Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone

by T. R. Harris

  “Which qualifies me to make such a definitive statement.” Simms then turned to him with a sly smile. “So how was your time off, stud?”

  Xander frowned. “Have you been spying on me again?”

  “Always,” Jamie said, his eyes displaying a sinister sparkle. “It’s for your own protection, my friend.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  The two men stopped at the door to the conference room. “Good luck in there. And remember, don’t reveal any state secrets.”

  Xander looked up at the tiny camera lens pointed down at them from the ceiling opposite the doorway. “With big brother watching and listening, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  As he entered the conference room, the smell of perfume was the first impression Xander Moore had of Tiffany Collins, and this particular fragrance was intoxicating. Even if Collins wasn’t absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, her perfume would have convinced Xander otherwise.

  Instead, he was hit with a double-whammy, a near-narcotic perfume scent along with the sight of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in person. Tiffany Collins stood near the end of the conference table, a slight smile painted on her full lips as she studied him with laughing eyes. Measuring five-foot-eight—in stiletto heels—her silky blond waves reached down to mid-back, with the explosion of yellow framing her tanned, balanced face and high cheekbones perfectly. Impossibly blue eyes, along with blinding-white teeth in perfect alignment, rounded out the experience.

  She extended a delicate, tanned hand with exquisitely-manicured nails sporting French tips.

  Xander was no slouch in the looks department, but even he fought to keep a neutral demeanor, although he suspected from her humorous eyes that the woman saw right through his façade of indifference. Mentally, he gave her a pass. Based solely on her looks, Tiffany Collins could have done anything she wanted in life—or nothing at all. Yet instead of taking the easy path through marriage to some aging billionaire, she chose the thankless job of a broadcast journalist, one that would set her up for ridicule by a majority who would consider her just another dumb blonde, an airhead hired exclusively for her looks.

  “Ms. Collins, very nice to meet you—in person—I’ve been a big fan of yours on Fox for years.”

  They shook hands—the strong, firm grip of someone with immense confidence. “So here’s the three-dimensional me standing before you,” she said, “rather than the two-dimensional image you see on TV. Now all my imperfections become obvious.”

  “That would take someone with better eyesight than mine, and even then, good luck with that.”

  “You’re too kind … Mr. Doe. Is that what I’m supposed to call you?”

  “Smith will do just fine.”

  They sat down at the table, she at the head and Xander in the seat next to her on the left. At this distance her perfume was more evident, yet not overpowering. He made a mental note to save a container of air from the room after she was gone, just as a reminder…

  Or he could take a more direct approach. “Forgive me, Ms. Collins, but what is that perfume you’re wearing? I’m sure in most countries it would be considered a narcotic.”

  Her laugh was genuine and unforgiving. “It’s a special find I made in Italy a few years back, very rare and very exclusive. I could tell you what it’s called but then I’d have to kill you. Kind of like the conversation we’re about to have.”

  “I wouldn’t kill you, Ms. Collins,” Xander said, meeting her bright eyes with a steady gaze of his own. “Someone else would do it for me.”

  “Please, if you don’t start calling me Tiffany, I may have to kill myself … myself.” She took a notepad from a pocket of her stylish blue pantsuit. “Simple pen and paper,” the reporter said. “Basic tools of the trade before technology took over and made it more complicated … which, if I’m not mistaken, is what this interview is all about. The technology being employed today by terrorists is some of the most basic we have. They’re essentially using toys to kill thousands of innocent people around the world each year…”

  Tiffany began to take notes, her flirtatious nature gone. She was the professional now, and the subject she was covering was of extreme importance. “Drones—and radio controlled cars—have been around for a long time,” she continued, “so why do you think there’s been this sudden surge in their use by terrorists and other radicals?”

  “They’re easy to obtain, they’re cheap, and they’re anonymous in most cases,” Xander began. “Gone are the days of the suicide bomber. Today we have the suicide robot. It allows for more frequent attacks and a much higher survival rate for the perpetrators.”

  “Do you believe they’re simply following the lead of the US military with respect to the use of drones, such as the Predator and Nighthawk?”

  “Without a doubt, although our drone attacks are not the reason they’ve begun to employ these tactics. The use of UAVs—Unmanned Aerial Vehicles—and RC vehicles, has simply expanded their reach and opportunities.”

  “And yet we set the precedents for their use—”

  “I don’t accept that,” Xander answered. He knew she was baiting him, but some comments couldn’t go unchallenged. “The initial use of drones, by Bush Two—and even before that with Clinton and cruise missiles—was primarily against known terrorists and aimed solely at them. Sure, occasionally there was some collateral damage, and we suffered mightily for that. Yet the actions taken by terrorists these days are designed to cause panic within the civilian population through seemingly random acts of violence, or to exact costly damage to our cities and infrastructure. The drone strike last year on the Hoover Dam was a perfect example of this. Granted, it was a rookie attempt and no real damage was caused, yet it still shows how indiscriminate our enemies can be and what lengths they’re willing to go in their fight against America and our allies. The difference between them and us is that we target only the guilty, while they target everyone.”

