by Greig Beck
But Sam wasn’t finished with the HAWCs, and they weren’t finished with him either. Sam had enthusiastically volunteered to try out the new MECH technology. The Military Exoskeleton Combat Harness was the next generation heavy combat armor. On Sam, the synaptic electronics were a molded framework that was built on, and into, his body – light, flexible and a hundred times tougher than steel. Sam was as good as new, except now, the big man could run faster than a horse and kick a hole in a steel door.
Sam also possessed an intellect that made him one of the best military tacticians they had. He was an unbelievable asset to have on a team. But much as Alex would have put him on the mission list immediately, he had been concerned that the weight of the MECH suit would render him far too goddamn heavy and cumbersome for the high-altitude mission.
Rather than reject him, he’d wait. The Hammer had said he was getting an upgrade – Alex would find out soon enough exactly what that meant.
He scrolled to the next group of HAWCs. There were several others he had worked with before: Drake Monroe, Anita Erikson, and the big Aussie, Max Dunsen. Dunsen, or Dundee to the other HAWCs, was big and as tough as boot leather. If Alex could keep him and Casey Franks from killing each other, then they made a formidable team.
He looked over the others, some new blood that Hammerson himself had rated well off the scale – Andy Garcia – and he then added in Steve Knight. He slid all the profiles to the mission folder that would automatically send a call up alert to them no matter where they were in the world.
With barely any sensation of slowing, the elevator eased to a stop several hundred feet below ground. The entire subterranean complex was encased in sealed titanium and lead shielding that made the basement levels impregnable to a nuclear blast and impervious to electromagnetic pulse attack.
The design was like an upside-down wedding cake, with the larger test facilities at the top and moving down to the smaller R&D laboratories, and then onto the lower level containment cells for biological specimen testing and hazardous materials work.
The doors slid open, and a huge figure lunged in at him so fast, Alex only had time to raise arms to stop being pushed off his feet.
“Jesus Christ.” Alex pushed the big bear of a figure off him and back out of the massively thick doors before they closed again.
“I remember when soldiers used to have respect for their senior officers.” Alex grinned and looked the man up and down. “So, the new and improved Samuel Jefferson Reid.” He cocked his head. “They couldn’t do anything about the face, huh?”
Sam threw his head back and laughed. “Hey, I earned every lump, crease and scar on this ugly mug.” He saluted and stood at attention.
“At ease, soldier.” Alex walked around him. Sam was six-five and about two axe handles wide at the shoulders. He had arms that were straining the sleeves of his all-black HAWC uniform, and where once before he had an external exoskeleton MECH suit covering his legs and lower back, now he just looked normal.
“So, where is it?” Alex asked.
Sam held his arms wide and turned in a circle. “All new and improved.”
Alex’s enhanced senses picked it up then, the small whine of hydraulics as Sam turned. He also felt the small tingle in his head he always got when he was close to a source of radiation.
“Surgical implants?” Alex raised his brows.
Sam nodded. “Tungsten chromium blend; it’s lighter than bone, and the tungsten blending gives it a tensile strength of 1,510 megapascals – titanium only has 434.”
“And the chromium would give it flexibility.” Alex tilted his chin up at Sam. “Your legs were the problem, so why am I picking up a residual trace from your upper body?”
Sam grinned. “Why do you think I was able to push you off your feet? First time ever.” He held up an arm, turning it over, and then making a fist. “They inserted the full-body kit while they had me on the table. I’m the first to trial the internally bonded advanced MECH endoskeleton. The next generation of combat suits will be internal. I can armor up if needed, but now the core infrastructure is inside me and powered by a miniature shard of radioactive material – my own nuclear power plant. I have the mobility of a normal soldier, plus the added speed and strength of a horse.”
“Good, because you can never have too many pack horses on a mission.” Alex held out a hand. “Welcome aboard.”
Sam reached forward to take his hand and Alex turned his large mitt over, looking at it. He could just make out the tiny lines running over the back of his fingers, hand, and wrist before disappearing under his uniform.
