Act of War

by Dale Brown

“Strike team is out,” the terrorists reported after leaving the two SUVs in the lobby of the Kingman Building. “Device is in place.”

  Khalimov entered the lobby, opened the back cargo doors of the first SUV, worked for a few moments, then carefully closed the cargo doors. “Stand by to evacuate,” Khalimov radioed.

  “Security Twelve, I’ve got something out here, Drumm and Washington,” another terrorist team radioed. “It’s a dune buggy, but it looks military.”

  Khalimov looked north up Drumm Street, couldn’t see it, but he didn’t need to—he had a feeling he knew who it was. They were here. “Anyone else?”

  “Yes. Another one, Market and…wait one…gas, gas, Market Street, heading east fast!” The little dune buggy raced down Market Street, firing gas canisters up the street ahead of it, obscuring it from view. “I lost it!”

  “Stand by to repel, boys,” Khalimov said. “All teams, follow plan Alpha, repeat, plan Alpha. Go! Go!” He turned and started to race down Drumm Street toward Market. As he reached the corner of Drumm and Market he saw the two dismounts running toward their Humvee stationed on Market Street…

  …just as a streak of fire appeared down along Main Street and hit the Humvee, blowing it into a red-orange fireball!

  “Security Eight is under attack!” Khalimov radioed. “Let’s move, move, mo—!”

  And then he saw it, running up to the intersection of Market and Main Streets—the robot. It wore an immense backpack, but it moved as quickly and with the same agility as he first saw it in Porto do Santos. He saw what appeared to be a cannon barrel over its right shoulder, swiveling from side to side but finally centering on him. “It is here,” he radioed. “The fucking mashina cheloveka is here. All units, plan Alpha and evacuate. Repeat, plan Alpha and evacuate!”

  Khalimov ran up Drumm Street while the Humvee that had been stationed at Drumm and California drove beside him to pick him up. He heard a sound and turned, just in time to see one of the military-looking dune buggies stopped at the intersection. A soldier was standing on the back, aiming a wicked-looking large-caliber machine gun or grenade launcher at him. The Humvee gunner opened fire, and the dune buggy returned fire and sped away, firing what appeared to be gas canisters at the terrorists.

  “Everyone, get your gas masks on,” Khalimov ordered, quickly donning his own mask.

  The Humvee gunner let loose a long burst of machine gun fire, then shouted, “Captain! Pasmatryet!” Khalimov turned…and saw a second robot standing at the intersection of Drumm and California Streets, also wearing a grenade launcher backpack! Behind him, several soldiers in pixilated desert camouflage fatigues moved from corner to corner, guns trained on the Humvee.

  “Get that bastard!” Khalimov shouted. The machine gunner in the Humvee opened fire on the robot. “Not with that! Bullets won’t hurt it! Use the TOWs!” Khalimov’s soldiers jumped out of the Humvee with shoulder-fired TOW missile launchers, took quick aim, and fired. The robot moved too fast and both missiles missed—but both missiles hit the facade of the building behind it, causing most of the front of the three-story building to come down on top of the robot.

  “We got it! We nailed it!” one terrorist shouted. But just as the terrorists began to celebrate their apparent victory, the robot started to climb out from under the collapsed building.

  “Time has run out, tovarischniys,” Khalimov said on his secure FM transceiver. “When it gets up, it will be after us, and it is virtually unstoppable. Anyone who is not on his way to point Alpha will be on his own.” He climbed inside the Humvee and screamed at the driver, “Pashlee! Move out!”

  “Are you all right, sir?” Doug Moore in CID Two radioed. He had run over to where Jason was just now pulling himself out from the the building debris.

  “Yes…maybe,” Jason Richter in CID One replied. “I’ve got a warning tone somewhere—probably that access panel again, damaged in the blasts behind me. My grenade launcher is damaged too. You got that Humvee in front of you?”

  “I’ve got him, sir.” His electronic crosshairs were locked on the retreating Humvee in front of the Kingman Building.

  “Nail him, Sergeant,” Jason Richter responded.

