by M. R. Forbes
"I'm not dead yet," Lyle said behind her. She turned to face him as he sat up. There was some blood on his shirt, but it looked like the bullet had grazed his side. "Just a flesh wound. I think getting shot in the back screwed up her aim." He looked across at Max. "That's a damn shame, though." He paused again, gritting his teeth. "We can't give up, Kathy. Maybe we took a hit, but we have to keep fighting. Otherwise, they die for nothing. The Colonel would tell you the same thing."
"I know," she replied. It didn't make this mess any less her fault. "And we will. We needed him to help us improve the virus. There isn't anyone else left."
"Then we do it another way."
"How?"
"I don't know. I'm just a grunt. Or a flat-foot. Take your pick." He pointed at the Core. "That thing's a supercomputer, and you two are super-geniuses. The Colonel's always saying it isn't about the plans, it's about the people behind them. Figure something out."
"As if it were that easy?"
He smiled. "You might surprise yourself. Maybe it is?"
33
Bettina only broke down once on the way to Osaka, one of the hoses developing a crack of some kind and causing the hydrogen engine to start leaking the gas. McRory was forced to stop the car on the side of the highway, drawing plenty of comments and commotion from the surrounding traffic as automatic, monitored safety systems forced them to both slow down and navigate around.
Mitchell spent the twenty-minute delay on high alert, peering out of the back of the truck toward the sky in search of drones, and scanning the street behind them for oncoming law enforcement. An officer did show up halfway through the repair, but he bypassed the rear of the vehicle and spoke with McRory, who responded to him in crisp Japanese. It was obvious the General had been in town for awhile, meaning that Watson likely wouldn't make the connection between his rather unique antique vehicle and his group, as long as he couldn't somehow discover how Yousefi knew the man.
Mitchell was curious about that history as well, but McRory wasn't going to tell, so he wasn't going to push. It was enough that he was driving them across the country to their waiting escape plane. They were close to getting back to the States, and hopefully regrouping for another attempt to find and capture Watson's data stack. He could only hope that Kathy and the other Riggers were safe, but he wouldn't be able to check-in with them until they were much closer together.
The truck stopped a second time, and at first, Mitchell thought there was another mechanical problem, or they had hit a checkpoint. Instead, McRory's face appeared at the rear of the truck.
"We're a few klicks out. I took the liberty of moving off the main road and heading east a little bit. I assume you didn't want the guards there to see you coming just yet?"
"You're a smart man," Mitchell said, walking to the rear of the truck. Katherine and Trevor rose and stretched behind him.
"Yes, I am, Colonel," McRory replied.
"My bloody arse is killing me," Trevor said. "I haven't ridden in anything so rough in ages."
"Beggars can't be choosers, Magilla," McRory said.
"Who?" Trevor replied.
"You're too young to get the reference," McRory said. "Technically, so am I, but I'm a bit of a history buff."
"I never would have guessed."
"Cheeky. So, Colonel, you want to brief me or should I just go home?"
"I thought your plan was to go home?" Mitchell said.
"Driving you here got me thinking. I've been hiding out here since the war ended. I'm not doing any good to anyone out here, and you seem like you're in a bit of a bind. This is your mission, Colonel. You don't want to tell me; that's your business. But Yousefi is a friend of mine, and if his people need help, I'm going to offer it."
"What about fishing?" Katherine asked.
He smiled. "They've been in that pond for a thousand years. They'll be there when I get back. What's the situation?"
Mitchell glanced over at Katherine and Trevor. They both nodded. They needed all the help they could get.
"Okay, General. You're in, but you take orders from me for this one, okay?"
"I'm retired, Colonel. I don't have any jurisdiction over you and yours. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."
"Here's the deal. Yousfi has a C-180 loaded and ready for us out on the tarmac, waiting to take us and some soldiers going on leave back home. The problem is that there's an angry artificial intelligence who may have control of some number of the forces on the base, the soldiers going on leave, and possibly the aircraft itself. In short, everything about that base has to be assumed hostile."
"Angry AI?" McRory said. "Are you joking?"
"No, sir," Katherine said. "That's why Yousefi called you. There aren't many people we can trust."
He bit his lower lip. "Well, shit," he said. Then he looked at Mitchell. "You want another option?"
"Yes."
"I've been to Osaka a bunch of times. What you need is a different aircraft. I know for a fact that they've got a Screamer in there. I even know what hangar it's in."
"A Screamer?" Mitchell asked.
"A high-velocity transport," Katherine said, her eyes lighting up. "Uses a mixed scramjet and rocket motor plus the latest in repulsor tech to reach speeds close to Mach Ten with virtually no friction. It's the closest thing to a starfighter we have right now, only its transport. No guns, but it seats ten."
"Why would they have one here?"
"The leader of the Eastern Forces is stationed in Osaka," McRory said. "It's his escape hatch if things go south."
"Can you fly it?" Mitchell asked Katherine.
"I can fly anything," she replied.
"Cocky," McRory said. "I like that."
