So as Xander’s Viper led the three-drone phalanx toward the Bloomingdale Outlet at the north side of the mall, he knew that behind many of the seating partitions dozens of terrified — and wet — civilians huddled, all of whom just had their joyous holiday season shattered by an experience that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
“Autos are engaging,” Lane reported. “Only three explosions recorded so far.”
“Casualties?”
“I’m detecting seventeen people down, at least in the western side of the mall. No telling at this point the dead from the injured.”
Just then the team heard the distinctive pop-pop of small arms fire coming through the microphones on their drones. Xander’s targeting display instantly locked tiny red-lined boxes on the heads of three men. They were poking out from behind a cellphone accessories kiosk in the center of the concourse, with weapons out and firing — at Xander and his drones.
The RDC pilot wasn’t worried. Their drones were specifically designed for combat, with all components of the eight-bladed octocopters made of lightweight yet virtually indestructible composite materials; even the lenses of the gimbal-controlled cameras were made of one-inch thick, shatterproof plastic.
Xander brought his huge drone to a hover in front of the men. The Viper carried 20mm dual machines guns mounted under the carriage, along with side-mounted 5mm’s above. The UAV also carried two banks of pencil-missiles — a total of thirty missiles in all — and all this firepower now pointed directly at the three men hiding behind the flimsy wooden kiosk.
“Cease your fire, dammit, we’re from the RDC!” Xander called out through the speakers on the drone.
The men kept firing, even to the point where two of them had to reload.
“I said we’re from the RDC. Now stop firing and take cover!”
“Bullshit!” one of the men cried out. “How do we know you’re really from the RDC? All you damn drones look alike.”
“How can you tell? You’re still alive, that’s how! Now stop firing and take shelter immediately. The crisis will be over shortly.”
The Viper hovered momentarily until the three men lowered their weapons, then it sped off again.
“Everyone okay?” he asked his team.
“One of those dudes was a damn good shot. I took three hits. No damage, however,” said Charlie Fox.
The trio of RPAs had now reached the end of the main concourse, which split off at ninety-degrees to the west and east. This wide corridor formed the outer walkway for the mall in a huge racetrack-like configuration. Looking both ways, the team could see and hear the signs of aerial combat taking place, as battles raged between individual autonomous drones from each side, following their programming with regards to offense and defense.
Xander noticed that the majority of the enemy drones were basic quadcopters — four-bladed, box-shaped units that had been painted to resemble the RDC units.
Even a cursory knowledge of the units the government deployed, as compared to those used by terrorists, an observer could easily tell who was who. The government units were much larger octocopters, with blades hidden within protective rings. They were heavier, with double weapons platforms above and below, as well as forward and rear-looking cameras. The bad guys often used off-the-shelf civilian drones — which were mainly inventory items now that the unregulated sale of over-the-counter drones had been outlawed a couple of years before.
Yet even with their simple design, what turned these once innocent and harmless toys and tools into lethal weapons was the installation of a tiny module within their flight controls called a killbox. Outlawed throughout most of the civilized world, these miniature, pre-programmed computers were manufactured by rogue nations such as North Korea, Iran, and the Islamic State. Each compact device contained everything the aspiring terrorist or anarchist would need to turn their kid’s toy or aerial photography platform into a killing machine, including simple plug-and-play operation through standard USB connections.
Several years ago, Congress passed a series of laws requiring that all drones contain restrictive programming, covering flying altitude and limiting their access to certain public areas, such as airports, government buildings, sport complexes — and even shopping malls. Yet, as was common with such laws and restrictions, only law-abiding citizens and companies were impacted. Now with a four-hundred dollar killbox, those with evil intent could override any government-mandated operating restriction and carry on without missing a beat.
Xander had no idea where the autonomous drones for this particular attack had come from. Even with drone sales highly regulated, they were still allowed to be purchased with the proper permits, screening, licensing and education; however, there were literally millions of older drones left over from the time when UAVs were the latest rage. In fact, Xander could see that most of the enemy drones they were facing today were Phantom III’s, a very popular and affordable quadcopter from about fifteen years ago. Although technology and government regulation had essentially killed off the civilian drone market, these surplus — and in some cases homemade — units still served quite well as killbox-executioners in raids such as the one taking place on this bright December afternoon in Florida.
In all honesty, Xander wasn’t too worried about the enemy auto drones. His robots were superior and would make short work of the other auto units. It was the presence of the enemy RPA in the mix that had him spooked.
“Any location on the big boy?” he asked David Lane.
“Video surveillance had it turning right, heading for the Dave and Busters… and the movie theater.”
Xander cringed. He was afraid of this. Here was a large and heavily-armed octocopter, guided by a skilled pilot who could be located anywhere in the world, and on a singular mission to cause as much death and destruction as possible. Even before he asked, he already knew the answer to his next question.
“Jamming?”
“Naw, picking up RFG indicators.”
Through the use of the inaccurately-termed random frequency generators, piloted drones were able to get around the mission-ending prospect of having their frequencies jammed. RFGs were married radio units between pilot and drone which constantly switched along a series of pre-determined frequencies unique to that pair, with dozens of switches taking place every second. RFGs were quite efficient, and all of the Center’s RPAs employed the same technology.
As for blanket jamming of all frequencies within the range of a drone attack, that would result in the blocking of signals to Xander’s defensive team, as well as the loss of GPS, cellphone, Wi-Fi and 911 calls. The bottom line: jamming was seldom used except in the most basic, rookie-generated attacks where RFGs were not involved.
“I have a video capture of the big dog. Displaying it now.”
The slightly blurred freeze-frame image of a gangly-looking drone came up on the left side of Xander’s HUD.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Charlie Fox.
“Sure is — a friggin’ Ninja II. I guess that just raised the threat level for this event up a few notches,” Xander said.
“Damn right,” Fox said. “You don’t bring one of those things to the game unless you have some very deep pockets and a serious desire to win.”
At a cost of over a quarter-million dollars each, the North Korea-manufactured killer drone was the best money could buy — unless, of course, you were the U.S. government. Xander’s Viper was comparably priced, but for a terrorist organization to use a Ninja in a mall attack was unprecedented. Whoever was sponsoring this event had some major bucks behind them, and probably not from North Korea itself. Most nations shunned the country as a partner for their operations — even though they would buy their lethal weapons.