Stone Soldiers: Catching Fire (3 page)

In the bowels of the office building-turned-military base, there was an underground harbor of sorts- big enough for several speedboats. Smith and Kenslir took one of these and headed down a long, lighted, subterranean tunnel filled with water.

"What were these tunnels originally for?" Smith asked.

"Cold war bunker complex- allowed the transfer of men and material between Argon and the Airbase," Kenslir said as he drove the speedboat. "We filled them with water in the 70s- it's a lot quicker than an electric cart. And the tunnels tend to fill up anyway."

By airbase, the Colonel meant nearby Homestead Air Force Base, located just a mile from the gleaming back glass Argon Tower and all its secrets. And at full throttle, the Colonel drove them there in just a few minutes.

They arrived in a similar subterranean harbor- this one manned by Air Force Security Forces with dark blue berets on their heads and M-16s on their shoulders. The Airmen saluted as the speedboat pulled into a slip then helped secure it.

Kenslir stepped out then turned and offered his hand to Smith. The SEAL started to take the hand, then caught himself.

Kenslir smiled. "That took long enough."

Smith tried not to frown, but couldn't help himself. The Colonel had taught him quite painfully- with crushing force- that he could not touch the Colonel without temporarily losing petrification in part of his body. It was a lesson the Colonel had worked hard to drive home over the past few weeks of training and which Smith swore he could still feel in his stone hand.

Once in the slip, Smith followed Kenslir toward a set of steel doors, carrying a large duffel bag that matched the Colonel's and their six-color desert camouflage uniforms. Once through the doors, they proceeded to an open-walled lift and rode it the short distance to the surface.

"So, why the outdated camo?" Smith asked as the lift slowly rose.

"I like this pattern," the Colonel said.

"You try the new MARPAT?" Smith asked. "It looks pretty effective."

"I have my uniforms tailored," the broad-shouldered Colonel responded. "I'll consider something newer when these wear out."

"These?"

"You're wearing one of mine- taken in a bit. We didn't exactly have anything in your new
size."

The lift finally reached ground level- opening out into a large aircraft hangar on the southeast corner of the airbase. Inside the hangar sat the two aircraft Smith had been briefed on just days before.

Long, black, with pointed noses and huge engines under an almost delta wing, the MF-12 multipurpose, high-altitude jets looked like something out of a space opera. Smith knew they were modified AA-12s, the predecessor to the SR-71 Blackbird, but they looked just different enough to seem alien. Not that he'd ever been up close to a Blackbird.

"How long a flight is this again?" Smith asked.

"Watch a movie or something," Kenslir said, sitting down in a coffin-like metal tube on a rolling cart. Ground crew helped him lean back and strap into the aerodynamic tube, laying his duffel across his legs and snapping straps onto it.

Smith moved to his own transport tube and laid down, thanking a ground crewman for help getting situated. Once he was comfortable- which wasn't easy in a stone body- he lowered the large, over-sized black goggles on his forehead down over his eyes.

The goggles sparked to life, text and readouts springing to life on the slightly-tinted lens.

"Good for comm?" Kenslir asked- his voice coming out of tiny speakers sewn into the headstrap for the goggles.

"Good," Smith said, watching as the ground crew swung the heavy hinged upper half of his transport tube down over him. It latched shut with an ominous thud, then he could hear the hiss of air as an inflatable ring sealed the gap around the tube.

>>>SWITCHING TO TEXT<<< Colonel Kenslir transmitted from his tube. His message scrolled across the upper field of Smith's view in glowing green text.

"See you in Iraq, sir," Smith said. He positioned his arms better in the tube, so he could rest his right hand on the small keypad strapped to the back of his left wrist. He doubted he could type without looking and since his skin was stone, cybernetic control of the tactical targeting visor was out.

>>>ROGER<<<

Smith's transport tube was quickly rolled over to the belly of the closest MF-12. He could almost feel as the cart lifted it up to the plane and bolts were secured, anchoring the tube to the underbelly of the sleek black aircraft. He knew the Colonel was similarly being attached to the same aircraft.

Several minutes later the TTV revealed the plane's movement- its displays showing a ground speed, compass heading and outside weather conditions. The MF-12 was rolled out of the hangar and onto the night time tarmac. Twin engines roared to life and the plane began moving under its own power.

From a parking apron all the way to the runway, the plane rolled along smoothly, only the faintest jarring giving away their movement. At the end of the runway, the plane paused long enough to bring the huge engines up to full power.

Smith could feel the vibrations through the aircraft even with his stone body. Then the plane surged forward, down the runway, rapidly bringing its nose up and leaping into the sky like a rocket. Smith could feel the G-forces pushing him down, his feet aimed toward the rear of the plane. It was like he was standing.

They eventually climbed to 80,000 feet and the plane swung eastward and leveled off.

>>>SOME RIDE, RIGHT?<<< Colonel Kenslir texted.

"I prefer boats," Smith said loudly, hoping his voice could be heard over the roar of the twin engines on either side of his and the Colonel's transport tubes.

***

Five hours later, after two air-to-air refuelings, the MF-12 was in position over the Middle East. The nose began to drop and the TTV scrolled out a message about an approaching drop zone.

Despite all his briefings on this tried-and-true rapid transport the Detachment had been using for years, Smith cringed when the twin passenger tubes were jettisoned at speed- plummeting earthward like guided bombs. At a thousand feet, large parachutes in the tails of the tubes deployed and slowed their descent. Just a minute later they dropped onto the pre-dawn sand of the Iraqi desert.

Explosive bolts sounded and Smith knew he could climb free. He pushed the heavy lid of his tube open and sat up.

The large parachutes attached to his tube billowed in a gentle wind. A hundred feet away, the Colonel was already out of his tube, folding up his parachutes and tucking them inside.

