by John Conroe
It was a real problem. If we opened the door and went head to head with another of the four horsemen, we’d have to make an unholy amount of noise to take it down, not that we were even assured of doing so. Each of Plum Blossom’s creations might be unique, with maybe more armor or better weapons.
My ChemJet kicked each mini rocket round out of the barrel no faster than the standard 7.62 rounds the other two were using. Maybe even a bit slower. The little rockets could accelerate each bullet to frightening speeds, but I had no idea if six meters was enough to achieve the velocity necessary to punch through the armor. Actually more like four meters, since the rockets took a couple of meters from the muzzle to ignite.
Likewise, Rikki had anti-armor micro missiles but again, they needed arming distance. But even if we killed the thing right off the bat, the noise of the firefight would bring every other drone from every direction, and we still had to get to the stairs and climb to where we thought Plum Blossom might be. How did we get past this thing, whatever it was?
We stared at each other, the wheels of thought turning as we individually considered the problem.
Suddenly the right side rocket pod on Rikki’s top surface rotated out. He has four pods: two big ones under his wings and two smaller units up top where his wings meet his main fuselage, right at the wing root. The under pods have the most micro missile capacity and carry the bigger weapons, like thermobaric, anti-armor, and air-to-air high explosive. The upper pods carry smaller, more specialized micro missiles, like decoy units and stuff I wasn’t sure about because Yoshida and his people kept experimenting with new shit all the time.
As soon as the pod opened, both soldiers moved hastily away from the back blast zone, but I didn’t. He wouldn’t fire with any of us behind him, especially me. He was up to something.
There was a soft ting sound and a small missile the length of my hand popped out from its launcher cradle and rolled one revolution toward the edge of his wing. Without thought, I stepped forward and grabbed it before it could roll farther and fall off, making a perhaps deadly sound.
Rikki’s hologram blinked on and off, grabbing my attention.
Anti-drone Huntress micro missile. It carries no explosives, instead using EMP pulse to knock out drones.
Again, it was clear that I wasn’t as up to date on all his refinements as I should have been, a fact clearly shown by my lack of knowledge of his Potter Cloak 3.0 capability. I had no idea any of his little missiles could produce an electro-magnetic pulse, especially the one I was currently holding.
Kwan and Tyson must have read my face because they both leaned over to read his hologram. When they looked back at me, both were looking far more thoughtful than concerned. Kwan opened a pocket in his shirt and pulled out a small notebook and an old-school pencil. He wrote quickly, in a very neat print.
Huntress was the response to the Artemis missile that blew up the building and buried the Bonnen LAV. This unit produces a big pulse of EM instead of an explosion.
I held up both hands and signed How big? in American Sign Language.
He shook his head and shrugged but Tyson, who was looking over his shoulder, grabbed the pencil and wrote his own answer.
Close contact pulse for direct contact to within one meter that produces maximum disruption. Minor pulse emanates out to five meters in all directions.
I signed again, Can we set it off by hand? In ASL grammar, that was actually more like hand, set off, can we?
Kwan shrugged and turned to Tyson, who was considering the question. Then he too shrugged. I aimed my next signing at the back of Rikki’s ocular band. It sees in 360 degrees. How do we use EMP. A second later, his hologram popped back on, scrolling rapidly through green sentences.
Remove nose cone by backing out four hex-head screws. EMP package is held inside with two plastic clips. Break those off with needle-nose pliers on your multi-tool. Drop EMP unit into hand. Cloaked operator opens door and tosses EMP. Rikki unit remote detonates when unit impacts unknown drone. AJ covers with experimental rifle. Rikki unit must retreat to rear of room to avoid effects of pulse. Electromagnetic energy will be felt by nearby enemy drones but with no explosive sound or weapons fire, the incident will fall outside the parameters of drone programming. Most likely response will be for careful investigation, but not rapid entry. AJ, Rikki, and two sergeants to be inside stairwell and ascending before drones make it inside building. Advise that optic cloaks will likely fail when EMP pulse contacts them.
I read it, the others looking over my shoulder. Then we all stared at each other, amazement clear on each face. Tyson looked shocked, Kwan maybe awed. Me, I think my mouth must have hit the floor. My friggin’ drone had just laid out the most plausible plan to remove a dangerous enemy bot with unknown capabilities… on his own.
Chapter 16
I’m in, Kwan signed in ASL. Tyson saw it and signed his own agreement. After a second, I finally nodded too. Kwan raised both eyebrows at my hesitation and signed again. Problem? Think of something?
I shook my head and signed back my response. Shocked at detail. Plan is really good.
It’s your F’ing drone… you programmed it! he came back.
I shrugged. He looked at me evenly then turned to Tyson, who just pointed at his wrist, where some people still wore retro watches. His message was clear—ticktock. Kwan nodded and pointed at my hand, or rather, the little missile it held.
