Prologue
Mexico, 2030
The Mexican sun was sizzling, but the man called John ‘Reaper’ Kane
seemed oblivious to its scorching rays. Not inside the Global Viper Robotic
System. Its automatic coolant conditioner saw to that. The external armor was
constructed of a new alloy that had been developed and tested by Global and was
now operational.
Inside the helmet was a full HUD (Heads Up
Display) on which the wearer could see at a glance threat warnings, ammunition
count, battery life, and whether the armor was compromised. And no matter the
build of the wearer, the adjustable armor gave them an operational height of
almost eleven feet and a sustained ground cover speed of thirty miles per hour.
This was the future. A necessity for
operators to take on the heavily armed threats now expanding operations across
the globe. Someone at Global had taken a Dale Brown novel and brought it to
life. Team Reaper—the new Team Reaper
that is—was the beneficiary of it all.
And Kane and Raymond ‘Knocker’ Jensen had
been brought back to lead the fight. Even though both men were in their
forties.
The HUD was sensor operated from a small
pad at the operator’s temple. It sensed thoughts and reacted accordingly. Right
now, Kane’s HUD was scanning the terrain for life forms and armed threats.
From his earbuds a hopping tune filled his
head. “What the hell are you humming now?” Kane asked Knocker.
The Brit stopped. “Sorry, Reaper. I’ve
been listening to Creedence, and Fortunate Son is stuck in my fucking head.”
“Hey, I like that song,” a voice replied.
“Old music like that is cool.”
The words were spoken from the third Viper
operated by Grace Henderson. She was a former Air Force pilot who’d flown
Lockheed Martin’s F56s before the F60 Black Cats came out and were totally
automated. Flown by stick jockeys half a world away from whatever combat zone
they were in.
She had been hand-picked by Global for the
Viper Program the year before. The twenty-five-year-old Idaho native had jumped
at the chance. After all, Global Corporation was the best on offer, and they
only selected the best.
Or rather, Mary Thurston did.
“Shit,” Knocker muttered. “Young people
these days.”
“Can I help it if I am, old man?” Grace
asked.
“Keep it up, Reaper Three, and I’ll spank
you.”
“Promises, promises.”
“All right, knock it off,” Cara Billings
said, interrupting their banter. “Heads in the game. Morenos and his soldiers
are heavily armed. It’s not like the old days.”
No, it was nothing like the old days.
Cartels were now using tanks and helicopters and shoulder-launched missiles. A
heavily armored wall had gone up along the US-Mexico border, but the drugs
still managed to get in. Everything south of that wall to the tip of South
America was cartel country. They ran it all.
Two weeks before this operation, the DEA
had sent a covert team in to assassinate the cartel leader, Juan Morenos.
Fifteen experienced, heavily armed men who never came home. Each had been
killed and their bodies displayed as an example. Hence, the request for Global
to intercede using their high-tech assistance.
There were two more Vipers, both on
standby, circling at 40,000 feet above the earth. They were operated by former
Australian Special Forces Red Ryan and former British Commando Ken Welsh.
Each
Viper was armed with a GAU-2/A minigun housed
behind the robot’s right shoulder and then deployed. It was belt fed from a
3,000 round pack fitted on their backs like a school backpack.
Additionally, under the left arm was a
weapon able to fire 30mm depleted uranium rounds. All were aimed and fired
using the HUD.
“Bravo One, I need a sitrep.”
“Copy, Reaper One. I have three guard
towers all loaded with fifties. Lots of movement around the perimeter. Looks
like they know you’re coming.”
“Don’t they always?” growled Knocker.
“Ready to go to work, Gracie?”
“Turn me loose, Governor.”
“Your British accent is horrendous.”
She grinned. “So is yours.”
“Commencing attack, Bravo,” Kane said and
came erect. “Move out.”
Then they were running. The Vipers swiftly
traversed the desert toward the large compound.
On Kane’s right, Knocker crashed through a
large bush and smashed an even larger saguaro. On the inside of Kane’s helmet
his HUD detected movement from one of the towers as a shooter started bringing
his fifty-caliber heavy machine gun around.
Within a heartbeat, the minigun on Kane’s
shoulder fired a short burst of fifty rounds. The tower was immediately
shredded and the guard simply vanished. Meanwhile the second shooter opened
fire from his tower, sending geysers of sand and stones erupting around
Knocker’s Viper as it rapidly closed the distance.
“Not so fast, mate,” he snapped, and his
minigun came to life. In a serious moment of déjà vu, the tower was destroyed,
and the shooter torn apart.
