Edge of Battle

facility was placed on its highest state of alert.

Both vans swung off FM 245 onto the access road to the weapons storage area. Two commandos got out of the first van, carrying shoulder-fired rockets, and they made quick work of the relatively weak antitrespassing guillotine gate. Two hundred feet beyond the first gate was the outer entrapment area gate. The security detail had already deployed a massive solid steel barrier just in front of the outer entrapment gate that rose up from the ground and completely blocked the entrance. But the commandos didn’t even try to blast away the barrier. After discarding the spent missile canisters and retrieving fresh ones along with automatic assault rifles and satchel charges, the van veered off the road, crashed into the fence to the right of the barrier…

…and a thousand pounds of high explosives detonated, completely demolishing the fence and destroying the pass and ID guard shack inside.

At that moment, the Cybernetic Infantry Device emerged from the second van, rushed at the breach in the outer gate, and cleared away the flaming, twisted debris enough for four commandos to get inside. Two commandos rushed inside the TA-1 security building, blasting the doors open and throwing flash-bang grenades inside to disable any security personnel inside without damaging or destroying any records. They then retracted the steel vehicle barrier, opened the gates, brought the second van inside the compound, and then closed and secured the entryway. The CID unit picked up two commandos and their equipment and rushed inside the weapons storage area.

When the assault on the front gate commenced, the two commandos in the northwest corner of the facility prepared for their attack. A single shot from a Dragunov sniper rifle dispatched the security guard that had come out of the tower to take up his sniper position, and moments later a TOW antitank missile round destroyed the tower. Two satchel charges destroyed the fence at the top of the berm, and several more shots took out the few remaining security patrols inside the compound.

“Two, report,” Yegor Zakharov ordered on his portable transceiver.

“Moving inside,” the leader of the commando team that had performed the frontal assault radioed back. “No resistance.”

“I will need the igloo number immediately, Three.”

“Three copies.” The two commandos inside the TA-1 building were hurriedly looking through the office, searching charts and records on the contents of the dozens of igloos inside the weapons storage area. Finally they found what they were looking for in the fire marshal’s office: a wall chart with symbology written in grease pencil over each igloo in the compound. “One, this is Three,” the leader radioed, “according to the fire hazard chart I found, Igloos Alpha Four-Four and Four-Five contain weapons that each have thirty-seven kilos of insensitive high explosives.”

“Keep looking for more specific records, Three,” Zakharov responded. “Two, meet me at those igloos.”

“Two.”

While two commandos took up security positions at the entrance to the weapons storage area, the CID unit carrying several satchels and backpacks ran through TZ-Delta directly to the igloos where the warheads awaiting disassembly were stored. He set the equipment down…and as he did, the head of the commando traveling with Zakharov exploded. The CID unit immediately turned to the east. “Sniper on the northeast tower!” he radioed.

“Shield me,” Zakharov said. As heavy-caliber bullets pinged off the CID’s composite armor behind him, the Russian picked up a backpack and began placing shaped explosive charges on the steel doors to the first igloo. The entire front of each igloo was a thick steel plate wall, with a single man-sized steel entry door secured with a heavy steel bar with two palm-sized padlocks locking it in place. It was easy to blow the locks apart with plastic explosives and enter the igloo.

Zakharov found what he was looking for within moments. He recognized them immediately—because he had once commanded Russian Red Army units that employed similar weapons. These were 15A18A warheads from active R-36M2 intercontinental ballistic missiles. The R-36M2, appropriately called “Satan” by the West, was Russia’s biggest, longest-range, and most accurate ballistic missile, capable of raining 10 independently targeted warheads on targets more than eleven thousand kilometers away with unprecedented accuracy. The missile was so accurate that the warheads could be made smaller, so the R-36M2 carried 10 of these warheads, each with a yield of over seven hundred and fifty thousand tons of TNT.