  “Roger,” Moore radioed, and rapid-fired two forty-millimeter grenades from his backpack grenade launcher. The M430 high-explosive dual-purpose grenades shot one per second from the cannon and hit the Humvee dead-on, disintegrating the right front tire and somersaulting the vehicle over completely before it came to rest on its left side.

  Khalimov opened the smoldering right rear passenger side door, and he and one surviving crewman scrambled out. Stunned and shaken, Khalimov and the other terrorist slumped to the ground beside the overturned Humvee. Khalimov coughed thick, acidic smoke out of his lungs. His face felt as if it was burned, and every joint in both legs ached. He looked up and saw the first robot standing beside the second one, just now crawling out from under the bricks and steel of the collapsed facade.

  Those things were unstoppable, Khalimov thought. There was only one way to stop them…andhehaditrightinhishand.He had no choice, he thought as he pulled the remote detonator from his pocket, pressed and held the button, then ran as fast as he could down Market Street toward the Embarcadero. His joints and muscles ached, his vision was blurred, but he clutched that detonator with all his willpower, praying that the colonel’s range estimate was correct. All he knew was he had to get the hell away from there, before…

  Doug Moore helped Jason climb the rest of the way out of the rubble. “Thanks, Doug,” Jason said. He disconnected the damaged grenade launcher backpack and let it drop to the pavement.

  Jason had opened a small window in the front of the CID unit at the top of the robot’s “chest,” covered in bulletproof glass, and Doug could see Jason’s face behind the glass, partially obscured by the oxygen mask–like breathing apparatus they both wore. “Can you breathe okay in there, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Jason replied. “Looks like my electronic visor failed, and I’m still getting a warning about the hydraulic power pack losing pressure, but I’m still operational. I’m going after these guys on foot…”

  “I’ll go, sir,” Moore said. “You’re damaged…”

  “These guys on foot won’t be much of a threat to me,” Jason said. “I need you to search around and find any other terrorists in the streets, and then disarm as many of these booby traps as you can locate. Have all TALON units stay in position in case the terrorists try to make a break for it. We need to get the first responders organized so we don’t have any terrorists try to slip in and out if they’re still in disguise.”

  “I’ll get on it, sir,” Doug said.

  Jason ran down Drumm Street to Market, and then down Market toward the Embarcadero, just three blocks away. The CID system was still working, although his limb movements were starting to get a little spasmodic. Terrified civilians ran out of his way, although a few excited bystanders pointed down toward the waterfront. Jason kept going.

  Khalimov and one of the terrorist soldiers were helping each other escape the carnage behind them. They had just crossed the wide boulevard at the Embarcadero when they heard two helicopters flying overhead. “Right on time,” Khalimov said. One helicopter touched down between Pier One and the Ferry Building, while the other hovered nearby. Both helicopters had twenty-millimeter machine guns mounted on the skids, ready to engage any police or military responders. Khalimov headed toward the helicopter on the ground. He didn’t know how far he was from the warhead test kit, but he doubted if it wasn’t anywhere near two kilometers—he would have to get on the helicopter and fly directly east to be as safe as…

  …and at that moment he saw the second helicopter gunship wheel in his direction, bearing down on a target behind him. “Don’t look, just run!” Khalimov shouted, just as the helicopter’s machine guns opened fire. The shells felt as if they were whizzing directly over their heads, which made them run even faster.

  Jason dodged right and the firs
t fusillade of bullets missed him, but the damaged microhydraulic actuators in the CID system couldn’t keep up with his demand for even faster lateral movements and momentarily failed. At the same instant the helicopter pilot wheeled left, and Jason was sprayed by machine gun bullets. More warning tones blared. He sprawled on the pavement, unable to move—his legs felt as if they were locked in place.

  He hurriedly commanded the CID system to shut down and then restart the microhydraulic system, hoping that resetting the system would remove whatever gremlins were running around in there. The helicopter gunship pirouetted in mid-air, lining up again to strafe the CID unit again. The composite armor was holding, but he didn’t know how many more strafing runs he could survive before the “magic bullet” would find a chink in his armor.

  Back near the Kingman Building, Doug Moore in CID Two heard the gunfire just a few blocks away and started moving in that direction. “Major, are you okay?” he radioed.

