Free Drone Wars 1: Day of the Drone by T. R. Harris

pulled him toward the exit. The attacking drones would be at the complex in less than two minutes, and they had to find shelter.
     
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    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.”
    There was storm of ear-shattering noise now as the fleet of killer drones reached the RDC and unleashed their relentless assault on the facility. With no defense for the buildings, the enemy UAVs wasted no time sending small yet powerful missiles through windows and doors, resulting in catastrophic damage and crumbling structures. In less than three minutes, all six buildings in the complex were nothing more than smoldering piles of concrete, glass and steel.
    By now, Xander and Simms knew the external satellite dishes and arrays were also gone, but the guts of the comm center remained intact four stories underground.
    The deafening cacophony from above was diminishing; however, that didn’t mean the attack was over. Now the drones would find their way into the sub-levels.
    Xander fell against a wall as one of the blasts from above rocked the building. He righted himself and found Simms bleeding from a head wound caused by a falling metal support beam from the ceiling.
    “Are you okay?”
    “I’ll live.” Simms wiped the blood from his left eye. “They’ll be coming down here next.”
    “Where are the Marines?”
    “They should be directly ahead of us. C’mon.”
    By now the corridor between the buildings was nearly deserted and littered with fallen debris from the overhead utilities runners. Water pipes had broken, with the concrete floor slick in places and pasty in others as the water mixed with the chalky remains of drywall and acoustic ceiling