by Mich Moore
the criminal elements to trap and torture police squads or lost travelers.
What was working in their favor was that an advance team had already combed the city of its worst offenders. They really should not have any serious trouble. Palladino dared to relax a bit. The worst was behind them. Once they got back to Granite City, all that was left to do was check in with Higgins. Debriefing would not take place until tomorrow evening at the earliest; that would leave him plenty of time to write up his report.
A tiny fireball streaked by directly in front of them.
"WHOA!" Smith jerked the steering wheel to the left. Then their windshield was rocked by a violent explosion. The bulletproof glass did not shatter but underwent severe feathering from top to bottom.
Palladino screamed into his microphone. "We're under attack!"
The cab of the truck suddenly bucked upwards as another explosion ripped through the truck's undercarriage.
Smith wrestled with the large steering wheel and tried to guide the rig over to the side of the road. "We're just sitting ducks here!" he shouted to Palladino. "We should evac immediately!"
Palladino yelled into the walkie-talkie. "Everyone get hot for an immediate evac. Thirty seconds." Inside his men would now be unlocking the gun bays on every DAT.
Although the rig's engine was sprouting flames, Smith managed to glide the large vehicle up onto the sidewalk and behind several large trees. The trees and the dark would afford them some measure of cover once they were forced outside.
Small arms fire assailed the driver's side door from across the street. Smith slid over and exited the truck with Palladino out the passenger door. They jumped down onto the ground and crouched-walked their way to the rear of the trailer. The doors flew open and the walk ramp slid out perfectly. The combat engineers emerged first, guns at the ready, followed by the AIs and then the horses.
They ran for a large section of unlit street.
Flemish caught up with Smith and Palladino. "We've got at least three shooters in that white house. Probably just locals getting in on the action. That IED was set by a professional, so we might be close to a Cabo nest."
Palladino stepped back and made a brief sweep of the nearby homes. Hanging from inside the window of a darkened house was a black flag with a red dragon emblazoned on the front.
He returned to his unit. "We're smack in the middle of Cabo. And we've got to get out of here. In thirty minutes half of this area is going to be in orbit. The truck's busted, and it's too dangerous to try and make it out on foot."
"Let's get someone out here from Scott. They can send a helo—"
Palladino suddenly stiffened and put a finger to his lips.
"Yo! Sal donde podamos ver!"
A man wearing a black commando outfit was standing across the street in front of a house with a wide portico. He carried what looked to be a fully-automatic machine gun. And he was not alone. At least six other similarly clad figures emerged from an open garage door that was adjacent to the house.
"Venga y mataremos a usted dónde se encuentra." A gun's muzzle flashed.
Smith cursed beneath his breath, and he and Palladino hoisted their rifles into firing position and aimed. Too late. Too late!
"FIRE!"
There was a barrage of gunfire. Palladino and Smith instantly crumpled to the ground.
Flemish fell back behind the trailer and got busy pumping out round after round into their attackers. He watched two get blown backwards with grim satisfaction. Mackey and Clayton began to spray the street for cover as Bosely ran to the aid of Palladino and Smith.
With random bullets pinging all around him, he began to lightly run his hands over the fallen men. "Gene! Auggie! You okay? Where you hit?"
Smith was unconscious, but Palladino was alert and hurting. "My leg's hurt."
Bosely groped around until he found their pull handles and then dragged the men towards the relative safety of several cars parked nearby. Once he made sure that they were all out of the line of fire, he popped open a morphine pin and plunged it into Palladino's leg. Then he went to work on Smith. The combat engineer had a chest wound and was losing blood rapidly.
Something blocked out the vague illumination coming from the single streetlight.
Pete and Colleen had made their way over and were now staring down at the wounded men. Their comm boards were eerily dark. "It's all right, Pete. Your daddy's going to be fine." The DATs stood very still. "I want you to do me a favor. I want you to go stand by Vic and Leo until we can get some more help. Okay?"
The DATs did not respond,
"GO!" he yelled at them.
The robots began to move, walking in a broad semicircle back towards the horses.
