Gradually he realized it wasn’t a missile but the Tigershark, descending at high speed in the direction of the helicopters.
Rubeo got up and continued toward the van, half running, half trotting. One of his dead captors lay in the dirt about thirty feet away. He saw the rifle nearby and ran to grab it. Winded, he paused to catch his breath and examine the gun, making sure it was loaded and ready to fire.
The helicopters were directly south along the road. One was a large Chinook, the other a Russian-made Hind. The Tigershark flew across their path twice, apparently trying to warn them off, but neither helicopter changed direction.
Rubeo thought about the bots, sitting in the back of the nearby van. Diomedes wasn’t particularly exotic; it was basically a personalized version of robots Rubeo’s company sold to the government. But Arachne was at least a generation and a half beyond what anyone else in the world was using, including the U.S.
He went over to the back of the van, thinking he would put a few bullets through the bots’ sensors and intelligence sections. But as he opened the door to the vehicle, he realized he might be able to use the larger bot to get Kharon to safety. And if he was going to save that bot, he might just as well save the other, especially since Arachne was still attached to Diomedes.
He climbed up into the truck. Deciding the laptop-sized controller would be awkward to run with, he removed the smaller handheld mobility controller attached to Diomedes that worked on voice commands. This was a transmitter about the size of a television remote, intended as an aid to workers when moving the bot. Its limited command set could not control any sensors, but that wasn’t important now.
Rubeo took the controller and unwound the small headset, which looked like a slightly heavier-duty version than the stereo and microphone headsets used for many mobile phones. The machine took a few moments to boot itself up, checking subsystems and sending current to its motors and limbs. The bot then authenticated Rubeo’s voice, checking it against the patterns stored in its memory.
“Exit truck,” Rubeo told it as soon as it was ready.
The machine began backing from the vehicle. Six small video and IR cameras and a sonar suite allowed the bot to orient itself.
“External imagery unavailable,” declared the machine, telling Rubeo that there was no feed from an overhead source such as a UAV. This was actually an artifact of the combat control program, which was configured to assume that a full combat situation awareness suite was present. The machine also had a GPS locator and could download area data into its temporary memory if necessary.
“Understood. Proceed.”
As Diomedes came to the edge of the truck bed, the sonar unit detected the drop-off. It measured the terrain and decided it could handle the drop. It pushed off quickly, adjusting its arms to balance its weight; it looked almost human, if something with the profile of a sawed-off vacuum cleaner could be said to resemble a person.
It landed flat and drove itself toward Rubeo.
“Follow me,” he said, and as he did, something whizzed over his head.
“Gunfire detected,” warned the bot. The warning was another attribute of the combat program.
“Move faster,” yelled Rubeo, scrambling for the rocks.
20
“Ground fire detected,” the computer told Turk.
“Locate.”
“Highlighted.”
“From that group of civilians?”
“Rephrase.”
“Disregard.” Turk clicked into the Whiplash circuit. “Danny, I have gunfire on the ground. Rubeo is under attack. Somebody in that group of people is firing.”
“See if you can scatter the group and isolate the people with guns,” said Danny. “Take them down.”
Turk turned the plane northeast so he could swing down and attempt to scatter the group.
From his perspective, the gunners were using women and children to shield themselves, making it difficult for them to be attacked without killing innocent lives. Of course, that was the idea. They figured they couldn’t lose: if he didn’t shoot, they’d get Rubeo. If they were shot at, the odds were the civilians would be hurt as well, undoubtedly giving them some sort of propaganda victory.
Had something like that happened with the kids? Were they actually trained to use MANPADs? Was one hidden somewhere nearby?
But if so, what could he have done?
As Turk approached the group, he lit off IR decoy flares, showering the area. At the same time, he pulled the Tigershark onto her back and hit the throttle full blast, jerking the aircraft upward. The noise was deafening — not quite a sonic boom, but more than a little distracting. One or two of the people began to run, then everyone started to follow, fleeing to the east.
He tilted on his wing, trying to get back into a position to find the people who had fired. But they’d thrown down their weapons in panic, and when he asked the computer to identify them, it responded that none of the people were armed.
“Who threw the guns down?” said Turk.
“Rephrase.”
Turk decided to concentrate on the helicopters instead. They were almost at the trucks.
He fell back toward the earth, spinning the wings level and sending off another shower of flares, this time directly in the helicopters’ path. They diverted east.
Turk zoomed out the map and took a look at the tanks, which were now moving on a road in the direction of the highway and Rubeo.
“People ran. Helicopters going east. Tanks are still moving,” he told Danny. “Can I take them out?”
“Stand by.”
“They’re close enough to fire,” warned Turk.
“I know — hold on. I have allied command.”
Danny’s tone made it clear that he wasn’t happy about what he was hearing on the line.
“I have people under fire,” Danny repeated for the French colonel who’d contacted him directly from the command staff. “I have to be permitted to protect them. We’re in the middle of a rescue operation.”
“We have been told that there is active negotiation between forces, and all forces require an immediate cease-fire,” said the colonel, whose English was so-so. “I have these orders, which have come from the general himself to me. All allied aircraft and forces are to stand back.”
“Listen, Colonel, with all due respect, I am going to protect my people.”
“You must follow the order.”
“Yup, that’s what I’m doing,” snapped Danny, closing the line. A few seconds later the combat air controller came back on.
“We’re seeing those tanks moving,” said the controller. “You want some help to watch them?”
“I want clearance to blow them up.”
“I can’t give that to you,” said the colonel. He spoke quickly. “I have a flight of A–10Es that I’m going to divert south.”
“Are they cleared hot on the tanks?” Danny asked.
“Negative at this time.”
The controller gave Danny the contact frequency and call sign — it was Ginella’s squadron, which of course made sense, since they were the only Hogs in the theater. Danny quickly made contact with Ginella, who was leading the flight.
“We are en route to you,” she told him, without the slightest hint in her voice that they had ever spoken or met. “We should be there in about zero-six minutes.”
“Appreciate your help.”
“Be advised, I have been ordered to restrain from using weapons at this time,” added Ginella.
“Copy that.”
“Colonel, just so you know: I do not intend on allowing any American to be harmed in this operation.”