“Long surgery?”
“Tag-team of fourteen doctors and thirty-six hours. They had to weave the nano-mesh over every bone, integrate them into my muscle fibers to act like nerve endings, and finally link them to each other – over a million micro-stitches. The final bit was making sure I had control of everything. And for that, they needed me conscious.”
“Sounds painful,” Alex observed.
“Pain just lets you know you’re still alive. It was a small price.” Sam began to squeeze Alex’s hand.
Alex grinned. “How could I not know you were going to do that?” He squeezed back.
Both men stared into each other’s eyes, both just smiled as if they were doing little more than taking in the scenery, but both was exerting enough pressure to pulverize stone. Sam’s hand was now more like a flesh-covered vice. But Alex was no ordinary human being either. Where Sam’s hand was a vice, Alex’s was an industrial press.
Pain to Alex was nothing more than a supercharger that he felt, absorbed, and then used. The more Sam squeezed, the harder Alex was able to squeeze back.
Alex watched his friend’s face, seeing the temperature change on his forehead and his cheeks begin to redden. Perspiration broke out on his brow and an almost imperceptible grinding noise came from their hands.
Sam tried to maintain his grin, but Alex could see the pain behind his eyes now. He pressed a little more, prepared to stop soon if he thought he might damage Sam’s hand. He didn’t need to.
“Uncle!” Sam gasped and let go. “Okay, I’ve still got some catching up to do.” He smiled ruefully and shook his probably throbbing hand.
“I’m impressed. If only I had someone like you on a mission I’m putting together.” Alex punched his large friend’s shoulder. “But I guess you’ll be busy opening all the stuck jelly-jar lids up in the mess hall.”
“Oh, I’m mission-ready. Maybe you’d like to go again, double or nothing?” Sam stuck his still very red hand out again.
“You want to prove yourself, big guy? Well then, consider yourself off the wait-list as of two minutes ago.” Sam beamed. “I’m taking a large team – seven HAWCs.”
Sam’s brows went up. “That’s a lot of muscle.”
“Yep, and it’s for a retrieval, from about ten thousand feet up in the Revelation Mountains.” It was Alex’s turn to grin. “Just to make it interesting.”
Sam whistled. “Climb or drop?”
“Depends on weather conditions. Mission profile has been sent down to Grey,” Alex continued. “We need to review the toolkit, and then link up with our NASA people. We’re in the air in …” Alex checked his watch. “… five hours.”
“Got everything I need right here,” Sam said pointed with his chin. “Heads up; our favorite geek.”
A small man bustled down the surgically white corridor, hands jammed in lab coat pockets. He lifted one free to throw them a small wave that turned into a sort of salute when he spotted Alex.
Chief research scientist Walter Grey came to a stop. “Captain Hunter, Lieutenant Reid.” A nervous smile flickered on his lips before fading.
“Grey,” Alex said and thrust out a hand. “Good to see you again.”
The smaller man took it. “Yes, yes, likewise, Captain.”
Alex tried hard not to smile. Grey looked anything but pleased to see them. Simple reason was Alex and the HAWCs scared him. They were like a diff
erent species – big, aggressive, and with an intelligence that pushed the boffins hard. They also had a bad habit of destroying his ‘toys’.
He let his hand slip from Alex’s. “I’ve seen the mission profile – extreme cold, significant altitude, and possible toxic air. Also, not very conducive to optimum firearms performance, so best leave the HKs home this time.”
“Makes sense,” Alex responded. “But I’ll still take the full Ka-Bar set.”
“Fine.” Grey shrugged.
The trio headed along the corridor. Grey’s voice rose as he talked faster, nervously pointing to different sealed doors as they passed: laser technology, biologicals, handguns, rifles, combat body armor, sensory enhancement. Alex nodded, but stayed silent. He knew all these weapons labs intimately as he’d trialed many of their tech in the field.
