Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone (3 page)

Xander knew that the few who hadn’t made it to the shelters would be hiding from his drones—just as they were hiding from the enemy UAVs. This was understandable. Even though the RDC drones were painted with a distinctive red, white, and blue motif, the bad guys had begun to paint their units in a similar manner, so to the victims within the Dolphin Mall, all drones were the enemy. Fortunately, Xander and his team would experience no such confusion. The highly-classified transponder signals employed by the RDC units would separate the good guys from the bad.

As Xander’s huge Viper UAV cruised down the central concourse of the Dolphin Mall, he spotted another of the effective defensive tools being used to protect the public during drone attacks. These were the ubiquitous, twelve foot-long, four-foot wide seating partitions now found throughout most malls in America. Although fitted atop with an inviting four-inch-thick pad for seating comfort, these thirty-inch-high, t-shaped structures could be used to hide under and behind when enemy drones were in the area. Their high-grade steel construction could withstand a modest-size explosion.

So as Xander’s Viper led the three-drone phalanx toward the Bloomingdale Outlet at the north side of the mall, he knew that behind many of the seating partitions dozens of terrified—and wet—civilians huddled, all of whom just had their joyous holiday season shattered by an experience that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

********

“Autos are engaging,” Lane reported. “Only three explosions recorded so far.”

“Casualties?”

“I’m detecting seventeen people down, at least in the western side of the mall. No telling at this point the dead from the injured.”

Just then the team heard the distinctive pop-pop of small arms fire coming through the microphones on their drones. Xander’s targeting display instantly locked tiny red-lined boxes on the heads of three men. They were poking out from behind a cellphone accessories kiosk in the center of the concourse, with weapons out and firing—at Xander and his drones.

The RDC pilot wasn’t worried. Their drones were specifically designed for combat, with all components of the eight-bladed octocopters made of lightweight yet virtually indestructible composite materials; even the lenses of the gimbal-controlled cameras were made of one-inch thick, shatterproof plastic.

Xander brought his huge drone to a hover in front of the men. The Viper carried .20mm dual machines guns mounted under the carriage, along with side-mounted .5mm’s above. The UAV also carried two banks of pencil-missiles—a total of thirty missiles in all—and all this firepower now pointed directly at the three men hiding behind the flimsy wooden kiosk.

“Cease your fire, dammit, we’re from the RDC!” Xander called out through the speakers on the drone.

The men kept firing, even to the point where two of them had to reload.

“I said we’re from the RDC. Now stop firing and take cover!”

“Bullshit!” one of the men cried out. “How do we know you’re really from the RDC? All you damn drones look alike.”

“How can you tell? You’re still alive, that’s how! Now stop firing and take shelter immediately. The crisis will be over shortly.”

The Viper hovered momentarily until the three men lowered their weapons, then it sped off again.

“Everyone okay?” he asked his team.

“One of those dudes was a damn good shot. I took three hits. No damage, however,” said Charlie Fox.

The trio of RPAs had now reached the end of the main concourse, which split off at ninety-degrees to the west and east. This wide corridor formed the outer walkway for the mall in a huge racetrack-like configuration. Looking both ways, the team could see and hear the signs of aerial combat taking place, as battles raged between individual autonomous drones from each side, following their programming with regards to offense and defense.

Xander noticed that the majority of the enemy drones were basic quadcopters—four-bladed, box-shaped units that had been painted to resemble the RDC units.

Even a cursory knowledge of the units the government deployed, as compared to those used by terrorists, an observer could easily tell who was who. The government units were much larger octocopters, with blades hidden within protective rings. They were heavier, with double weapons platforms above and below, as well as forward and rear-looking cameras. The bad guys often used off-the-shelf civilian drones—which were mainly inventory items now that the unregulated sale of over-the-counter drones had been outlawed a couple of years before.

Yet even with their simple design, what turned these once innocent and harmless toys and tools into lethal weapons was the installation of a tiny module within their flight controls called a
killbox
. Outlawed throughout most of the civilized world, these miniature, pre-programmed computers were manufactured by rogue nations such as North Korea, Iran, and the Islamic State. Each compact device contained everything the aspiring terrorist or anarchist would need to turn their kid’s toy or aerial photography platform into a killing machine, including simple plug-and-play operation through standard USB connections.

Several years ago, Congress passed a series of laws requiring that all drones contain restrictive programming, covering flying altitude and limiting their access to certain public areas, such as airports, government buildings, sport complexes—and even shopping malls. Yet, as was common with such laws and restrictions, only law-abiding citizens and companies were impacted. Now with a four-hundred dollar killbox, those with evil intent could override any government-mandated operating restriction and carry on without missing a beat.

Xander had no idea where the autonomous drones for this particular attack had come from. Even with drone sales highly regulated, they were still allowed to be purchased with the proper permits, screening, licensing and education; however, there were literally millions of older drones left over from the time when UAVs were the latest rage. In fact, Xander could see that most of the enemy drones they were facing today were Phantom III’s, a very popular and affordable quadcopter from about fifteen years ago. Although technology and government regulation had essentially killed off the civilian drone market, these surplus—and in some cases homemade—units still served quite well as killbox-executioners in raids such as the one taking place on this bright December afternoon in Florida.

