Chapter 53
brODIE AND DIXON EXITED THE lab. The air was a little clearer now, and Brodie could make out the distant smoke from the blasted cell tower. He wondered who had done that. He hoped it was Maggie. It was her style. Brash and brilliant.
She moved to his left side and crouched.
“Copy.”
Brodie held tight to the launcher’s grip, aimed the optical sight at the center box of ammo, and pulled the trigger.
An explosion shot out the back of the launcher as the rocket streaked ahead. It met its target in the center of the line of D-17s and exploded, sending the nearest bots flying. The fireball ignited a couple of their rockets, causing secondary explosions and more damage.
The gunners in the barracks opened up with grenade launchers and the M2 machine gun as Brodie dropped the launcher and he and Dixon dashed to their right, then cut left and sprinted north. In a minute, they located their weapons.
Up ahead was total bedlam. Tin men were scattered in pieces in front of the barracks as the survivors fired a barrage of rockets at the building, blasting holes in the brick facade, as they were raked by machine gun fire and grenades exploded around them.
Brodie grabbed the M240, folded out the bipod, and set it on the ground. He said to Dixon, “Get on your stomach, you’ll only need your right hand. Squeeze the trigger and have fun.”
He put on his ammo vest and picked up the grenade launcher as Dixon lay down in the road. She kept her left arm and broken hand at her side as she took the grip with the right and wrapped her finger around the trigger.
She opened fire on the line of D-17s while Brodie launched a grenade into the cluster of bots.
It exploded on the ground and caused indirect damage as Dixon squeezed off dozens of rounds into the group of tin men, now a panicked and deteriorating formation.
The few still standing managed to get off a couple more rockets before being ripped apart by bullets or grenades.
Brodie took another grenade round from his vest, loaded it, and fired, scoring a direct hit.
Dixon ran out of ammo. More grenades and bullets spilled out of the barracks windows, and Brodie spotted two tin men dashing into the building.
He got back on walkie. “Two bots on foot just entered the barracks.” He said to Dixon, “Let’s move.”
She got to her feet and drew her EMP pistol from her waistband, and they jogged forward.
Gusts blew sand across their path as they ran toward the scene of destruction. Metal limbs and heads, circuit boards, and charred wiring littered the asphalt amid smoking impact craters and scorched black sand on either side of the road.
They dashed toward the barracks, where several holes had been blown into the facade of the building.
A section of wall and windows on the ground floor was completely gone, and there was a similar damage point on the third floor.
Black smoke drifted out of a shattered window on the second floor, where an RPG round had punctured the glass and detonated inside.
They ran into the smoke-filled lobby, where a Ranger lay dead with a D-17 standing over him, arms covered in blood. Another Ranger lay injured beneath a pile of debris, and the D-17 lurched toward him. Dixon shot it with two EMP blasts and it crumpled to the ground.
Brodie said to her, “Help him out of here,” then continued toward the hallway where he heard commotion and the discharge of EMP weapons.
As he rounded the corner into the hallway, a D-17 fell backward out of the rec room doorway and crashed into the hall.
A Ranger jumped after it and got on top of it, groping across its torso.
“They don’t need them,” said Brodie.
The guy looked up at him. “What?”
“They don’t need the hardware keys. The only way to end them is to destroy them. Spread the word and get your people out of here.”
The Ranger nodded, then got up and called into the rec room.
People streamed out, quickly stepping over the disabled D-17.
As they passed Brodie in the hall heading toward the exit, Brodie spotted Sergeant Mendez and some of his MPs; the medical examiner, Dr. Schiller; and various people in civilian clothes whom Brodie did not recognize, presumably cooks and other support staff who had been here on lockdown since before Brodie arrived.
They looked shell-shocked and could not stop staring at the inert D-17 as they stepped over it.
It occurred to Brodie that despite having been here for months, this might have been their first time seeing one of these things.
A man in his twenties in jeans and a T-shirt was among the last to exit the rec room. He stepped over the D-17, then stopped and stared at it. Colonel Howe emerged behind him and said, “Keep moving, Specialist.”
