhole in the center of the street, well within what they had to know was the field of fire of the Century's remaining support weapon...a LMG that it's Brotherhood gunner, a young woman who wasn't even twenty yet, wielded with such frightening efficiency he had given over every .308 cartridge they still had to her to keep her weapon on the line....something about their behavior struck him as odd, the Militants rarely made such mistakes.

"Not yet", he told her in Latin, it still amazed him how many of Barnaky's people understood it, "Wait for my command"

"Yes, sir", she replied as she traversed the smoking barrel of the MG to cover the enemy and waited for the order....she'd have been dead a dozen times over since lunch if not for the Legionnaires keeping the Freaks off her so she could work, she wasn't inclined to argue. 

Several of them had popped out before Tullius saw it, a shiny object seemingly clamped to the back of the second cultist out of the manhole. Screams came from out of the open manhole as if more had tried to follow the first two but were stopped by...something. No sooner did he get out onto the street did he throw himself bodily on the ground and roll in a desperate attempt to get whatever it was off. The other one turned and aimed his combat shotgun down into the hole and began firing as rapidly as he could at the...things....that came out. To Tullius, they looked like small metal crabs. As the cultist fired, shredding them, even more surged out of the manhole and sprinted over the remains of it's comrades until they reached their target, slicing him to screaming ribbons before he could turn to flee, then overwhelming his comrade and finishing him too. Then the swarm moved as one towards the enemy held buildings across the street, causing the cultists to quickly shift their fire from the defenders to the oncoming swarm. 

"Mars protect me", Tullius mumbled to himself involuntarily, then looked over at the gunner, "What are they?"

"Scurry bots", she replied, "I've only seen them in movies about the Calculator, honest. We heard rumors Command had a plan for flushing the Freaks out of the sewers.....guess this is part of it."

Behind them, he heard a commotion and some shots. 

"This means your people are coming for us", Tullius said, "Get ready to provide cover for them as they advance. I will return."

Tullius made his way deeper into the building and down into the basement, where the Decanus and his Legionnaires assigned to protect the tunnels watched with horrified fascination as four of the small robots busied themselves eviscerating a Cultist who, unlike his comrades, had survived his emergence into the basement long enough for the robots to reach him. Tullius picked up a glow-stick placed by a Brotherhood soldier and tossed it into the mouth of the tunnel in the floor. In the dim green light that emanated from it he saw a stream of small objects flit by, causing him to shiver in spite of himself. He'd seen two dozen campaigns, and survived Hoover Dam, but he had seen nothing like this before, and wished he never would again. 

Having finished off the Cultist, the small robots stood there, looking around inscrutably. Eventually one of them sedately moved forwards, stopping in front of Tullius, and standing on it's hind legs, stretching it's forelegs into the air...clearly it wanted him [i]to pick it up[/i]. Swallowing his fear, he picked it up. as he did so, it folded it's razor sharp claws inward and out of his way. As he stood back up, a small, tinny voice came from the robot. 

"Ave, Centurion", the voice said, "Pardon the blood. We've got a Company of Knights spearheading a push to reach your position, get ready, the next enemy push will likely be their last chance to overrun you and they know it." 


[u][b]Indianapolis International Airport - Operations Room[/b][/u]

One after another, the Vertibirds out in town acknowledged the order to return to base once their missions were completed. 1-7 and 1-9 were already being refueled, and 1-3 was currently detached to Legate Aurelius, but they should have all birds back at the airport within an hour, and ready to go in two. The timing was awful, but Wilson had to admit that the momentum was now irrevocably with he and Aurelius, they could spare the Vertibirds for Hackett's proposed plan. The old sea dog knew the Detroiters better than he, a son of Kansas, ever could. If Hackett said this was necessary to get the Detroiters onside, he trusted his judgement.