the cursor over the infrared sensors. “Even its heat signature is nearly invisible. Good work.”
“Stealth and armored combat never worked that well, hand in hand, but this is a revolutionary new design,” Whitman replied. “With the MidKnight, we can hit the enemy with impunity. Don’t want to risk a Marine platoon on foot? Send in a small squadron of MidKnights.”
Rogers pursed his lips. “What about regular tanks?”
“That’s the joy of this. The MidKnights are slave drones. One operator can handle and coordinate two of them. The range on the remotes are fairly limited, so our operators will need to be close. What better place than wrapped in the Chobam armor of an M-1A tank?” Whitman asked.
Rogers nodded. “But what about the tanks themselves?”
“The hypersonic vibrational dampeners are modular designs,” Whitman explained. “They can be installed in M-1As with ease.”
Rogers frowned. “So why use the drones?”
“To increase our armored ability. Instead of sending out large squadrons of tanks, we have two armored vehicles and four drones able to do the work of a squadron, with more firepower and superior coordination,” Whitman said. “And with less risk of someone with a cheap, shoulder-mounted rocket launcher taking out a tank crew.”
Rogers looked dubiously at the monitor.
Suddenly one of the MidKnights exploded. Chunks of armor plating and flames erupted as if from a metallic volcano.
“What in the hell?” Rogers demanded. He stood in the control booth, eyes locked on the field below. Another of the MidKnights detonated in an orange blossom of flame and debris.
“Sir!” Lieutenant Aaron Blake spoke up. “There’s something else out on the field!”
“Impossible!” Rogers bellowed. “This testing ground is protected on all sides. There are no access roads…”
The control tower shook.
Whitman held on to his chair, but Rogers and Blake were tossed to the floor. He glanced down to see a spiked disk pass near the bonfire of one of his drones. A long, thick tail rose from the thing’s back. Its bulbous tip spit out another flash of fire. He watched the low, armored intruder’s head spit twin lines of flame that smashed the tent with the MidKnight operators to shreds.
The millionaire inventor held his breath as more of those attackers became visible, their tails alive with jets of fire. Rockets speared out of the sides of the blunt tail tip and destroyed a hangar building.
“How in the blazes did they get here?” Rogers asked.
“Ankylosaurs,” Whitman whispered. “They look like Ankylosaurs.”
“What?” the general shouted.
“Ancient armored dinosaurs…” Whitman said. His eyes widened as one of the disk-shaped drones pivoted and opened fire on the base of the control tower with their heavy machine guns.
“Pull off of the field!” Rogers shouted into the mike. “Get out of the line of fire!”
Whitman looked at the monitor. In its infrared lens, the bodies of Yuma defenders flared hotly as they were pierced by lances of automatic weapons fire. Several had already fallen, turning from yellowish white to cool blue. Except for the flaming muzzles and rocket shell launchers, the Ankylosaurs were all but invisible to infrared and radar. He clicked through various detectors. The intruders were stealthier than his own designs. While the MidKnights and the Ankylosaurs were both invisible to radar, the black, spiked monstrosities had a null heat profile except when their weapons fired.
Glass shattered in the control room and Blake’s torso exploded as 25 mm shells ripped through him. Whitman recoiled, soaked with hot, fresh gore. Slimy gobs of pulped flesh dropped to the floor as he shifted position. Rogers stared in pained shock, for a moment at the head of the lifeless officer, and it took a moment for Whitman to focus on the fact that all the general held was a head attached to the grimy taillike spinal cord, ribs sticking up like insect legs where they’d been shattered.
“Get out of here now,” Rogers said resolutely. “This tower’s no protection against those things.”
Whitman hit the eject button on the DVD recorder drive.
“Come on, man!” Rogers shouted.
“The sensors have information on the attackers. We can use it!” Whitman replied.
“Think about your designs another—”
“No! To learn who is attac—” Whitman began. Something hot burned below his back and he suddenly felt very tired. The glimmering disk in his hand seemed too heavy to hold up and he flopped facedown on the floor.
“Whitman!” Rogers shouted. “Oh, God…”
Whitman didn’t know what the man in the green suit was talking about. His mind drifted. “Ankylosaurs…”
“Don’t talk,” Rogers said. He gripped Whitman’s lapels and pulled him along toward the steps.
Whitman was glassy-eyed in shock, his brain not registering properly. His breathing was difficult. He looked back over his shoulder and saw a pair of legs, half a pair of them actually, blown off just above the knees. One was flopped on its side, but the other leaned against a counter, as if it were still standing.
“Hey…” the weapons designer muttered as he was dragged over the top step.
“Save your strength, Dane. It’ll be okay,” Rogers whispered. “It’ll be okay…”
Whitman looked drunkenly up at the man. He thought he should know this nice person’s name, but it escaped him. All he could think of was the dinosaurs, the Ankylosaurs. He smiled.
He loved dinosaurs. He always liked to read books and watch movies about them…and when he went to the museum…
His eyes blinked lazily.
“Dane, hold on dammit,” Rogers gritted.
“I like the museum…” Whitman whispered, his head resting on the cold stone step. He closed his eyes, imagining an era when leviathans roamed the Earth.
Death took the genius as he smiled dreamily.
GENERAL ROGERS FELT for a pulse and found none. His lips pulled back tightly, and he looked down at the mirrored disk the man died to retrieve.
“To learn who attacked,” was what he’d said before the 25 mm cannon shell had blasted his upper thighs into a messy spray of vaporized flesh and bone.
Rogers took the disk and slipped it under his jacket. “Okay, Dane. I’ll make sure the right people get this.” The general took off down the stairs, reaching under his jacket and drawing out the SIG-Sauer M-11 pistol from its concealed holster. The little handgun wouldn’t do much against an armored juggernaut, but it was something that gave him some confidence. He wasn’t completely helpless.
As he reached the base of the tower, he glanced at a gaping hole in the wall. Two soldiers were strewed in the rubble on the steps, and Rogers knelt to check on them. Both were dead.
Numbing anger washed over him. These soldiers were under his command, and they had given their life in a rush to his side. His jaw set, he shook off his shock. He needed to contact the rest of his men and insure their safety. He looked down and spotted a field radio.
He plucked it from the corpse’s belt and heard the sounds of the Yuma Security Task Force as its members tried to coordinate a defense against the attacking robots.
“This is General Rogers. All security forces fall back! Those things are too powerful to stop!” he ordered. “Fall back to shelter and do not engage!”
Rogers sensed danger and threw himself to the base of the steps. The impact jarred the old soldier’s bones, but the drop saved his life as machine guns and cannon