Tyson pulled a multi-tool from his gear and opened it to a hex-head driver, then handed it to me and backed away a meter or so. I gave him a glare and turned to Kwan. He backed up too.
Cowards.
Nice. I got on with it. Each screw backed right out and I carefully set them on Rikki’s rock-steady surface. Then I pulled the nosepiece off. Looking inside, I couldn’t see shit—too dark. I looked at Kwan and squinted at the missile tube. He got the message, pulling a chem light from a pocket. With a quick bend, he snapped the glass inside and shook it to make it light up. Then he held it over the open end of the missile. Inside, by the grayish-green light that was the result of our Potter Cloaks, I could now see a cylinder of gleaming metal. On opposite sides of the tube were little white plastic bits that quickly yielded to Tyson’s pliers. Funny, the government using plastic, a substance that is used less and less by a conservation-minded society every day.
Tilting the missile, I went to drop the plastic retainers on the floor, but Kwan’s hand shot out and caught them. He held up an index finger on his free hand and gave me the no-no signal. Quite right. Never leave anything behind.
I shrugged off the minor embarrassment I felt and shook the missile. The shiny bundle that was the EMP unit slid out into my hand. Kwan reached for it and I let him take it. Rikki’s holo display blinked again, so I glanced at the new words.
Put comparable weight and sized object inside tube and reattach nosepiece. Place back in missile magazine.
He could still launch the missile, and maybe it would knock out a drone from kinetic force alone. After a moment of thought, I pulled a little container of spare 10mm e-mag balls I carried for Rikki and found I could fit five of the hardened steel balls inside the missile tube. The ammo feed hopper port opened on Rikki’s back by itself, and I carefully put the remaining five balls inside. Then I put the nose cone back on the missile and screwed it down. When I held it up to its previous placement on Rikki’s missile pod, the little clamps snapped closed on it instantly and then the whole missile unit folded back into place as both of the lower, bigger pods simultaneously rotated out.
Time to party. I moved back away from the door, rifle barrel pointing off to the left but level with the ground. Rikki moved back as well, the bulk of his airframe between me and the door. Kwan noted that with raised brows before giving me a thumbs up. I nodded. He turned to Tyson, who was at the door, holding the knob. Tyson nodded as well.
Kwan kneeled down, which gave me a clear field of fire, and held up three fingers with his left hand, his right cocked back with the EMP pod in it,
ready to throw. After one last glance at both of us, he took a deep breath and nodded. Then one finger folded, a second finger folded, and finally, the last. As his hand formed into a fist, Tyson pulled the door open with one solid yank. Kwan threw the EMP at the nightmare that towered at the other end of the hall and then dropped flat.
The drone, whose top segment was printed with a stenciled WAR, spun around so fast, I almost crapped myself. A single metal arm with a pincher on the end snapped around and snatched the EMP out of the air. And instantly froze as the little EMP projectile crackled and buzzed.
The gray vision instantly cleared and my gunsight, which by this time was centered on the metal monster, went dead. Then we were moving, Rikki zooming forward before Kwan could regain his feet. I followed the Gunny, and Tyson followed me, all of us racing for the dark EXIT sign that pointed toward the familiar stairwell door on the right.
Kwan had the door open and I shot past him, seeing Rikki fly over the WAR bot, a small black metal can-shaped object falling out of a port on my drone’s underside. It hit the horseman drone with a soft clang and stuck. Then I was inside the black stairwell, covering the stairs with my weapon while hearing Tyson run in after me. A second later, Rikki zoomed overhead and up into the darkness. Kwan carefully closed the door and we started for the stairs.
All three of us snapped chem lights as we climbed, moving to get space between us and the ground floor drones, but not willing to do so in pitch darkness.
The heavy fire door at the stairwell’s entrance muffled sound, but all three of us glanced at each other as we heard the whine of UAV fans in the hall. We moved faster, me first, then Kwan, Tyson bringing up the rear. I set each foot carefully into the the most recent tracks on the dusty steps—my own, from a little more than a month before. Behind me, I noticed the others stepping where I did, so that we weren’t leaving any new tracks that might alert the drones behind us.
We were two floors up when a sound below froze us in our tracks. A glance over the railing, down into the depths, showed a bloom of daylight. The stairwell door had just been opened. Hurriedly, we each tucked our chem lights into our clothing, hiding the pale green glow.
All three of us listened intently, but no matter how hard I strained, I couldn’t pick up a sound. Not the whine of a fan, nor the minor hum of a servo.
I tapped the Potter Cloak’s headband control, but nothing seemed to happen. A glance through the ChemJet’s rifle sight, with a shake of the rifle for good measure, didn’t result in the sighting reticle lighting up. Tyson tapped his own headband, once, then a second time. Nothing happened.
