Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone

by T. R. Harris

  His vision jarred as two of the RDC drones bounced off the titanium frame of the Goliath and broke apart, spiraling to the ground a thousand feet below. Next, he whipped the Goliath into a vertical stall, coming to an abrupt stop in mid-air. The remaining four attack drones were caught off guard by the unexpected maneuver and shot past. Fox let the huge drone begin its fall tail-first to the earth, yet a moment later throttled up again and leveled out. He fingered the trigger on his control stick, sending a spread of heavy-caliber slugs in the direction of the four RDC drones now ass-end to him. They shattered apart in a blossom of colorful debris.

  ********

  The assault on the hangars at Andrews had been going on for over ten minutes and Abdul-Shahid Almasi knew the batteries in the remaining forty-one combat drones under his command were nearly drained.

  He also knew there were enemy UAVs in the underground complex, although from the security cameras and reports from his men, only two of the stealth units remained. The battle taking place on the surface was inconsequential. When the pilots in the control room took out the hangars in America, the attacking drones above would simply transition into hover mode, awaiting new commands, commands that would never come.

  The flight command bunker was one of the most-isolated chambers in the complex, and even more than that, Almasi had a secret weapon he hadn’t even known he would have: Jonas Lemon.

  Originally, the Ninja V had been meant for Almasi himself—if it was needed. With the presence of the American stealth drones, it was now a vital part of the compound’s defense. Yet he was not in command.

  Jonas Lemon was still in Dubai, yet somehow he had acquired the necessary portable relay and control equipment necessary to link with Almasi’s base in Karachi. With the proper access codes, Jonas could operate any of the units the terrorist had in his arsenal. With his guidance critically needed elsewhere in coordinating both the defense of his compound, plus the attack on the hangars in Washington, D.C., Almasi gladly allowed the American access to the Ninja. With Lemon in control of the most advanced killer-drone in existence, and guarding the underground command post, Almasi had one less thing to worry about.

  His main concern at this moment was the remaining battery life of the drones in America.

  “Attention, all pilots operating in the United States…” His voice was loud and strong and got everyone’s attention as it echoed off the walls of the huge control room. “Guide all your remaining drones directly into the two hangars. Overwhelm the few defenders they have, and once you impact the buildings, detonate your explosive charges. Their command center must be destroyed, and your batteries are running low. Line up and attack at will.”

  The pilots turned back to their stations. Camera gimbals were manipulated as visual contact with the target buildings was established. Courses were altered, and in a huge, seemingly choreographed movement, the attack aspect of the drones all pointed in one direction. They hovered for a moment, as if taking a deep breath in preparation of the sprint to the target, and then with one mind and one purpose the flock of drones attacked.

  Charlie Fox and the other six surviving defenders noticed the momentary break in the battle. They watched with heart-stopping concern as the drones performed their deadly ballet and then shot off toward the hangars.

  It was an odd situation for Fox to wrap his mind around. He was in two places at once, and he fought the conflict of emotion that resulted from his split perspective. To the Charlie Fox sitting in a control pod in one of the hangars, he knew his death was quickly approaching. Yet from his perspective within the Goliath drone, hovering high above the hangars, he felt an odd detachment from the tragedy about to take. In a strange way, he felt … safe.

  Fortunately, the feeling quickly passed.

  He ripped off his goggles. “All the drones outside are on a suicide dive towards the hangars!” he yelled at the top of lungs.

  Time in the hangar froze as shock and inevitability affected everyone in the building. No one knew what to do next.

  No one except Xander Moore.

  He throttled his Goliath, far away in Karachi, aiming it at the center doorway. The four wheels screeched before finding a purchase, then the drone surged forward. The front prop rings struck the metal doors with a boom like a thunderclap. The matching panels separated, and Xander found himself racing along a short platform running along the elevated outer rim of a large, semi-circular room. Beyond the platform, the floor transitioned down into a series of steep steps, leading to a lower floor area packed full of control stations and startled pilots.

  Even though the Goliath was in ground mode, it nonetheless took flight off the narrow platform. The two remaining lifting rotor rings managed to keep the drone from falling straight down. It dropped along a graceful, gentle arc toward the center of the control stations. A slight grin on his lips, Xander Moore—with a steady gaze and sure hand—activated the detonate button on his console.

  ********

  Abdul-Shahid Almasi reacted quickly when the odd, four-wheel drone crashed through the door of the command center. He was experienced enough with drone warfare to know what was coming next.

  Brushing past a stunned General Burkov, Almasi shot through a small side door and dove around a bend in the hallway—just as the explosion filled the command center.

  ********

  Charlie Fox placed the goggles back on his head, choosing to watch his death arrive through the strange detached perspective from outside.

  With no way to defend against forty suicide drones, nearly all of the attacking UAVs hit the metal buildings unimpeded. At sixty miles per hour, even the light mass of the combat drones was enough to puncture the structure. Dozens of rays of light erupted from the dark roofs of the hangars as they were perforated by the crashing drones.

