by Dale Brown
“I have a task for you, Saber, but you might not like it,” Dave Luger said. “Odin wants to launch the Vampire bombers.”
“Yes, sir. We were ready to go a moment ago, but the Security Forces guys showed up at the hangar, and the planes shut themselves down. The base commander ordered us to assist and protect the Security Forces from any remote-controlled actions by you regarding the aircraft. We verified the orders. Sorry, sir. What is it I won’t like?”
“One of our spaceplanes has been shot down in eastern Iran, and there are survivors. We need air cover for a rescue operation. The NCA still says no. We want to launch the Vampires anyway.”
“Why won’t the NCA approve the mission, sir?”
“I don’t know why, Saber, but we believe the NCA is worried that our actions over Iran are inciting fear and intimidating everyone in the region.”
“Sir, I received authenticated orders to stand down—us as well as the Vampires. The base commander ordered us to help secure you. You’re asking me to violate those orders.”
“I know, Saber. I can’t order you to violate valid orders. But I’m telling you that the survivors of the spaceplane will be caught and captured or killed if we don’t do something.”
“Who shot down the spaceplane, sir?”
“We believe the Russians did, Saber.”
“Yes, sir,” Daniels said. That was enough for him. Daniels had spent a year in the hospital recovering from radiation poisoning which occurred when the Russian air force used tactical nuclear weapons to destroy their own air base, Yakutsk, that was being used by McLanahan and the Air Battle Force to hunt down and destroy Russian mobile intercontinental ballistic missiles that were being readied to launch a second nuclear attack on the United States. He endured severe dehydration, nausea for days on end, incredible pain, and eventually a liver transplant—but he survived, won the right to go back on active duty, requalified for field operations, rejoined the Battle Force, and took command of a CID team.
He had won, then lost, then won back all the things he ever wanted to do in his life, except one: get some payback for what the Russians did to him, his comrades, and to their own people in Yakutsk.
“You still there, Saber?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I have my orders,” Daniels said in a deep monotone voice, quite different from his normally energetic, upbeat tone. “If those planes were to move, I and my team would do everything in our power to protect the Security Forces from harm. Good night, sir.”
“Genesis to Headbanger.”
“Go ahead, Dave,” Rebecca Furness replied.
“Get ready.”
“Can’t. My grounds crews say the sky cops are still blocking the hangar and taxiways.”
“Get ready anyway.”
“Did you order your guys to take out the sky cops?”
“No, ma’am, I did not. The base commander ordered the Battle Force team to assist and protect the Security Forces from unauthorized aircraft movement, and that’s what they will do.”
This is crazy, Rebecca told herself for the umpteenth time, utterly crazy. She turned to her operations officer, Brigadier General Daren Mace: “Daren, start ’em up and launch the Vampires immediately.” She closed her eyes and saw herself standing in front of a court-martial, being sentenced to prison for the rest of the best years of her life; then, thinking about her fellow airmen on the ground in Iran being chased by Pasdaran and Muslim insurgents, opened her eyes and said, “Stop for nothing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mace said. He adjusted the mike on his headset and spoke: “Headbanger, start ’em up and launch without delay. Stop for nothing. Repeat, stop for nothing.”
“Affirmative, Panther, the APUs are still on, both planes,” the Air Force Security Forces detail team leader reported to NATO base headquarters. It was creepy enough that the APU started and stopped by itself, but ten times more so when the engines did the same. The crew chiefs and assistants for each plane were outside the hangars, per the base commander’s orders.
“This is Panther. Put the fucking senior crew chief on,” the base commander, a Turkish army colonel, ordered in very good English.
“Stand by, Panther.” The SF officer handed his radio to the head crew chief, an Air Force technical sergeant. “It’s the base commander, and he’s steamed.”
“Tech Sergeant Booker here, sir.”
“I ordered those planes shut down, and I mean completely shut down—APUs also.”
