They dashed toward the barracks, where several holes had beenblown into the façade of the building. A section of wall and windows on the ground floor was completely gone, and there was a similar damage point on the third floor. Black smoke drifted out of a shattered window on the second floor, where an RPG round had punctured the glass and detonated inside.
They ran into the smoke-filled lobby, where a Ranger lay dead with a D-17 standing over him, arms covered in blood. Another Ranger lay injured beneath a pile of debris, and the D-17 lurched toward him. Dixon shot it with two EMP blasts and it crumpled to the ground.
Brodie said to her, “Help him out of here,” then continued toward the hallway where he heard commotion and the discharge of EMP weapons. As he rounded the corner into the hallway, a D-17 fell backward out of the rec room doorway and crashed into the hall. A Ranger jumped after it and got on top of it, groping across its torso.
“They don’t need them,” said Brodie.
The guy looked up at him. “What?”
“They don’t need the hardware keys. The only way to end them is to destroy them. Spread the word and get your people out of here.”
The Ranger nodded, then got up and called into the rec room. People streamed out, quickly stepping over the disabled D-17. As they passed Brodie in the hall heading toward the exit, Brodie spotted Sergeant Mendez and some of his MPs; the medical examiner, Dr. Schiller; and various people in civilian clothes whom Brodie did not recognize, presumably cooks and other support staff who had been here on lockdown since before Brodie arrived. They looked shell-shocked and could not stop staring at the inert D-17 as they stepped over it. It occurred to Brodie that despite having been here for months, this might have been their first time seeing one of these things.
A man in his twenties in jeans and a T-shirt was among the last to exit the rec room. He stepped over the D-17, then stopped and stared at it. Colonel Howe emerged behind him and said, “Keep moving, Specialist.”
Suddenly the D-17’s hand flashed out and grabbed the guy’s ankle.
“Fuck!” He tried to yank his leg away.
Colonel Howe aimed her EMP pistol at the thing and fired a single round, and it went limp once more. Its hand remained wrapped around the SPC’s ankle.
“You have to pry it off,” said Howe.
The specialist looked at her, then crouched and quickly pried off the titanium digits as if they were the most disgusting things he’d ever touched. Then he walked quickly down the hall, and as he passed Brodie he said, “What the hell, man?”
“You’re telling me.”
The SPC left and Colonel Howe approached Brodie. “I’m glad you’re still with us.”
“Same. Let’s get some distance from this bot and then I’ll roast it.”
They walked quickly back toward the lobby, and then Brodie loaded a grenade into his launcher, took aim at the bot in the hallway, and fired. The grenade streaked down the hall and on impact it created a violent fiery explosion in the small space. Brodie felt the hit of the heat coming back at them down the hallway.
For a moment he and Howe gazed at the smoking wreckage. Then the colonel asked, “How did they get out?”
“Someone released them remotely. I don’t know who.”
“And how is it possible that they don’t need their hardware keys?”
“The short answer is, some kind of software override, one of several features of the Praetorian software. If you want a longer answer you’re going to have to talk to someone smarter.”
They exited the barracks, behind two Rangers carrying an injured comrade. Brodie recognized the injured man as Corporal Powell. He had a large gash along his right leg.
As the Rangers set the corporal gently down a distance from the barracks, Brodie said to the man, “You fought well, Corporal. We’re going to get you medevaced ASAP.”
Powell nodded, and closed his eyes as a Ranger gave him a shot of morphine and started to dress his wound.
Brodie spotted a couple more injured Rangers emerging from the barracks with the aid of their comrades, followed a few moments later by Lieutenant Lehner of DEVCOM. No sign of Captain Spencer, or General Morgan and his wife, or Maggie Taylor.
As people continued to exit the barracks, Brodie counted eight Rangers with a range of injuries who were being helped by their comrades along with Caroline Dixon. Three dead were laid off to the side. One of the Rangers retrieved a tarp from somewhere, and he and his buddies set it over the bodies and weighted it down with sand and rocks.
Brodie asked Howe, “Ma’am, permission to address the soldiers.”
“Granted.”
Brodie looked around at the assembled Rangers and civilians as they stood in front of their ruined barracks and surveyed the destroyed D-17s around them. Some held EMP rifles. Too many were unarmed or had only pistols.
Brodie said in a loud voice, “Can I have your attention, please.”
