25

Artillery shells and rockets bounded across the darkening sky as mrill drones buzzed overhead. The mrill troop ship had landed about half a kilometer away, near the shore, and robots and mrill soldiers were spreading out, firing at the American soldiers charging through the city streets from the south. What they lacked in coordination they made up for in raw firepower.

A quick check of his internal compass told Ben he’d landed in the McMillan Reservoir, just a few kilometers away from the White House. There were American soldiers, tanks, and helicopters everywhere. None of that bothered the mrill. The invaders had landed on the south edge of the reservoir and were continuing in that direction—through the Howard University campus—to meet the oncoming elements of the 2nd Battalion, 6th Marines, the infantry unit that had been deployed near the White House. A dozen or so M1A1 tanks from the Army’s 77th Armor Regiment were also clattering into the fight. Apache helicopters and F-35 and F-16 fighter jets screamed overhead as they engaged the mrill drones. It was a massive force, yet the mrill were kicking it aside like a pile of dried leaves.

Missiles and tracer rounds whipped through the air from the advancing human troops, gouging and ripping chunks from everything but the mrill. Flashes of plasma sparked out from the far more sophisticated mrill weapons. All the dying was happening on the human side. The sun had almost vanished in the west, but the red glare of the rockets was enough illumination to show that the humans were being chewed up as fast as they arrived on the scene. Tanks rumbled forward, yet most were destroyed before ever firing a shot. An F-16 Fighting Falcon roared overhead, pursued by two drones. The drones pulverized the fleeing jet, raining fiery debris down on an apartment building, then split up to continue their hunt. The chatter of machine-gun fire and the snap of mrill energy cannons filled the night, punctuated only by men, vehicles, and buildings detonating in the dark, momentarily turning the night to day.

A dozen or so terrified civilians stumbled out of a building just as a squad of marines ran around the corner. The two groups, heading in opposite directions, got tangled up, and the soldiers struggled to redirect the hysterical civilians while trying to establish a firing position behind some parked construction equipment.

Before the marines could aim and fire, a squad of mrill robots homed in on the confused gaggle of warriors and civilians, killing them all where they stood. Screams of pain were short-lived, as the robots fired repeatedly into the position.

Two army snipers on the roof of a nearby parking garage opened up on the mrill robots with powerful Barrett M107 rifles. The .50 caliber slugs slammed into the machines, tearing off chunks of metal and sending a couple robots to the ground. From behind the snipers, a third soldier launched an FGM-148 Javelin anti-tank missile at a cluster of robots. The missile popped free of its launcher and soared up into the sky to punch down into the enemy grouping—it never had a chance. While two of the robots dumped green energy blasts into the building, destroying a handful of cars along with the three-man fire team, a third pointed up in the air and fired at the descending missile. It detonated like an asteroid hitting the atmosphere, the boom briefly overpowering the noise around it. In all, the mrill had killed twenty-seven people in the space of less than six seconds.

Rage bubbled up through Ben’s cold computer senses, a useless emotion that would only get him killed if he gave into it. He pushed down his fury and kicked hard through the cold water. At the shore, he paused for a moment to calculate his attack. He’d emerged on the southwest shore of the reservoir, about a hundred meters from where the mrill had landed and were pushing further southwest toward the Capitol and the White House. Military infantry and vehicles continued to stream from that direction, trying to stop the mrill assault. They were being steadily pushed back and Ben could hear in the background of his mind the chaotic radio chatter passing between the soldiers charging into their deaths.

Ben knew the president had been evacuated, but there was also one of the surface-to-space guns installed on the White House lawn, and it was vital to keep it operating. As Ben prepared to move, the cannon fired in the distance, a bright red lance charging up into the sky. Ben reached out to Eddie and Nick, who responded by connecting him with their visual sensors, and for a few moments he watched the space battle raging through their eyes. More mrill ships were cutting in, and the situation was getting more difficult to contain. Nick and Eddie wouldn’t be able to help down here.

Ben switched to a radio connection to Rickert.

“General? Do you read?” he whispered.

“Ben? Holy hell, where are you?”

“On the ground in DC, about two klicks from the White House. We’ve got about two hundred mrill foot soldiers and a handful of drones pushing southwest from the McMillan Reservoir. Our guys are being chewed up. I’m about to engage the mrill from the rear and I need you to patch me in to whoever is in charge on the ground to let them know I’ll be linking up with them in about 45 seconds. We’re also gonna need a hell of a lot more air support.”

“I’m working on it. In the meantime, don’t die.”

Ben shouldered his rifle and slipped out of the water. A quick glance showed him he probably could have cartwheeled out of the water and not been noticed. The mrill were focused on the tanks and soldiers and hadn’t secured their flank, assuming all the defenders were in front of them.

