The Nightmare Unleashed

by J. J. Carlson

  Janson cycled through the different camera angles, then frowned. “Is that a RAID tower?” she asked, pointing at a conspicuous tree on the screen. RAID towers were advanced infrared and visible-spectrum cameras equipped with laser rangefinders and geolocation capabilities. With the push of a button, someone operating a RAID tower could find the exact coordinates for a target within the tower’s expansive gaze.

  “Looks like it,” Eli said. “I think there are two of them, one on either end of the forest.”

  Janson closed her eyes and silently cursed Audrey Stokes. “They’ve probably spotted us already. As soon as we get in range of their mortars, they’ll start dropping 120mm shells.”

  Eli nodded. “Unless we take them out.”

  Janson looked down at the screen and thought for a moment. “That’s a basketball-sized target. How close would you need to be to make the shot?”

  “With the rifles we have…” Eli paused, as if running mental calculations. “A mile and a half.”

  Janson shook her head. “That would put you within range of their mortars. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “We could use the weaponized drones,” Eli suggested. “It would deplete our supply, but I think we could take both cameras down with six or seven of them.”

  “Maybe, but we need those for deflecting mortars and attacking the pillboxes. If—” She stopped in mid-sentence and glared at Ford, who had been rustling in the grass insistently. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Ford, still shirtless, had flattened a patch of grass and set up his modified .50 caliber sniper rifle on its bipod. His legs were stretched out behind him, his toes digging into the soil. His right eye stared unblinking into the wide scope that doubled as a targeting computer. “Shut up,” he grunted. “And cover your ears.”

  Janson bolstered the hearing protection provided by her earpieces by cupping her hands over her ears. “You’ll never hit it, we have to be almost three miles away.”

  “Two point nine-six,” Ford said. “And you bitching won’t make it any easier.” His finger took a fraction of the slack from the trigger. Then a little more. Finally, the rifle bucked against his shoulder.

  “You’re wasting your ammunition,” Janson said. “We’ll have to use the drones to—”

  “Target destroyed,” Ford mumbled. He shifted his hips, adjusting his point of aim with his body, rather than the rifle. A few seconds later, he squeezed the trigger and sent another round downrange.

  This time, Janson waited for his report.

  “RAID towers are out of commission,” Ford said, flapping the lens-protectors into place over his optics. “Can we go now?”

  Janson couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto her face. “Put your shirt on, show-off.”

  Dmitri slammed his meaty palm against the lectern. He swore in Russian for several seconds, then depressed a button on his watch and looked down at his forearm. A moment later, a video feed of Emily’s face appeared, projected onto his skin by the device around his wrist.

  “What is it, Dmitri? Did you find them?”

  Dmitri nodded, his basset hound eyes sorrowful. “We found their position. They are still out of range of defenses, and they destroyed our camera towers.”

  “How?”

  “I do not know. I have a technician reviewing the video, and he claims someone hit them with a sniper rifle. I’m not so sure. They were so far away…it would have been an impossible shot.”

  “Don’t underestimate them. Hillcrest has the most advanced rifles in the world at their disposal, and marksmen that have trained with them for years.”

  Dmitri nodded. “I’m sending up a reconnaissance drone to give us a better view of the battlefield. It is equipped with rockets, but I doubt it will be enough to eliminate all of them. Would you like me to call in air support from Krasnoyarsk?”

  Emily shook her head. “Not yet. Our pilots are busy with the resupply mission.” She grinned. “I think we can handle the intruders ourselves.”

  Shaking his head, Dmitri said, “We could wait for them to approach the minefield and use the grenade launchers, but I do not feel comfortable letting their snipers get too close. They could damage more of our equipment.”

  “I agree.”

  Dmitri raised an eyebrow. “Then…what?”

  Emily’s eyes glinted mischievously. “Send the swarm.”