In all honesty, Xander wasn’t too worried about the enemy auto drones. His robots were superior and would make short work of the other auto units. It was the presence of the enemy RPA in the mix that had him spooked.

“Any location on the big boy?” he asked David Lane.

“Video surveillance had it turning right, heading for the Dave and Busters
… and the movie theater.”

Xander cringed. He was afraid of this. Here was a large and heavily-armed octocopter, guided by a skilled pilot who could be located anywhere in the world, and on a singular mission to cause as much death and destruction as possible. Even before he asked, he already knew the answer to his next question.

“Jamming?”

“Naw, picking up RFG indicators.”

Through the use of the inaccurately-termed random frequency generators, piloted drones were able to get around the mission-ending prospect of having their frequencies jammed. RFGs were married radio units between pilot and drone which constantly switched along a series of pre-determined frequencies unique to that pair, with dozens of switches taking place every second. RFGs were quite efficient, and all of the Center’s RPAs employed the same technology.

As for blanket jamming of
all
frequencies within the range of a drone attack, that would result in the blocking of signals to Xander’s defensive team, as well as the loss of GPS, cellphone, Wi-Fi and 911 calls. The bottom line: jamming was seldom used except in the most basic, rookie-generated attacks where RFGs were not involved.

“I have a video capture of the big dog. Displaying it now.”

The slightly blurred freeze-frame image of a gangly-looking drone came up on the left side of Xander’s HUD.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Charlie Fox.

“Sure is—a friggin’ Ninja II
.
I guess that just raised the threat level for this event up a few notches,” Xander said.

“Damn right,” Fox said. “You don’t bring one of those things to the game unless you have some very deep pockets and a serious desire to win.”

At a cost of over a quarter-million dollars each, the North Korea-manufactured killer drone was the best money could buy—unless, of course, you were the U.S. government. Xander’s Viper was comparably priced, but for a terrorist organization to use a Ninja in a mall attack was unprecedented. Whoever was sponsoring this event had some major bucks behind them, and probably not from North Korea itself. Most nations shunned the country as a partner for their operations—even though they would buy their lethal weapons.

It had to come from either Iran or the Islamic State. It always struck Xander as odd that the two major sponsors of state terrorism in the world—although both Muslim—were so diametrically opposed to one another in religious philosophy. One was Sunni, the other Shiite, yet in the larger scheme of things they each hated the Western world more than they did each other.

The presence of the Ninja at the Dolphin Mall meant a message was being sent, and one that went beyond the potential staggering death toll of the event. It was demonstrating to an already rattled population that no matter how tight the security of the nation may have become over the past decade, the masterminds of this attack could still get at the United States undetected and undeterred. The illusion of safety and security that the government tried to convey was just that—an illusion.

No one was safe from the drones.

Xander now steered his Viper along the northern corridor of the Dolphin Mall, knowing for certain that his day was about to get a whole lot worse. Beyond the relatively benign actions of the twelve auto drones currently serving up death and destruction throughout the rest of the mall, the Ninja would also end its mission in a fiery blast. Yet with an operational time-on-station of up to five hours, there was still plenty of terror to be squeezed out of the drone’s quarter-mil price tag before that moment arrived—unless Xander Moore could bring it all to an early conclusion.

The Rapid Defense Center couldn’t prevent drone attacks, but it could do something to cut them short, thereby saving countless innocent lives.

That was all well and good. It was just that Xander Moore had never gone up against a Ninja before…

********

With practiced confidence, Xander gripped the central control stick on his console with his right hand and placed the fingers of his left on the four toggle buttons controlling the drone’s gimbals. His feet were also placed on pedals, allowing for even more agile operation of the Viper.

“Weapons hot. I’m coming up on the D&B’s. I really hope it didn’t make it into the theaters.”

“Security cams show a solid lockdown of the Cineplex. Still, it’s kinda of ironic isn’t it that the drone would be hiding in a Dave & Busters?”

“Holy crap!” Lane cried out. “Do you have the video feed from inside the arcade?”

Xander toggled the control until he came upon the scene that had his scanner-operator so upset.

“That monster just executed a dozen civilians inside the restaurant,” Lane cried out. “He had them line up, telling them they could leave, and then cut them in half.” Lane’s voice was trembling. Even though he’d seen this level of barbarism many times before, it was something he could never get used to.

“I have the link, Dave,” Xander said. “Son-of-a-bitch—now he’s talking into the security camera.”

The small screen in the upper left corner of Xander’s display showed the image of the evil-looking drone hovering in the air and staring into the camera. The Ninja wasn’t painted like the other attack drones in the red, white, and blue of the RDC units. Rather, it was silver and black, with red swatches depicting dripping blood along the sides. There was a sinister-looking face painted on one of the facades, highlighting a hideous grin, and with the stereoscopic cameras serving as the eyes. A computer-disguised voice now spoke into the video display and was picked up by the security microphones.