“But three thousand combat drones, that’s ten times more than what’s been used in any of the attacks taking place to this point. And just when the attacks were beginning to taper off.”
“We should be able to tell which bunkers have been activated, right?”
“That we can, at least visually, or by the techs on-site.”
“That will give us target zones. What do we have so far?”
Nathan scanned the information on the large monitor, while a Navy petty officer handed him a sheet of paper. “You’re not going to like this, but sixteen bunkers have been activated in the D.C., Alexandria, and Arlington region. The auto drones should be dead in the water by now, especially in this area where we have the most assets. But that still leaves over a hundred and twenty-five RPAs from the report I’ve just been handed.”
“What better target than D.C., Nathan? I’ll get the pilots ready, but we only have nine Goliaths in the area. The rest have already been sent out to other locations.”
“If I recall some from the surrounding zones, they could be here in under an hour. That might get another six or so on station.”
“An hour? Hell, Washington could be in ruins in an hour. I’ll get my people up and prowling immediately. Maybe we can delay some of the major damage until reinforcements arrive.”
“Good luck, Xander. I’ll continue to get the killbox signal disseminated, while monitoring things from next door here. We’ll feed your pilots coordinates as they become available.”
Chapter 22
Abdul Almasi surveyed the rows of flight control stations in the large room fifty feet below the surface of his unassuming residential compound in the suburbs of Karachi, Pakistan. He knew eventually he’d acquire the transponder codes from Jonas Lemon, just not so soon. He only had forty-two pilots at the compound, far fewer than he had originally planned for this stage of the operation. They would have to do. Before the desertion of his allies in the drone war against the United States, he had planned on transferring control to another two hundred pilots located across the Middle East, Europe, and even in America herself. Now his former allies would regret their decisions, as they saw the incredible firepower the Arm of Allah had under its control. They could have shared in the ultimate battle against the infidels and been a part of the legend that would be spoken of for centuries.
Now it would be his legend alone.
Yes, his task was now more difficult, and it would take longer to accomplish. In addition, he would have to utilize the same forty-two pilots for countless operations, and they would not be able to maintain the pace for long — which would also slow his progress. But now that couldn’t be avoided.
Eventually the Americans would seal off the remaining bunkers. He would have to act fast, hitting the most high-value targets first. Fortunately, most of America’s symbolic high-value targets where located in or around the Washington, D.C. area.
As a precaution, he sent out commands to activate a hundred additional bunkers across the country, placing the freed drones into standby mode once outside and superficially hidden from detection. Battery charges had to be preserved until the drones were called upon, which hopefully would be soon, before the authorities could track them down.
There was loud murmur permeating the flight control stations.
“What’s wrong?” he called out over the rising din.
A senior pilot, Vladimir Krensky, turned from his station. “The auto drones are not responding, as least the ones in the D.C. area. Some of the others are, the ones you asked to be dispersed into the countryside, but none in Washington.”
The transponder link he had with the bunkers gave him access to the video monitors within. He activated the feeds from two of the bunkers near the White House.
Sure enough, the auto drones — mainly the smaller, sacrificial lambs of the arsenal — had their propellers spinning away in the launch area as they hovered ten feet or more in the air, but they weren’t going anywhere. Frantic technicians and military personnel in the bunkers were desperately knocking the drones out of the air — the soldiers using the hovering UAVs for target practice, while the techs swung metal rods and even folding chairs at the drones.
Almasi fingered the detonate codes for the two bunkers he had on the screen, and was only mildly surprised when nothing happened. Somehow the Americans had figured a way to override the embedded commands in the flight control programs, leaving just the basic take-off-and-hover instructions.
“What about the RPAs? I do not see them.”
“They have launched successfully,” the Russian drone pilot replied.
“How many do we have in the area?”
“One hundred twenty-eight; however, only forty are currently under our control. We’re hiding as many of the others as we can on the ground to preserve battery life.”
“Proceed with your attacks, Krensky. Use the hidden units as backups. I will monitor defense actions, if any.”
The Secret Service operated its own fleet of protective drones. These were specifically assigned for duty in and around the White House or when the president was on the move. The pilots of these drones were highly-skilled, if rarely tested; however, with the increasing number of amateurish attempts on the president’s life over the past few years, they were gaining a lot of real-world experience to go along with their constant drills, if not against truly professional combat pilots.
The drone fleet was held in four underground bunkers at each corner of the White House property, with the command and control responsibilities shared between an external building to the right of Lafayette Park and also deep under the residence off the Situation Room.
Fourteen pilots were on duty at all times, along with an equal number of technicians tasked with computer and video monitoring. The bulk of these pilots were tasked with countering external threats to the building, while four manned small defensive drones within the building itself.
Since the recent crisis had begun, there had already been five lone-wolf attacks on the White House, launched primarily from single issue groups such as anti-abortion advocates and the resurrected Occupy-Whatever movement. None of these assaults managed to breach the outer perimeter before being taken out through a combination of the responding defensive drones and targeted lasers and drone Tasers now being employed in building security.
When the remote detectors picked up the telltale buzz of approaching drones, the techs at the stations at first thought it was a glitch in their system. There seemed to a whole cloud of contacts that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Fortunately, it was only a matter of seconds before confirmation came in from Andrews that this was indeed a drone attack in the making, and consisting of units from the previous inaccessible RDC inventory. The bunkers housing these units were scattered throughout the monument section of the city, placed there to afford near-instant reaction time to impending threats. No one had ever envisioned that the drones originally placed there for defense could be used as offensive weapons. It was only a matter of seconds before the air above the Washington Mall was swarming with killer robots.
“Mr. President, you must evacuate now!” said the Secret Service agent assigned to Caballero—the code name for Rene Ortega.
Ortega was taken off guard, yet when three more agents rushed into the room and almost carried him out of the Oval Office, he knew this was serious. A bewildered Owen Murphy was left sitting at the president’s desk for only a moment before his own Secret Service detail entered the room. Soon both president and president-elect were shoved into adjoining security elevators and carried far below the White House. The tunnel was long and fortified, and ended at a fallout bunker complete with communications, living quarters, food stocks, and an advanced medical facility.