“RPG on the wall!” Houlihan called out
over the comms.
Kane picked it up on his HUD but the
warning came too late as the rocket-propelled grenade streaked across the
desert floor toward the charging Vipers. It flew straight and true, hitting
Grace’s exoskeleton like a runaway truck.
The Viper stopped as though colliding with
a brick wall and went down. The comms broadcast a cry of pain, causing Kane
some concern. “Reaper Three, are you okay?”
“I’m all right,” Grace grunted, sounding a
little shaky.
“What about your Viper?”
“Armor integrity down to sixty percent but
still operational.”
Knocker opened fire again and the RPG user
died in a cloud of red. “Got the bastard.”
“There is movement inside the compound,
Reaper One.”
“Copy.”
Kane’s HUD zoomed in on the compound in
time to see the main gates open. Emerging through the opening, like being
projectile vomited, raced four heavily armed vehicles. The real problem,
however, came in the form of three Russian made T-90 tanks with reactive armor.
Just another string to the drug cartel’s bow.
“Ah fuck a duck,” Knocker growled.
“Someone has brought out the Tonka toys.”
Kane muttered a curse and then said,
“Launch Reaper Four and Five. I say again, launch Four and Five. We’re about to
have a bad day. Out.”
***
Aboard Boeing C-252 Stratomaster Over Mexico
They were chalk and cheese. Red Ryan was a big man, strong and
confident. Ken Welsh was thinner and not as tall, but as they said in his unit,
the man was a goer. And right now, they were at 40,000 feet in the belly of a Boeing C-252 Stratomaster called Skyhammer. Basically,
a Globemaster on steroids.
Cara watched the pair insert themselves into their Vipers. Her hair
was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a headset with a boom mic. “You
boys have comms up?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied.
“Red, take the AT-120.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan replied, and the Viper locked him in.
The AT-120 was a belt-fed anti-tank weapon which fired depleted
uranium rounds capable of disabling, if not destroying, the heavier tanks of
the day. However, to sustain a direct hit by a shell from a main battle tank,
you were as good as dead.
With the press of a button on the two handheld joysticks, the Viper
closed up and Cara was looking at a giant robot. “Gentlemen, ready to deploy?”
“Copy.”
“Stand up.”
The Vipers came to their feet. Although they were eleven-feet tall,
the top of the operations and control room deck was still well above their
heads.
Moments later they were armed and ready for battle.
“Good luck, Vipers, deploy.”
The two machines turned to face the rear of the plane. While they
did this, Cara hooked herself to the safety strap attached to the hull and put
on one of the oxygen masks utilized by the crew.
When everything was ready, she hit the ramp down button and watched
as the rear of the plane opened.
Moments later both Vipers were gone.
Cara closed the back of the Stratomaster and went upstairs to the
second deck. Along each wall were banks of computers and screens operated by
her new Bravo Team. She said into her comms. Reapers Four and Five are on their
way down into the zone. Keep them alive. Bravo Three, I need a sitrep on
vitals.”
Bravo Three was Crystal Garcia, a former UAV pilot for the RAF
(Royal Air Force) in another life. Now Global had retrained and reassigned her.
She hit some keys and said, “All systems look to be normal except for Reaper
Three. She took an RPG. Her armor integrity is down to sixty percent but
holding. Her heart rate seems a little elevated.”
“Keep an eye on her. Pull her out if you need to.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Reaper One, copy?” Cara said as she looked at the screens in front
of her. Each was linked to a Viper and saw what they saw.
“Read you Lima Charlie, Bravo,” came the reply.
“Four and Five are airborne. Expect them to arrive directly.”
“Roger that.”
Suddenly Kane’s camera went down, and his vitals went crazy. Cara
could hear intermittent radio transmissions but that was all. Then the link
went dead and every reading for Reaper One’s vitals flatlined.
“Reaper One, copy?”
Nothing.
“Ma’am, I’ve lost everything from Reaper One,” Crystal said, her
voice holding more than a hint of concern.
“Get it back,” Cara said helplessly. “Reaper One, copy? Do you read
me?”
Nothing.
Then came the call she dreaded, hoping never to hear. It was
Knocker. “Reaper One is down, I say again, Reaper One is down. He took a
fucking tank shell.”
The blood in Cara’s veins turned to ice and she felt her heart sink.
“Oh, no.”
***
Mexico, On the Ground
Kane’s head swam.
He was lying on his back. The blast had knocked him senseless, and it looked as
though his Viper was off-line. “Christ,” he groaned as he tried to reset.