  30

  Krasnoyarsk, Russia

  Dale Drach held his wrist-computer up to a panel on the wall, and the steel deadbolt withdrew into the door. He gripped the handle and pulled the door open, then closed it behind him, sealing off the chaos outside. During the past two hours, the Krasnoyarsk airport had come alive with a swarm of Katharos agents. As far as anyone could tell, there was no cause for concern; the reports from the Palace assured them that backup wasn’t needed. But there had never been an attack on the Palace before, and hundreds of loyal agents had gathered to watch the drama unfold. Of course, only a select few had the smallest chance of being called into battle, and Dale was one of them.

  His usual job involved ferrying supplies to the Palace in a transport helicopter. But he was certified on multiple airframes, including the Mi-28 “Havoc” attack helicopter.

  The Havoc lived up to its name. It could be equipped with anti-tank missiles, unguided rockets, aerial bombs, or 7.62mm machine guns. It also came standard with a turret-mounted 30mm cannon. Years had passed since Dale flew one into real combat, and he hoped today would end his dry spell.

  Settling into a swivel-chair, he tapped a button on his desk to open a holographic display. He glanced over his shoulder at the only other chair in the room. His gunner, whom he had nicknamed “Stoic” was facing away from him, watching a football game on his own holographic screen.

  “I heard they’re deploying the swarm,” Dale said. He politely waited for a response but wasn’t surprised when Stoic didn’t give one. “You know, I was kind of hoping they would call us in, so we could eliminate the threat the old-fashioned way.”

  Dale pulled up a message on his screen and squinted as he read. “Dmitri has put us on standby, so that’s a good sign. He wants us to wait on the supply run until they have kill-confirmation.”

  He spun around in his chair. “Maybe we might see some action after all. It’s been a while since I’ve scored a kill.” He left the remark hanging in the air as a subtle jab. Technically, Stoic was the one who manned the guns.

  Stoic’s head twitched, almost imperceptibly.

  Frowning, Dale spun his chair back around. It wasn’t like Stoic to sleep while on duty, but the soundproof office at the rear of the helicopter hangar was relaxing. And if the helicopters were called in to help eliminate the threat near the Palace, Stoic would need to be well-rested.

  Drach decided to let him sleep and opened the weather reports to help pass the time. As his eyes scanned the coded weather observations in the area, the sound of Stoic’s mouth-breathing became more pronounced. Growing more agitated with each passing second, Dale spun back around.

  “Alright, that’s enough. Nap time is over.”

  Stoic gave no indication that he had heard his partner

  “Hey, wake up,” Dale said, grabbing the back of Stoic’s chair and shaking.

  Stoic reacted like a beaten dog, lowering his head and whimpering pitifully.

  “Stoic, what’s going on? Are you alright?” Dale stood and pushed on the back of Stoic’s chair to spin it around. A gasp escaped his lips, and he took an involuntary step back.

  Stoic’s eyes, nose, and ears had been removed, and lumps of mangled tissue hung loose outside his ear canals. His lips tried to form words, but his tongue had been cut back to a bloody stump. His arms had been cut off at the elbows, and his legs at the knees. Tourniquets on each of his limbs kept him from bleeding out, though he was obviously in shock.

  “Holy shit…” Dale said, covering his mouth with his left hand. “What—what happened? Who did this to you?”

  Stoic tucked his chi
n as if he expected Drach to beat him.

  “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. I’m going to get help.” He reached out and placed a gentle hand on his gunner’s shoulder, and Stoic let out a terrified, unintelligible moan.

  Dale’s heart pounded hard in his chest. He took a step toward the door and said, “I’ll…I’ll be right back.”

  “He can’t hear you,” a voice said.

  Dale spun around, searching the room for the source “Who’s there?” he whispered, his mouth feeling like it had been stuffed with cotton.

  The blinds on the single office window fell shut, and a dark figure materialized next to Dale’s desk.

  The blood drained from Dale’s face. He fell against the door and twisted the handle, but the latch wouldn’t give.

  “Sit down,” the dark figure growled, gripping the back of Dale’s chair. “We need to talk.”