Grey slowed as they approached the ASU – the Armored Soldier Unit – the center for all physical shielding for the field operative. A soldier’s combat fatigues of old had been replaced by new materials that were more a mix of body armor and computer system. The new lowest level infiltration suits had active camouflage with micro-panels capable of altering their appearance, color, and reflective properties, enabling the wearer to blend into their surroundings. The next level up for a front-line solider was full confrontation gear with hyper-strong body armor that came in various levels of defense – lower level micro-mesh that could stop a 9mm slug and be worn under normal clothing, moving up to full ceramic or biological plating, able to defray direct hits from a shotgun or assault rifle.
“I understand from Colonel Hammerson there’s a risk of contamination,” Grey said. “We’ve been developing an armored HAZMAT suit. Might be ideal for this mission.”
“Cool.” Sam rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Grey stopped before a silver door that looked like a sheet of solid steel. He laid a palm on a glass panel, the outline of his hand was briefly illuminated and then the door soundlessly slid back into the wall. He led them into the cavernous space and the lights automatically came on around them.
There was a mannequin wearing an all-black compression suit with biological plating over the chest, biceps and thighs, and with smaller armadillo-like scales over the stomach and neck.
Alex had worn similar suits, and had found them both tough and pliable. For colder environments, they even had warming cells built in. This one was new in that the stand-out feature was that it covered the head and face. The flexible scale-like plating extended up the neck, each plate overlaying the one below it, but stopped at the forehead and chin where there was a clear oval panel acting as a full-face visor.
“What do you think?” Grey beamed.
“I think it looks a little stifling,” Alex said, frowning.
“Ah, but just wait.” Grey stepped toward it and touched a small stud beside the faceplate; it fully retracted up and away. He touched it again to bring it back down and then adjusted something that made four lenses protrude from the visor, making the face look totally alien.
“Whoa, quad vision,” Sam said, grinning. “Like the Warrior system?”
“Oh yes.” Grey nodded enthusiastically. “But where that had four separate tubes for light enhancement, this image intensifier can be adjusted to amplify thermal, light, and also deliver macroscopic vision.”
“I like it,” Alex said. The quad vision looked weird, the four tubes making it seem that the wearer had four eyes, but in fact the image kit had a computer application that overlapped the images, giving the wearer vastly superior peripheral sight with an almost wrap-around 98 percent field of vision.
Grey reached up to tap the faceplate. “Impact resistant polymer; you could take a direct hit from a shotgun blast, and still walk away with a face.”
“But will the face still be on the neck?” Sam winked at Grey.
“Of course.” Grey looked indignant. He turned the model around, indicating what looked like two pads between the shoulder blades. “Compressed oxygen cylinders can give you breathable air for forty-eight hours. Pumps and heating cells all work off a miniaturized nuclear chip.” He pointed at Sam. “Similar to the one powering your internal MECH Suit, Lieutenant.
Sam nodded. “No complaints.”
Alex stepped forward and lifted the dummy’s arm. The gloves over the hands had ribbed fingers for grip, and plating over the knuckles and back of hand. Good. If they needed to get physical, using the suits was like having built-in brass knuckles; they tended to finish arguments real quick.
Sam walked around it, his brow creasing. “One question: how the hell does someone, ah, take a leak in that thing?”
Grey looked bemused. “Inside; where else?” He swung the model around on its plinth and showed them the back. There was a barely perceptible rise in the rear armor plating.
“Waste conversion system – filtered and converted to drinking water. Body temperature, of course.”
“Nice one,” Sam said. “And if I need to …”
Grey shook his head. “For that, you’ll need to peel yourself out of the suit in the cold, I’m afraid. Solid waste presents a contamination and storage problem.”
Sam grunted and looked skeptical.
Alex scoffed. “For Christsake, Reid, just go before you get into it.” He grinned. “And no vindaloo curry before dust off.”
“No promises.” Sam grinned back.
Alex turned to Grey. “Good work. There’ll be seven HAWCs including myself, and we’re out of here in a few hours.”
