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Tuesday, February 14th, 2045 9:10am: Between Junctions 49 and 50 of the A1(M), Near Dishforth, North Yorkshire, England
The A1 was the longest numbered road in the UK, connecting London, the capital of England and the United Kingdom, with Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland. At a little over halfway along its length waited Pavel Dasayev and Zhanna Zykina of the Russian SVR. Each sat at the controls of an ATOM-Mk3 Infantry Fighting Vehicle, hidden from the passing traffic and the prying eyes of MI5. With them in the two vehicles were two teams of four SPETSNAZ soldiers—Russian Special Forces troops. They’d driven there in the dead of night and had been waiting with the IFV’s electric motor silent ever since.
This was the ideal place for what they had in mind. Connecting the village of Ripon to the west of the A1 with Rainton on the east was the single lane overpass that traversed the busy highway. It was ideal because the roads it linked were rural and virtually empty of traffic. It also had relatively flat, easy access to the highway from the western side on which the BDS road-train would approach in around five minutes’ time. It was overcast and by then daylight. The recent rain had left the ploughed fields dark and muddy. Skeletal, leafless trees lined the horizon as autonomous cars and trucks powered past in platoons of up to half a kilometre long. Now that manual vehicles were no longer permitted on Britain’s dual carriageways and motorways, the speed limit had been scrapped. Autonomous vehicles typically cruised at around 100mph in conditions like those. The only manually driven vehicles on the road that day would be the two ATOMs. But that was the only low-tech aspect of them.
Three ATOMs had been brought covertly into the country. MI5 had found one of them; the other two remained at large, although no longer visible to human eyes or most sensors. The cloaking technology—or adaptive camouflage—it used consisted of thousands of tiny hexagonal tiles. Sensors dotted all over the tiles allowed matching of its entire electromagnetic spectrum—including visual and infrared—to blend in with its surroundings. It could even mimic the shape of civilian vehicles to fool enemy recon patrols. Its electric motors and gearbox were ultra-quiet, emitting only twenty-two decibels—little louder than a whisper. Both vehicles sat side-by-side facing perpendicular to the highway with the rural road and overpass to their left. Zykina checked her display. It showed the position of the lead auto-truck of the two-dozen others, which had set off from BDS, Doncaster, an hour ago. Their destination was Catterick Garrison, the British Army’s largest base and one of the three robot army ops centres. The plan needed to work flawlessly if they were to get away with it. Fifteen minutes to the north was Catterick Garrison and a few minutes south was Dishforth Airfield—an Army Air Corps drone base.
“ETA four minutes,” she announced in Russian.
Dasayev, leading the mission, responded with another microburst transmission. “Copy… Sergei, Vasily: get in position,” he ordered to two of his men—one in his ATOM, the other in Zykina’s.
The two men slipped quickly from the door at the rear of their cloaked ATOMs. There were no onlookers within visual range and in less than two seconds, the door—seemingly from another dimension—was closed. A car had stopped on the rural approach road to the overpass about two kilometres to the west. Two passengers were down by the front of the auto-car looking at the spike strip that someone had left there. The road from the east—across the highway—was clear. Both Russian men wore civilian clothes and carried their weapons low by their sides—just above the ground. Sergei—the taller of the two—took just a few steps and crouched amongst some bushes nearby the two ATOMs. Vasily—dressed in a green wax jacket and jeans—wandered up the embankment carrying his weapon in what looked like an oversized sports bag.
Zhanna Zykina sat there and thought about Dasayev and their lovemaking—no, not lovemaking ... fucking—last night. He was far from attractive in the cold light of day and was far from good in bed too. Somehow, her subconscious had guided her into his arms in the pub the previous night and the rest followed. It was as if she knew it would help the mission and, therefore, her career. There was a time, she remembered, that she’d never stoop so low as to go with a man just for expediency or gain, not unless the stakes were high and there was no choice. But the more she thought about it the more she felt that damned ICS had done something to her mind.
