The detonations shook the ground and rattled Filson’s teeth as the shock wave radiated out through Santiago’s subway system.

  Powder and grit enveloped Filson. He resisted the urge to spring to his feet.

  Don’t be a jackass. Let the air pass before you stand up.

  A roar and buzz exploded in the distance, as if a colossal hornet’s nest had been thrown into the tunnel. The sound increased in pitch and volume, reverberating off the walls as the source raced closer. Filson rolled over onto his back to watch the drones fly by, but the air was too thick with smoke and dust.

  He could sure as hell hear them, though. The small ones screamed by first. The size of footballs, the fast-moving target designators careened over the prone soldiers and robots before rocketing up through the breach. Filson tried to keep count as they thrummed over his head but gave up.

  Won’t be long before t—

  The shriek of a Valkyrie interrupted his thoughts. Powerful thruster fan prop wash buffeted him, despite the weight of his battlesuit. He tried not to think about the limited clearance the tunnel afforded the powerful aircraft.

  Filson could make out the dark mass of the gunships through the smoke and dust, one after another, traveling slower than their designator brethren. They moved deliberately, positioning themselves beneath the breaches. Then, with a howl of thrusters, rose up and above the streets, their sensors adding quickly to the increasing flow of battlefield data.

  A second of relative silence ticked by.

  Filson sprang to his feet. Brick-sized ceiling fragments were still falling from the stricken roof, bouncing off his armored helmet and shoulders as he yelled over RaiderNet.

  “Attack! Attack! Attack!”

  Thick with particulates, the air was murky. Barely able to see past his armored hand and rifle, even with multi-spectral, Filson felt like he was inside a concrete mixer. Fortunately, he didn’t have to rely on visual references.

  Ike, give me guidance to the breach.

  Centaur battlesuits were equipped with a tactical AI that managed the integration and analysis of the flood of battlefield data deluging the human pilot. Nicknamed “Ike,” the AI could take voice or mental commands and could even drive the battlesuit.

  “Roger, sir,” Ike responded as symbology appeared on Filson’s heads-up display—integrated with his suit’s inertial nav, gyroscopes, and map data—showing him the way to his assigned breach.

  Filson sprinted forward, Hatch at his side.

  The air was slightly clearer beneath the breach. Filson smiled as he came to a stop at the base of the Maulers. Similar to the formation that had assisted Mauricio, a group of armored soldierbots had configured themselves, locking their arms and legs together into a climbable scaffolding reaching through the gaping hole in the roof to the surface.

  The rest of the Maulers and Centaurs were hauling themselves up and out of the Metro line. The rip and boom of the firefight above intensified.

  Filson leapt onto the robot scaffolding. A few yanks on the surprisingly solid structure and he shot out of the smoking hole as Ike got a grip on the battle.

  “AegisNet connectivity restored,” Ike’s calm, matter-of-fact voice said. “Multiple alerts from battalion—”

  Not now, Ike!

  Filson sprinted forward, rifle at the ready.

  Let me get to cover and get the immediate fight under control first!

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  “Roger, sir.”

  Still engulfed in smoke and dust, Filson lengthened his strides, following a green triangle on his head’s up display—another Raider. Glancing to his right, he saw Hatch was still with him. The soldierbot matched his stride, firing his weapon from his hip. Another Mauler sprinted next to Hatch.

  The obscuration began to clear, and Filson accelerated to catch up to the Centaur ahead, leaping over dead bodies and debris. Hatch and the other Mauler in perfect sync.

  Multi-spectral visual acuity improved rapidly as he put distance between himself and the gaping hole in the street.

  The level of incoming fire increased.

  Bullets raked the ground next to Filson. An explosion just behind him sent concrete into the air and pinging off his back.

  With a thought, Filson designated the Centaur to his front as lead.

  Follow him, he told Ike. Give me the closest air asset.

  Relaxing his body as best he could, Filson let Ike drive his sprinting battlesuit as an aerial drone’s point of view took over his HUD. It was a Valkyrie.

