The weather in the mountains was changing. It had been snowing heavily, but now it the snowfall was light. Mist formed a thick wall, so it was impossible to see far.
"Visibility is three feet. Fabio, Tristan, you have permission to use the infrared sensor. Be careful with it."
Left and right of the small mountain road were steep cliffs. Special Forces Officer Ettore Berlusconi had to take special care that he didn't slip on the ice.
They had to take even more care with the metal giants they were driving. The balancer on Samson, the church mechanical suit, was perfect. With the jet skis attached, the ten-foot-tall giant could reach a top speed of thirteen miles per hour. Without slipping once, the giant continued to ascend the mountain. Because of that, they had gone too far ahead of the follow up deployment.
"Is it really all right for us to be so far ahead? Officer? Is this not going against His Eminence Matthaios' orders?"
"Don't worry about it. Our enemies are unarmed country bumpkins." Berlusconi brushed away Corporal Fabio's doubts. "We'll kill them all with what we have here. What does the Department of Inquisition know about war?" Berlusconi was young but he had already had a lot of experience at armored infantry battle. One week ago, he was moved from the regular church army to the special forces, exactly because his achievements in this field had been recognized. The young officer was excited by his new position. "Anyway, as long as we win, then the Department of Inquisition won't complain. We'll teach them how to fight a real war."
"But, sir, I'm not sure that the Inquisition officer we're dealing with is a novice." Corporal Tristan now stood up for Fabio over the intercom. He cast doubt on the truth of Berlusconi's assertions. "I heard that he was a mercenary in Africa. I also heard that he took part in the Gibraltar War."
"Mercenary? Why would a mercenary join the Department of Inquisition?" Berlusconi wasn't happy with this piece of information. To a born and bred soldier, there wasn't much of a difference between a mercenary and a rogue. "Impossible! That would make a mockery of the Vatican." "Sir! Enemy ahead!"
Berlusconi's lament was interrupted by a scream coming out of his intercom.
"It's the civilians! One o'clock! Three, no, four of them... They've noticed us! They're running!" "They won't get away!"
His monitor screen zoomed in on a picture of four human figures running into the mist. Berlusconi screamed in frustration. Things would get more difficult if the civilians informed their friends.
"Permission to fire! They mustn't get away!" The suit quickly mobilized. There was a roar from the jet skis. "Don't think you'll get away from me!" The computer started to get the calculations that he needed. Berlusconi smiled. He was driving a piece of Lost Technology, a strong weapon that could take on even vampires. Crushing ordinary humans would be a piece of cake. He started to squeeze the trigger.
"Hah!"
But before he had a chance to squeeze, his concentration was broken by a violent attack. Something was restricting the machine's giant legs. A thin wire that had been stretched across the ground had wrapped itself around the vehicle. The same thing had happened to Berlusconi's three colleagues. All three machines came crashing to the ground.
"Cheap trick!" Berlusconi cursed the wire. His suit hadn't taken any damage but his pride had. "I won't let you get away with this! I'll kill you all!"
"Sir! The enemy! At three... no, nine o'clock."
Thirsting for revenge, Berlusconi turned to the monitor. He could see several human figures in the mist. They looked like civilians. But in their hands were hunting guns and Molotov cocktails.
"Where did they come from? Why didn't they show up on the infrared?!"
"Calm down, Tristan. They're just scum. We'll separate and crush them one by one."
The civilians started firing. From behind a snowdrift came a torrent of bullets raining down on Berlusconi and his men. Such small munitions wouldn't even dent the thick metal of the suit. Berlusconi was justified in laughing at their feeble efforts. "Little candy bombs aren't going to get me. Cretins. Huh? What's that?"
Berlusconi stopped laughing and squinted at the monitor. He noticed that the gray coating on his suit was turning black. Why? They were throwing dirt at his suit.
"Mud? No... it's..."
But Berlusconi wasn't given enough time to work out the origin of the mud.
"Sir! Enemy at nine o'clock!"
A figure rose out of a pit in the floor. It was a giant in torn priest garments. The man grinned and then pulled the trigger on the huge firearm he held.
The gun issued a burning flare. In the next moment, Berlusconi’s vision went white. The mud, which had been thrown onto his suit, immediately burst into flames. A war vehicle could withstand one-thousand centigrade degrees heat, but even so...
"How dare you?!"
Within the flames, Berlusconi pulled himself up to his full height and laughed.
Despite being engulfed in flames, the giant robots, now standing, were unscathed. Their casing was multilayered and could withstand millions of gunshots. Berlusconi wondered if the villagers really thought flame was going to stop them.
"I bet you think you're clever! Sorry, but you're not!" Berlusconi turned his weapon to the left and aimed at the large man.
"Sir! Enemy at two o'clock. It's snowballs!"
"Snowballs?!"
Berlusconi looked puzzled at this new report. He looked away, and his eyes met a snowball coming down on his right side. Not an ordinary snowball though; this one was about six feet in diameter.
"And now you want a snowball fight?! Amateurs!" Berlusconi screamed and punched the incoming snowball. The flaming fist of the suit melted the snowball almost immediately on contact. "Oh, I should thank you. That worked out nicely for me."
Berlusconi once again turned his weapon to the left. This time he would kill that large man. He pulled the trigger with a snigger. However, his gun was silent. "No way! I'm out of bullets!"
That couldn't be. Berlusconi pulled on the trigger again, but no bullets were apparent. There was something suspicious about this.
"Sir... we can't move the suits!" his subordinate called over the intercom.
Berlusconi realized that the same thing was happening to his machine. He couldn't move the suit. He tried his best, but no matter what he did, his artificial muscles couldn't move it.
That mud was made of oil shale and kerosene. When mixed, they were flammable. However, when oil shale is heated at a high temperature, it becomes liquid. That liquid had then worked its way into the suit. The snow had re-solidified and acted as an adhesive.
"Sir! On your right!" Another ominous scream came over the intercom. The civilians were pushing something on the slope. It looked like a truck used for mining...
"Dynamite?! Everyone, move!"
Berlusconi slammed his foot on the acceleration. His jet skis were still attached to the icy floor, but they revved up. Berlusconi desperately tried to move the machine away from the trap. Fortunately the wire had melted in the fire. Berlusconi's machine surged forward.
"Sir! Help us!" one of his subordinates screamed. He had been a few seconds too late and hadn't managed to clear the explosion. Still, Berlusconi didn't turn round.
"Cowards! You're not getting away with this!"
He had lost a subordinate. He would have to kill all of them if he couldn't go back to his unit. He launched an attack on the large man.
The man hadn't tried to move from that spot. Instead, he had a strange, unnerving smile on his face.
"One down. I'm not done yet."
The external microphone was picking him up. On the monitor he stood alone.
"Well, bring it on then, Samson."
Suddenly a third voice broke in: "This is fortunate."
In the corner of his vision, a bright white light broke through the clouds.