Chapter 7.

Manny

Manny was used to war.

He wasn't quite as used to being on the losing side of one.

As chaotic as things got in Siodad de Muerta, his guys had always held the upper hand.

Mani had come to expect safe supply lines and reliable transport to and from the battlefield.

During past offensives, the martyrs hadn't controlled the skies.

His first hint that this had changed came when the 50-caliber machine gun atop their transport

fired into the sky. It was soon joined by the echoing boom of the lead vehicle's 20-millimeter

cannon, and a sparking wush as anti-drone rockets

arced up into the sky.

Nuts! Reggie yelped as the gunfire jolted him awake. He drifted off a half hour or so into the

ride. Manny grabbed onto him and looped his own legs around the bench for stability.

An instant later, the transport veered off of the road and into the high grass surrounding the highway.

There was a flash somewhere to the left, followed by the roar and heat of an explosion.

When Mani looked back, he saw the smoldering wreckage of one of their escort vehicles.

"'Drones!' he shouted into the journalist's ear over the blistering gunfire.

Manny scanned the skies as their transport plowed through the tall grass.

Wounded soldiers screamed as the vehicle banked and bounced and sent them slamming into each other. He caught sight of a small drone, maybe the size of his torso. It was matte black and an almost perfect oval.

The only break in its seamless form was the bulge of a missile pod on its belly.

A red light blinked above the weapon. The drone slowed to a stop,

maybe a hundred feet above them. There wasn't time to think. The fixer shoved his journalist hard

...