The igloo contained an entire ballistic missile squadron’s worth of warheads—one hundred and twenty warheads, packed in aluminum and carbon fiber coffins for shipment. After ensuring that there were indeed warheads in the coffins, and they were the real thing and mostly intact, the CID unit dragged two coffins out of the igloo.

A commando had driven the second van over to the igloo. The sniper apparently realized he wasn’t going to kill the robot and wasn’t going to get a clear shot at Zakharov, so he started targeting the van—luckily they got the vehicle behind an igloo before the sniper could shoot out the tires or put a hole in the radiator or engine block. “Time to take care of that sniper,” Zakharov told the commando piloting the CID unit.

With the sniper’s location pinpointed on his electronic display—every time he fired, he drew a line right back to his own position, thanks to the robot’s on-board millimeter-wave targeting radar—the CID unit grabbed an antitank missile and sped off. He located the sniper easily, still atop the northeast guard tower; with the CID unit’s radar helping him to aim, he could not miss. He then hurried back and loaded the warhead coffins on the van and, with the robot carrying an antitank missile and running in front of the van, they headed for the exit.

Two security vehicles were just pulling up to the entrance to the weapons storage area—both were put out of commission when the CID unit simply lifted them up and flipped them over, with the officers still inside.

The van and its two-legged escort traveled east on FM 245, north on North Fifteenth Street, east again on County Highway 11, north on County Road L, and then east on FM 293 until reaching the outskirts of the town of Panhandle. “Slow your driving, damn you, and do it now,” he spat at the commando driving the vehicle. “We did not make it all this way to be pulled over by a country bumpkin policeman.” On his walkie-talkie, he said, “Proceed as directed.”

“Da, polkovnik,” the commando piloting the CID unit responded, and dashed off back to the west along FM 293. Being ultracareful to obey all stop signs and traffic signs, the van made its way through the quiet tree-lined streets of Panhandle, finally reaching Sixth Street, which took them right to Carson County Airport. Thankfully, the airport looked completely quiet. He did notice a Civil Air Patrol unit building and a Cessna 182 parked outside, but it too appeared closed.

Zakharov pulled out his transceiver and keyed the mike button: “Five, report.” No response. He tried a few more times—still no response.

“Sir, what do we do?” the commando driving the van asked worriedly.

“Relax, Lieutenant,” Zakharov said, trying to sound upbeat. “We are early, and our plane may be running late. We will try to make contact with one another on the planned schedule.”

“Should we recall the robot?”

“Negative,” Zakharov snapped. “The farther it gets from this place, and the sooner it is spotted somewhere else, the better off we will be.”

The CID unit ran at full speed directly west on FM 293. At the intersection of FM 293 and FM 2373, just northeast of the weapons storage facility, the pilot had to jump over a single security vehicle that had just set up a roadblock, and he sped off before the startled officer could fire a shot.

Resistance was stiffer the farther west he went. The entire intersection of FM 293 and Highway 136 was blocked off in all directions, and he decided to use his last antitank missile to destroy the biggest security vehicle before speeding south on Highway 136. He hopped onto North Lakeside Drive and continued south. Soon there was a police helicopter trying to follow him. Although he made a show of dodging here and there as if he was trying to evade the chopper, he was careful not to let the helicopter lose him. He got off Lakeside Drive at Triangle Drive and soon found himself at his destination: Amarillo International Airport.

He hopped a security fence on the northwest corner of the airport not far from the control tower, then sprinted across a field in front of the tower and across the northeast end of the main runway. He used the radio frequency scanner in the CID unit to check for any indication that he’d been spotted. It didn’t take long: on a UHF frequency he heard: “Attention all aircraft, this is Amarillo Ground, hold short of all runways and hold your positions, unidentified person on Taxiway Kilo near Foxtrot. Break. Airport security, we see him, he’s heading southeast on Kilo about halfway between Foxtrot and Lima, and he’s haulin’ ass.” At the same time, on a different frequency: “Attention all aircraft inbound to Amarillo International, be advised, the airport is closed due