Kwan suddenly held up one finger, getting our attention. Then he pointed it at his own ear. Tyson and I froze, listening. After two seconds, we all heard a sound. A click. Like something metal coming down on concrete. Both soldiers had alert expressions on their faces. Then we heard another click. Suddenly I knew what had made that sound—I’ve heard it before, closer even than this: the sound of a Tiger’s metal claw as it hit stone, asphalt, or concrete.
I held up my left hand and signed Tiger.
Both men frowned but nodded their understanding. I signed Switch places with me to Tyson, lightly patting the stock of the ChemJet so he would understand. 7.62mm armor piercing rounds, which is all they carried in their magazines, could chew through Tiger armor, but my ChemJet would kill it quicker, even at the short distance we would have on the stairwell.
He nodded and I moved, almost climbing up onto the stair rail, Kwan following my example a second later, so that Tyson could take point. Kwan followed him and I stepped silently off last. Another click sounded in the dark depths below, followed quickly by a second. Without a sign or signal, we all picked up our pace. Rikki was somewhere above us, scouting the stairs for drones ahead of us. It was up to me to provide security from the metal death below.
We kept moving, slower now as we took pains to be even more silent, pausing every three to five steps to listen. I had no real way to judge these things, but I felt like the few random clicks I was hearing were down by the first floor, as Europeans would call it, second floor by American definition. We were snail crawling past the third, a scant two floors between us and the relentless killer below.
The clicking continued and we kept climbing, the stress mounting with every step. Sure it was easy on our cardio, climb-wise, but murder on our nerves and tense muscles. Like slow yoga while carrying weights. And only fifteen more floors to go. My mind kept flashing back to every scary mystery movie I’d ever seen, where the victim is walking in darkness or fog and every time they stop, they hear a footstep that stops as well. We were being stalked.
My hope was that the Tiger’s power conservation programming would kick in if it didn’t get definitive sensory evidence of our presence. It was losing and using power every moment that went by, here in the lightless stairwell. Either it had already captured enough solar power to see it through till tomorrow morning, or it would decide the utility of gathering more energy outweighed expending it for no reward. Every tread higher was potentially the one that the Tiger’s internal logic circuits would decide enough was enough. As long as we were silent.
It was Gunny Kwan whose foot brushed the piece of paper on the stair. It must have lain there for over ten years, undisturbed—just common, for the time, copier paper, the stuff that I had seen in countless places across Manhattan. I didn’t see what happened, didn’t observe how his foot touched it, as I was watching behind us. I heard it though. The oh-so-soft crinkle of paper. Really just the slightest rustle. We all froze. Below us, the clicking stopped entirely. Seconds ticked by.
Then came the whine of heavy servos, the screech of metal raking across concrete followed by a heavy thump that shook the whole stairwell. And immediately repeated again, and again, coming faster with every second.
Chapter 17
The Tiger was pounding up the stairs, invisible in the darkness no matter how much noise it made. I pulled my lit chem light from inside my vest and dropped it on the landing four steps below me. Tyson took off up the steps, Kwan hard on his heels. I followed as fast as I could, climbing the stairs backward so that I could watch the pool of light, which now that the cloaks were dead was back to a blue color. The stairs shook as the monster leapt up them, clearing whole sections of stairs with every bound.
I had made it to the next landing when the Tiger landed right over my light. The ChemJet shuddered in my hands before I was even aware I was firing. A three or four-round burst. I was just looking through the dead sight, using the folding backup sights as best I could in the dark.
Two of my rounds hit the Tiger, ripping right through both sides of the bot, shards of concrete spalling out from under its black-striped bulk. One or maybe both rounds must have damaged its front leg apparatus, as it collapsed forward onto its head. Suddenly fans were blowing down alongside me and a bright light lit up the Tiger as Rikki arrived.
My last squeeze of the trigger was just a soft feathering, just enough to send a pair of rocket-propelled bullets though the spot on its armored torso where it kept its CPU.
I turned back to tell the others to run but they were gone, the pounding of their feet finally reaching my gunshot-deafened ears. Shit, I was getting left behind. Turning, I pushed my tired and tensed-up legs into a full run, my speed starting to pick up after the first half dozen steps. Leaping two and three stairs a time, I still wasn’t catching up to the special operators with their head start, but I also didn’t seem to be falling farther behind either.
Below us, the ground floor door burst off its hinges and something really large hit the stairs. I had a really bad feeling that either War had recovered from the EMP burst or that one of its siblings was on our trail.
Sudden, eye-searing blue light ripped through the darkness, a lance of light the diameter of a shot glass that came up at a diagonal right through the concrete exterior wall. The Tank-Killer had elevated its laser cannon and was firing where it thought we were. Probably based on the thin
g below us. Standard military multi-domain battle space integration.
“Incendiary mine ignition now,” Rikki suddenly announced, and a bloom of sun-hot light flared from somewhere on the stairs below. The sounds of the monster pursuing us faltered and slowed but still kept coming. Then came the wine of UAVs entering the stairwell.
