Ortega entered first, followed moments later by Murphy. All the president’s senior staff were there by now, although Admiral Hagar was at the Pentagon.
Once inside, the massive vault door was closed, and only to be reopened from the inside.
“What’s happening?” Ortega asked as he entered a large, glass-walled conference room lined with video monitors and filled with grave-looking people. Jack Monroe, Ortega’s Chief of Staff, spoke first.
“Someone’s been able to activate the combat drones in the RDC bunkers in the downtown D.C. area. These units are in the air and preparing to attack.”
“By someone, I suppose you mean Almasi?”
“I would assume, Mr. President.”
“But I thought the attacks had essentially ended. That’s the word we got from Beijing, and by our own count. The volume of attacks is down ninety percent over the last six hours.”
“Obviously the pressure Colleen Hoover suggested the Chinese exert on their puppet states had the desired trickle-down effect. That’s the reason for the sudden drop off in drone strikes. But now it looks like Almasi has found a way to carry on without his coalition.”
“By using our own drones against us.”
“Not all of them, sir. Nathan Hall at DARPA is reporting they can neutralize the autonomous drones with a new jamming signal they’ve developed. But that still leaves the piloted drones to contend with.”
“How many of those does he have access to?”
Monroe looked to Alice Grimes from the answer. “Nationwide, there are over three thousand RPAs — remotely-piloted aircraft—”
“Three thousand!”
“But he doesn’t have access to all of those, not anymore.”
“Why not?” asked Owen Murphy, speaking for the first time.
“We’ve been systematically barricading the exits to hundreds of rapid-response bunkers. Even then, Almasi — we assume its Almasi at the controls — is blowing up the inventory of drones in these bunkers. He can’t use them, and neither can we.”
“So what’s about to hit D.C.?” the president asked.
“These are the RPA units that got out of the local bunkers before we could do anything about it.”
“How many are we talking about?”
“A couple of hundred were activated. We’re not quite sure how many he has under his direct control.”
“Would two hundred RPA drones require two hundred operators?” Jack Monroe asked Alice Grimes.
“Exactly, and we don’t have any idea how many pilots he has at his disposal to know how many are being sent against us.”
“What about other defenses, the White House drone force, for instance?” Ortega asked.
“Already deploying, but we only have fourteen pilots on duty at this time.”
“Countermeasures?”
“Basic. But, sir, the incoming drones are the top-of-the-line RDC drones. They’re every bit the match — if not more — for the UAVs in the Secret Service arsenal.”
Ortega was already seated, otherwise he would have fallen down when the implications of what he was being told suddenly dawned on him. He had trouble collecting his breath, but finally he was able to mutter, “So there’s nothing that can stop them? The drones are going to hit the very heart of the nation’s capital.”
The relatively weak defensive force provided by the Secret Service drones rose up into the cold December air just as the sun was setting on the fourth day of the national crisis. They didn’t last long, overwhelmed by the sheer number of combat drones sent against them. Now the attackers spread out, with over one hundred independently-controlled killer drones hitting at will the seemingly inexhaustible supply of national monuments, symbols, and buildings in this part of the city.
Some saturated with missiles and bullets the large glass facades of the nine museums of the Smithsonian Institution that lined the Mall, while another group sent tiny yet powerful rockets into the base of the Washington Monument. Seconds later, the iconic obelisk toppled over and crashed to the ground in a thunderous cloud of concrete dust. The debris field scattered across the Ellipse, pointing directly at the south lawn of the White House.
With no viable defense protecting the White House, even the lasers and drone Tasers were overwhelmed by the number of attackers. The entire south face of the White House was soon saturated with missiles and gunfire. In the meantime, other drones concentrated on the huge dome of the Capitol Building, with some hovering near the structure while they triggered the ubiquitous explosive charges contained in all RDC drones. The vast dome broke apart in places and crashed inward, leaving ragged cavities in the once majestic structure.
Now the remote operators steered their deadly charges west over the Reflecting Pool, with gunfire shattering the black granite surface of the Vietnam Memorial, before proceeding above the long series of steps to hover near the seated statue of Abraham Lincoln. Moments later, the most recognized symbol of American civil rights and unity was nothing more than a dusty pile of crumbled masonry.
Six minutes had passed since the drones had lifted from their bunkers.
“Damn you, Nathan!” Xander yelled into his comm. “I thought you said these things were easy to pilot?”
“Just relax and feel the controls. You’re jerking them all over the place.”
“It would have been nice to have even a minute of training before heading out on our first mission.”
Xander and the other five members of Team Alpha were struggling with an impossibly short learning curve as they guided the nearly-invisible Goliath drones towards the battlefield. To the monitors in Hangar One at Andrews, the flight paths of the drones tracked like that of drunken hummingbird, zigging and zagging from side to side while doing their best to maintain a somewhat forward heading.
Flight time from Andrews to the Capitol Mall was only three minutes, yet by the time Xander got his team into the pods and their birds in the air, the attack was already well underway. Now, as they arrived on-site, the scene revealed in the dim December sunlight was one to bring a tear to any proud American.
The entire area was a crumbled and burning inferno. From the Capitol, to the White House, to the fallen Washington Monument, nothing was as the postcards portrayed, not anymore. The image of the falling buildings of the World Trade Center was a tragedy, Xander thought, but this was so much worse. This was the capital of the nation, and it now lay in ruin.
“Incoming!” he heard the voice of Karen Prado cry out, both in his headset, as well as her proximity in the control pod to his right.
“Where?”
“Everywhere!”
Even with the low radar and visual signature of the Goliaths, a few of the RDC octocopters zipping about had nearly collided with a couple of the stealth drones. Reports were made, and a swarm of red, white, and blue painted JEN-Tech Viper III’s began scouring the skies for the elusive defenders.
“Attack at will,” Xander ordered. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find targets. Let’s clear the air, Alphas!”
Fully ensconced in the offsite perspective provided by their FPV goggles, the members of Team Alpha broke into individual attack units, with each pilot now having gained a decent feel for their aircraft. Brilliant flashes of light seemed to erupt out of thin air as the .60’s cut loose, rippling into the hardened plastic and fiberglass frames of Vipers. Designed by Billy’s own company to withstand hits from the standard 5mm nylon-jacketed armament, the Vipers — before today, Xander’s preferred combat drone — were no match for the supercharged shells issued forth from the Goliaths. A dozen of the attackers evaporated in the air above the Mall.