***
Tuesday, February 14th, 2045 9:15am: Thames House, Central London
“What is it, Jason?” asked Sophie to the operator of MI5’s surveillance drone.
The young man wore a head mounted display and was flying the unmanned aerial vehicle a kilometre from the convey. Its altitude was just five hundred metres though, because of the low-level cloud. The three displays in front of his control console mirrored most of what he was viewing. He’d been using the drone’s powerful optics to scan for threats and thought he’d seen something.
“Well, I’m not sure if it’s anything ... but there’s this guy on the bridge looking down at the northbound traffic,” he said.
The display showed Vasily, but not the weapon he’d removed from his oversized bag just seconds before Jason had spotted him. Now the weapon and the bag lay on the ground, hidden by the concrete wall of the overpass.
“What’s the ETA of the convey past that bridge?” she asked, with the dawning of urgency in her voice.
“One minute.”
“Okay. Well, we can’t stop the entire convey just because a guy’s standing on a bridge. Advise the escorting police ARVs of what you see. Also ask if they have a better angle from their drone... What’s he up to?”
The figure on the bridge had just squatted down, leaving only the top of his down-facing head visible to the MI5 drone. Jason called through to the ARVs and police drone operator; Sophie watched the display. The other drone operators sitting in the room were completely oblivious to events on the A1(M) motorway.
“Police drone’s seen him too,” he reported.
They watched as he rose to his feet with an anti-tank guided missile on his shoulder.
“Shit! Halt the convey! Halt the convey!” screamed Sophie.
The man stood there in the centre of the display, passing traffic flowing below the overpass. The convoy was just thirty seconds away. The police drone could be seen hovering to the right of the overpass no more than two-hundred metres from the man. Without warning, there was a flash from the left of the screen and, milliseconds later, a pulse of light from where the police drone once flew. The MI5 drone’s optics adjusted just in time to see flaming debris falling all over the highway and adjacent field. Neither of them said a thing. The half-kilometre BDS convey stopped as the lead ARV screeched to a halt four hundred metres from the overpass. The doors of the ARV flew open as the anti-tank missile erupted from its launch tube in a plume of smoke and flame. The armed officers were out of their car, both raising their weapons. Their looks of determination turned to horror. Half a second later, the ARV was blown to pieces along with the two policemen.
***
Tuesday, February 14th, 2045 9:17am: Between Junctions 49 and 50 of the A1(M), Near Dishforth, North Yorkshire, England
Vasily felt the rush of the kill, smiling at the perfect strike on the police car. He crouched down and re-loaded his anti-tank weapon ready for the rear ARV. The vehicle was at the back of the twenty-four truck convey on the inside lane, closest to the shoulder, but was now powering towards the position of its smashed counterpart. Traffic had stopped in the other lane of the northbound carriageway, as autonomous vehicles backed up behind the debris strewn across the road. The southbound lanes were still flowing at full speed; rubbernecking was a thing of the past without curious humans at the wheel.
Sergei had already gotten to his feet and made his way to the nearest ATOM from where he’d came. He ducked inside, maintaining its stealth, leaving Vasily to deal with the oncoming police car. They’d need to move quickly after that, there was sure to be company soon—from the police and the army bases to the north and south. Dishfort
h Airfield was a particular concern—the Russians didn’t want to get into a head-to-head with the drones and helicopters that would eventually come.
Vasily arose with the newly loaded anti-tank weapon. He decided to take the shot while the ARV was still moving, catching the rats in their cage. The missile whooshed from its tube towards the speeding ARV on the shoulder. The car swerved into the field, the missile adjusted—but not enough, causing a glancing blow from the exploding warhead. The blast rocked the ARV off its wheels and ruined its right hand side, killing the nearest officer instantly. It rolled once then rolled again, with just enough momentum to ease over onto its roof twenty metres into the muddy field.
“Time to move!” exclaimed Dasayev. “Sergei, Vasily, check out the cop car. Alpha team, take the goods from the front truck. Bravo team, secure the area around the lead truck. We’ve got three minutes before we’ve got to move. Now go!” he shouted.