  Although the red, white and blue UAVs were heavily damaged from the impact, with their prop-rings and cameras sheared off, Fox knew the ordinance packages would survive—they were designed to survive. He heard the ear-piercing claps as the drones struck the building, and then without delay crashed into the pods and other parts of the buildings’ interior.

  With his eyes focused on the outside overhead view seen through his FPV goggles, Charlie Fox waited for the inevitable.

  But after a second … and then two, and still no explosion, he pulled off the goggles. He was suddenly in the hangar again, but this time in the middle of a scene of terrible devastation.

  Even though none of the drones had exploded, the ballistic nature of their arrival had done a number on the interior of the building. Several of the pods were in tatters, with bodies hanging out of the ones where the drones had made direct contact. Other parts of the huge room were in ruins as well, yet by a quick estimate, over two thirds of the pods had survived. Their shocked and confused occupants were looking about the room, just like Charlie was himself.

  Yet Fox wasn’t assessing the damage anymore, he was looking for one person in particular. He climbed out of his pod and stood up, scanning the room. His knees grew weak—not from the shock of tragedy, but rather from relief and joy—when he saw Xander Moore standing next to a pod two rows over. He met Fox’s laughing eyes.

  “You sure do like to blow up really expensive drones,” Fox called out as he ran up to Xander and enveloped him in a powerful hug. “Nothing like cutting it close. That has to be the literal definition of the last second!”

  “Helps to keep the suspense level up,” Xander replied. Then his smile vanished as he looked around the room. “What about casualties? Any idea?”

  “Still too early to tell, but it could have been worse.”

  ********

  Heat and exhaust shattered the narrow door and flooded his escape route with smoke and fire, scorching his shoes and pant legs, igniting them. He slapped at the burning fabric, strangely oblivious to the pain as his survival instinct took over. Other pieces of burning fabric were scattered around him—the dark green of the Russian general’s service uniform.

>   On his hands and knees, Almasi crawled down the corridor, further away from the inferno behind him. Vague thoughts of anger and frustration filled his mind, even if the full impact of the explosion hadn’t yet been realized.

  He managed to get to his feet and hobble, dragging his injured left leg behind him. He had escape routes already dug, so he knew he could get out of the underground complex and to a non-descript building outside the compound, even in light of the catastrophic failure of his operation.

  Almasi’s thoughts became clearer as he moved along the narrow, dirt floor of the escape tunnel. He didn’t need to go back to check; he knew the loss was total. Even if some of the pilots and operators had survived, the sensitive equipment in the room was now damaged beyond repair. Contact was lost, not only with the drones in the compound above, but also in America.

  The mission was over. All the missions were over. All that remained was his personal survival.

  Chapter 29

  At a desk in the master bedroom of his suite at the Armani Hotel in the Burj Kahafia building in Dubai, Jonas Lemon saw the screen on his computer go dark and felt the tense feedback of his control stick vanish. The three men guarding him in the room saw it, too, and they now looked at each other with confusion on their dark faces.

  “What happened” Faisal Haddad asked.

  “Looks like you’re going to need a new boss,” Jonas answered.

  “Almasi’s dead?”

  “The control room back in Karachi has just been taken out, and the last I knew, he was in the room. You can draw your own conclusions from that.”

  “Fuck you, Lemon!” the man yelled as he pulled out his cellphone and began frantically dialing numbers. The other two men watched with nervous expressions as Faisal dialed and redialed. All he kept getting was a recording saying that the number he was trying to reach was not in service at this time and to try back later.

  “I sincerely hope you got paid in advance,” Jonas said after the terrorist gave up trying to reach Almasi.

  In a surge of anger, the man stepped forward and placed the barrel of a Berretta 9mm against Jonas’ temple. “I should just kill you now. I’ve wanted to since the first moment we met. What difference would it make now if I did?”

  “He has a lot of money, Faisal,” said one of the other men.

  Haddad hesitated. “So, Lemon, how much is your life worth?”

  “I don’t know … why don’t you ask him?” Jonas nodded toward the door to the bedroom.

  The terrorist smiled, not about to fall for the ruse—until he heard the pop-pop of two silenced gunshots. He’d managed a half turn toward the door when a dark hole suddenly appeared in his left temple. A torrent of escaping blood quickly filled the hole, and Faisal Haddad collapsed to the carpet of the plush hotel room.

  The gunman entered the room, unscrewing the suppressor muzzle from his Sig-Sauer. “Just the timing of this should warrant another ten thousand dollars,” said the man with the thick French accent.

  “I would agree, Francois,” said Jonas Lemon, “except for the fact that it was you who let them take me captive in the first place.”

  “The opportunity to free you did not present itself … until now.”

  Jonas smiled and looked back at the dark computer screen. “I’ll give you the extra ten thousand—and another fifty grand—if you can locate and isolate Xander Moore for me. Don’t kill him. Just get him ready for me.”

  “Seeing that he is far away in America, and under the protection of the U.S. government, that may take some time. You know I do not rush these things.”

  Jonas looked around at the three bodies bleeding out on the floor of the bedroom. “No, you don’t, but I must say, your timing is impeccable.”

  Jonas Lemon stood up from the desk. “Just do what I ask, Francois. I’ve waited this long for my revenge. I can wait a little longer.”

