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Jim Pace’s headset and ear protection were knocked off in the blast. He felt around for it for a second and then gave up. He rose to his knees, ready to continue the fight because, unlike the men around him, he still had ammunition, but when the smoke cleared enough for him to see, he realized that all the drones above had come crashing to the ground, and the ground bots were frozen in place.
CIA men began moving cabinets off their brethren, everyone coughing in the thick smoke.
•••
Court Gentry watched an approaching drone as it shot towards the shattered doorway, moving at fifty kilometers per hour, and then as it descended on its attack run.
To Court’s astonishment, the machine slammed into the ground, just outside the room on the assembly floor twenty-five feet away. It bounced, tumbled, and finally slid into the destroyed room, skittering past the overturned chair and the two bodies of security men and through hundreds of spent shell casings, finally coming to rest against Court’s leg.
Looking down, he saw that the machine was on its back, its propellers weren’t spinning, and the warhead on its belly was staring right up at him.
Another look back outside showed him that the rest of the drones had slammed into the ground, as well, but none had detonated.
He fought his way to his feet, stumbled out of the room, and saw that the ground bots stood stationary and dark. The shooting and explosions outside the building had ceased, as well.
But the production line continued to move at a furious pace, telling him Zack had not completed his mission.
Court scooped up a P90 rifle dropped by a humanoid bot he’d shot outside the control room, checked to make sure it had ammo left in the magazine on top of the weapon, and then raised it and began running for the production line, desperate to find out what had happened to Zack.
•••
Wren and Hightower were both beyond exhausted from the fight, plus they had to avoid the constant sparks and flames shooting from the ends of four spot-welding seven-axis robot arms.
Wren looked up, squinting through the bright flashes above him, and saw something. Quickly he rolled off the big robotic cart, kept his roll going, and then made his way to an object on the floor.
Zack had a broken rib and when he tried to sit up to see what was happening it pressed into his lung, stopping him, rendering him all but defeated.
Gareth Wren rose to his knees now, with Zack Hightower’s big Staccato pistol in his right hand. With a smile on his bloody mouth, he raised it at his old friend, pulled back the hammer, and said, “Goodbye, mate.”
Zack coughed a little blood, then said, “Goodbye to you, dick.”
Behind Wren, a welding torch spun at chest height, while above him, a second moved around to his front. They impacted with him simultaneously, pinning him into position, and as he began to scream, both oxyacetylene torches ignited, burning at six thousand degrees, and Gareth Wren was instantly set on fire.
The pistol dropped from his hands as his screams echoed in the cavernous space.
•••
Chris Travers walked Anton Hinton through the smoky haze as men around him pulled their comrades out from under fallen and destroyed mainframes. Another Ground Branch operator, the number Three for Alpha Mike, lay dead, and virtually everyone was wounded.
Hinton just stood there, not looking at the humans but instead at his wrecked machines.
When everyone left alive was on their feet, Pace gave the order to exfiltrate the building. They took rifles out of the hands of the Sentry units and moved out, slowly now because of all the injuries.
As they headed for the stairs, Pace looked around. “Where’s Anthem?”
Travers said, “I think she went to help Gentry.”
“Shit. Let’s go up to the Assembly Room and link up with them and Zack, assuming they made it.”
•••
Court Gentry staggered over to the production line, ran up the stairs, and found the assembly manager on the ground in the fetal position. With a wave of his weapon and a few shouts in the panicked man’s face, he got him to get back in his chair and shut down all fabrication.
Court slammed the rifle into the man’s head, knocking him senseless, and then he ran back down the stairs, looking for Zack.
Zack was not hard to find. The big man was just fifteen yards away leaning against a still robotic arm. Blood smeared the floor all around him, and the smoldering, dead body of Gareth Wren lay on the ground at his feet.
The American hadn’t gotten away without any damage himself. Blood covered his face and beard, his nose was crooked, obviously broken, and every inch of exposed skin was covered in contusions.
