I had thought the dome was the top part of some taller structure, but it was the whole thing, a giant convex concrete roof that sloped all the way down to the ground on all sides, except where massive metal doors notched its circumference. A jumble of sensor arrays and missile batteries were perched at the top of the dome like the last few hairs on a bald man’s head. I didn’t like the look of them at all.
I also didn’t like the look of the welcoming committee that was waiting for us on the grounds of the base. The road through the pass led to a wide bowl in the center of the plateau. Base Cochise sat in the center of the bowl — and an army of robots patrolled the perimeter. There had to be more than seventy of the metal motherfuckers!
“Time to see what this bird can do,” said Vargas, looking over my shoulder. “Beto, let ‘er rip.”
I swooped low as Thrasher leaned on the trigger and the two 50–cal guns ratcheted to life, spewing death whichever way I turned. It was magnificent. The big bullets turned even the scariest bots into scrap in seconds and sent shrapnel flying in every direction.
For the first minute or so the robots were confused and spun around like headless chickens as we slaughtered them in droves, but then they started to figure out who was attacking them. Theystarted to converge, firing up at us as they came.
“That’s it,” said Thrasher. “Stay in a group.”
He stabbed a yellow button and a missile fishtailed from our left wing–mount then beelined right for the cluster. A two–story ball of fire obscured the view for a second and the blast wave shook the chopper, but when the fire cleared there was nothing but blackened wreckage where the bots had been.
I hooted and raised my hand to give Thrasher a high five, but suddenly Angie was screaming from the back.
“Incoming!”
I spun the bird around in time to see fire blossoming near the apex of the concrete dome. I knew I hadn’t liked the look of those batteries!
“Shit!”
I slapped at a green button pulsing above my head and two of my chaff launchers chugged flares out behind the chopper as I swerved away.
The way the missiles veered toward the flares was a joy to behold. It all worked just like the instruction manual had said it would. The missiles detonated harmlessly far behind us and we were free and clear.
“Gonna have to deal with those fuckers,” said Vargas.
“Angling around now,” I said.
But then the cockpit shook and it sounded like somebody was playing drums on the underside of the chopper.
Angie leaned in from the back. “You’re too low! The rest of the robots are shooting at us! Take us up! Take us up!”
I spiraled up as fast as I dared. Hell Razor and Ace returned the robots’ fire from the door, then I banked around to get a line on the dome again, but it beat me to the draw. Two more missiles were screaming toward us. I slapped the second chaff button, sending another two flares spinning away, and the two missiles obligingly followed just like last time, but unfortunately I’d been a few seconds slower and they exploded closer to us, knocking us sideways in the air and battering us with shrapnel.
Shafts of sunlight pierced the shadowed interior and something pinged off my helmet. Smoke began to billow from the controls and the back rotor wasn’t responding to the pedals. We were spinning in dizzy circles.
Vargas clung to the back of my seat for dear life.
“Uh… are we going down?”
I checked the altimeter, though the view out the window had already told me the same thing. “Yes, we’re going down.”
“Well, don’t drop us in with the robots!”
The cyclic squirmed like a snake in my hand as I tried to angle us out of the bowl and into the trees, then it jerked savagely. I lost my grip and the chopper spun toward the dome.
“You’re going to tree us instead?” shouted Angie.
I grabbed the cyclic again, but this time it didn’t respond. A connection had broken somewhere. I had no control at all. “Looks like we’ve got no choice.”
Vargas turned to Hell Razor and Ace in the back. “When we hit, get clear as fast as you can. It might blow.”
“And you go fucking buckle in!” I shouted over my shoulder. “All of you! Now!”
They all staggered back to their seats and grabbed at their straps as I sat there helplessly, watching the dome spin closer and closer.
Then we hit.
Judging by the criteria old–time pilots used to use — that any landing you can walk away from was a good one — it was a good landing, but only just. We clipped the sensor arrays at the very top of the dome as we came down, then swerved down and hit the roof tail–first, snapping the tail off and sending the rear rotor whirling away down the slope, striking sparks as it went. Our belly hit next and momentum started to tip us over, but then the top rotor hit the concrete and knocked us back the other way as it shattered, bisecting a huge, silvery, spiderlike robot that had been scurrying towards us, ready to slice and dice, and scattering its twitching legs in all directions.
We came to a rocking, skidding stop and I cleared my straps and dove out my door in a split second, then dropped to my hands and knees as post–shock adrenaline turned my arms and legs to jelly. All around me the others were doing the same, choking on the smoke from the crash and cursing me, the chopper, and life in general. All except Hell Razor, who was laughing like a five–year–old.
“I made it,” he said. “I’m back on solid ground!”
Two humanoid death machines popped up out of cylindrical openings in the dome and started toward us, Gatling guns spinning up to speed. They made Finster look infantile by comparison.
“Yeah,” drawled Vargas as we all scrambled for cover. “This is much better.”
A torrent of bullets poured our way, chewing down the edges of our hiding places, and things got very noisy very fast.
“Ghost!” Shouted Angie. “Dissolve those fuckers!”
“Sure, I—”
I didn’t have the meson cannon. It was back in the chopper — which was very exposed. I’d be chopped liver before I got two steps.
“Here you go, hotshot,” said Ace and slid it across the concrete to me. “Thought you might be wanting it.”
I flushed, embarrassed, and reached for it. A stray bullet hit the stock and spun it almost out of cover, but I snagged the barrel and dragged it behind the pylon where I was cowering, then raised it up and fired it blind in the general direction of the shooting.
“Left!” shouted Angie. “Left!”
I nudged the gun left and heard the satisfying hissing and popping of a robot’s insides boiling away and exploding. I dared a quick glance and adjusted my aim to the other one, then watched it melt like a crayon left out in the sun.
“Behind!” barked Hell Razor.
We turned. Three smaller spider–bots were tick–tacking up around the rounded slope of the dome on their pointy little feet, hacking the air with gleaming combat blades.
Our lasers sliced away their limbs, and their round bodies rolled back down the incline.
“Clear,” said Vargas. “Grab your gear and let’s find a way into this place.”
We ran back to the chopper and dragged out our packs and supplies, then scouted around. The ports that the robots had popped out of were armored with the same kind of material we were wearing. No way we were getting through. Angie crawled to the base of a missile battery which was doing its best to depress enough to shoot us. It was failing, servomotors whining in protest. She patted a hatch at its base.
“This thing’s gotta be powered and loaded from below. Razor, y’think a couple of sticks of TNT will turn this into a doorway?”