“No problem, send the bios. I’ve got all your measurements so we can engineer them right now. Be ready in an hour.” He made some notes.
Grey clapped his hands. “And now. Let’s go and look at some sub-zero environment weapon tech.” He headed toward an adjoining door that linked them to the next R & D lab.
Alex and Sam followed him in. The new room was longer than it was wide, and at one end there was a target set up – a half torso. The hangar-sized room also sported multiple firearm racks.
Sam spotted some of the newer light-emitting weaponry. “Lasers?”
“No can do,” Grey threw back. “Our analysis indicates an environment high in methane and hydrogen. You fire a laser in that, and it’s liable to ignite the entire mountaintop.”
“Ouch. What else you got?” Sam pulled a gun from a rack and checked it over.
Grey came and took it from the HAWC. “Well, we can’t use anything that has either ignition-based initiators, propulsion or impact detonation devices, so that rules out a lot of the standard weapon tech.”
“What about compressed air or EMP?” Alex folded his arms.
Grey snorted. “Old tech. I’ve got something even better. Magnetics.”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “Rail design?”
Grey held up a finger and waggled it. “Well, we’re still trialing rail-gun tech in our airforce and naval assets. We know we can get much greater muzzle velocities from lower energy than weapons powered by conventional propellants – means we can deliver bigger payloads faster and with greater accuracy.”
“Faster is right,” Sam said. “I’ve heard using electromagnetics to achieve a high velocity can make the projectile near invisible,” he said. “But my understanding is that the tech is freaking huge, like tank-sized huge.”
“Oh yes, the heavy conflict weaponry still requires a good-sized hardware footprint,” Grey agreed. “Our rail guns can deliver tungsten armor-piercing shells with kinetic energies of nine megajoules at two miles per second – at that velocity a tungsten rod projectile could penetrate down to a bunker buried beneath a mountain. But you’re right, the big power systems are still truck sized.”
“So, no rail gun.” Sam’s mouth turned down.
“I didn’t say that.” Grey showed a row of neat little white teeth.
“You’ve miniaturized it?” Alex smiled.
“Yes, we did. We lose some delivery speed, and they’re only down to rifle size, but even then, we still managed to achieve mu
zzle velocities of 1.1 miles per second, and with enough kinetic energy to punch a tiny hole through six inches of solid steel.” He shrugged. “If that’s all you wanted it to do.” He held his smile, waiting.
Sam chortled. “Okay, I’ll bite. What else can it do?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Grey rubbed his hands together. “You might not want to achieve a surgical-sized pinhole in your target. Instead, you might want something a little more … meaningful.” He lifted his chin. “I believe in the past, there have been a few of your adversaries that fit into that category, hmm, Captain Hunter?”
Alex just grunted, remembering his last mission – the creature he had encountered beneath the Antarctic ice was something that had evolved separately from the surface world. Maybe once it had been some sort of cephalopod, but it had developed into something massive, horrifying, and with a cold intelligence that had cost them a lot of lives. Back then, he’d wished he had a howitzer.
Grey went to one of the gun racks, and lifted something that looked more like a flattened box than a gun. The object had a shortened barrel and bottle shape molded into the square design.
Grey telescoped it out to a length of about three feet, turned it on its side and held it out.
“I present the RG3 – Generation-3 Rail Gun – field of combat ready.”
Alex took it from the diminutive scientist. It was heavier than it looked. He turned it over in his hand. There was a front grip, rear handle, standard trigger and guard, but with several studs on its side plus a small round dial.
“It’s got some weight.” Alex ejected a magazine that was about the size of a packet of cigarettes; this was where the bulk of the weight came from. He looked inside at the rounds – there seemed to be many hundreds, all packed in tight, like needles.
He also saw that they weren’t smooth but were more like tiny machines than solid material. He jammed the clip back in.
“How many?” he asked.
“Standard clip has a thousand rounds.” Grey beamed. “Some operatives may find they don’t have to reload for an entire mission.”