  “My hydraulic system is resetting,” Jason replied. “Head over to the Embarcadero on the double. Khalimov and the other terrorists are getting away by helicopter!”

  Moore started running in that direction—but as he passed in front of the Kingman Building, Lieutenant Jake Maxwell, the TALON platoon leader, waved him down. They went inside the demolished front lobby of the building. “We checked out the vehicles that crashed inside here, Sergeant,” Maxwell said. “The one on the right is filled with high explosives, over a thousand kilos of some really nasty shit. We’ve disarmed the detonators, so I think we’re okay. But check this one out.” Maxwell carefully opened the back cargo doors, exposing a steel box…they found a large cylindrical device inside, with the test kit attached. A steady green light on the control panel read Power, and another steady red light read Armed; a blinking green light was labeled Active and a blinking red light read Fire.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Moore asked.

  “I think so,” Maxwell said. “Any idea how to deactivate this damned thing?”

  “No clue, sir,” Doug admitted. “But I suggest you notify the police and evacuate this area as fast as you can.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll radio for help,” Doug said. “If someone can talk me through disarming it, I will. Get going, sir.”

  “I’ll stay,” he said. He ordered his men out to clear the entire Financial District of anyone who still might be in the area.

  Moore put in a call to Ariadna to contact someone in the military who could help identify and disarm the device, then turned to Maxwell. “You’d better leave, sir. I’ll handle this.”

  “As you were, Sergeant—I’m staying,” Maxwell said. “I think my fingers can maneuver around on this thing better than yours anyway.”

  The big robot looked at him and nodded. “Thank you, sir,” Moore said.

  “Just don’t forget to pick me up when you run the hell away from here, Sergeant,” Maxwell reminded him.

  Khalimov and his soldier had reached the helicopter on the ground and piled in. He looked to check whether anyone else was on the way, but quickly saw that the two of them were the only ones. “Idi slanu yaytsa kachat!” he shouted. “Let’s go before that bastard gets up!” The helicopter gunship took one last shot at Jason, missed, and zoomed overhead, chasing the first helicopter over Pier One and over San Francisco Bay north of the stricken San Francisco–Oakland Bay Bridge toward Berkeley.

  After the microhydraulic system restarted, Jason found most of the warning tones gone, and he was able to get to his feet—although he was still getting spurious inputs from the microhydraulic system to his limbs, he was in control of them. The helicopter had just lifted off, and Jason sprinted after it. The helicopter was picking up speed, and so was he—but he was running out of dry land to run on. Just before reaching the edge of the wharf between Pier One and the Ferry Building, Jason made a last-ditch leap…and grasped the left skid bar on the helicopter.

  Holding on with his left hand, he reared back and punched at the belly of the helicopter with his right. His blow easily pierced the thin outer aluminum skin and continued on through, rupturing the helicopter’s fuel tank. The engine sputtered and sounded as if it was going to quit, so Jason let go of the skid bar, fell about twenty meters, and splashed into San Francisco Bay just a few hundred meters from the piers.

  He was able to swim easily to the nearest pier, where a crowd of stunned onlookers watched as the robot climbed out of the bay. But when he looked to see the crash, he found the helicopter was still flying along.

  “Doug, the Department of Energy at Lawrence Livermore Labs has dispatched an Accident Response Group to your location, ETE twenty minutes,” Ariadna radioed to Doug Moore. “They’ll be able to defuse the device. They’ve looked at the images from your cameras. They can’t positively identify it but they say it appears to be a nuclear device, probably a nuclear missile or artillery shell warhead.”

  “Oh, shit,” Moore breathed.

  “They’re also dispatching a NEST crew to search for any other devices the terrorists might have left there.” NEST, or Nuclear Emergency Search Team, was a squad of trained engineers and scientists who used sophisticated sensors and other devices to locate nuclear weapons or components.

  “Anything we can do while we’re waiting?” Maxwell asked.

  “According to the readouts on that yellow box attached to the device,” Ari said, “the DOE guys say the warhead appears to be armed but the fusing is either not set or disrupted somehow. There is a radar transmitter in front of the device that can set it off, and it can also be detonated by impact or shock, so don’t touch anything.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” Maxwell said.