“Yes, sir, I know, but you ordered us not to hook the ground power units up either, and without power the command center at Battle Mountain can’t talk to the planes, so I think that’s why the APUs are—”
“Sergeant, I am giving you a direct order: I want those planes completely shut down, immediately, or I will have you arrested!” the base commander screamed. “I do not care if no one can talk to the planes—I do not want anyone to talk to the planes! Now turn off those APUs, and do it now!”
“Yes, sir,” Booker said, and he handed the radio back to the SF officer.
“Detail One here, Panther.”
“I just ordered that tech sergeant to completely shut down those planes, including the APUs—the power units in the tail,” the base commander said. If they do not comply right away, place them all under arrest.” Mallory swallowed hard, then made a gesture to his team members, a sign that said “Get ready for action.” “Do you understand me, Detail One?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“What is that tech sergeant doing right now?”
“He’s going over to the other crew chiefs…he’s gesturing to the planes…they’re putting on gloves, like they’re getting ready to go to work.”
They were sure taking their sweet time, the Security Forces officer thought—the colonel’s going to have a shit fit if they don’t get their rears in gear. Sure enough, moments later the base commander called: “What are they doing, dammit? Are those planes shut down yet?”
“Negative, sir. They’re just standing there talking right now, sir,” Mallory replied. “One of them has a radio, and another one has a checklist. Maybe they’re discussing shutting down the APUs from here.”
“Well, go find out what is taking them so damned long.”
“Roger, Panther. Stand by.” He holstered his radio and started walking toward the crew chiefs. The three men and one woman crew chiefs saw him coming…and then, without a backward glance, they started walking toward their end unit hangar which served as the Air Battle Force’s headquarters. “Hey, you jerkoffs, get back here and shut those power units off, colonel’s orders.” Just as he was about to yell at them again, to his complete surprise, they started running toward the hangar! “Where the hell are you going?” he shouted. He pulled his radio out of its holster. “Panther, the crew chiefs are running away toward their headquarters building!”
“They are what?” the base commander shouted. “Arrest those sons of bitches!”
“Roger that, sir. Break. Detail One to Control, signal Alert Red, Alpha Seven ramp area, repeat, Alert Red, Alpha—” Then Mallory heard a sound, much louder than the APUs, and realized moments later what it was. His hand shaking, he raised his radio again: “Control, Detail One, be advised, the articles in the Alpha Seven hangars are starting engines, repeat, starting engines! Requesting a Code Niner-Niner alert, full response, repeat, full—”
And then he saw them, emerging from the hangar the crew chiefs had just run toward, sprinting like linebackers from hell…and he nearly fell over backward in shock, surprise, and a mad scramble to get the hell out of there. He had seen them before, of course, but usually just walking around or being folded or unfolded near a truck or helicopter—never running right at him!
“Saber Four and Five responding!” one of the Cybernetic Infantry Device manned robots said in a loud computer-synthesized voice. “Say status!” Mallory was still on his hands and knees cowering in terror as the first robot ran right up to him. Both had him surrounded within moments. They were wearing hu
ge backpacks, with what appeared to be grenade launchers deployed over their shoulders aimed right at him. “Team leader, I say again: say status!”
“I…uh…the bombers…they’ve started engines!” Mallory stammered. The muzzle of the grenade launcher was just a few feet from his nose. “Get that weapon out of my face!”
The robot ignored the order. “Have they taxied yet?” the robot blared at him. Mallory couldn’t respond. “Five, report to Alpha-Seven-Two, I’ll take Alpha-Seven-One. Protect the Security Force units.” The second robot nodded and ran off, just like a football player breaking from a huddle except it was gone literally in the blink of an eye. “Are you hurt, Team Leader?”
“I…no,” Mallory said. He scrambled to his feet. “Get in those hangars and find some way to disable those—”
At that instant they heard an impossibly loud roar of aircraft engines and a tremendous blast of jet exhaust from the open rear of both occupied shelters. “The bombers are taxiing!” the robot said. “Five, bombers are moving! Protect the Security Force units!”
