“What about you?” she said. “How long have you been awake?”
“Too long,” he admitted. “But I’ve still got things to do. I’ve got to figure out a way to contact HQ.”
The only way to get a signal out was to either jury-rig a signal booster that could reach a satellite or get outside the zone affected by the crimson haze. Going outside was a suicide mission – so that left boosting the signal from inside the bunker. Anson took an inventory. Maybe he could use a series of drones as a sort of array to boost the signal though the haze? He ran a simulation. It looked like it would work if he had about a hundred signal boosters – but he would have to make them in the nanoforge. And then he would have to get them in the air long enough to send a signal without the Ripplers destroyed them. He set to work, ordering the nanoforge to start manufacturing. The production run would take 48 hours. Could he hold out for that long?
That afternoon the enemy dropped a cloud of crimson haze so thick Anson’s drones could not see beyond five metres. It was like a red fog had descended over the bunker – a pea-souper of electronic jammers. The fog prevented the enemy seeing his drones – but he had no idea what was going on out there. He tried sending some drones above it – but they never made it. They suddenly stopped communicating like they’d been blasted out of the sky. He instructed his remaining drones to hover inside the crimson haze, watching for the enemy.
During the next few hours nothing happened.
It got dark outside.
Near midnight a dozen ripples appeared on the radar screens – then disappeared. He could detect nothing – but he knew they were sneaking nearer and nearer. Then – without warning – he lost all of his drones at once. He also lost his passive visual feeds.
“What the hell?”
The next moment, the proximity alarms signified something worse. There were enemy on the ground – right outside the hatch.
Anson swore. He put on his armour and sounded the alarm. He could see Dawkins on a monitor waking up.
“Wake up, Dawkins.”
She looked up at her own monitor. “What’s happening?”
“I’ve lost external surveillance. They’ve landed.”
“Our drones?”
“Not communicating. I think they’ve been destroyed.”
“How?”
“God knows.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Get to the armoury. I’ll meet you there.”
“Right!”
The bunker was designed to be an impregnable fortress – but there had not been a castle built that could withstand a smart and determined enemy. As Anson ran along the corridors, he feared the hatch would be ripped open at any second, letting in a whole horde of soldiers. He was reminded of a movie he had watched with his dad when he was just a kid of seven or eight. Star Wars. It had been a really old movie – but one scene at the beginning had stuck with him, the first time he saw Darth Vader. Vader had appeared through a hole blasted in a wall. It had scared the hell out of him. Outside, right now, Anson knew there were a whole load of Darth Vaders in combat gear that made Vader’s shiny black armour look like a summer dress. His T17 assault rifle wasn’t going to cut it against that opposition. He needed a bigger and more powerful weapon. When Anson reached the armoury, Dawkins was already there, waiting for him to open the door. He typed in the code. The door opened into a white room filled with new weapons and ammo.
“Take whatever you want,” he told Dawkins. She picked two T17-Bs – the same weapon as a normal T17 with extra charge and a bigger magazine. She also selected a close combat weapon – an obsidian-black knife with a smooth molecular edge. She added a belt of grenades. “Too much or not enough?”
“Not enough.”
Anson grabbed the most powerful weapon he could carry, a smart weapon bristling with smart projectiles, which had to be strapped to the shoulders and held with both hands. For good measure, he backed it up with grenades, a knife and an old-school quadruple-barrelled shotgun filled with armour-piercing pellets. That went on his back.
They filled a cart with more weapons and pushed it down the corridor into the elevator. Then they went up to Level 1. Anson heard a sinister metallic screeching on the other side of the hatch. He hid behind the shield, waiting for the breach.
Dawkins loaded her weapons. “Sounds like the Imperial Stormtroopers are coming. Get ready.”
He was stunned by her Star Wars reference. He had not known she had seen it. Was she a secret nerd too? The screeching continued – but nothing happened.
Until a proximity alarm went off in one of the missile launch tubes.
Anson groaned. The noises at the hatch were a diversion. The enemy were breaching through a launch tube. He had assumed the tubes were too small for an incursion – but an intruder did not have be a human. He ran down the corridor and turned a corner to face a small, spiked Rippler with sinuous limbs and segmented body parts like a mutated crustacean. It was dropping out of the ceiling onto the floor, unfolding its narrowed body as it popped out of the tube. Anson fired a burst of smart bullets that slammed into it and exploded releasing attack virals – but the Rippler did not die. It’s skin rippled and ejected the smart bullets. Anson switched to his shotgun. He fired a close range. The Ripper spun and dodged, spraying a noxious cloud over his armour. Anson’s visor was hit with the liquid, which sizzled and burned a hole. Something acidic stung his eyes. Coughing, he could not see the Rippler for the fizzling liquid. He fired blindly, strafing the whole corridor in six types of exploding shells. He caused wall to wall damage – but the Rippler was hurtling away. Behind him, Dawkins tossed a grenade and pulled him backwards around the corner just before it exploded. Dust and debris flew everywhere. Anson tossed his helmet aside and wiped his eyes. A tox screen display on his retina identified the acid. A skin patch neutralised it in his blood. He followed Dawkins around the corridor. There was a small hole in the floor – not caused by the explosion. It had been cut with a precision plasma torch. The thing – whatever it was – had slipped down onto Level 2. He could see it on the surveillance making another hole. Now it was now on Level 3.
“It’s cutting its way down,” Dawkins said. “Why? I thought it would try to open the hatch.”
“Too risky. It must be heading for the control room. If it gets there and hacks ours systems, it can take over the base. You had better stay here and seal all of the launch tubes. I’ll track down the Rippler.”
Anson ran to the elevator. The Rippler was on Level 4 when he boarded. He selected Level 5. He jumped out with his shotgun raised. The level was dark and quiet. The electricity to the lights had been knocked out by the Rippler. He listened. Something was making a splashing sound on his right. He moved forward into the cavernous gym where he often worked out on the machines. He source of the noise was the floor melting under the blast from a number of plasma torches built into the Rippler’s body. It was squatting on the ground surrounded by a white-hot circle of dripping metal. Anson was at sufficient distance to fire some high explosive rounds straight into it without getting knocked off his feet. Three direct hits to the torso blew the Rippler across the gym, slamming it into a wall. It crawled upwards, spitting a dozen rolling bombs towards him. Anson re-aimed at the bombs, taking them out with his shotgun before they detonated. He looked for the Rippler where it had been heading – but it was not on the wall. It was on the ceiling, shooting down strings of something slimy and pulsing with green lights. It looked like some kind of web that it was shooting at him. Anson dived out of its path. The strings hit the ground behind him and sparked furiously. Some kind of stun weapon? Anson ran under the Rippler and fired his shotgun directly up into its head. The impact splattered the Rippler into the ceiling, leaving just strands of the gooey stuff hanging down, sparking and burning. Anson fired twice more – pulping what was left.