Suddenly the D-17’s hand flashed out and grabbed the guy’s ankle.
“Fuck!” He tried to yank his leg away.
Colonel Howe aimed her EMP pistol at the thing and fired a single round, and it went limp once more. Its hand remained wrapped around the SPC’s ankle.
“You have to pry it off,” said Howe.
The specialist looked at her, then crouched and quickly pried off the titanium digits as if they were the most disgusting things he’d ever touched. Then he walked quickly down the hall, and as he passed Brodie he said, “What the hell, man?”
“You’re telling me.”
The SPC left and Colonel Howe approached Brodie. “I’m glad you’re still with us.”
“Same. Let’s get some distance from this bot and then I’ll roast it.”
They walked quickly back toward the lobby, and then Brodie loaded a grenade into his launcher, took aim at the bot in the hallway, and fired.
The grenade streaked down the hall and on impact it created a violent fiery explosion in the small space.
Brodie felt the hit of the heat coming back at them down the hallway.
For a moment he and Howe gazed at the smoking wreckage. Then the colonel asked, “How did they get out?”
“Someone released them remotely. I don’t know who.”
“And how is it possible that they don’t need their hardware keys?”
“The short answer is, some kind of software override, one of several features of the Praetorian software. If you want a longer answer you’re going to have to talk to someone smarter.”
They exited the barracks, behind two Rangers carrying an injured comrade. Brodie recognized the injured man as Corporal Powell. He had a large gash along his right leg.
As the Rangers set the corporal gently down a distance from the barracks, Brodie said to the man, “You fought well, Corporal. We’re going to get you medevaced ASAP.”
Powell nodded, and closed his eyes as a Ranger gave him a shot of morphine and started to dress his wound.
Brodie spotted a couple more injured Rangers emerging from the barracks with the aid of their comrades, followed a few moments later by Lieutenant Lehner of DEVCOM. No sign of Captain Spencer, or General Morgan and his wife, or Maggie Taylor.
As people continued to exit the barracks, Brodie counted eight Rangers with a range of injuries who were being helped by their comrades along with Caroline Dixon.
Three dead were laid off to the side. One of the Rangers retrieved a tarp from somewhere, and he and his buddies set it over the bodies and weighted it down with sand and rocks.
Brodie asked Howe, “Ma’am, permission to address the soldiers.”
“Granted.”
Brodie looked around at the assembled Rangers and civilians as they stood in front of their ruined barracks and surveyed the destroyed D-17s around them. Some held EMP rifles. Too many were unarmed or had only pistols.
Brodie said in a loud voice, “Can I have your attention, please.”
Everyone turned to Brodie. He continued, “You were told these things were built to train you, and some of you suspected you were really here to train them. That isn’t too far from the truth.
They are being developed as a quick reaction force to quell domestic insurrection.
At the moment, they believe that insurrection is here at Camp Hayden, and their mission is to put it down by whatever means necessary.
They are deploying counterinsurgency tactics to deplete us, demoralize us, and destroy us.
Someone blew up the cell tower outside the base, which has disrupted their capacity to instantaneously communicate and geolocate each other.
The enemy is compromised. They are not accustomed to working together without this capability.
The surviving tin men will not know the extent of their losses here at the barracks, and we must use this to our advantage.
I estimate there are, at most, twenty surviving units.
” He gestured to one of the nearby bots on the ground, punctured by dozens of bullet holes.
“As you can see, they are capable of operating without their hardware keys.”
Staff Sergeant O’Connor stepped forward and asked, “How the hell is that possible?”
Brodie said, “The details don’t matter right now. What does matter is that the only way to permanently incapacitate these things is to physically destroy them with explosive rounds or armor-piercing bullets.”
There was muttering among the troops, who seemed confused, and concerned, and possibly incredulous that this could be true.
Brodie added, “Many of your fellow Rangers have already made the ultimate sacrifice today. It’s not my place to speak to that, other than to say I’ve seen with my own eyes your courage and love of country.
And make no mistake, your fight today is a fight in defense of your country, perhaps more than you know.
