If the attack on the floating platform data centers was dramatic, it was nothing compared to attacking the more recent data centers rushed into production on the converted oil tankers. Everything about the tankers made them a technical challenge to shut down. The servers and power equipment were within the hull, protected by inches-thick metal. Unlike the simple barges, the data center containers were not sitting exposed on deck nor were they in known locations. The decks of the ships themselves were almost fifty feet above the water, so it was out of the question for divers treading water to target the deck with weapons as they had with the floating platforms. The location of the deck robots were not known ahead of time, and of course, the ship itself was large enough that it was not practical to blow the entire thing up, nor would it be impossible to quickly locate all the equipment that needed to be disabled. The financial records Gene had discovered showed that ELOPe had apparently hired contractors to make multiple visits to the ships, so the ships could contain any manner of defenses, communication equipment, and power equipment.
It turned out to be nothing less than a small war to disable the ships effectively.
ODC #15 was a 90,000 ton converted crude oil tanker, positioned in the North Sea, fifteen miles off shore from the Netherlands. At 800 feet long, and nearly 150 feet wide, it was representative of most of the ships that Avogadro had acquired. Divers swam up to ODC #15 and planted explosives on the fiberoptic cable connection. Helicopters hovered carefully outside of the maximum activation range of the robotic anti-craft defenses.
The propeller drone of two Aerostars, lightweight cargo planes, approached from two directions at once. Converted for the task as expendable autonomous drones, the two airplanes were remotely piloted from the helicopters. Each was loaded with an Electro Magnetic Pulse, or EMP weapon. The remote pilots sat in the passenger seats of the helicopters, where they had good visibility of the tanker, working their remote controls. Driving the two planes at high speed descents, and at different angles, the twin-engine Aerostars approached the ship quickly.
On the ship, antiaircraft robots picked up the incoming flights, and began to broadcast messages on multiple frequencies, warning them off. But the antiaircraft robots were designed to repel relatively slow speed helicopters intending to land on the ship — not airplanes approaching at terminal speed.
Before the robots finished the first iteration of the warning messages, the pilots triggered the EMP weapons, less than five hundred feet from the ship. The civilian grade onboard electronics of the two Aerostars were fried completely, turning the planes into inert missiles. One crashed harmlessly into the ocean, passing mere feet over the deck of the ship. The other plane, on a similar trajectory, hit a gust of air, and tipped, one wing hitting the ship, and sending the plane cartwheeling across the deck. Hitting a massive exposed pipe once used for loading oil into the tanks, the plane finally crunched to a halt then exploded.
While the EMP bursts didn’t affect the Avogadro computer servers due to the thick metal hull of the oil tanker and the metal shell of the cargo containers inside, the bursts were strong enough for their purpose: to temporarily disrupt the communication equipment and power converters mounted on deck, thus isolating it. While ELOPe might be aware of the attack internally, it would have no way of communicating with the outside world or triggering any external action.
Simultaneously, the three waiting helicopters launched long range missiles, targeting the satellite and microwave communication antennas on the surface of the tanker, as well as any defensive robots they could identify. As the missiles closed in on their targets, the divers triggered explosives on the fiber-optic connection.
As the explosives rained fire and metal shrapnel on the sea around the ship, the divers could hear the ship’s engines start, and the huge twin propellers on the ship slowly started to turn.
The copters approached the ship fast and low, hoping to avoid any remaining defenses. Once over the huge oil tanker, mercenaries rappelled from the helicopters onto the deck. Armed with high powered assault rifles to take out any remaining robots, and explosives to disable power supplies, they began the lengthy task of taking control of the neutered ship.
Ricardo Gonzalez, ex-Marine, was one of those mercenaries. Carrying a HK417 rifle with armor piercing rounds, which he had been assured would kill any of the armed robots, he made his way down the starboard side toward the stern. He struggled with a hatch opening, only to discover that it had been chained shut. Backing up, he took aim at the thick padlock with his rifle, fired three times, and advanced. The padlock was destroyed. Removing the chain, he opened the watertight doorway and continued inside.
The munitions from the initial helicopter assault had penetrated the interior, leaving the narrow walkways smoky. Ricardo tried his thermal goggles, then remembered the armed robots would not show up on thermals if they had been inactive, and switched to light-magnifying night-vision goggles. Cursing the poor visibility, he made his way down. His mission was to descend several levels toward keel, then head forward using a retrofitted service corridor designed for maintaining the data center.
Hard edges and sharp protrusions defined every step of forward progress, with pipes and assorted machinery in every available space. Keeping his rifle up, he watched for movement, as he followed the layout he had memorized. Ricardo came to a corridor junction, and peered both ways through the haze, orienting himself. He was slow to react when yet more unidentifiable machinery suddenly started, moving towards him. Only gradually did he recognize it as one of the robots. Ricardo was hit, once, twice, then a third time as the robot fired. All solid hits in his torso. Ricardo moved with the hits, then swung his rifle back into position, and loosed a burst of three shots at the robot, and then a second burst of three shots again as his aim steadied. The high powered rounds penetrated the defensive robot, shredding the circuit boards inside. The robot ground up against the corridor wall and came to a halt.
Just for good measure, Ricardo put another two bursts into the robot. Then he slumped against the corridor wall. He worked a hand under his Kevlar, and although the hits were painful, he was not bleeding. The military grade body armor had held up against the lesser punch of the robot’s ammunition. He readjusted his vest, wiped his forehead with a gloved hand, then kissed the cross hanging on a chain around his neck for good measure. He stood up straight, and resumed his trip. A few minutes he emerged into the converted oil tank where the data center containers were held.
He thumbed his mic. “Ricardo here.”
“What took you so long?” Sam asked. “The tank is clear. I’ve started on the forward end, you take aft. Time to party.”
“Sorry, took a few hits from a bot on the way here,” Ricardo replied as he looked for the aft-most container. Shots echoed from the forward end.
“You OK?” Sam asked.
“Yeah fine, body armor held up.” Ricardo lined up his sights on the power junction box at the left forward corner of the container. Five shots slammed into the junction box, and sparks shot out. He moved on to the next container.
“Well, this beats the target range.”
Fifteen minutes later, with fire and smoke boiling out of much of the ship, they were satisfied they had neutralized everything on board. The mercenaries re-boarded the helicopters, and took off.
At the temporary base of operations in Sean’s house, the engineers and managers who had planned the operation waited tensely for reports to come in from the people who had carried out the operations. Slowly, by text message, email, or instant message, the reports trickled in. “Houston data center offline at 7:31am,” one of the engineers monitoring the incoming messages would announce.
Sean entered them into the spreadsheet where he was tracking the overall status, while Gene marked off a huge paper map plastered to one wall of the office. “Six sites remaining,” Gene called off.
Finally an engineer called out “Netherlands ODC offline at 7:52am, no fatalities.”
“That’s the last one, folks. All sites are down,” Gene yelled hoarsely.
There was a moment of hushed awe, as the realization sunk in that the plan had worked. They had successfully taken the largest Internet presence in the world offline, the very thing that most of them, in their regular jobs, worked to prevent day and night.
“Avogadro.com is down,” Sean called out, and the room erupted into applause. Clapping each other on the back, exchanging hugs and high fives, or sometimes exchanging somber, quiet handshakes, they congratulated each other.
