Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone

by T. R. Harris

  “This defeats the random frequency generators?” Billy asked.

  “That it does not. It only affects the basic operation of the killbox, and then it only tends to confuse the programming, not completely override it. Test drones remain on station, but they’re infected with a form of computer Alzheimer’s. They can’t remember what they’re supposed to do when they get to where they’re going.”

  “That still leaves the RPAs.”

  Nathan turned to Xander. “Countering remotely-controlled aircraft is where live pilots come in. You, and other like you, are still vital; however, now you’ll only have the RPAs to contend with.”

  “Only if we have the combat drones available and the pilots to operate them.”

  “So, Nathan, are you ready to put your scramblers to work?” Tiffany asked.

  “Forty-eight hours, maybe a little longer. We first have to gain access to the major cell carriers’ transmission servers and satellites. Teams of Feds are out right now doing just that. We’re not giving the companies much choice, seeing that this is a national emergency, and we are operating under authority of martial law.”

  Nathan looked at Xander and smiled. “Now, Mr. Moore, I’d like to show you something you may find interesting.”

  The DARPA rep took them to another room, where a solitary object rested under a canvas tarp. Nathan pulled away the cover.

  Both Billy and Xander gasped when they saw—or more correctly, thought they saw—what was revealed under the tarp.

  It was a combat drone, yet like nothing they’d ever seen. First of all, it was long and flat, measuring nearly ten feet in length, with six, two-foot diameter rotor rings on each side, angled slightly to the inside. The thrust would be aimed toward the bottom of the UAV, while allowing for a free flow of air from the top of the rings. But what made this unit truly unique was the odd shimmering effect of the finish, something that made the eye hard to focus on any individual part. At a quick glance, the craft would appear as a blur, just a figment of the imagination.

  “Teflon, isn’t it?” Billy asked.

  “That’s right,” Nathan confirmed. “It’s something that’s been in the works for a decade, starting at UC San Diego, your old stomping grounds, Mr. Moore.”

  “What am I looking at?” Tiffany Collins asked.

  “It’s an invisibility cloak,” Xander answered. “A micro-thin coating of light-absorbing Teflon with microscopic ceramic disks embedded.”

  “But I can still see it—sort of—so it’s not really invisible.”

  “Of course not, Ms. Collins,” Nathan said. “It only serves to cut down on some of the visible aspects of the UAV, as well as the radar signature. It’s not truly invisible—just like all stealth technology—but it is a step forward.”

  “I should say it is,” Billy exclaimed. “We’ve been working on this technology at JEN-Tech for years and all we’ve been able to come up with is a heavier, shinier drone.”

  “Even if you did come up with the proper formula, it would be cost-prohibitive in civilian applications,” Nathan said.

  “I can see weapons—even they’re covered in the stuff,” Tiffany commented as the four of them moved closer to the drone and began to run their hands and fingers over the smooth, reflective surface.

  Tiffany was right. The unit itself was not more than a foot thick, with a four-foot by eight foot platform forming the top panel. And on this platform was about every weapon imaginable.

  “These are .60-cals,” Xander pointed out, “and full-metal jackets.”

  “Exactly, this unit can operate with over a ton of armament and at speeds of up to two hundred miles per hour. The flight controller is hardened and carries our best RFG, so they’ll be no jamming this baby. Made of titanium and reinforced composite, it can take a direct hit from an 88mm cannon shell and just bounce away. You may lose some of the add-ons on the platform, but they’re a minute change-out package. Operational altitude is up to ten thousand feet, maybe higher. Complete with telemetry and target tracking to cut down on collateral damage.”

  “Where’s the power box?” Billy asked.

  “The most-advanced fuel cells made,” Nathan said, “and integrated into the support structure under the weapons platform. Operating time at full power is six hours, and then a thirty-second change out for a new battery pack will have you up and running again. And one other thing…”

  Nathan walked over to a self-contained pilot’s station that resembled a huge sit-inside video game pod. He reached in and pressed a button on the control pad. The UAV came to life, filling the large room with a torrent of swirling wind. Everyone covered their eyes for a moment before all the minute dust in the room was swept away. That’s when Billy and Xander looked at each other in utter amazement.

  “Except for the wind in the room, the damn thing’s silent!” Xander exclaimed.

  He moved as close as he dared to the spinning propellers, each enclosed in its own rotor ring. The motors were actually part of the ring and of such a low profile and fully integrated into the design that it was hard to spot them. It made noise, yet it was such a low-pitched hum that it reminded Xander of a running refrigerator.

  “Please step away, Mr. Moore. There’s one more feature I’d like to show you.”

  Xander obeyed. When nothing happened, he turned to look at Nathan. “Sorry,” the scientist said. “Just trying to build a little suspense.” He then pressed another button on the console.

  The huge drone stayed airborne momentarily, as four of the propeller rings—two on each side of the vehicle—began to rotate to the vertical. In a matter of seconds the drone had four wheels resting on the floor, with the two center rings helping to provide modest lift and added maneuverability. The two small pusher propeller rings at the rear would add forward thrust.