Simultaneously, three things happened. First Sergei exited the ATOM and took up a firing position facing the wrecked ARV a hundred metres to the southwest in the ploughed earth. He waited as Vasily rushed down from the overpass, threw his anti-tank launch and bag in the ATOM then came out with his assault rifle at his shoulder. They advanced towards the overturned ARV to finish off any potential prey. At the same time, three members of Bravo team took up position around the lead auto-truck. Their three Alpha team brethren dashed towards the side of the auto-truck. One of them climbed up to the roof and pulled out a large, thin roll of plastic explosive with a metallic backing on one side. He lay prone, applying it along the top of the siding until a quarter of the way along. His colleague did the same along the bottom of the siding. Both men poked a small, wireless firing charge into the explosive strip, as the third took out a small detonator. After climbing off the roof, the soldier placed a third strip of explosives plus firing charge over the siding latch.
Officer Gordy Stewart felt drowsy and weak as he tried to muster the strength to crawl out of the wrecked car. He’d just released the seat belt that had kept him hanging suspended, upside-down in his seat. Now he lay on his side in a crumpled heap, his right leg searing with pain. Whatever this situation was, it was heavy, and nothing like he’d ever experienced in his two years since transferring from Strathclyde down south. Bloody hell, why didn’t I take that holiday and join Maddy and the kids back in Scotland? he thought forlornly. Then he thought of his two wee ones—Jack and Charlotte, three and five—and felt for his sidearm. Great, it’s still there ... just in case whoever these bastards are haven’t finished yet, he thought. Then he saw the two menacing figures advancing on him military-style with assault rifles shouldered. His stomach churned as he nervously grasped for his service pistol. Their eyes looked coldly upon him as he tried to bring the handgun to bear. They stopped, took aim and fired, sending Constable Gordy Stewart, twenty-eight years old, into the eternal blackness.
Alpha team—with the newly rejoined Sergei—stood well back from the truck. The three lines of explosives detonated simultaneously. Their shaped backing sent directed slices of plasma inwards through the siding and latch, leaving only smoke and reverberation in their wake. The four men worked quickly to peel back the siding like the lid from a can of sardines. And packed inside this can were five racks of forty-eight Centurion-Mk2s. The metallic droids hung from cables clipped to their shoulders by karabiner clips, their feet affixed to the racking frame by simple plastic ties. Unaware of the watching MI5 drone high above, they set to work inside the truck. They adeptly unclipped two Centurions—two men per droid—and eased them hastily to the ground. A survival knife made short work of their leg ties and the two bots were shoulder-carried away. Sergei opened the nearest ATOM and the soldier unceremoniously threw his take into it. The other robot went into the second armoured vehicle. One of the soldiers checked back and lobbed two smoke grenades before practically diving back into the ATOM.
“We’ve got space for one more in each ATOM,” said Zykina quickly. “Let’s get two more.”
“No,” replied Dasayev sternly. “The choppers from Dishforth won’t be long now. We need to move.”
As Vasily closed the door to Zykina’s ATOM, closest the overpass, he heard it: the distant whup-whup-whup of a helicopter gunship taking off three kilometres away.
“I heard a chopper coming from the southeast—the army airfield, sir,” reported Vasily.
“Nothing less than we expected. Come on, Zhanna, let’s move out,” ordered Dasayev.
***
Tuesday, February 14th, 2045 9:25am: Thames House, Central London
Maison and Ashley had joined Sophie in the drone control room. They’d seen events unfold and stood horrified, but also bemused at what they saw. Horrified at the cold-blooded murder of a defenceless policeman; bemused because the assailants—eight of them in total—just vanished. Although smoke was obscuring the view, it was clear that something out of the ordinary was happening.
“Well now I’ve seen it all,” muttered Maison, quietly.
“What do you see on IR, Jason?” asked Ashley. He wanted to use the drone’s infrared camera to pierce the smoke engulfing the highway and overpass.
Jason shook his head in disbelief. “Nothing there, Ash... It’s like ... like they just disappeared.”
