Game of Drones by Rick Jones, Rick Chesler Read Free Book Online

indication?”
    “2-1-9-4, we have nothing on our radar to indicate a second fly-vehicle. Nor did a second indication appear on our system. You’re alone up there.”
    “That’s negative, Dulles. There is a Reaper drone that has taken position behind this plane and is presumably holding. Have TSA contact Military Central for a confirmation.”
    “Copy that, 2-1-9-4.”
    The pilot flipped off the switch. “Do you see it?” he asked his co-pilot.
    The other aviator shook his head. “There’s nothing on radar, either.” He turned back to the pilot. “Maybe it’s gone.”
    “Yeah. Maybe.”
    An indicator on the control panel began to blink red and angry, coupled with a warning alarm.
    Something had locked on to them.
    The pilot toggled the transmitter switch. “2-1-9-4 to Dulles.”
    “Dulles.”
    “Something just locked on to us,” he said, forcing calm.
    “2-1-9-4, TSA’s contacting Military Central for verification. Please stand by.”
    Then the alarm beeped at a manic pace.
    Something had been launched.
    “Dulles, we’re taking evasive maneuvers.”
    Just as someone pounded on the cockpit door, the plane banked hard to the left.
    The banging on the door stopped.
    And just as the plane tilted, the Hellfire passed beneath them and kept on going. The consensus between pilot and co-pilot was that the missile had missed the plane’s underbelly by less than ten feet.
    “2-1-9-4 to Dulles!” There was now a sense of urgency to his voice that could no longer be masked.
    “Dulles.”
    “We have just been fired upon by a military drone! I repeat, we have just been fired upon by a military drone.”
    “Copy that, 2-1-9-4. Military confirms that they are not conducting exercises and have dispatched a series to respond. Do you copy, 2-1-9-4?”
    “Yeah, we copy, Dulles. But we’re hardly capable of outmaneuvering a drone.”
    “Understood, 2-1-9-4. ETA of Phantom fighter jets is approximately six minutes.”
    Six minutes. The pilot closed his eyes. Six minutes was a lifetime. He wasn't sure if they could go six more seconds with this thing.
    And then he was overwhelmed with defeat. The Reaper had missed on its first attempt. It would not do so again.
    He flew the plane.
    #
    The Reaper took position directly behind the airliner. Through its lens it had a perfect view of a Boeing that was not designed for aerial gymnastics.
    The drone set its sights as Naji lined up the pathway and engaged the first of two Hellfire missiles. The projectile was ejected from the drone’s undercarriage, falling away from its transporter. Then it corkscrewed through the atmosphere before leveling out.
    The missile was fast and direct. But the plane, perhaps guided by the self-preservation efforts of its pilot, or maybe just a lucky bout of turbulence, banked hard to its left just as the missile approached. It missed the big fuselage by less than five feet.
    Naji sucked in his breath. The drone wavered back into position, its programming drawing a bead before releasing its second and final missile. The Hellfire sped away from the undercarriage leaving a contrail in its wake, the projectile shadowing the moves of the plane as it banked from left to right, then from right to left, trying to make a difficult target. But the Hellfire countered with robotically efficient reactive maneuvers as it closed in.
    The Boeing nosedived, trying to shake its pursuer. But the missile persisted.
    As the jetliner attempted to raise its nose in a futile attempt to climb skyward, the missile struck its tail section, shearing off the entire assemblage. The last row of seats, with instantaneously charred corpses still belted to them, were ripped through the jagged opening, whipping through the stratosphere along with what remained of the plane's lavatory. Luggage and food carts took to the air in the plane’s wake as it canted and spiraled out of control.
    The Boeing, now firmly in its death throes, flipped over and then descended into a chaotic series