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.”