Moments later his HUD came back up along with his comms.
“Reaper, you there, buddy?” Knocker asked.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Kane replied.
“That fucker rang your bell. Time to get back to work. What’s your
status?”
“Give me a few.”
Moments later another display came up on the HUD. “Armor integrity
down to ten percent. I’ve got warnings everywhere and the link to Skyhammer is
down. Thank God it wasn’t a direct hit.”
“What about your weapons?”
The display changed again. “They look to be all right.”
“Good. Now let’s get back into the fucking fight. Four and five are
one mike out and these bloody tanks aren’t messing around.”
Kane looked over at Grace. Her minigun fired a short burst and then
she raised her arm. BOOM—BOOM! Two 30mm depleted uranium rounds reached out
like long lances and impacted one of the T-90 tanks, penetrating the armor and
catching fire, incinerating the crew. Outside everything looked fine. Inside,
was a different story.
The tank lurched to a stop, black smoke rising from the gaping hole
into the clear desert sky, a dark stain forming against the bright blue.
“Incoming!”
Kane looked up and saw the two parachutes, the two Vipers beneath
guiding them in. They hit the ground with an audible thud and the pair
immediately disengaged their parachutes.
Ryan took a knee and opened fire with the AT-120, its booming sound
rolling across the dry landscape. The two T-90s stopped dead as they were
knocked out. Ryan then shifted his aim to find another target. As he did, he
heard Knocker say, “Bollocks, a fourth fucking tank.”
It fired.
A huge explosion threw dirt and debris skyward twenty meters short
of where the team was. Ryan’s HUD indicated he was locked on and the AT-120
mailed two more tank killers. One hit the tracks while the other ricocheted off
the armor leaving the T-90 in the fight.
“Smoke out,” Knocker said, and a small smoke grenade was shot out of
the grenade launcher on the Viper’s right arm.
It obscured their position from both the tank and the armored
vehicles coming their way. Kane said, “Red, flank that bastard. Ken, Knocker,
push right and take out the technicals. Grace, with me. We form a base of fire
from here.”
Red pushed left along a deep drywash, not that the eleven-foot Viper
was easy to conceal. Knocker and Ken went in the other direction, moving as
fast as the units would go. Meanwhile, Kane and Grace’s miniguns rattled to
life and began finding targets.
There was a big boom and Kane heard Knocker curse. Over his comms he
heard Bravo Three say, “Reaper Two, your armor integrity is down to seventy
percent, are you all right?”
“Close call, Bravo Three.”
“Roger that.”
“Talk to me, Knocker,” Kane said as he switched targets to a new
threat.
“I’d be fine if Red would take out that fucking tank,” Knocker
snapped.
“Red?”
“Working on it.” Red’s voice held a tone of frustration at being
interrupted.
“Work faster.”
The situation became dire as the several of the operators noticed a
First Strike Helicopter sweeping low over a ridge to the east.
Knocker said, “You have got to be bloody kidding me. This bastard
has a fucking arsenal. And I don’t mean the football team either.”
Kane turned to assess the incoming threat for himself, taking in the
rocket pods beneath each wing. This was indeed a major threat to the Vipers.
“Reaper Two, I need the hand of God on this one.”
***
Aboard Boeing C-252
Stratomaster Over Mexico
Cara turned to
the operator seated on the second console. “Tanner, I need an F60 right now.”
Mike Tanner, also known as Bravo Two, was a stick jockey out of the
Royal Air Force. He was arrogant and confident because he was good at his job.
He wore his wavy black hair like a movie star and a square jaw set off his good
looks. And as Knocker liked to joke, it made a perfect target for a punch in
the mouth.
“I have one ten klicks out and inbound, ma’am,” he said without
looking up from his screen.
“Get that damn First Strike out of there.”
“Ma’am, we’ve got another three tanks inbound,” Houlihan called out.
“Ammo status, Crystal,” Cara demanded.
“They’re running down, ma’am,” came the reply.
“Damn it,” Cara hissed. “Tanks first, Mister Tanner.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Reaper Two, copy?”
“Read you Lima Charlie, Bravo.”
“Hang on to your shorts, things are about to get bumpy.”
***
Mexico, On the Ground
Another explosion
put Knocker’s Viper off balance. “Come back to Global, she said. It’ll be fun,
she said, get the shit blown out of you, she said.”
“You do know I can hear you, right?” Cara said.
“You do know these wankers are trying to kill us and we’re low on
ammo, right? We’re strike fighters, not fucking war machines.”