  “They’re familiar with the yellow box attached to the device: it’s a maintenance test kit, used to check those things before deployment,” Ari said. “The blinking Fire light has them a little confused, and it might be a modification that the terrorists made so they could set it and then have time to get out of the area.”

  “What are you saying, Ari?” Doug asked.

  “If it’s blinking, it’s a good thing.” Ari replied. “If it comes on steady…well, you’ll probably never see it come on steady, if you know what I mean.”

  “Unfortunately, I do.”

  “The ARG guys say most likely it’s a gun-type fission weapon, which means there are two chunks of uranium-235 on either end of the thing,” Ari went on. “There’s a mechanical safety device that’s supposed to keep the two halves apart if it’s accidentally triggered. If you can find that safety device and engage it, it won’t detonate even if it’s triggered. The ARG guys are setting up a video feed as they head out to you, so keep your CID cameras on the weapon and let them study it.”

  “Rog,” Doug replied. He examined the device carefully. “I see a space where a safety device might have gone, but it’s been removed. Why don’t I just break the sucker in half?”

  “Better wait for the word from the ARG team,” Ari said.

  “I’m okay with that.” He turned to Jake Maxwell. “Sir, I think I’ve got it from here. Why don’t you get your men together and help the major?”

  “If he needs our help, we’ll go,” Maxwell said. It was pretty weird talking to the big robot like this, but since they had all been stuck at Pecos East together he had started thinking of the men inside the robots rather than just the machines themselves. “I’ll stay here for now. Okay, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks.”

  A few minutes later: “Doug, the ARG guys are about ten minutes out,” Ari radioed. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine, Ari,” Doug replied.

  “I miss shooting with you, Doug,” Ariadna said. “You taught me a lot. You’re a good teacher.”

  “I had a very good student.”

  “We’re going to keep on training after this is over, aren’t we?” she asked. “You said you’d teach me assault weapons and heavier stuff next.”

  “I can’t wait, Ari,” Doug
said. “Not just the gun stuff, but…”

  “But what, Sarge?”

  “I can’t wait to be with you again,” Doug said. “I miss you.”

  “Hey, I miss you too, Doug,” Ari said. “It’s not just the gun stuff at all. I like being with you.”

  “Ari, I wanted to tell you something a while ago, before all the stuff in Brazil happened…”

  “You can tell me now, big boy.”

  “I wanted to tell you…” Instead, he stopped……because the Fire light on the test kit stopped blinking.

  Moore didn’t hesitate—he immediately karate-chopped the device right in the middle, his microhydraulically powered hand crushing the steel-encased device as easily as a beer can, blocking the slug of uranium in the front of the gun before it could reach the second slug in the rear, form a critical mass, and create a thermonuclear reaction.

  That was the last action he would ever remember—but it saved the lives of millions of souls that morning.

  The explosive charge in the warhead exploded milliseconds after Moore crushed the cannon. The ten kilos of high explosive blew into a tremendous fireball, scattering debris from the two uranium-235 slugs into the atmosphere. The explosion triggered a second explosion—this time, in the backup blasting caps embedded in the one thousand kilos of octanitrocubane explosive in the second SUV. Both Moore and Maxwell were vaporized in the second explosion.

  Buildings in San Francisco and most of the Bay area are designed to withstand tremendous side-to-side motions to guard against earthquake collapse, but this design makes them vulnerable to upward and outward forces. The first satchel charges set off by the terrorists weakened the main stairwell and elevator shafts, whose structures were the principal interior support structures for the entire building except for the earthquake-resistant outer shell…the ONC explosion would take care of the rest of the building’s interior support.

  The fireball created by the ONC explosion traveled directly upward through the entire thirty-two-story building like an immense cannonball racing through an old iron cannon, incinerating everything in its path. Once the fireball reached the roof, pressure built up within the building, shattering every window and completely gutting the interior of the building, leaving the reinforced outer shell intact—but without any interior supports, the building would never stand. Seconds later, the Kingman Building started to collapse inside itself like a planned demolition implosion. Within seconds, there was a huge pile of steel and concrete at the place where the Harold Chester Kingman Building once stood.