  31

  Four Miles East of the Palace, Central Siberia

  Janson followed the team at a trot, the butt of her 7.62mm assault rifle tucked into her shoulder. Under her orders, the team had slowed their pace as they approached the minefield. Eli and Kacen were in the lead, each holding bulky objects that resembled oversized cameras—the “sniffers.” The devices used laser, radar, and infrared technology to peer beneath the soil and check for land mines. With the advent of polymer-encased explosives, metal detectors were no longer sufficient. The “sniffers” didn’t strictly detect mines; they allowed the user to see buried objects. But with a well-trained eye, mines could be detected from up to forty feet away.

  A cold, nervous feeling crept into Janson’s stomach, and she knew it wasn’t the mines. She ordered the team to stop while she searched the area with a pair of binoculars and tried to pinpoint the source of her unease. A wide, patchy area of grass lay approximately one mile in front of them—which she assumed to be the minefield. Beyond that, shrubby vegetation gave way to the coniferous forest. But something about the forest didn’t seem right. Up close, it appeared normal, but when she zoomed her optics out, a symmetry appeared where there should be none.

  “Charlie, Echo, Alpha Two, fall in on me,” Janson said.

  Eli, Ford, and Kacen broke away from their positions in the formation and trotted to her side.

  She handed the binoculars to Ford. “There’s something in the trees. Do you see the pattern every seventy-five meters or so?”

  Ford nodded and chewed his tongue. “I can’t be sure, but I think they’re turrets.” He handed the optics back to Janson and lifted his rifle. “Let me take a closer look.”

  Janson resumed scanning the horizon with her binoculars while Ford set up his rifle.

  “Definitely turrets,” he said. “Eli, take a look.”

  Eli switched places with Ford, settling in behind the rifle. “Grenade launchers, if I had to guess. Can you tell where the targeting pods are?”

  “Separate from the weapon systems,” Ford said. “About five meters north of each.”

  Eli’s mouth hung open for a moment, then he nodded. “I see them.” He sat back on his heels, then stood and faced Janson. “Good catch. Those things would have torn us to pieces before we made it halfway across the mine field.”

  Janson nodded. “Something else our ‘valuable informant’ failed to mention. Take them out.”

  The trio of snipers flattened out sections of grass to open lanes of fire. Thirty seconds later, the .50 caliber rifles began issuing cannon-like reports.

  While her team worked to blind the grenade launchers, Janson kept a close watch with her binoculars. She scanned to the left and right, then up and down, covering the entire horizon and the skies above. Something dark flickered through her vision, and she zoomed out to try to find it again. Within a few seconds, she reacquired the object. It was a reconnaissance drone, roughly half the size of a single-engine Cessna.

  “Cease fire!” she shouted. “We have incoming!” She ran to where Eli’s pack lay on the ground and rifled through it, then withdrew a torpedo-shaped drone with four propellers. The counter-aircraft drone could move at nearly ninety miles-per-hour and carried a shaped charge of Semtex and titanium ball-bearings.

  “What is it?” Eli asked.

  “Aircraft overhead,” Janson said. “Get this thing in the air.”

  Eli took the drone from her and deftly prepared it for flight. Seconds later, the propellers began to whine, and the drone leapt from his hands.

  “Everyone spread out!” Janson shouted. She gripped the binoculars tight as she ran away from the team, then stopped and lifted the optics to her face. The enemy drone had reached its altitude and leveled off. With any luck, it would only be equipped with cameras meant to fill the surveillance hole left by the crippled RAID towers. But Janson wasn’t feeling lucky.

  She kept her hands steady as she zoomed the binoculars to maximum magnification. The broad wings and sleek fuselage came into view, then the pair of high-powered cameras and four air-to-ground missiles. Janson’s heart dropped into her stomach. “Take cover!” she screamed.

  The operatives disappeared into the grass, but Janson remained standing. She pulled her metamaterial hood down tight, then started waving her arms. She wanted to be the most visible thing on the field, in case the missiles could be guided manually. She felt a jolt of sheer terror as a missile separated from the drone and raced toward her. She took off at a sprint, then dove headlong into the grass.