“I’m well aware of that fact, Raymond,” Cara replied tersely.
“There she goes, calling me Raymond—”
BOOM!
“What was that, Reaper Two?”
“Have a nice day, Boss.”
Out on the flat, the new tanks had fanned out and were preparing to
fire. Meanwhile, the helicopter was coming back around for another run. Add to
that the three remaining technical.
And they needed to get through all of those to reach their target.
“Reaper, I have an idea.”
“Send,” came Kane’s reply.
“I’m going to break the line.”
“What?”
Then came the three words that Kane dreaded to hear. “Hold my beer.”
“Oh hell,” Kane growled, and when he next looked, he could see
Knocker’s Viper running across the plain toward the compound two klicks distant
where Juan Morenos assumed his sanctuary and security would keep him safe.
“You stupid son of a bitch, there’s a damn Black Cat inbound.”
“Tell Tanner not to miss.”
Kane shook his head in disbelief and of course the Viper did as he
did. He tried resetting his uplink again and it came to life. Kane said into
his comms. “Bravo Two, we have a Viper running across the target area. Check
fire.”
“Check fire bollocks,” Knocker growled. “Tanner, you frag their
asses.”
“Copy. First Lucifer away.”
The AG-666
Lucifer was a hypersonic air-to-ground missile which was radar guided and
would penetrate its target before detonating.
Ahead of Knocker, as he ran toward the tanks, one exploded into a
fireball. Flames and black smoke rose into the air, staining the sky once more.
The other three were firing freely at the running Viper. Suddenly the earth
erupted around the Brit as the rotary cannon on the helicopter joined in. Kane
snarled into his comms, “All Vipers target that damn helicopter. Open fire.”
Soon the air was filled with tracers from the Vipers’ shoulder
mounted miniguns. The Strike Helicopter flew into a wall of fire and for a
moment seemed to hang in the air before its nose dipped and it fell to earth,
exploding on impact.
Kane’s HUD display flashed red with a low ammunition warning. His
pack would be empty after ten more rounds. What was even worse, for some reason
the Viper’s integrity had dipped even further and was down to five percent.
“This is Reaper One. Footloose, I say again, Footloose.”
“Copy, Reaper One,” Cara said in reply. “Footloose.”
Then the Viper opened, and he climbed out into the steaming hot
desert.
***
Morenos Cartel Compound
Juan Morenos
watched the battle unfold in real time from inside his operations room. Things
weren’t going well and he was far from happy about it. First, they had
decimated his opening tank assault, then his Strike Helicopter had been
destroyed. Now they were going after his other tanks. “What are those things?”
he asked out loud.
“Vipers,” one of his men answered.
“What are these devil machines?”
“They are like battle robots controlled by a human inside. They are
fast and very combat effective.”
As he watched a screen, another technical erupted in flames and then
he saw one of the Vipers running through a curtain of explosions. “You tell my
men to destroy them now or I will kill their families. Understood?”
“Yes, Patrón.”
***
Aboard Boeing C-252 Stratomaster Over Mexico
“Mike, get that
damn Black Cat back in the fight,” Cara growled as her eyes flicked from one
screen to the next. “The Vipers are taking hits that are bringing down their
integrity.”
“Yes, ma’am, Black Cat is inbound.”
“I’m sick of fucking around.” Cara changed channels on her comms.
“Eugene, take us down. It’s time for Skyhammer to flex her muscles.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the pilot, Eugene Potter.
Skyhammer’s muscles were a 30 mm ATK GAU-23/A autocannon and a 105 mm M102 howitzer.
The same as the now obsolete Specter Gunships. They were fully automated and
operated by Molly Wilson, a tough female aviator from Sussex.
The plane started to lose altitude immediately.
Cara said, “Bravo Four, you’re up. Punch a hole wide enough for our
crazy friend to get through.”
“Roger,” Molly replied with a smile, glad to be doing something
useful.
Fingers danced over her console and an aim point on the screen moved
across it before a beep indicated that it was in position. Then she fired with
devastating accuracy.
The technicals disintegrated under the intense and lethal fire from
the autocannon. The desert floor exploded upward all around them and one by one
the vehicles joined it.
“Targets destroyed, ma’am,” Molly said to Cara.
“Bravo Two, what about the Black Cat?”
“I have a Lucifer in the air, ma’am.”
Moments later the screen lit up and a tank disappeared. “Two T-90s
left, ma’am.”
“Copy. Bravo Three, I need a sitrep on our people on the ground.”
