Extreme Arsenal. Don Pendleton
to the base of the steps. The impact jarred the old soldier’s bones, but the drop saved his life as machine guns and cannon fire tore at the steps he’d just occupied. He looked at the radio and stunned realization hit.
The attackers drones had homed in on his transmission. He lurched to his feet and raced for the door. He pressed down the lock transmit button and called into the unit, “Cease radio communication! They’re targeting anything that transmits!”
Gunfire chopped at Rogers’s heels and he tossed the communicator away from him as he continued his mad dash across the field. The deadly line of autofire that hounded him swung away and ripped apart the ground where the radio bounced. The shock wave of a grenade detonation buffeted the general’s back, but Rogers continued to rush toward a stone bunker. The Ankylosaurs, as Whitman called them, paused, seemingly confused.
Rogers smiled. His last message had gotten through. The drones had nothing to target. One of the machines suddenly whirled toward him.
Radio targeting wasn’t their only means of detection, Rogers realized and he threw himself into a ditch instants before heavy-caliber machine gun fire slashed the ground he’d just vacated. The general flopped facedown in the mud and curled tightly to the bottom of the runoff ditch.
The rumble of the Ankylosaur’s approach thundered in his ears and he looked up at the looming robot. A blunt, bearlike head adorned with two 25 mm cannon barrels and belts for the weapons swiveled along the ditch. Multifaceted lenses swept across Rogers and he held his breath. Those lenses had to have been infrared sensors. The thing would spot him…
The Ankylosaur pivoted, as if continuing to search for him. Chilled and drenched, Rogers felt his teeth begin to chatter and he clenched his jaw shut. The cold mud caked him and obscured him from IR detection. Only the momentary snap of chattering teeth had drawn the murderous robot’s attention.
Sonar or vibrational sensors, Rogers realized. His ears throbbed with the hum and chatter of low-frequency sonics buzzing through the air. Just like Whitman’s design for the MidKnights. The ULF sonics provided an obscuring cloud of null-sound that counteracted both a vehicle’s audible signature and the vibrations it released as it moved. That’s how it had sneaked up on the testing grounds unseen. But from where had it come?
There was no time to answer that question.
Rogers stayed deathly still, counting his heartbeats, wondering whether the next pump would be his last. The two barrels leveled at him, like the murderous black-eyed sockets of the Grim Reaper himself. The general had served his country his entire life, and fought to make sure his men would be safe. At least he knew he’d give up that life having given his soldiers the chance to be safe.
A thunderbolt struck the head of the machine and hot, flaming wreckage sprayed all over Rogers. He recoiled from the sudden wave of burning splinters, but when he looked up, he saw that he was unharmed. He patted his jacket and felt the DVD, still intact, nothing had burned or marred his jacket where he’d secreted it.
“General!” a voice shouted. The Ankylosaur opened fire, and Rogers rushed along the ditch away from the autofire. He looked back to see the tail boom of the wounded battle robot swivel toward his troops.
Throwing all caution to the wind, Rogers leveled the muddy M-11 pistol at the raised launcher. He opened fire, burning off the entire 13-round magazine and the hot 9 mm ball round in the pipe. The tail boom sparked as the high-impulse bullets struck home, then flashed brilliantly.
The general’s stomach dropped as he realized that the robot tank had launched one of its rockets, but the fireball was too bright to be the flare of the miniature missile’s engine. The Earth shook and the tail boom separated from the attacker robot. The explosion flattened the general and knocked the empty pistol from his hand.
He had to have hit the machine rocket as it entered the launch tube; a one in a million shot that had saved the lives of his men.
More antitank missiles and the deep-throated thumps of heavy-caliber antimatériel rifles filled the air.
A young man raced into the ditch, a smoking missile tube in his hands.
“Sir…” Corporal Vance Astrovik called as he swung a rifle off his back. “Sir, are you okay?”
Rogers nodded. “I ordered you men to clear the field.”
“We wouldn’t leave you behind,” Astrovik stated. He saw that the general was soaked with cold muddy water, and bent down to scoop up a helmet full of cold goop. The soldier poured it over his own head and face, then crawled to the edge of the ditch.
“Don’t speak. They have some sort of audio detectors, as well,” Rogers whispered as he crawled to the corporal’s side.
“Fall back, sir. I’ll cover your retreat,” Astrovik told him.
Rogers knelt to pick up his muddy SIG, then shook out the excess gunk. He slammed home a spare magazine and watched the machines. “Sorry, son. I lead from the front.”
Astrovik managed a weak smile.
“Look out!” he suddenly blurted. The young corporal knocked Rogers down to the bottom of the ditch as a crescendo of fire and thunder filled the air.
Rogers glanced up to see the damaged Ankylosaur being hammered by the other units into a mangled pulp of unidentifiable metal. Rockets and explosive cannon rounds left a scorched hulk behind. The robots weren’t going to leave much for the Yuma experts to look over after their raid.
Rogers and Astrovik slid from the bottom of the ditch and watched the squat little drones whirl and roll frantically into the distance, disappearing through the scrub. One of the armored machines trailed smoke from a fire, but the general’s men wouldn’t be able to track it.
Looking around, General Stephen Rogers saw that the test base had been all but flattened. Every vehicle was now a twisted mass of crushed metal and rubber. Some blazed from explosive shells that lit the fuel in their ruptured tanks, but there was nothing on wheels that would allow them to chase down the retreating armored assault drones. Rogers cursed under his breath.
A bugle clarion split the air and Astrovik turned on his radio.
“Our spotters lost the drone toward the old mine pass,” Astrovik quickly told Rogers. “They’re retreating.”
Rogers nodded and took the radio. “Can we get air support?”
“General Rogers?” It was Gunnery Sergeant Pym. “I have Lieutenant Van Dyne calling in. U.S.A.F. states they’ll have medevac helicopters here in twenty minutes, but defensive air cover is only thirty seconds away.”
“Good man,” Rogers said.
A heartbeat later, fighter jets roared through the sky overhead. He couldn’t see what they were against the night sky, but as soon as they passed, he could tell by their single cones of exhaust that they were F-16s of some form. He hoped that they had air-to-ground weaponry.
One F-16 cut loose with its 20 mm cannons; the air ripped with the shredding rattle of high-velocity explosive shells. Both jets suddenly swerved as spears of flame lanced into the sky toward them. The drones’ rockets sailed into the night, missing their intended targets, but giving the attackers time to escape even further.
“General, we’ve lost the intruders,” Van Dyne broke in. “They’re invisible to FLIR and radar…The Air Force can’t pick them up on sensors or visually.”
Rogers breathed out a harsh sigh.
“I want a team to follow those things’ heading, Lieutenant,” Rogers ordered. “Call in a mountain operations Ranger team and have them set up with antitank weaponry.”
“It’ll be a few hours, sir,” Van Dyne answered. Despite the carnage, her voice was calm and focused.
Rogers looked in the direction where the Ankylosaurs escaped. The old mine pass was a dead end. Those drones were as good as caught.
But something nibbled at the back