  “Now it’s a ground unit, capable of maneuvering within tight quarters or all-out sprints at over one hundred miles per hour over land. Each ring is operated independently of the others, enabling the Goliath—that’s what we call them—to spin on its axis in place. And with the props engaged, the craft can hop over obstacles or even transition to full flight mode in five seconds flat.”

  There were several other drone models that were both ground and air units, but nothing with the capabilities of the Goliath. Xander and Billy were speechless, even when Nathan powered down the drone and leaned against the control pod with a satisfied grin on his face.

  Eventually Billy was able to shake himself from his stupor.

  “Who builds these things?” Billy asked with suspicion. His company was the leading domestic producer of advanced military drones, and he’d never seen anything like this before.

  “Actually, we built this one … and fifty-nine others.”

  “Sixty!” Xander cried out. “You have sixty of these things? Where are they? Are they operational? Do you have a command center set up?”

  “Relax, Mr. Moore, you’ll get your chance to play with our new toy.”

  “Screw that, Nathan!” Xander said, moving in closer to the scientist. “I don’t want to play with the damn things. I want to use them to stop the killing taking place. With sixty of these units, and your killbox override system, we could make a real difference.”

  Nathan was taken aback by Xander’s sudden display of passion. “I’m sorry if I implied something other than your complete devotion to your duty as an RDC pilot. And yes, we do have a command center set up. It’s over at Andrews.”

  “Where do you have these units deployed?”

  “Most are in the D.C. area, with a few in Texas for testing, and five in the Middle East, aboard the aircraft carrier Gerald Ford. They’re the next generation of CIA attack drones, scheduled for operational release by the end of next year.”

  “Next year! Screw that! We need them in the next hour.”

  “I know that, and since Monday we’ve been scrambling to get the domestic units out to where they’re needed the most. With their high cruising speed, most are being relea
sed to fly to their stations autonomously, taking only a few hours to get there at the most. The limiting factor is getting the relatively few power packs out to these sites, and of course our lack of skilled pilots.”

  Xander looked at the now inert drone. “I doubt if I could fly that thing without a pretty intensive training course.”

  “Not so. All the flight controls are compatible with those of the Viper-class, and the control stations are fully-integrated and intuitive. Simply flying the Goliath isn’t the problem, it’s the combat skill with drones we’re lacking. Tactics, spatial awareness and coordination are the qualities that make a great drone pilot.” Nathan hesitated as his face grew deadly serious. It was his turn to take a step in closer to Xander. “And that, Mr. Moore, is why you’re here.”

  Xander blinked several times as he felt all eyes fall on him. “I’m just one guy. I can’t do it all.”

  “No, you can’t, but you also have Billy.” Then he looked at his watch. “And in about two hours you’ll have your entire Alpha Team at Andrews and manning control pods.”

  “No shit! Still, that’s only six of us.”

  “We’re also bringing in Charlie Fox and another dozen of the surviving pilots from the RDC. And we do have a few of our own skilled operators, the ones who helped with the design and testing of the Goliaths. You may have to give them a crash course in killer drone operation, but they do know the equipment. By the end of the day there should be over forty pilots manning the fifty drones we have available stateside.”

  “Hey, Nathan,” Billy called out. “I’ll pilot your fancy drones, but on one condition.”

  Everyone was shocked by Billy’s statement. How could he attach a condition on saving the lives of innocent Americans, on protecting the nation’s vital infrastructure and most-treasured landmarks?

  “And what would that be, Mr. Jenkins?”

  “That I get the contract to build these things when they go into full production.”

  Relieved, Nathan smiled. “That’s another reason why you’re here, Billy. The papers are already drawn up and awaiting your signature.”

  “I have something to say,” Tiffany interrupted. All eyes now turned to her. “We’re in the middle of pitched battle with a bunch of unmanned killer robots, and now you’re introducing the most-deadly drone ever made into the mix. At what point do you stop adding fuel to the fire? You know all the bad guys will do is copy the technology from your Goliath, and soon the sky will be filled with even more lethal weapons. At some point this has to stop.”

  No one spoke for a moment. It was Xander who broke the silence.

  “Until we can change the hearts and minds of people, there will always be the next new weapon system being created. The Goliath drone isn’t a deterrent against other Goliaths, but it is a defense against the evil that men will do. I wish it wasn’t like this, but I’m a realist. It’s not the weapons themselves that have to change, it’s the nature of the people who use them. That’s the real enemy we face. Until we can change people, there will always be the need for Goliaths in the world.”

  Chapter 19

  Abdul-Shahid Almasi had all the scheduled attacks on the American homeland listed in his computer, and as he received reports of their implementation, he checked them off with a satisfied grin. The Westerners were vulnerable and fully exposed, and Almasi’s associates were carrying out raid after successful raid with very little resistance.