  Xander noticed the slight up curling of Tiffany’s lips as she looked down at her notepad. You little minx, he thought. You’re playing me just to get a reaction.

  She looked up and caught his accusatory eye. A flash of embarrassment crossed her face. “If I recall, didn’t this latest surge in drone attacks actually begin as something not even terrorist related?”

  Xander welcomed the change of topic. “You’re right. It was the robbery of the First National Bank of New York seven years ago.”

  “Tell me about that. The Rapid Defense Center wasn’t even around at that time, was it?”

  “That would come two years later, but the robbery started it all. A small RC—remote-controlled—car drove into the lobby of the bank.”

  “It had a bomb on it, didn’t it?”

  “That’s right. Six sticks of dynamite, linked to a cellphone detonator. As you probably already know, that robbery didn’t end well, and it led to a whole new category of criminal activity.

  “Soon after that the first terrorist-linked drone attacks took place. Unlike the robberies, no amount of security or appeasement could keep these remotely-controlled vehicles from exploding indiscriminately in just about any place a crowd assembled. This was a new breed of terrorist, a person who could pull a nine-to-five shift delivering death and destruction around the world, only to return home at the end of the day to his wife and children without risking a hair on his head. From huge, international terror organizations all the way down to sick individuals with a single agenda, there was little that could be done at the time to prevent drone attacks, and to make matters worse, the equipment and technology required to carry out such horrific acts of terror was readily available from any Radio Shack, Walmart, or hobby store. As a result, the Rapid Defense Center was established, and now we’re the country’s most effective tool against drone attacks.”

  “Yet the RDC doesn’t actually prevent attacks; you respond to them, just like what happened the other day at the Dolphin Mall. Were you involved in that?”

  “Can’t say, Ms.
Collins, that’s classified, but as I was saying, the terrorists would strike at anything, as long as it was big enough and could get the most headlines. You couldn’t negotiate with them, and no money was asked for in most cases. They simply wanted to kill, and kill they did. Before the Center was established to counter these attacks, there were nine thousand—I repeat—nine thousand Americans killed in one year alone. That’s three times the number of people killed on 9/11, and more than died in the Iraq, Afghan, and Syrian wars combined. Because of our efforts here—and by others around the world—that number is down to just over five thousand in the latest twelve months, and that’s world-wide.”

  “So let’s talk about that, Mr. Smith.” Her smile was back. “With such a proliferation of attacks taking place, something had to be done. How exactly does the Center defend against such attacks?”

  “As you pointed out, we can do very little to prevent attacks, that responsibility lies with other agencies within the government. The Center comes into play once an event is underway. Just about every major building, monument, sports venue and mall now have their own defensive drone fleet. In addition to this, in communities across the nation—and soon to be around the world—the RDC has bunkers set up with fleets of the most-advanced ground and air units, all remotely-controlled from here. The moment we get notification that an event is underway our teams go into action and activate the closest rapid response units or civilian drones.”

  “Even the privately-owned security drones?”

  “That’s right. Quite honestly, we have the best remote pilots in the world, and our civilian counterparts acknowledge this. They’re more-than-willing to let us take the lead during an attack. We can deploy within seconds of the call with state-of-the-art weaponry and equipment. We do our best to limit the damage caused by the attacks.”

  “And just how big is the Center?”

  Xander knew his job was to provide just enough information to give the population a feeling of security. He had been through this before, and most of the information was available online. But still the reporter insisted on asking.

  “I can’t be specific, but we are much larger than the military foreign drone program ever was.”

  “Because of the need?”

  “Mainly because of the scope of our operations. We cover the entire United States and our territories, with literally hundreds of rapid-response bunkers ready to respond at a moment’s notice. Also, the devices within these bunkers have to be maintained and tested constantly to assure their readiness when called upon. And then we need operators—pilots. In the past we’ve had as many as ten simultaneous events taking place. That requires trained pilots and sensor-operators to cover all the shifts and be ready to react when needed.”

  “And all out of here?”

  “We are the main center, yet rest assured, as it is with most government functions, there are backups to the backups.”

  “As I mentioned before,” the reporter continued, “drones have been around for a long time, but now they’ve been regulated so much that everyone assumes that a drone in the air is up to no good. There have been protests by hobbyists and others against these restrictions. What do you say to these people?”

  “Hey, I was one of them for a long time. I got my first drone when I was eight. Then I began to build them. At that time there were so many kits available—in fact you could buy a drone for less than twenty dollars back then.”

  “But they weren’t the sophisticated UAVs we have today.”

  “Some were. Depending on how much you could spend, there were units capable of being converted into killers quite easily.”

  “But there were—are—safety features in them.”

  Xander’s smile was more of a smirk. “Like everything else, regulations are designed to keep law-abiding citizens from violating the rules. Criminals don’t care about laws—that’s why they’re criminals. Sure, there are safeguards programmed into the flight controllers, but like any computer program, there are ways around them.”

  “The killboxes?”

  “Exactly. If someone has the money and the access, they can acquire a killbox, and in less than a minute all safeguards are voided. But even more, the internals within the killbox allow for standardized reprogramming that can make even a mid-range drone into a killer.”

  “Please explain.”