“Could they have entered a tunnel or something?” asked Sophie, tentatively.
“Dunno. I can fly in closer if you like,” offered Jason.
“Yes, get in as close as possible. Go to the ambushers’ last known location,” instructed Maison.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied, already flying the drone towards the place they’d last seen the attackers, before the smoke had unsighted the drone. He continued, “Err, just to let you know that two army gunships have just left Dishforth. ETA less than a minute. Police are mobilising forces too.”
“Good. Just keep eyes on their last known location,” reiterated Maison. “I need to escalate this up the chain of command and call the Home Secretary. Dean and Sophie, stay here. It’s vital we apprehend these attackers.” She turned to leave but then stopped and faced her juniors once more. “One other thing, Dean...”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ashley, peeling his eyes away from the display.
“The ATOM we’ve got under surveillance in the disused barn near Thorpe Audlin ... any change in status?”
“Err, no. I checked half an hour ago—still there, no one’s approached it,” he answered.
“Ok, thank you, Dean,” Maison said. With that, she rushed out of the control room and back towards the lift and her office.
Four minutes later, she called the Home Secretary, Malik Khan.
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Tuesday, February 14th, 2045 11:20am: Briefing Room A, Cabinet Offices, Whitehall, Central London
Prime Minister Faraday was most displeased at having to call off the pre-election visit to a flagship hospital at such short notice. But when he saw the footage on the multi-display video wall at the end of the conference room he understood. He sat at the head of the table facing the video wall, chairing the COBRA meeting—the government’s emergency response committee. He often wondered why the display wasn’t larger, being so far away in such a large room. He’d either need to get that looked at or get his eyesight re-perfected. Sitting to his left were the head of the military, Field Marshal Sir Anthony Rose, Home Secretary Khan and Defence Secretary Iain Cotterill. On his right sat MI5’s Diane Maison, Met Police Commissioner James Douglas-Smith and the head of MI6, Martin Colby. A dozen junior ministers and functionaries also occupied seats at the table and against the sidewalls.
“So, Diane, talk us through what happened here,” said PM Faraday.
She explained how the BDS convoy had been ambushed, the ARVs and police drone taken out and the injured officer murdered in cold blood. She went on to describe how the assailants busted open the lead truck and stole two Centurions. Then—and her faced flushed with what seemed like embarrassment—she went on to describe how the attackers had simply di
sappeared. She could hardly believe she was sitting in front of the PM and half the Cabinet telling this tale. She was struggling to believe it herself.
The PM listened intently and then asked, “So what did teams on the ground find when they arrived?”
“Let me answer that, Prime Minister, as it was army personnel who were first on the scene,” said Rose.
“Certainly, go ahead...”
“After the gunships reconnoitred the area—to no avail, may I add—troops from Dishforth arrived at around 9:35am.” He drew a small laser pointer from his pocket and pointed it to the left centre display with its satellite picture of the scene of crime. “They dismounted and searched the area for survivors and enemy. The poor police officer was dead—shot twice in the head—as were his three colleagues, who died in their vehicles. No enemy personnel were found. However,” he continued, pointing to the west of the A1(M) where the ATOMs had stood, “we did find tyre tracks.”
“What do they tell us?” asked Faraday.
“They tell us a lot actually. They belong to this...” A photo of an ATOM appeared on the right-centre display. “This is a Russian-made Infantry Fighting Vehicle—an ATOM-Mk3. Eight wheeled, all-wheel drive, super-quiet electric drive and usually armed with a 57mm autocannon. It has a range of well over eight hundred kilometres on a full charge. It only needs one crew to operate it and can carry up to eight passengers. There were two sets of tracks, indicating two IFVs.”
“Hang on... Am I missing something here?” asked Faraday. “First we’re told the attacker disappeared into thin air and now their vehicles...”
“Adaptive camouflage tech has been around for quite a long time,” explained Cotterill, stroking his distinctive red moustache. “Our own BAE Systems unveiled its Adaptiv cloaking system way back in 2011 and we know the Russians have operationalised similar systems.”
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