As the dust settled, things became clearer. The main entrance they’d been moving toward was completely sealed, choked off by hundreds of tons of rock blown out down from the mountain above them. She frowned. Even using their CID’s incredible strength, there was no way they could dig through that debris field. Not before they exhausted the power stored in every lithium-ion battery and hydrogen fuel cell.
“The Russians had demolitions charges rigged to collapse their tunnel entrances,” Macomber growled. “Crap, I hate it when the enemy gets smart.”
“Do you think they’ve sealed off every way in or out?” Charlie asked. She wasn’t claustrophobic. No one who was truly afraid of confined spaces could pilot a CID. But that didn’t mean she relished the prospect of spending an eternity trapped inside this mountain, like some weird, high-tech mummy.
Macomber’s CID shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out.”
They turned away from the collapsed tunnel and trotted deeper into the complex. It quickly became clear that the Russians had blown in all of the entrances to Perun’s Aerie — all but one.
“‘Come out, come out, and let’s play,’ said the cat to the mouse,” Charlie muttered as they edged cautiously toward the tunnel mouth. Grimly, Macomber nodded.
Set into the north-facing slope of the mountain, this secondary exit looked out onto a shallow, barren, windswept slope devoid of any potential cover. The camouflaged blast door that had once concealed the tunnel from satellite observation stood wide open.
Both CID computers began issuing immediate threat warnings. Their sensors were picking up a large enemy force on the move. At least twenty Russian T-90 main battle tanks were visible roughly a thousand meters away, maneuvering into firing positions on a low, boulder-strewn rise. Intermingled with the tanks were several 9K22 Tunguska armored antiaircraft vehicles — each bristling with 30mm cannons and surface-to-air missiles.
“Geez, Whack, these guys aren’t exactly being subtle, are they?” Charlie said with forced good humor. Inside the CID cockpit, her eyes were troubled. “I think they’re really pissed off at us for blowing up their nice new supercomputer.”
“Could be,” Macomber agreed. “Damn it, Charlie. I’m really sorry I got you into this.”
“Nobody got me into this, Whack,” she said with a low laugh. “Obviously I forgot Army Rule Number One—”
“Never volunteer for anything,” he finished for her. He sounded pained, almost embarrassed. “Yeah, me too.”
Brad McLanahan’s worried voice broke in on their circuit. “Wolf Six-Two to Wolf One and Wolf Two. We lost your signal for several minutes. What’s your situation?” Macomber filled him in quickly, not bothering to sugarcoat anything. Brad fell silent for several moments. Then he came back on the radio. “Hang tight where you are. I can try to bring the Ranger in for an emergency recovery. That slope beyond your position isn’t a great landing site, but it might be doable.”
“No way, Wolf Six-Two,” Macomber said. “They’d knock you out of the sky in seconds.”
Given the number of antiaircraft units already visible on that low rise, Charlie thought that “seconds” was being wildly optimistic. Her CID was also picking up radar emissions from behind the hill, signaling the presence of additional Russian mobile antiaircraft artillery and SAM vehicles. They’d blow the hell out of the XCV-62 before it got anywhere close to this side of the mountain.
“Could you pull back into the complex?” Brad asked. “And make them come to you?”
“Negative,” Macomber said. “These guys show no signs of being that stupid. If Charlie and I try to fort up here, all they have to do is wait us out. Eventually, we’ll run out of battery power — and then we’re just sitting ducks. Besides, there’s no way you can stay parked on the ground. If there aren’t already Russian fighters on the way here now, there will be muy pronto.”
“Understood,” Brad replied.
“So we’re going to have to break out to you,” Macomber continued. “And listen, Brad, if we don’t make it, get out fast. Don’t screw around trying to play hero. This was a sucker play, so let’s not give that bastard Gryzlov any more prizes than we have to, okay?”
Twelve miles to their northwest, Brad sat staring blindly out through the Ranger’s cockpit windows. Slowly and very reluctantly, he nodded. “Got it, Whack. We’ll let you come to us.” He swallowed hard against a huge lump in his throat. “Good luck. Wolf Six-Two out.”
Macomber’s CID turned toward Charlie. “Listen close. When we go, shoot straight and fast. And keep moving. Don’t stop for anything. Understand? If I go down, you keep running. Our only chance here is to smash a hole in their deployment and get clear before they’re set.”
She nodded. Then she stuck out her CID’s hand. “Whatever happens, Whack, it’s been a hell of an honor to serve with you.”
He took it. “Amen to that, Charlie.” Then he let go and deployed his rail gun on one shoulder and his 25mm autocannon on the other.
She followed suit, frowning at the ammo readouts her computer fed her. Well, what did it really matter? she thought with icy determination. This was a come-as-you-are war, after all. It wasn’t like she was going to have time to stop to reload.
“You ready?” Macomber asked softly.
“I’m set,” Charlie replied.
“Then go!” he ordered.
Together, the two CIDs burst out of the tunnel mouth, already veering apart to make it harder for the Russians to concentrate their fire. Accelerating fast, they charged downhill toward the still-deploying enemy tank companies.
Charlie’s battle computer silhouetted one of the T-90s in red, identifying it as a priority target. The low-slung tank’s main gun was swinging toward her. Almost quicker than conscious thought, she aimed her rail gun and squeezed off a shot.
CCRRACK!
Her round slammed into the T-90’s turret, tore through, and punched out the other side — moving so fast that it vaporized the tank’s reactive armor in a blinding white flash. Flames erupted from its mangled turret and hull as the air inside caught fire.
Off to the side, another Russian armored vehicle blew apart, hit by one of Whack’s projectiles.
Charlie ran like the wind, shooting on the move. Her shoulder-mounted weapons were slewing back and forth like crazy — she followed maneuver cues so that the weapons could stay on target as she ran. Two more Russian T-90s slewed sideways, wreathed in fire and smoke. Another exploded downrange. Its mangled turret flew skyward, tumbling lazily end over end.
Recovering from the shock caused by their all-out attack, the surviving Russian tanks and other vehicles opened fire. Salvos of 125mm armor-piercing shells and 30mm cannon rounds streaked across the snow toward the speeding Iron Wolf combat robots. Their first shots missed, slashing past overhead or narrowly to either side before slamming into the mountain behind them. Pulverized rock splashed across the slope. Explosions, the tearing, ripping sound of small-caliber automatic weapons, and the sharp crack of smoothbore cannons echoed off the surrounding peaks.
Numbers flashed across Charlie’s display. 500 meters to enemy battle position. 450 meters. Microwaves suddenly lashed at her CID. The robot’s neural link translated the sensation into something like hot needles stabbing her left side. I’m being painted by a phased-array S-band radar, she realized. There was no time to try spoofing it with her netrusion systems. Reacting instantly, she rolled away from the radar beam. Her 25mm stuttered, shredding one of a pair of tracked Tunguska antiaircraft vehicles just cresting a low rise off to the left. It shuddered and squealed to a halt with thick black smoke curling out from open hatches.