[ This is the unedited, raw version of my story. I'm writing it as the plot unravels in my head. It will be as it is with errors and all. Please be patient as my journey is only beginning. Thanks for your feedback. Wild Rose happens in the same world and era as my first novel Octopus Island currently in the editing process.]
On that rainy 9th of October 2020, amidst the fury of battle, I fell on the Skadia front line. An XM8 bullet ripped a huge part of my abdominal reinforced plating. Hydraulic fluids came running down my lower body. A huge armored human dashed with a sharp machete rose high above his head ready to strike. The clamor of the confrontation spined out of control around me. Metal groaned and bones cracked. The Real Humans were not your typical militia, with rocks and spears. The fought back, hard and dirty. How ironic, humans fighting robots send by other humans.
A bullet ricocheted over my skulled as I shoved my attacker away. He slipped in a puddle of mud mixed with blood, coming from pilled of corpses still trapped in their armors. He scrambled against his massive protective gears, eyes wide with panic. He rose his gun and aimed. I only had a split second to shield my face with my left hand. The impact tore the palm away and went straight in the faceplate. I felt no pain, robots were not supposed too. The shock sent me flying backward into a tree. The man got up but didn't bother to finish me off. He went to the next combat robot near the burning tank.
Critical error messages blinked in my field of vision. My system failed to reboot so it switched to sleep mode. A distress signal was sent for urgent retrieval. My beacon flashed. The battle raged for days. A drone flew high up and dropped a bomb in the middle of the hostile zone. That meant we were unable to get Skadia back. We robots were expendable. The blast sent dirt and body parts in the air. Metal and flesh became one. Desperate screams rose along with ravaging flames. The next morning a dead silence took over the smoking field. The rain kept on a few more days as if nature was trying to cleanse itself from the filth of man. Still, no sign of the rescue team. From my final resting place under a willow tree, I watched the bodies of my enemies rotting. We, robots were not supposed to hurt humans. Somehow our primary rules were overridden and we were forced to follow orders. Even if it conflicted with the very reason we were made. Serve and protect.
Time went by...
Early in the morning, birds would peck at me or scavengers walked by oblivious of my presence, in search of scrap metal and other valuables. I lay motionless hidden under large green leaves and a rose bush that took residence in my abdominal wound.
From time to time my optics would switch on for no reason. Since the neck hydraulic system was long gone, there was no way to change the scenery. My only entertainment, mapping the night sky. I had a basic knowledge of astronomy. An alternative way to orient myself on the battlefield in case my team leader was out of reached or satellites offline. For the first year, I tried to contact Satcom low orbit transmitter but only received static. I refuse to believe that all communications were out. So I tried over and over again.
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On the second year, I gave up. Worst case scenario, The Real Humans have taken all the satellites out along with the antennas on the ground. I was on my own. My team forgot about me.
In the year 2472...