“No! Stop the bombers! Find some way to—!” But the robot had sped off toward the hangar entrance. Well, he thought, the bombers weren’t going anywhere, and if for some reason the Humvees didn’t stop them, the robots certainly could. “Detail One units, the CID units are headed inside the hangars. Assist them if possible, but monitor and report if—”
At that instant, Mallory saw an object fly out of the near hangar. At first he thought it was a cloud of smoke or perhaps an explosion of some kind…and then seconds later realized it was the Humvee that had been stationed inside blocking the hangar! Moments later the robot ran out of the hangar clutching a Security Forces officer in each hand, carrying him out as easily as someone might carry a beach towel. Directly behind him, the B-1 bomber careened out of the hangar and sped up the throat toward the main taxiway.
“What in hell is going on?” Mallory shouted. “What happened? What are you…?” But the robot kept coming. It scooped up the Security Forces team leader with a bone-jarring tackle and ran him a hundred yards away in the blink of an eye, finally depositing the three stunned officers in a heap near the security fence surrounding the detachment area. The robot huddled over them as if shielding them from something. “What the hell are you doing? Get off me!”
“The bomber is transmitting its microwave weapon system,” the robot said. “I had to get the Humvee out of the hangar before it exploded, and then I evacuated you. At close range the MPW can be lethal, and I had to get away or else it could have disabled my electronics too.”
“What are you talking about?” Mallory struggled to get a better look. “The second bomber is moving too! They’re taxiing for takeoff!” He fumbled for his radio, realizing he’d dropped it when the robot tackled him. “Call security control!” he told the robot. “Alert the base commander! Get units on the taxiways and runways before those things can get into takeoff position!”
“Roger,” the robot responded. “I’ll call it in, then see what I can do to stop them.” And the robot stood up and was gone, running away with amazing speed, the muzzle of the grenade launcher swiveling back and forth searching for targets. It cleared the twelve-foot fence surrounding the detachment area—he just noticed that the gate across the throat was wide open—and was out of sight within seconds.
“What the fuck are those things doing? Who’s in control of those things—ten-year-olds?” Mallory ran back to the first hangar and found his radio. “Control, Detail One, the bombers are taxiing out. There are two CID units in pursuit. They said the bombers were transmitting some kind of microwave weapon.”
“Control, Knifepoint West, the bombers are crossing Taxiway Foxtrot on the way to Runway One-Niner,” another Security Force unit radioed. “I’m parking my vehicle in the middle of Taxiway Alpha at the intersection of Hotel taxiway. I’m going to dismount. Those fuckers are coming this way awfully damned fast!” Mallory and the other Security Forces officers ran up the throat to the main taxiway to see what was going on…
…and just as they reached Taxiway Alpha they saw a Humvee fly into the air to the north, and the B-1 bombers roar past it! “Knifepoint West, Knifepoint West, do you copy?” Mallory radioed as he watched the nearly five-thousand-pound Humvee hit and tumble across the ground like a child’s toy. “What happened? Say status!”
“Those robots threw my Humvee off the taxiway!” the officer radioed a few moments later. “They’re not trying to stop them—they’re helping them escape!”
“Those bastards!” Mallory swore. “I knew something screwy was going on! Control, Detail One, those robots are engaging our security units!”
“Detail One, this is Panther,” the base commander cut in. “I do not care what you have to do, but stop those bombers from leaving the ground! Do you read me? Stop those bombers! Then place that entire Headbanger contingent under arrest! I want some butts, and I want them now!”
But as he listened, Mallory saw the first unmanned B-1 bomber leave the ground and streak across the night sky, trailing four long afterburner flames behind it, followed just a few short seconds later by the second. “Ho-lee shit,” he cried aloud as the twin afterburner booms rolled over him. “What in hell is going on?”
