clever

advance, assault

advance, assault speed . . . This is your Station Monitor; permission requested to mutilate the body . . . Arm all batteries; ten-microsecond alert . . . I guess you was the only friend I ever had—
Suddenly, vividly, I remembered the fight with the demons, the weight of the stinking bodies that bore me down, teeth tearing at my throat . . .
I had seen the enemy at work—the deft saws, the clever scalpels.
I remembered the brain of the Algerian major, lifted from the skull, preserved—
As mine was now preserved.
The demons had killed my body, left it to rot in the forest. But now I lived again—in the body of a great machine.
"UNIT EIGHTY-FOUR: REPORT!"
The command struck at me—a mental impulse of immense power. I watched, an observer aloof from the action, as my conditioned-response complex reacted, sensing the fantastic complexity of the workings of the mobile fort that was now my body.
"RETIRE TO POSITION IN SECONDARY TIER!" The harsh order galvanized my automatic responses in instant obedience—
On impulse, I intercepted the command; then I reached out along my circuits, sent out new commands. I turned myself, faced the violent sun, moved ponderously forward; I halted, pivoted, tracked my guns across the dark sky. Somehow, I had gained control of my machine-body. I remembered the command—the external voice that would have asserted its control—
But instead, it had cued my hypnotically-produced reserve personality-fraction into active control.
I withdrew,