"Not cocky," Katherine replied. "We had to fly the Screamer to prep for the recon ships onboard the Goliath. It's the closest we can come to reaching the velocities the new tech is capable of. It's also the limit of what we can manage without going internal." She tapped her head. "Like you are, Mitch."
Mitchell nodded. "That's where the p-rat originated. There are limits to our body's ability to do things on its own. Limits we need to break to continue to evolve."
"That sounds like the genesis of AI to me," McRory said.
Mitchell paused. He had never thought of it that way before. "Yeah, I suppose it is. So, General, you know where they're keeping the Screamer." He stopped again, entertaining a thought. He had said they would improvise. Now was the time to turn thought into action. "I have an idea."
34
Mitchell crouched on the top of Bettina's cab, looking ahead at the airbase through McRory's two-hundred-year-old binoculars. They did an acceptable job blowing up the scene in front of him. The soldiers guarding the front gate, the series of hangars and barracks positioned around the base, and the C-180 that was sitting out on the runway with the engines running, just the way Yousefi had promised it. He took note of the defensive positions, and of the motion around the base. There were a limited number of fighters coming and going, heading off for training sorties of one kind or another. There were also drones circling the site, keeping an eye on things from the sky. He wasn't sure when the transport was scheduled to go wheels up, but he imagined it would be soon.
"Are you sure about this?" Katherine asked.
Mitchell looked down from his perch. She was standing beside the old truck and doing her best not to look worried.
"You said the Screamer could hit Mach Six," he replied. "We can afford to wait."
"Only if we can get to the plane."
"Do you think the C-180 is a better option?"
"I'm not sure. I know you don't. That's good enough for me."
"McRory agrees with me."
"I know. I just have a bad feeling."
"Welcome to my world."
"Any action out there?" McRory asked. He was standing on the other side of Bettina's cab.
"No, sir," Mitchell replied. "All the usual base movement. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Good. We've got six
hours until sundown. It's better that everything stays simple. It will be easier to get to the target."
"Yes, sir."
Mitchell returned to his stakeout, watching the base through the binoculars. A few minutes passed. A fighter landed. Another one launched. A truck rolled up to the front gate, paused while the soldiers checked it in, and then rolled inside. A pair of airmen jogged by along the perimeter, getting some exercise. It was so normal; it almost made him jealous.
A few more minutes passed. He swept the binoculars back across the C-180, noticing that the turbines of the engines had increased velocity.
"Looks like the transport is about to leave," he announced, knowing the others couldn't see the action with their naked eyes.
"What do you think Yousefi will think when we don't check in with him?" Katherine asked.
"That we're dead," Mitchell replied. "At least until we prove otherwise."
The transport began to roll along the tarmac, moving into position for departure. It paused there for a moment while the replacement pilots did their final checks and received clearance from the tower, and then began to lumber forward along the runway, gaining speed for liftoff. Mitchell turned his head, trying to keep it in view through the binoculars as it moved behind the barracks, visible only through the cracks between them. It reached the halfway mark, the nose beginning to lift as the wings cut into the air.
"There it goes," Mitchell said, lowering the binoculars. "There's nothing to do -"
The last part of his sentence was drowned out as the sky above the airbase flashed in red and orange, the C-180's explosion echoing across the landscape. Mitchell's head snapped back toward the base, the fireball that had been the transport visible without aid.
"Hot damn," McRory said.
"Bloody hell," Trevor shouted.
Mitchell brought the binoculars back to his eyes, finding the wreckage as it fell back to earth, spreading out from the force of the blast. Smoke started to fill the sky, and flashing lights were already racing toward the scene, along with the drones that had been patrolling the perimeter seconds earlier. He could see other soldiers leaving their barracks and rushing to lend a hand.
"We were supposed to be on that plane," Katherine said quietly.
Mitchell dropped the binoculars again. "Get in the truck. General, let's go."
"What?" Katherine said.
"We wanted a distraction. There it is."
"Colonel, that's not a distraction, that's a disaster," McRory said.
"For us, it's a distraction. You said you would follow my lead. Watson just blew up that plane because he expected us to be on it. Those people died in our place. We aren't wasting that. Now, get in the damn truck and let's go. "
McRory didn't hesitate a second time, jumping in on the driver's side. Trevor and Katherine retreated to the rear of the truck.
"Grab your gear and be ready to lay some cover fire," Mitchell told them through the comm.
"Yes, sir," they replied.
The truck shuddered as it came to life. McRory hit the throttle, and they began to move back out toward the road.
"When we get closer, veer off again. Go through the fence, as close as we can get to the hangar. Peregrine, how long will it take you to prep the Screamer?"
"About seven minutes, Colonel," Katherine replied.
"Roger. Bulldog, you heard her. Once we're in, we need to keep the MPs off our asses."
"Yes, sir."
"Try not to hurt anyone unless you're sure they're not in control of themselves. I'd rather not kill friendlies if we can avoid it."
"Yes, sir."
"Colonel, the fence is electrified and reinforced," McRory said. "We have to go through the gate."
"If we don't have a choice, then go that way."
They truck rumbled onto the street, picking up speed as they raced toward the airbase. They could hear the sirens now, and smell the burning debris. A plume of smoke had risen from the center, and some of it was drifting toward them.
