When no one answered, Xander looked to the scanner, a young Hispanic woman named Lydia Garcia. She was frowning deeply at the information on her screen.
“Report, Lydia,” Xander ordered.
“I’m sorry Mr. Moore, but I can’t detect a single activation.”
Xander’s mouth fell open, while Colonel Simms raced to a phone at one of the observation stations behind the control consoles. He began to yell into the receiver.
“That’s impossible,” Xander said to Garcia. “Maybe it’s a communications problem—”
“That’s not it,” Simms said, still cradling the phone on his shoulder. “All of the Las Vegas and Henderson bunkers have been hit with drone strikes, apparently simultaneously with an attack on Nellis, too. We’ve been compromised, and to the highest degree.”
The noise level in the room rose significantly, as officers, pilots, and operators all began to ask questions and demand answers.
“If the stations are gone, then how do we defend the Center?” Garcia asked. Her voice trembled and her eyes were moist.
This was the problem with remote warfare, Xander thought, the lack of connection to the battlefield. When the fight came to your own backyard, the fear and anxiety associated with real combat suddenly manifests itself. Although Lydia Garcia had participated in literally dozens of remote battles, she had never been this close to the real thing, and she wasn’t handling it very well.
“Don’t worry,” Xander said, “there are defensive measures here and at the airbase. This is one tough place to penetrate.” Or at least he hoped so. He had been with the Center since two years after its inception, yet he wasn’t privy to that part of the operation.
Simms replaced the phone in its cradle. “Listen up, everyone! Quiet!” After all eyes had turned to the RDC commander, he addressed the room. “All the nearby bunkers are gone so there’ll be no countering force coming from outside. Also, the Nellis flight line is in shambles, so we can’t count on them, either. The attacks were coordinated.”
“This doesn’t make sense, sir,” a senior Air Force officer called out. “Drones are not designed to hold territory, especially autos like most of these. So we just hunker down and wait for their batteries to run dry.”
“The problem with that strategy, Major, is that these units have an operational life of at least two hours. In that time they could level every goddamn building in the complex.”
“Not the underground facilities,” the officer countered. “We need to evacuate everyone below ground.”
Simms considered all the eyes looking at him. Ironically, the Rapid Defense Center was not designed to protect itself. It relied on forces from Nellis and the local rapid-response bunkers.
The approaching fleet of heavily-armed drones would be upon them in less than five minutes.
“Let’s do it,” Simms said decisively. “Get everyone down as low as they can go. No one remains outside.”
“Sir!” said a Marine Captain. “We have automatic weapons and a security force of forty-five. I say we take posts outside and blast as many of these fuckers as we can.”
Before responding to the Marine, Simms nodded to the Air Force major. Immediately, people began to stream from the room as the officer talked on a cellphone. Then Simms focused on the Marine officer. “There are over eighty UAVs heading this way Steve, with mid-range missile batteries and the ability to dart around at over sixty miles per hour. You may be able to take out a few of them, but then they’ll just saturate your positions with enough raw firepower to make the outcome a foregone conclusion. These are mindless machines we’re dealing with here. There’ll be no surrendering, no breaking off the attack at some point. The drones will just keep fighting until the last unit is gone. You’d be sacrificing yourself for nothing by staying outside.”
Xander watched as the veins in the Marines’ neck pulsed. Simms continued: “Take your men over to Comm. Major Drake is right. The attackers can’t hold the ground, but they can take out our communications capability. Without that, we won’t have access to any of the remaining RDC facilities across the country.”
“Yes, sir!”
The man rushed out of the room.
Xander and his two surrogate team members now headed for the door. “Mr. Moore, a word,” Simms said.
The other two operators hesitated for a moment before leaving.
“We don’t have much time—”
“There’s more,” Simms said, interrupting.
“More… like in more bad news?”
“Exactly. The security breach goes deeper than simply identifying the location of the RR bunkers in Vegas. There’s also been a huge data dump on the Internet.”
Xander shook his head, not understanding.
“This download contains information about all our operations, the locations of the bunkers, as well as our security codes and protocols.”
“Holy crap!”
“They’ve also revealed personal data on all our pilots and operators.”
“What do you mean personal data?”
“I mean everything: names, addresses, photos, next of kin, even bank account information.”
Xander was stunned, even if he didn’t have time to react before Simms grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the exit. The attacking drones would be at the complex in less than two minutes, and they had to find shelter.
Even though there were several prominent awning-covered walkways between the buildings, all the structures had underground access tunnels between each other. Xander and Simms took the first crowded stairwell down to the sublevels of the Administration building and entered a passageway leading to the communications center next door.
“Where could they have gotten that information?” Xander asked.
“It had to come from here,” Simms answered. “It’s all on the mainframes.”
“I thought we couldn’t be hacked?”
“We can’t,” Simms answered gravely. “It had to be an inside job.”
With a few moments now to digest the impact of the news Simms had laid on him, Xander’s legs grew weak. As a pilot for the Rapid Defense Center, his identity — along with that of all the others — was some of the most sought-after information terrorists coveted, not only because of the skills the operators possessed, but also because of their effectiveness in foiling countless operations initiated by these groups. It was now a matter of principle for the dozens of radical terror groups operating around the world to take out any and all RDC operators they could find.
“All of us?” he asked.
Simms nodded. “I was told on the phone that there are reports of individual homes being hit as well as the bunkers.”
“The pilots?”
“And anyone else who happens to be home at the time.”
“But you said the information was just dumped on the Internet, and they’re already striking at the residences?”
“The info-dump was an afterthought,” Simms said. “These attacks took months to plan, including the ones on the pilots, so whoever’s in charge of this operation has had this information for a while. Now they’re just adding insult to injury.”
Simms’ comment was punctuated by a massive explosion that rocked the building above them, reverberating for several seconds after the first jolt. Ceiling panels crashed to the floor, covering the occupants of the corridor in a fine white powder. The lights flickered on and off briefly.
“We have to protect the comm links at all costs,” Xander said. “You were right. The only way an op like this can succeed is if they take out our way to communicate with the remaining bunkers. Without the ability to launch and control, our entire inventory is useless.”