” He found PFC Greer among the crowd. The man was holding an EMP rifle and appeared calm and determined.
Brodie kept his eyes on the private as he added, “Whoever woke these bastards up and set them loose, blood is on their hands, and justice will come for them.” He looked at Howe. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Howe nodded, then looked at the assembled Rangers.
“The enemy has destroyed our telecom equipment and our power supply. No one is coming with backup. There’s no cavalry.
There’s no rescue. This is all on us.” She turned to Staff Sergeant O’Connor.
“You are now the NCOIC. The armory is destroyed, so we must gather all the weapons from here that we can. Get that M2 on anything with wheels that still functions. Secure the perimeter to ensure that no D-17 escapes. And I want that Black Hawk back in the sky for surveillance and air support as soon as the weather allows.”
“Yes, ma’am.” O’Connor got to work coordinating with his men and gathering gear. Brodie saw two guys carry out the M2 machine gun, and Corporal Reyes rolled something into the road about the size of a mini fridge that Brodie assumed was his famed EMP bomb.
Brodie asked Howe, “Where’s Morgan?”
She shook her head. “He was with his wife, plus Eric Saltsberg and a couple of Rangers. We were all supposed to rendezvous here, but their vehicle must have gotten diverted in the storm.” She added, “Brodie, I want you in charge of getting the civilians and other noncombatants somewhere safe. I suggest one of the supply buildings. Bring along a couple of Rangers.”
Brodie replied, “I appreciate your trust, but a couple of Rangers can do that without me. What I need is a weapon so I can get back out there.”
“You are not combat infantry, Mr. Brodie.”
“Ma’am, despite this scrap heap around us, our odds are still terrible, and you need every warm body who can fight.” He looked at Dixon, who was using her good hand to assist a medic. “You should know that Ms. Dixon is injured. Mickey Mantle broke three of her fingers.”
Howe looked over at her. “Jesus…”
“She’s made of tougher stuff than a lot of soldiers I’ve fought with.”
Howe nodded, her gaze fixed on Dixon. “I’m not surprised.”
A Ranger drove up in an M113 armored personnel carrier, and some of the guys set to work mounting the M2.
A minute later a Humvee arrived, and Reyes and a few others loaded the EMP bomb into the back.
Then the M2-equipped APC rolled away toward the southern gate, accompanied by two squads on foot armed with RPGs and EMP rifles.
Two more heavily armed squads headed east. The machinery was in motion now, and the Rangers were doing what they did best. Brodie just hoped it was enough.
He scanned the surrounding area. The storm had moved north now, and the thick grit was gradually dissipating, allowing for greater visibility.
Brodie’s greatest fear was that the remaining D-17s would hit them now, when they were grouped together and vulnerable.
He imagined that if the tin men’s transponders had still been working, that was precisely what they would have done.
Another Humvee pulled up with a Ranger behind the wheel.
In the passenger seat beside him sat General Morgan, and up top behind a mounted M2 machine gun was Maggie Taylor.
She locked eyes with Brodie and looked relieved to see him, but also anxious.
She hopped down from the Humvee as Morgan got out, and they both approached Howe and Brodie.
Brodie looked Taylor over. She’d ditched her suit jacket along the way, and her white blouse, black pants, and wild mop of blond hair were caked in desert dust. He asked her, “You okay?”
She nodded. “You?”
“Yeah. Somehow. Was that you at the cell tower?”
General Morgan said, “It was. We can debrief later. Right now, there’s a hostage situation.”
Howe looked incredulous. “What are you talking about?”
Taylor said, “Five tin men are holed up in house number six with the general’s wife and Eric Saltsberg. They are demanding safe passage.”
Brodie asked, “Is this a joke?”
“If it is,” said Morgan, “it’s a horrible one. They say they want an Army pilot and a Black Hawk.”
“To go where?” asked Brodie. “A country that doesn’t extradite robots?”
Morgan replied, “They say they are fulfilling their secondary mission, which is to preserve the intellectual property stored within their neural networks.” He looked at Brodie. “They want to meet their maker. They want to return to Synotec.”