"Rise and shine, Smith- we have a schedule to keep!"

Smith climbed from his tube and quickly packed up his own parachutes, then grabbed his duffel and headed over to meet the Colonel.

Kenslir already had all his gear on now- a six color desert camo combat vest, low-hanging thigh rigs on each leg, and a USAS-12 autoshotgun with underbarrel grenade launcher slung across his back.

"Get your gear on," he directed, watching the area around them. So far, only the desert wind showed any life in the open desert.

"I thought we were supposed to have transport?" Smith asked, opening his duffel. He quickly put on his own vest and gear. He carried an M-60E2 machine gun as his main weapon- one with solid steel grips the Colonel had hastily fabricated in a machine shop before they left the States.

"Damn zoomies," Kenslir growled. "Can't read a map to save their lives."

"Sir?" Smith asked, wondering if the Colonel was talking about their pilot in the MF-12.

"USAF patrol was supposed to put a Sandrail here," Kenslir said. "Their GPS probably went out and they got lost. Hold on a sec."

The Colonel quickly tapped into a satellite network with his TTV. Using a dedicated satellite reserved for their mission, he quickly located the ground vehicle.

"Two klicks," he said, pointing.

Kenslir then set off at a run, heading toward the distant military dune buggy. Smith fell into step behind him, running along at a pace he knew no normal flesh and blood soldier could manage.

After a good run, they finally reached the sandrail- an Army vehicle equipped with a grenade launcher and machineguns. Smith relaxed a little when he saw the car- he'd used one before. He slid in the front passenger seat as Kenslir got behind the wheel.

Their TTVs now displayed a distant beacon on the horizon- their destination.

"Why do we even need a buggy?" Smith asked.

"Because if we come running up on foot, someone's bound to get suspicious," Kenslir said. Then he punched the gas and they shot off across the sand.

***

When they reached their destination, the sun was just beginning to rise. The morning light revealed the thick ashes and wisps of smoke still rising from the ruins of what had been a remote checkpoint- something little more than a stop on the long highway connecting a remote Iraqi village to the rest of the country.

Colonel
Kenslir was first out of the sandrail and carried his auto shotgun across his chest, ready for action. Smith followed a step behind him, his own M-60 slung across his back.

"Looks like whatever happened is long over," Smith said.

Kenslir frowned and pointed the barrel of his rifle at a nearby smoking pile of ashes. "Not too long, or there still wouldn't be smoke rising."

A large, billboard-sized box sprang to life in the air above the checkpoint- or at least the TTVs made it seem that way to both men. Dr.
King's face appeared in the box.

"What have you discovered, Colonel?"

Kenslir walked around the checkpoint, kicking at the pile of ashes on one side of the road. "Everything's gone, Doctor. Everything."

Smith stood to the side, watching the augmented reality conversation. He still wasn't used to the full capabilities of the TTV, but could see where it was very useful in the field. He
wondered why the SEAL teams didn't have them.

"Are there any remains?" Dr. King asked. "Anything we could analyze?"

"None," Kenslir said. He knelt by the road and with his left hand picked up a pile of ashes and let it sift through his fingers. "No etheric residue of any kind."

"Etheric?" Smith asked. "That's magic, right?"

Dr. King turned in the info box above, looking to Smith. "Actually, it's a form of energy used by both magic and psychokin-"

"Doc- over here," Kenslir interrupted. He was brushing the ash away from the pavement, revealing a dark object embedded in the asphalt.

"What is it?" King asked. He could be seen slipping on a TTV of his own. His image then shimmered and the huge display box flickered out, replaced by a 3D, translucent rendering of Dr. King that drifted down to the pavement. He walked over to Kenslir and bent over, looking where the Colonel was pointing.

"This looks like a piece of metal stanchion- a post or something. Might have held up a road sign."

"Yes, yes," Dr. King agreed. "I believe you're right."

"What's that mean?" Smith said walking over to take a look for himself.

Dr. King's hologram stood and faced him. He noticed the rendering wasn't very life-like up close. "The metal is melted off, just above the pavement, yet the pavement itself is not marred in any way."

Kenslir stood. "This was a very precisely controlled fire. Residual heat should have rippled the asphalt in some way- instead it just stopped."

"As though the pavement were not to be harmed..." Dr. King mused.

"Any luck on predictions yet?" Kenslir asked.

"Oh, yes!" Dr. King said. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a holographic piece of paper. "The attacks do have a common denominator- they match a pattern of insurgent fatalities from nearly two years ago."

"We have a line on where the next site will be?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It's a hospital, about 20 kilometers from your present location."

Beside Dr. King a map appeared, floating in the air. Two flashing indicators marked Kenslir and Smith's location and a third marked the location of the hospital the Doctor had described. Kenslir's position was marked in green as ANTAEAN, while Smith was blue and designated ATLAS.

"Atlas?" Smith asked.

Kenslir turned away from the Doctor and reached up to his goggles, cupping his right hand along the side of his head to block any wind noise. "Command, this is ten three-nine alpha. Put me through to CENTCOM- I need ground support ASAP."

Dr. King
turned to Smith as the Colonel coordinated ground forces with Central Command. "Yes, I hope you don't mind- I took the liberty of selecting a call sign for you. As a SEAL you wore a globe with an anchor on your uniform, so I felt that Atlas, who held the world on his back was an appropriate designation."

"Why couldn't I just be Smith?"

***

The hospital in Sarsink consisted mainly of tents brought by the U.S. Army and one large warehouse-like structure. Located west of the town, the hospital had seen many patients during the post invasion operations in Iraq. Many American soldiers had been brought here for treatment after fighting in the mountainous region.