  The explosion was deafening, flattening the grass with its shockwave and rattling every bone in her body. She blacked out for several seconds, and when she awoke, she felt like she was trapped inside a paint-mixer. The world spun, then shook, sending waves of nausea washing over her.

  Rolling over onto her back, she waited for the next missile to strike. Then, after nearly a minute, she sat up. The grass around her crackled with newly-lit fires. Sixty feet to her left, the ground was blackened around a ten-foot-wide crater.

  She searched the skies, looking for the deadly reconnaissance plane. All that remained was a puff of dark gray smoke, which hung several hundred feet above the ground—the anti-aircraft drone had found its mark.

  Wincing, Janson got to her feet and jogged to meet up with the team. When she arrived, the snipers resumed firing, disabling the last of the grenade launchers. Yuri rushed to her side, pulled her hood off, and shined a flashlight into her eyes.

  “I can’t believe you’re still alive,” he said. “That explosion looked like it was right on top of you.”

  Janson held perfectly still as the medic massaged different parts of her scalp, checking for swelling. “I think I’ll be alright. I’ve had an…upgrade specifically designed to treat concussions.”

  Yuri grinned. “How do I get one of those?”

  “Hang around Daron long enough, and you might,” Janson said, smirking. “And your consent is optional.”

  “On second thought,” Yuri said, holding her wrist and gently moving her arm through its range of motion, “I’ll skip the upgrade.”

  “Good choice.”

  Yuri finished checking her for injuries, then told her she was fine, but to let him know if her headache persisted, or if she felt nausea, dizziness, or numbness. She thanked him, then sent him back to the formation to help with security.

  As soon as Yuri shouldered his bag and walked away, Ford approached Janson and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

  Janson glanced at the hand, and Ford quickly pulled it away.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said, smiling at his discomfort. “I don’t have the same, fatal flaw that you have.”

  Ford crossed his arms. “Which is?”

  “Stubbornness.”

  Ford gave the tiniest of chuckles, then spoke in a low voice. “Just…don’t die. I’d be a mess without you.”

  Janson rolled her eyes, then pulled her hood into place. “I’ll try not to inconvenience you.” She nodded toward the distant forest. “Let’s get going, the sooner we get there, the better.

  Before
Ford could turn to leave, Kacen shouted, “Alpha, something’s coming! North end of the forest.”

  32

  Janson glanced to the right, then frowned. “What is that?”

  Kacen gasped. “Enemy drones!”

  Janson rushed forward and raised her binoculars. She swore under her breath, then barked out orders. “Everyone, get your interceptors in the air, then dig in and ready shotguns.”

  The team began tearing apart their gear, unloading dozens of tiny quadcopters designed to intercept incoming mortars. Eli held up a Bluetooth transmitter and held down a button, syncing the quadcopters and reprogramming them for drone-intercept.

  The quadcopters rose into the air with the sound of a thousand flies. They moved as one, rushing toward the incoming swarm.

  “We don’t have enough,” Eli shouted. “That swarm will tear our interceptors to shreds.”

  Janson stared at the oncoming cloud and guessed it would arrive in less than two minutes. She visualized the battle ahead, trying to anticipate the swarm’s behavior. After several moments, she said, “Close the gap. Rally on me.”

  The operatives exchanged glances for a moment, then Trent said, “Are you serious? We’ll be sitting ducks.”

  “Just do it,” Janson barked.

  After a brief hesitation, the team moved through the grass until they formed a loose ring around Janson.

  “Closer,” she said. “Cluster up.”

  The order went against everything the operatives had been trained to do, but they complied. Janson stepped away from the cluster and reorganized the shooters into a tight formation.

  “We’re facing artificial intelligence here,” she explained. “If we spread out, the swarm will spread out. The drones will use whatever weapons they have to pick us off, one by one, and we won’t have a chance of bringing them down individually. If we stay close, they’ll stay close, and we can pummel them with everything we’ve got.”