Volume 2, Issue 1, January 31, 2007|
by Todd Thorne
The back of the Wal-Mart erupted, a volcanic spew of cinder block ash, particles, and molten chunks. The shockwave nearly tumbled Sergeant Michael Edwards from his vantage point atop the deserted I-35 overpass. The HARM skittered through the dust and across the rubble to a meadow behind the former low-price leader.
"I hate robots," Mike muttered as he crouched behind the guardrail, skin crisping in the mid-morning Dallas sun. In particular, he hated ones about to kill him.
"Target in sight." Gus Pritchard, the contractor, stabbed at the satcam image of the HARM.
"No shit, Gus," Colonel Benjamin Yancy replied, staring over Pritchard's shoulder at the same laptop display. "For a second, I thought that was the goddamn stock boy hauling out the trash."
A blue icon blinked insistently in the laptop's system tray.
Pritchard thumbed the laptop's omni-directional mic. "Delta Nova. Uh-huh. Hold." He addressed Yancy, "Colonel, Fort Hood indicates candidate two-four is ready. Awaiting your orders."
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