"Uh, Colonel, we need to go a little faster," Bulldog said from the rear.
"Ares, there's a fighter inbound on our six," Katherine said. "I think I know what made the transport explode."
Not an internal detonation. A missile. Watson was pulling the pilot's strings.
"See if you can harass it," Mitchell said.
He could hear the rhythmic tapping of their rifles firing before he finished giving the order. The odds of hitting the craft were slim, but maybe they would get lucky.
"Can this thing go any faster?" he asked.
"She's over a hundred years old, Colonel," McRory said. "We can't outrun a fighter."
A missile slammed into the pavement beside him as he finished speaking, sending a stream of dirt rushing over the windshield. McRory jerked the vehicle to the right, and then back to the left, trying to guess where the next one would hit.
"Good thing they're using air-to-air," he said. "Otherwise there's no way they miss."
Another missile hit the ground a few meters in front of them. McRory swerved again, avoiding the strike and the resulting hole, keeping Bettina headed for the airbase. Mitchell looked up, spotting a second fighter headed inbound toward their position.
"Damn it," he said. They were going to get caught in a crossfire, and there was no doubt one of the fighters would hit them.
"We're almost there," McRory said.
The gates of the base were approaching in a hurry, as was the forward fighter. The guards there were on alert, but they had their attention on the sky.
The din of heavy cannons pierced the chaos. Mitchell could see the flashes from the oncoming fighter, and he clenched his teeth, waiting for large caliber slugs to tear through the top of the truck and then him. The fighter released a missile before peeling to the right and launching chaff. A moment later a second missile slammed into the decoy and exploded over their heads. Something else exploded behind them.
"A direct hit," Katherine said. "Only one of the fighters was under Watson's control, and our guy nailed him."
"Great," Mitchell said. "We still need to make it to the Screamer."
The guards returned their attention to the onrushing truck. Mitchell was expecting them to start shooting, but instead, they scrambled to get the gate open.
"Ha," McRory shouted. "They think we're one of theirs, running from the attack."
"Don't slow down. If they have time to ask questions, we'll never get airborne."
Bettina burst through the gates without slowing, leaving the guards to turn and watch them go. The General angled them away, cutting through the middle of the barracks, going up onto the grass to get a faster route to the Screamer's hangar. Mitchell had a better view of the mess around them, and the crews working to put out the fires and help anyone who might have survived the explosion.
"There it is," McRory said, pointing ahead to one of the large hangars. It was identical to all of the others, leaving Mitchell to wonder how the General knew which it was.
"Peregrine, we're almost at the hangar. Head inside with the General. Bulldog, you're with me."
"Yes, sir," they replied.
McRory brought the truck to a stop. Mitchell felt the back shift as Trevor and Katherine jumped out. He opened the passenger door and slid out, joining Trevor while the others headed for the smaller access door. McRory didn't waste any time when he reached it, drawing his sidearm and shooting at the lock.
Mitchell moved to the back of the truck, scanning the area. The chaos had helped them make it this far, but he was sure the guards at the gate would work things out with base command sooner or later, and then someone would be coming to find out who they were and what they were doing, and it wouldn't take them seven minutes.
"We need another distraction," he said.
35
Trevor glanced at him, and then at the truck. "Nitrogen," he said.
"What about it?" Mitchell asked.
"The truck runs on compressed nitrogen, which is highly explosive."
Mitchell smiled, getting the hint. It had worked in Jakarta. Why not now? "Do we have anything to detonate it?"
"There are a few frag grenades in the packs," Trevor said.
"I take it those are the canisters?" Mitchell asked, pointing to the rear of the cab, where two armor-plated cylinders were mounted.
"Yes, sir."
"Wait here."
Mitchell ran to the back of the truck and climbed in, finding the packs they had taken from the Hornet still on the floor. He knelt beside one, unzipping it and dumping out the contents. Sidearms and magazines. It wasn't what he wanted. He went to the next one and dumped it out.
"Ares, this is Peregrine. I'm on the bird and getting her warmed up."
"Roger, Peregrine. Knock me when she's ready to fly."
"Affirmative."
Mitchell looked at the contents, smiling as he picked a grenade from the other weaponry. Then he headed to the rear of the hold, where McRory kept his personal equipment, like the binoculars. He pulled a roll of tape from it and then retreated to the outside of the truck. He could see soldiers piling from the barracks now, wearing body armor and heading their way. They didn't have a lot of time.
Trevor was already up on the back of the cab when he arrived. He handed over the tape and the grenade to the soldier, who placed it to the left of one of the canisters, out in the open.
"One should set off the other, and probably all the munitions in the rear," Trevor said. "It's going to be one hell of a show."
"How do we get the truck out there?" Mitchell asked, pointing to the space between the approaching soldiers and their position.
"One of us has to deliver it," Trevor replied. "We can abandon it out there and shoot the grenade at our leisure."
"I don't know how to drive that thing."
"I guess it's me, then," Trevor said. "I'll get it out there. Once I'm clear, one shot should do it."
Trevor opened the driver side door and started to climb up. He looked back at Mitchell as he reached the seat.