Just then the tempo of the shooting picked up and bullets seemed to come from every direction. The back of the truck was targeted again. The horses, which had been standing nearby, were startled and broke out into the open street. Leo went down in a hail of bullets. Pete stopped and spun around. He ran over to the stricken horse and watched as the death spasms began to strike throughout the big horse's body.
"Dejen de disparar sus armas!"
The shooting abruptly stopped. Bodies were writhing everywhere.
Pete stepped out further into the open, heading straight for the gunmen.
A raspy voice called out to an unseen partner. "Que pasa? Julien? Que pasa?"
"Lo que en nombre de Dios es esto?" someone asked fearfully.
"El diablo!"
Bosely broke cover and called out. "Pete! Come back here!"
The DAT turned his head once to look back at the medic.
His comm screen flashed. "Targeting the enemy." Then the AI assumed the stalk position and methodically advanced on the cartel assailants. The men, apparently convinced that the real underworld had opened up and released its demon spawn, shouldered their guns and ran for three light-colored sport cars parked down the block. They jumped in. Pete hurried after them. Bosely watched as the AI approached one of the cars from the rear. The DAT trotted up to peer inside the driver's side window. The assailant inside cursed loudly. There was a muzzle flash and a telltale puff of smoke, and the DAT cartwheeled backwards and smashed into a parked car.
Bosely gaped in horror at the small body lying in the road and screamed. "PETER!!!"
The gunmen started their car engines and peeled out. Bosely forgot everything else and made straight for the fallen DAT. "Oh, my God."
Bosely had almost reached Pete when the DAT suddenly came alive. The AI sprang to his feet, sagged some, took a few steps, and then fell back down again. Bosely put on the brakes. Something told him to wait. The AI struggled to his feet again. This time, his footing was sure. With some difficulty, he turned himself in the direction that the Cabo gunmen had taken. He then extended his tail rudder and sprinted down the street after them.
Bosely put a hand over his mouth. "Jesus."
The night swallowed up the DAT. They now had a top-secret weapon on the loose in a metropolitan area that was about to undergo a cleaning. The mission was now in jeopardy. But he could not worry about that now. With the cartel gunmen gone, he knew that he and his men and the other DATs were now in even greater danger. The block began to come alive as porch lights flicked on and doors creaked open and slammed shut. Rough voices began call outs.
Bosely ran back to his squad.
Pools of precious blood were forming on the asphalt and making their way to city drains.
He came upon Flemish first. "We've got more trouble." He scanned the truck that they had just been riding in. "Let's get everybody inside."
Flemish hoisted his gun up and began to sight. "Too late."
There were now more people converging on the scene. Front doors were flung open, and entire families spilled out onto their lawns. Many were carrying items grabbed in haste: mostly baseball bats and kitchen knives. One elderly woman, a tiny thing with a silver hair bun, was brandishing the bars from a tricycle. Tonight's entertainment so far had no doubt been explosi
ve ... like electricity being shot through a dead battery. The people wore excited expressions, no doubt inspired by the barrage of gunfire and bloodied bodies. And what Cabo had started they were now free to finish. A young girl in pigtails rallied the crowd. "Let's get all of them!"
The HCs surged forward. Bosely shoved a couple of would-be attackers aside and shot three others point blank. Flemish and Mackey pumped out hot lead until their guns ran dry. Within milliseconds they had reloaded their weapons and were cutting loose with blistering assaults, forcing those still alive to take cover beneath cars and behind hedges. While Flemish corralled the remaining DATs, Bosely and Clayton grabbed Palladino and Smith, and they all retreated to the truck trailer. Flemish bolted the doors. As soon as he was seated at his console, Clayton began to furiously type commands into a computer, trying to initiate a link with the runaway DAT.
But either the signal was being blocked or the DAT was ignoring the tap.
He re-typed the command. "Situation: Emergency. Peter. Return to team." There was no response. "I know that little shithead hears me," he growled.
Boseley checked another console. "I don't think so." He was grinning. "Daniel's jamming your signal."
Clayton was flummoxed. "Are you kidding me?"
"We need them to make decisions in the field. Careful what you wish for."
HCs began to bang on the back doors. Clayton yanked on a rubber blister on his jacket and then gave a sharp tug on a red plug under his left armpit. The plug popped up along with a miniature antennae assembly. The mini
