Angles of Attack (Dark Operator Book 5) by Doc Spears & Jason Anspach & Nick Cole

Author:Doc Spears & Jason Anspach & Nick Cole [Spears, Doc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Galaxy's Edge Press
Published: 2021-02-22T16:00:00+00:00

“We have less than a week to make it happen,” Barnett reminded. “With or without a successful decapitation, D-day is at 2500 Zulu, seven days from now.”

A mass system jump by the assault force would accompany the Navy’s bombardment of all critical infrastructure and military targets. A pair of Shadow 8s hung over the table. Flat and pointed like the tip of the Legion sword, stubby swept wings, no visible protrusion for a cockpit, only on close examination were the fine sawtooth edges and sharp rippled surfaces apparent that assisted the tactical bombers in their invisibility.

Barnett looked grim. “We’ll have these two assigned and on call. Ours and ours alone. Their only purpose is to flatten what we tell them.”

“When do we meet the crew?” Meadows asked.

“We don’t. Our next stop is Psydon orbit for insertion.” Barnett said it a little too matter-of-factly, a little too dismissively. Meadows wasn’t having it.

“Back up. What do you mean ‘we don’t’? Let’s review. I ask a reasonable question regarding how we plan for mission success, and you answer it. Dictating to us how things are going to be done is going to make us repeat our introductory lesson.” He had Barnett’s attention, the Nether agent reflexively rubbing his neck. “I don’t know what you remember from your recon days, but air coordination takes work. It’s not fair to the pilots to expect them to nail this blind, and it sure isn’t fair to us. Say we do locate the target, we call in the strike and they blow the bomb run, it goes down as our failure.”

Barnett pointed to Kel, who was ready. “Let’s talk about it with our tactical air controller. We’ll leave it to him.” Kel placed his palm on the biometric pad of the coffin. It opened and out stepped Bertie.

“Greetings, Captain Tuner, and congratulations I might add. Overdue, if you ask me.” The eight-legged bot stepped out of its container, made the usual tests when it was awoken from dormancy, flexing and performing small jumps in place. “First round at the pub’s on me. Mister Barnett I’ve been keyed to already, but how ’bout the rest of you fine gentlemen give me your biometric lock and then we’ll all be properly acquainted. Sergeant Meadows, you first then please, Top.”

JP was the first. “No. Way. That’s no saff-suck. That’s an AI DOGR! I heard about them but didn’t believe it.” Medic bots were common in Repub line units. Deployed operational ground bots were only slightly smarter than SFSCs. Combat bots in any variety of AI were a thing of the past.

“Autonomous combat multiplier, or ACM if you must, Sergeant Pabon,” Bertie replied, snaking around to look at the speaker. “But I’m just Bertie to you team boys; no need to be so formal.”

It was a bit off-putting until one got used to it, the square bot head moving at unnatural angles and independently of the rectangular body. Kel remembered his first meeting with the ACMs, how their personalities and comedic accents at first made them entertaining and later, somehow commonplace.

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