  Chapter 30

  Xander Moore and Billy Jenkins were in Nathan Hall’s office in the secret DARPA building, located one block over from the Washington Mall, and three down from the headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Six days had passed since the dual-battles in Karachi and D.C., and Xander was livid.

  “What do you mean Almasi wasn’t there? Of course he was.”

  “That’s right—he was. Search teams located several escape tunnels within the complex, two even leading from the control room. He obviously got out through one of them.”

  “And Jonas?”

  “We traced the calls he made to you to Dubai. He’s gone as well.”

  “So both of the bad guys got away?” Billy summarized.

  “For now, Billy, but you know how these things go. The whole world’s out looking for them. Justice will be served.”

  A sharp knock came to the door and the other person they were expecting entered the room. The three men rose to their feet when Tiffany Collins entered, dressed in professional broadcast-reporter attire, including a gray vest that struggled to mask two of her most prominent on-air distractions. “What did they say?” Xander asked.

  “Just a few minor edits and it’s ready to go.”

  “Well, Ms. Collins, this could be a big step for your career,” Nathan Hall said.

  “I want to thank you again, Nathan, for the access you’ve given me. I know a lot of people were against it.”

  “It’s time more of the truth about drones—and our susceptibility to them—was better known. Besides that, your unique perspective on the events of last week will help counter some of the crazy rumors flying around out there.”

  “Frankly, I was surprised your people allowed me to be so open and forthcoming. I know I put a lot of personal spin on it, but I was there. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “That’s the best type of reporting—firsthand. Cuts through all the he-said-she-said BS. However, I am sorry about the restriction concerning the Russian link to the crisis. It’s better if we keep that part of the story under wraps until an official response can be worked out. Don’t want to go start World War Three, now do we?”

  Tiffany smiled and looked at the men. “I don’t know? Sure would provide me a lot of job stability. You know what they say, Never let a good crisis go to waste.”

  Billy turned to Nathan Hall. “So … did we save Christmas?”

  Nathan laughed. “And then some! There’s no denying that Americans sure love to buy things, and they’re out doing it with a vengeance. Of course, the retailers are cooperating. My wife is out right now spending twice as much as we budgeted but getting four times as much, at least when supply catches up to the demand. They’re having a hell of a time getting inventory on the shelves. Still, my kids are really going to be spoiled this year.”

  It was Billy’s turn to smile. “There’s still four shopping days left, and with the hefty contract advance I got to build Goliaths, I might actually splurge a little myself. Is there anything the two of you want in particular?” he asked, addressing Xander and Tiffany. By now, the two of them were standing very close to one another.

  “I don’t know?” Xander began. “I kinda liked that Learjet we flew in coming out here. But short of that, I could sure use a vacation.” He looked into Tiffany’s blue eyes as he made the non-verbal invitation.

  “I’ve always fancied the South Pacific.” Tiffany’s eyes locked on Xander’s. “Never been there before, but there’s always been something romantic about the word Polynesia.”

  “Consider it done!” Billy said. “First class all the way. Hell, I might even spring for a yacht charter. It’s absolutely gorgeous down there, and the two of you would make for the perfect travel poster.”

  Xander nodded before breaking his gaze with Tiffany. He looked at Nathan and then to Billy. “Thanks, dude. Oh, and also, the surf down there is supposed to be pretty gnarly this time of year.”

  “In that case, I just might tag along.” Billy then lifted his right hand, curling in his index, middle and ring finger while extending the thumb and little finger. He wiggled t
he familiar gesture at Xander. “Kowabunga, dude!”

  Epilogue

  The snow falling over Moscow in late January let up briefly and the temperature climbed to a few degrees above zero. Even so, Abdul-Shahid Almasi was not used to the extremes of the Russian winter.

  His puppet-masters had placed him in a small apartment not far from the Kremlin, with a sporadically-operating steam heater, and then left him there for over three weeks before granting him the meeting with President Mikel Marko and his inner circle of advisors. The meeting had not gone well, as everyone wanted to sweep the terrorist under the rug and pretend that their once warm and mutually-beneficial affiliation had never existed.

  Almasi knew there was nothing more the Russians would do for him, with the possible exception of sparing his life. To this end, he humbled himself before the leader of the Russian Federation, vowing to disappear from the world stage with the modest contingency funds he had hidden away. They wouldn’t even have to give him money, just let him leave.

  In reality, he had over twenty million American dollars stashed in various front accounts across Europe. He would, indeed, disappear from the world stage, but he would not remain so. Already plans were underway to resurrect the now-disbanded Arm of Allah. And from the look of things, he just might get the chance to once more serve as its leader.

  Marko escorted him out through a side door of the Kremlin and into a wide courtyard surrounded on all sides by four levels of gaudy-looking architecture. Almasi shivered, even as the Russian shrugged off the cold while wearing only a bland blue suit and red tie. Six security guards stood in the courtyard, while a screen of eight, nearly-silent sentry drones hovered near the roofline of the surrounding buildings. Almasi eyed the drones with concern. Even though he used the machines in his work, he never trusted them. They always made him nervous.