  Xander hesitated. He knew all this information was available in the clear, but he was an official spokesperson for the government, so he couldn’t make the situation appear too bleak. His job was to comfort the public, not make them even more paranoid than they already were.

  Tiffany sensed his trepidation. “My report will be screened through your security people, Mr. Smith. I’d just like to know … for background.”

  “Please use discretion, Tiffany. After what happened in Miami, we don’t want to do anything more to dampen the spirit of the holiday season.”

  “I understand. Please continue.”

  Xander nodded. “As you know, drones are controlled through radio frequencies, and in the early days it was possible to jam these signals without too much difficulty, even though it was illegal for civilians to do so.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Because drones operate on the same frequencies as Wi-Fi, cellphones, and even 9-1-1 calls, so if a person were to build an illegal jamming device they could disrupt the entire grid, if even in the case of civil emergencies, the government would take such drastic measures. But then technology changed, and the killboxes have allowed a whole array of additional operations to be programmed into the flight controllers which are prohibited in most civilian drones, including the use of the misnamed random frequency generators.”

  “Misnamed?”

  “That’s right, because there’s really nothing random about these units. An RFG is a matching set of pre-determined radio frequencies unique to a particular pair of drone and controller that are constantly changing. This makes it impossible to jam the drones unless you overload every known frequency.”

  “So there’s no way to stop them?”

  “Short of shooting them out of the air, not many. A few years ago they tried using focused electromagnetic pulses, but that only works outside and on unshielded commercial drones, not combat-rated UAVs. Some facilities have used drone nets, either shot from guns or dropped from the ceiling.”

  “I saw where one of these nets actually caused more harm than good.”

  “That’s right. Malls began using them right at the outset of the crisis, but a net is just as good at capturing innocent shoppers as it is at knocking a drone out of the air. Now modern combat drones can cut through the netting, and have a ready-made killing field of trapped civilians nearby when they do. Or they can simply detonate an onboard bomb, killing every person within range who couldn’t get away.”

  “Aren’t killboxes used mainly in the automatic drones?”

  “Autonomous drones, Tiffany. RFG and advanced satellite disruption is something we’re always working on, but that only applies to controlled units, what we call RPA’s or remotely-piloted aircraft. These days, a vast majority of attacks are carried out using autonomous drones which are programmed with a predetermined route and then sent off to accomplish their missions without outside influence. There’s no signal to jam, and since this class of drone is cheaper to purchase and operate, they’re the weapon of choice for terrorists. Killboxes also allow for the installation of sophisticated sense-and-avoid equipment, which enables a unit to scan its surroundings and avoid obstacles. These auto-units are able to effectively operate within buildings and far beyond the range of any pilot-controlled drone.”

  “Yet the one inherent limitation with drone warfare is battery life, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s another thing that technology has improved upon. Even ten years ago, the most you could expect was between twenty minutes to half-an-hour of flight time. Now with lightweight and long-lasting fuel cells, your average off-the-shelf UAVs can run for a co
uple of hours, maybe longer. And let’s face it, if an attack goes beyond half an hour or so, the effects will be exponentially worse.”

  “Won’t they run out of ammo long before that … or just explode?”

  “There’s not much that can done to stop the suicide drone designed simply to appear on-site and explode. For the others, there’s a whole menu of UAV-compatible armament now available, from lightweight nylon and composite cartridges to miniature missiles. And since most drone attacks take place at point blank range, there’s no need for a lot of range or penetrating power, so a decent-size combat drone can carry enough armament to last for a while, depending on how plentiful the targets are. That’s the reason the RDC has become so important. Without some countering force showing up on-site, these killer drones can just leisurely pick off targets as they’re located. I know the death toll always look high in most drone attacks—even to me—yet without us there to shut down an event, the numbers would be far worse.”

  “Thank you for sharing that with me, Mr. Smith. Now I’d like to spend a few minutes talking about the operators—the pilots, as you call them. Are you really pilots?”

  It was Xander’s turn to smile. “That’s what we’re called. I can be honest with you and say I don’t hold a pilot’s license for traditional aircraft; however, I’m pretty good with a controller in my hand.”

  Their eyes locked for a moment. “I’m sure you are, Mr. Smith.”

  The moment passed and she continued. “What about burnout and other psychological factors with your pilots? I know that was an ongoing problem with the military drone pilots.”

  “We don’t have that problem here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because our mission is completely different. What you’re referring to is the outdated foreign strike program. Those units have been retired. We now use the smaller UAVs.”

  “So what makes your mission so different?”

  “Simple, we’re completely defensive in nature. On background, Tiffany, the problem they had with the initial drone program came from the attachment the operators sometimes developed with their targets. They would often spend weeks surveilling a hostile before getting the order to take out them out. They weren’t given a reason, just the order. It’s one thing to be in a firefight against an enemy across the street shooting back at you. You’ll kill without remorse, justifying it as self-defense. Most of the PTSD live combat troops suffer is a result of the fear associated with such fighting, not from the act of killing itself. With the drone program, the issue became the killing. There was no direct feeling of self-defense or personal danger in these cases, and most compassionate people have a problem with simply following orders to execute a person—any person.”