“Ma’am, Reaper One is Footloose. Reaper Two’s Viper is down to fifty
percent integrity. Reaper Three under twenty percent. Reaper Four and Five are
comfortable at eighty-five percent.”
“Ammunition?”
“Minimal.”
Cara looked at the screen and watched Knocker’s Viper continued to
streak across the battlefield. “What are you up to?”
***
Mexico, On the Ground
Another RPG
tracked in his direction and Knocker managed to roll the Viper to avoid it. But
only just. Prior to that, the minigun had locked itself down. He never worried
about the shooter, just concentrated on pushing hard forward. He looked ahead.
The compound wasn’t far away.
Numerous 50 caliber round swarmed around his Viper, one impacting
the armored casing. He looked at the tower and saw it still proud. The minigun
unlocked itself and tracked left. Target
Lock came up on the HUD and the weapon opened fire.
Man and weapon disappeared.
Now Knocker turned his attention to the main gate. His face took on
a grim expression and the Viper increased its speed, closing the distance
between itself and his focus.
“Reaper Two, sitrep?”
“Hang on, cock, I’ll be with you in a moment.” And the Viper crashed
through the gates.
***
“One, did you see
that?”
“Fuck me,” Kane growled from his hiding position. He brought up his
automatic Heckler and Koch G550, looking through the scope. “Reaper Five, move
to the compound in support.”
“Copy, One.”
“Four, what’s your status?”
A loud explosion erupted across the desert. Kane saw the black smoke
rising skyward and a voice said, “The last tank is out of action, boss.”
“Good. Move on the compound. Reaper Three and I will meet you
there.”
“Copy. Moving on the compound.”
Kane started running across the desert. Without the comfort of the
Viper, he inhaled the heated air almost searing his lungs as he drew each
breath. “Bravo, I need to know what you see?”
It was Cara’s voice that came back to him. “Knocker is taking heavy
fire, Reaper. His armor integrity is down to thirty percent and dropping. Your
people need to get in there now.”
“Four and Five, move faster.”
“Already balls to the wall, skipper,” Ryan replied.
“Knocker, speak to me.”
The Brit’s transmission came across garbled, and Kane cursed. He
tried to run faster but he had no hope of keeping up with the Vipers. “Reaper
Two, get the hell out of there.”
“Lucifer away!”
Kane skidded to a stop. “What the fuck? Bravo Two, what did you just
do?”
A blinding flash and the compound erupted in a ball of fire.
Kane stared in horror at the compound. “Bravo Two, copy?”
“Copy, One.”
“What did you do?”
“What does it look like?” Tanner replied.
“Son of a bitch. Who gave you the order to fucking fire?”
“I did,” replied Cara. “It was me.”
***
Knocker groaned.
“Fuck me.”
The Viper was on its back and the HUD was flashing a warning that
the armor’s integrity was down to five percent. Rolling the Viper over, he came
up onto a knee. He looked around and saw the devastation surrounding him.
Buildings were shattered, piles of rubble and debris were burning, and bodies,
or bits of bodies lay everywhere.
“Anyone out there hear me?” he said over his comms.
All he got back was static.
Finally standing erect in the Viper, it was as though the machine
groaned with him. He looked at the battery status and saw that it was draining
fast which meant something else was compromised. He opened the Viper and
climbed out, taking the H&K 550 with him.
Smoke hung heavily in the air like a thick fog. Knocker took a
couple of steps and then turned to face the gates he’d crashed through in his
Viper. A giant figure emerged from the dense smoke. It was Ryan followed
closely by Ken Welsh.
Their Vipers opened and they climbed out. “Are you all right?” Ryan
asked.
“My bell has been rung, my Viper is about rooted, and some prick
fired a fucking Lucifer on top of me. Apart from that, I’m fine.” He waved his
hand dismissively.
Knocker sat on the ground, his head on his knees, just as Grace
entered the compound. Moments later, Kane appeared, approaching Knocker.
Hauling the Brit to his feet, Kane punched him in the mouth.
Knocker sat back down hard, looked up at his friend and said, “I
guess I deserved that.”
“You dumb son of a bitch,” Kane snarled at him. “What the fuck am I
meant to do if you go and get yourself killed?”
Knocker gave him a wry grin. “We won.”
Kane looked around at the compound. “I guess we—”
Suddenly an armed, bloodied, dust covered figure came screaming out
of the smoke. Kane whirled and fired his 550, the rounds hammering into the
shattered form of Juan Morenos. The cartel boss collapsed to the ground,
unmoving.
Kane nodded. “Now we’ve won. Prepare for extract.”