It took almost a minute for the noise to subside enough so he could talk on the radio: “Control, Panther, Detail One, the bombers have launched, repeat, they’ve launched. All available patrol and response units, report to the Alpha Seven special detachment area with restraints and transport. Control, notify the base hospital and all command units that a special security enforcement operation has commenced.” His ears were buzzing and his head felt as if it was going to explode from the tension and sheer disbelief over what had just happened. “Notify all responding units that there are two of those CID robot units that assisted the bombers to launch and are armed and dangerous. Do not approach the CID units, only report and observe. Do you copy?”
The two bombers were just bright dots in the night sky, and soon those telltales winked out as the afterburners were cut off. This was unbelievable, Mallory told himself over and over again, simply unbelievable. Those Saber guys had to be nuts or on drugs, he thought, wiping sweat from his forehead. The robot guys had to be crazy…or maybe the robots had been hijacked by terrorists? Maybe they weren’t Air Force after all, but fucking Muslim terrorists, or maybe Kurdish terrorists, or maybe…?
And then he realized he wasn’t thinking all this, but screaming it at the top of his lungs! His skin felt as if it was going to burst into flames, and his head felt ready to explode! What in God’s name was happening? He turned…
…and then he saw the shape of one of the robots, about thirty yards away, slowly heading toward him. He raised his radio to his suddenly sweat-stained lips: “Control, Detail One, one of the CID units is heading toward me, and I am engaging,” he said, wiping yet another rivulet of sweat away from his eyes. “Request backup, Alpha Seven and Taxiway Alpha, get backup out here now.” He unholstered his sidearm, but he couldn’t summon enough strength to lift it. The burning sensation increased, completely disrupting his vision and creating an intense headache, the pain finally forcing him to his knees. “Control…Control, how do you copy?”
“I’m sorry, Sergeant Mallory, but no one is here to take your call right now,” he heard a strange voice say. “But don’t worry. You and your friends will wake up in a nice cozy cell, and you won’t have a care in the world.” The robot advanced toward him menacingly, the muzzle of the grenade launcher aimed right between his eyes…but then, just before his vision completely shut down in a cloud of stars, he saw the robot wave “bye-bye” to him with his huge armored but incredibly lifelike fingers. “Nightie-night, Sergeant Mallory,” he heard over the radio lying somewhere on the ground, and then everything went blank.
“Odin, Headbanger, Genesis, this is Saber, we have control of the base,” Lieutenant Daniels reported a few minutes later. “Those new microwave emitters built into the CID units wo
rked great out to thirty yards or so.” The nonlethal microwave emitters broadcasted an intense feeling of heat, pain, disorientation, and eventually unconsciousness but did no actual injury to a human target. “The bombers are away and we’re securing the perimeter. The base commander is pretty sore at us but he opened up his hidden liquor cabinet so he’s not quite as verbal as before.”
“Roger that,” Patrick McLanahan responded from Armstrong Space Station. “Thank you, Saber.”
“Our pleasure, sir,” Daniels responded. “Maybe we can all share a cell in Leavenworth together.”
“Or Supermax, if we’re not so lucky,” Rebecca added.
“We received a coded locator beacon and status data dump from the Black Stallion’s passenger module,” Luger said. “It’s intact, its parachute and impact attenuation bags have deployed, and it’s coming down in eastern Iran, about a hundred and twenty miles northwest of Herat, Afghanistan.”
“Thank God.”
“No indications if anyone inside made it yet, but the module is intact and still pressurized. We’ve got an Army Special Forces team in Herat gearing up for a rescue mission.”
“The bombers will be in maximum SkySTREAK launch position in sixty minutes, and overhead in ninety—if they’re not jumped by Russian fighters again,” Rebecca Furness said. “We’ll be on the lookout for them this time.”
“That’s probably the same amount of time it’ll take the Special Forces team to chopper in—if they get permission to launch,” Luger added.
“I’ll speak to the commander myself,” Patrick said. “I don’t have much pull with the Army, but I’ll see what I can do.”
