Losenko’s blood went cold. He knew at once what he was looking at: a remote-control surveillance drone. Russian military and counter-terrorism forces had been experimenting with such mechanisms for years now, as had the Americans. Indeed, the unmanned aerial vehicle that hovered above them bore a strong resemblance to the Scan Eagles employed by the U.S. military. They were intended to perform aerial reconnaissance missions in a variety of environments, without endangering flesh-and-blood soldiers.
“Damnation!” he cursed. “We’ve been spotted.”
Gorski spied the flying drone as well. With admirable speed and aim, he shouldered his rifle and fired at the UAV. The muzzle brake deflected the sound of the blast to the sides, much to Losenko’s discomfort. Hot lead sprayed across the device’s flight path.
It changed course abruptly, zigging and zagging across the sky with frightening agility. A lucky shot winged it, however, and it went spinning through the air. Sparks flew from its tail, it dipped precipitously, then righted itself at the last moment. As it swooped upward again, slowing long enough to stabilize its erratic tumbling, Gorski let loose with another volley.
This time the drone wasn’t fast enough to evade the gunfire. Flames erupted as the 5.45-millimeter rounds punched through its lightweight composite casing.
“I got him!” Gorski whooped jubilantly. “Torpedoes away!”
But the drone wasn’t dead yet. As though determined to take its attacker with it, the UAV reversed course and dived straight at Losenko and Gorski. Trailing a plume of fire and smoke, it whistled through the air like a miniature missile.
“Incoming!” Losenko shouted. He shoved Gorski out of the way.
With only seconds to spare, the men hurled themselves in opposite directions. The kamikaze drone crashed to earth between them, digging a furrow deep in the soil alongside the road. Dirt and gravel went flying.
Gorski scrambled to his feet on the other side of the crater. He slammed a fresh banana clip into his AK-74, then took aim at the crashed drone.
“Come on, you flying maggot!” he snarled, taking out all his pent-up fear and anger on the pulverized machine. Blowback from the rifle smudged his face. “I’m ready for you!”
“That’s enough, sailor.” Losenko lifted himself from the ground. This time of year, the upper layer of permafrost was loose and soggy. “You’ve killed it once already.”
Not that it mattered. While impressed by Gorski’s reflexes and marksmanship, the captain knew the damage had already been done. The drone had surely reported their presence back to its unknown masters, just as the gunfire had given away their location. Losenko felt as though his hull had been pinged by an enemy sub’s sonar.
We have to get out of here, he realized. Now.
“After me!” he said to Gorski. They sprinted down the hill toward the rest of the patrol, who were already rushing to join the battle. Anxious eyes scanned the hill between them and the factory. Agitated voices pelted Losenko with questions.
“Retreat! Back to the cars!” he shouted over the clamor. He gestured back the way they had come. “Reverse course, full turbines! Gorski! Fedin! Cover our rear!”
He prayed they could get away without a fight, but the odds of that happening were shrinking by the minute. At least we know what we’re in for... unlike Zamyatin.
“But, skipper!” Ostrovosky looked back at the fallen bodies of the scouting party. “Lieutenant Zamyatin and the others....”
“Leave them!” Losenko barked. He hated to abandon the dead crewmen, but if they tried to recover the bodies, they would quickly join them. He prodded Ostrovosky between the shoulders with the muzzle of his pistol. “Eyes front! That’s an order!”
He stepped over Pagodin’s rotting remains.
Dasvidania, comrade.
The men raced at full speed away from the carnage. Their boots pounded against the bloodstained blacktop. Stealth was no longer an issue, so they didn’t bother clinging to the shadows as they had on the way in. Losenko hung back, near the rear of the exodus, constantly glancing back in expectation of seeing the enemy in pursuit.
But what enemy? The question nagged at him even as he hurried his charges back toward their waiting transport. Fourteen men dead, and we still don’t even know who we’re running from!
They had only made it a few meters before the trap was sprung. A loud metallic clatter caught Losenko by surprise. To the left, the corrugated steel door guarding one of the storage units rolled up noisily, exposing a dark cavernous space beyond. A pair of glowing red eyes lit up in the shadows. A motor roared to life—and a thing rolled out of the open unit.
Losenko’s eyes widened in shock.
Exposed beneath the pitiless glare of the arctic sun was a robotic killing machine mounted on tank-like treads. About the size of the conn area back in the control room, it resembled the remote-controlled robots used by bomb squads to detonate suspicious packages. Heavy armor plating—the dull gray color of gunmetal—shielded the machine’s base, torso, and head. The wedge-shaped cranial case had a vaguely serpentine appearance. The robot rose from a defensive crouch until it was nearly three meters tall. Optical sensors, installed in the viper-like “face,” scanned the scene. A pair of menacing black chain guns served as the robot’s arms.
They had met the enemy—and he was not human.
Servomotors whirred into action. Targeting lasers swept over the startled humans. The robot opened fire, unleashing a continuous spray of bullets that cut down a third of the patrol in a matter of seconds. The deafening report of the chain guns, which fired shot after shot with murderous efficiency, drowned out the men’s final screams. Bright arterial blood spurted from gaping wounds. Depleted uranium slugs punched through protective flak jackets as though they were made of tissue.
The robot rolled easily over the uneven terrain. Its head and shoulders swiveled from side to side, raking the road with a scythe of whizzing death. Its spinning muzzles flared like hellfire.
Losenko threw himself onto the pavement. Bullets whizzed about his head, practically grazing his scalp. He wriggled forward on his hands and knees toward the nearest available shelter: the soggy ditch alongside the road. He tumbled headfirst into the gully, landing between two bulldozed vehicles. Bodies hit the asphalt only a few meters away.
This is like something out of a science fiction movie! he thought. The mechanical monster hadn’t even issued a warning before opening fire. This wasn’t security; it was slaughter, pure and simple. What sort of madman programmed this thing? And sent it out to kill?
Just when he thought matters couldn’t get worse, the garage doors at the service station blew off their hinges. A second robot, identical to the first, rumbled out on the other side of the street. Its chain guns rotated into place. Unblinking red eyes surveyed the carnage.
A sailor who had been hiding behind one of the empty gas pumps spun around in surprise. He fired frantically at the newcomer, but the bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the robot’s sooty steel carapace, striking sparks off the armor. The man emptied his weapon, then tossed the rifle aside. He threw his hands up above his head.
“Don’t shoot!” he squealed. “I surrender!”
The robot pivoted toward him. The muzzles of the chain guns flared. Twin bursts of gunfire all but cut the unarmed sailor in two. His bisected body flopped limply onto the concrete.
Surrender, it seemed, was not an option.