  Jacking into the drone, Filson viewed himself from above and behind. His battlesuit, flanked by Hatch and another Mauler, sprinted behind another Raider Centaur. They had fifty meters of open ground left to cover as rounds narrowly missed their churning legs.

  Sweeping the nearby buildings with the Valkyrie’s infrared, Filson spotted the PLA machine gun and rocket nest. He banked the aerial drone hard, concentrating on its tilting POV projected on his HUD, and ignoring the swell of vertigo—his body was running in a battlesuit, but his mind was flying in an aerial drone.

  The drone’s nose rolled across the target. Filson unleashed a salvo.

  Fire engulfed the building’s top floor, sending debris and bodies onto the street below.

  Filson released the aerial drone back to hunt mode. I’ve got the controls, Filson told Ike.

  “Roger. You have the battlesuit, sir,” Ike said as the lead Raider put high-explosive rounds into the building wall in front of them, lowered his head, and sprinted through.

  The brick and mortar gave way easily.

  Filson, Hatch, and the second Mauler followed.

  The lead Raider had run clean through the ground floor, taking three PLA infantry with him, crushing them into the far wall. The rest of the hapless enemy squad fired wildly.

  Filson extended the tungsten bayonet in his suit’s armored forearm and punched the nearest enemy in the face, caving in his helmet. Hatch and the other Mauler cut the rest of the lightly armored squad down with rifle fire as the other Raider Centaur released his onboard drone swarm. A dozen marble-sized sensor drones zipped through the rest of the building, flooding Ike, Filson, and everyone on RaiderNet with more intel.

  The building was clear.

  Filson took a knee and put the tactical map over his entire HUD. Hatch stood guard over him, weapon on his shoulder.

  Ike, assess and prioritize our immediate position.

  The map blinked and shimmered as Ike integrated everything available to produce the most up-to-date tactical picture. When the image settled out, Filson ignored blinking messages from battalion as he looked for trouble.

  Clusters of green icons continued to surge from the two breaches as the Lobos moved to Third Platoon. Further out, a ring of green icons expanded into the red triangles that surrounded them—the Centaurs and Maulers were on the hunt, pushing back stunned enemies and killing the ones that stood and fought.

  Filson allowed himself a smile. Drones had achieved local air dominance, Maulers had overwhelmed the shocked PLA in the vicinity, Merko’s Centaurs were establishing command and control across the AO, and the Lobos were consolidating on Third Platoon’s position.

  Surprise had been total. They had the PLA in the area on their heels.

  Even so, urgency surged within him. They had to press the advantage while they had it. It would not last long. He grimaced as he watched target designations wane.

  “Raiders, this is Zero Six,” Filson called. “Designate, goddammit! Volume, not heroics!”

  Filson knew it was easy, as a Centaur, to get sucked into the fight. Striding across the battlefield, feeling impervious, it was enticing to get absorbed in your own personal killing activities.

  “That is not why God made you a Centaur and put you on the battlefield!” Filson told his men repeatedly. “He didn’t put you there to kill people. He put you there to kill whole units!”

  Across the fight, the Raiders re-focused on their primary mission—using drones and soldierbots to kill at scale. Their tactical AIs synced in real time with Ike, continuously improving Filson’s view of the battle. He watched as target designations bloomed across his HUD map. Fired from Centaur rifles and the overhead drones they controlled, the small designator projectiles were a death sentence for Maulers, Valkyries, and other platforms to execute.

  Red triangles started winking out of Filson’s map at an accelerated pace.

  But he was already focused on the next problem.

  Merko and a small group of Maulers had already pushed forward past Control Line Bravo.

  Damn golden retriever after a ball, that one.

  Filson didn’t want to be too extended when the inevitable counterpunch came. His gut told him it was coming soon.

  “One Six, this is Zero Six,” he called Merko. “The hell are you doing? Get your ass back to Bravo. Now!”

  “Roger that, Six.”

  I’m kicking his ass when—

  The wall next to Filson exploded, knocking him and Hatch to the ground. A red icon filled his HUD telling him what he already knew.

  Enemy Centaur.

  Right on top of him.