  This was the start of the third day after the destruction of the Rapid Defense Center, and he could see by the list that this was to be the decisive moment in the history of the United States. Sixty-four separate attacks were to take place on highway overpasses, bridges, power plants, landmark buildings, and national monuments. As had been predicted, the shopping malls now sat empty, as did all the sporting venues across the country. There were no substantial human targets to be found, so the emphasis for today would be on the long-term crippling of the nation’s infrastructure, which will result in limited future travel and delivery of vital resources—such as electricity—to an already shell-shocked America. Long after the raids subsided, the infidels would still be suffering from these glaring reminders of how helpless and impotent they were within this new world order.

  Timetables were listed on his computer screen, keyed to local time in Pakistan. Nineteen raids were scheduled to get underway in the next hour, and Almasi sat at his desk, in the living quarters of his underground bunker in the heart of Karachi, anxiously awaiting the stream of incoming data to lift his already ebullient spirits even more.

  As with the past scheduled assaults, he had newsfeed banners set to run along the bottom of his screen letting him know when an attack commenced. In another part of the bunker, men watched various TV screens and would update the banners as information became available.

  After a few minutes—and only three confirmations—Almasi began to get mad. What were his people doing in the viewing room, watching a soccer match rather than the news? He pressed the intercom button.

  “Farouk, why am I not getting all my feeds!” he yelled into the box.

  The response was immediate. “But you are, Abdul-Shahid. We are closely monitoring all the news channels.”

  “There are nineteen attacks underway and yet I have only received confirmation of three. Check on this and get back to me.”

  Thirty minutes later, a pattern had become clear, and Almasi was furious at its implications. Only one other attack had been reported, and his own channel surfing had produced similar results. Fifteen of the attacks had not commenced. He checked the files before taking his cellphone and dialing a number.

  The first call didn’t go through. The next two were picked up by voicemail. The fourth was answered.

  “Kareem, this is Abdul-Shahid.”

  “I can see who is calling.”

  The rudeness of the reply made Almasi hesitate before continuing. “I am inquiring as to the attack on the Florida nuclear power plant. I have not received confirmation. Have you run into difficulty?”

  There was a long pause on the phone before Kareem Sarkis answered. “I have called off the attack, Abdul.”

  “You have … why?”

  “I have been instructed to.”

  “By whom?”

  “By Tehran.”

  Almasi was stunned by the completely unexpected reply. “I do not understand. You’re saying Tehran does not want you to complete your mission?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Again, I ask why? The Iranians have been among our biggest supporters. We have America reeling. There must be a motive for their actions. Are they seeking a delay or a full termination?”

  “They want me to stop all activities in America, and Abdul, I too asked them why.”

  “What did they say?”

  “They said the situation has become more complicated, that was it. I pressed them for more, but the order was unequivocal. However, shortly after the call from the minister, I received another from a source within the Council of Ministers. He told me that China is applying pressure on them to have all attacks brought to an end.”

  “China! Why would they interfere?”

  “Economics, my friend. The Americans have bought the Chinese, and the communists are now fearful of what a bankrupt America would do to their own finances.”

  Almasi’s eyes appeared to vibrate in their sockets as he fought desperately for the words that would salvage the conversation. “I understand what you say, Kareem, and I also know you receive much of your support from Iran. But I can assure you of a new benefactor if you do proceed, and one even more powerful than Iran.”

  “You speak of Russia. Yes, I am aware of your collusion with President Marko and his supporters.”

  “Then you know they are willing to finance your operations well into the future.”

  There was another long pause on the phone before Kareem responded. “We both know how the Russians operate. They would support us so long as it remained socially and poli
tically acceptable to do so. However, Iran supports us out of ideology, not by political whim. I cannot afford to alienate my longest and most-loyal supporter for something that could only be temporary and with too many conditions attached. The Iranians are aware of your ties to Marko, and have warned me against taking such action. I am sorry, Abdul, but my part of this operation is over.”

  “But we are so close! Only a few more days and then America will no longer by a force within the world. We will be free of her threats and her interference. Kareem, you have always desired your own country, along with permission to deal with the Israeli situation as you see fit. With America gone, you can do that.”

  “I have also been told to cease our aggression against the Zionists, at least in the interim.”

  Now it was Almasi’s turn to grow silent. He was stunned—and scared—scared that others would fall sway to the same pressure from their handlers. “We must not succumb to outside influences, Kareem. Our cause is just. It is Allah’s will. We fight for Allah, not for politicians, no matter where they may be located.”

  “It is over, Almasi. Our organizations can only exist with help from others, and when presented with the alternatives, I must obey. I will obey. Goodbye, Abdul. Please do not contact me again.”

  The connection went dead.

  Out of panic and desperation, Almasi checked again to see if any of the other scheduled attacks had commenced by now, but none had. So it wasn’t only Kareem, it was all the others within his coalition who had succumbed to the backdoor pressure and threats from their host nations. The Zionist pigs running America had used their financial influence to pressure China, and in turn North Korea, Iran, Syria and possibly even Pakistan were making calls and issuing their own threats and warnings.

  His plan was collapsing right before his manic eyes—at least that part of the plan.