Free A Time to Die by Mark Wandrey Page A

was only over the battle for a few seconds and he was sure he saw artillery land on the crowd more than once before he swept on past.
    Andrew had seen military weapons used on civilians, on tape and in person. You don’t serve for long in the Middle East without bearing witness to the depths of man’s soul. Some crowds, driven by religious fervor or righteous anger, could charge sporadic gunfire. But this wasn’t sporadic. He’d just witnessed a wave of humanity rushing massive confined weapons fire, and they kept on coming! More, they appeared to be winning in places, overwhelming the defenders and destroying men and equipment alike.
    “What am I seeing,” he asked the roar of the cockpit, and of course received no answer. Now miles north of the conflagration, he was over the more affluent suburbs of Mexico City and the wide highways leading north. And there he saw more surprises. The roads were clogged with a sea of people, cars, trucks, wagons, and whatever would move, all heading north. The army hadn’t turned on the populace here; they were buying them time to withdraw. But to withdraw from what? He desperately wished for more than a simple TV screen to view the images. It was intended for targeting, and had no image intensification or enhancement ability.
    And then, he was north of the city. Every mile showed fewer heading north and eventually he passed the chain of human refugees, even passing over one area where men and armor appeared to be gathering. Preparing another line of defense? Defense against what, damn it.
    “Tightend-Switchblade, what did you observe?”
    Andrew stared at the screen for almost a minute, trying to decide how to convey even the slightest impression to this commander without coming out with it. He finally decided. “Switchblade-Tightend. I saw Hell, and it’s coming north.”

 
     
    Chapter 9
    Tuesday, April 17
     
    The proliferation of drones has made them nearly ubiquitous. The military owns untold thousands, law enforcement legions more. Many drug organizations and gangs managed to get ahold of privately manufactured drones as well. But one of the most eager new users turned out to be news organizations. The market for unarmed, smaller drones proved extremely competitive, and the aforementioned news groups became much anticipated customers to drone manufacturers eager for customers.
    The news hounds weren’t picky, but they had certain specific demands. They needed to be able to carry good recording and transmitting technology, sport good loitering range, and be extremely stealthy.
    A single Trimark Model 11-B Nightwing drone flew along using its ground profiling radar to plot a course less than ten meters above the terrain that raced by at just over 100kph. Somewhat resembling a B-2 stealth bomber, the Nightwing had a short boom with stabilizers and a pair of miniature electric ducted fans extending from its rear. In its current mode of operation, it could stay aloft, unguided, for nearly twenty hours, thus giving the drone a nearly 2,000 kilometer range. When it passes over the Mexican border, an automated surveillance system notes the passage and sends an alert. The drone will be a hundred kilometers away before anyone can come to investigate.
    Sticking to rocky canyons and tree-covered hills, the drone makes rapid progress ever south and westward. It passes just to the south of Monterrey. The city is teeming with activity. Tens of thousands are packing cars, trucks, anything that moves and preparing to evacuate. The military is fortifying the western approach along Highway 40 that cuts through the mountains. The drone passes unnoticed through the mountain pass until it encounters the first camps. Valleys full of the remnants of humanity from Mexico City cover the ground from end to end, a small sea of survivors that number in the tens of thousands. Dawn is still an hour away as the drone spends vital time circling, its array of cameras recording and transmitting what it