A second mrill force emerged from the troop ship. In addition to foot soldiers, there were a handful of hovering platforms. On each platform were four mrill soldiers, operating what looked to be massive cannons. Mobile artillery. These levitating weapon platforms skimmed above the asphalt, avoiding jagged debris and rubble. Each cannon sizzled and snapped for a moment before firing, sending a thunderbolt into the human ranks. This second squad wasn’t bothering with scouts or perimeter security either. Why should they? As far as they knew, Ben was dead and nothing else on the ground was a serious threat.

Ben dropped prone behind a dirt embankment, looking through the wreckage of two cars. He mentally toggled his rifle to fire timed explosives and felt his brain surrendering active control of his nano computers. While many of his fellow soldiers had spoken of an odd, Zen-like calm that fell over them before going into battle, Ben had never experienced such a sensation. Combat had always been a visceral, hyperreal experience for him, with every sense operating in overdrive. He’d spent years learning to throttle down that engine, to keep it from overheating and burning out mid-race. He could let the nanobots handle that now. Was that an upgrade? Was there a long-term price for having a literal off switch for some parts of his brain? Problem for another day, he thought.

The switch flipped, and Ben fired off half a dozen timed charges into the mrill troop ship, onto two of the hovering weapons platforms, and onto the ground near the advancing mrill infantry. Two of them looked down at the glob of explosive gel and tried to warn their fellow troops just as the bombs exploded. All six explosives detonated simultaneously, tearing apart the troops and vehicles.

Ben was already moving, engaging his high-tech camouflage, an invisible wraith flitting through the fiery night. A dozen mrill turned to fire at the apparent source of the explosives, but he was already gone. He fired as he ran around their right side, picking off several more. Ben disappeared behind the burning wreckage of the drop ship and spotted a cluster of marines huddled behind the corner of a building. He could “see” the stream of radio signals pouring forth from their comms devices, and mentally hacked into them. Half a dozen more tanks rumbled into the intersection behind Ben, firing as they moved, doing some damage to the distracted mrill. As the mrill returned fire, the Apaches that Ben had sensed earlier roared into view, rockets belching out of their weapons pods as their rotors sent up a riot of smoke, dust, and glowing embers. The mrill were already regrouping, and Ben could sense the airborne drones coming back for a second attack run. He was almost to the group of marines.

“This is Lieutenant Ben Shepherd. I’m coming up at your three o’clock position. You’re going to see me in about two seconds. Do not shoot me.”

The bewildered soldiers managed to hold their fire as Ben appeared out of thin air, skidding to a halt in front of them. He spotted the three upward chevrons on the sleeves of one of the men and glanced at his name patch.

“Sergeant Daniels, is this your squad?”

They were all sweaty, confused, and nervous, but the sergeant relaxed a bit as he noticed Ben’s gray skin and realized who he was.

“Yes, sir. What’s left of it. I’ve lost one fire team and most of a second. We’re about to engage the enemy.”

Ben glanced back, saw the mrill moving away from his location.

“No, you’re not,” Ben said. “I’m about to engage the enemy, and you’re going to wait for my signal.”

Ben didn’t need his heightened senses to read the anger on the soldiers’ faces.

“Don’t worry, marines. You’ll get your shot in a minute. I just want to give you the opportunity to make it count.”

Ben noticed a claymore bag slung over the shoulder of a young Lance Corporal.

“Any left?” Ben said, gesturing at the bag.

The marine smiled.

“Been waiting all day to use these, sir,” he said, handing over the bag.

Ben lifted the strap over his head.

“When you hear these go up, attack their flank.”

“Where will you be?” Sergeant Daniels asked.

“I’ll be firing from their three o’clock position. When these babies start cooking, you come running.”

The marines nodded, eager to join the fight.

“It doesn’t take these guys long to regroup, so you’ll only have a few seconds to take advantage of their confusion. If for whatever reason the claymores don’t detonate, rally point is . . .” Ben consulted his internal map. “Northwest corner of Georgia Street and Bryant Avenue. Meet there and we’ll try again. These assholes are going for the cannon near the mall. If they destroy it, it gives them an open highway to send in their full ground assault and establish a beachhead. We’re not going to let that happen.”

Ben stood to leave. He tried not to be crushed by the weight of the responsibility he had just assumed. Whatever happened to these men, it would be under his orders. They knew who he was and they trusted him to see a path forward that they couldn’t. Ben knew that wasn’t the case. He was acting on his best instincts, but had no guarantees. He saw the battlefield with only a bit more clarity than they did. Even Ben’s augmented senses could only see so deeply though the smoke and the fire and the noise. His electronic sensors strained for data, but the jamming signal that he, Eddie, and Nick were broadcasting was straining the capabilities of their own internal computers. Ben knew there were cameras scattered in parking garages, storefronts, police and military vehicles all around him. Normally, he could have tapped into those cameras with just a thought and looked at the entire city at once through their glass eyes. But his machines were maxed out. For all he knew, he was sending these men straight to their deaths. In fact, that was very likely the case. His plan gave them a better chance than the suicidal frontal charge they’d been on the verge of attempting. But in the end, it was war.

Ben lifted his weapon, activated his cloaking, and advanced into the chaos.