The Independent Worlds (The Sixteen Galaxies Book 2) (18 page)

“Oh my God,” Ron breathed, “is that a
Snake
?”

“Yup, sure as hell is,” Drifter replied. All three walked up to the second chopper. Ron reached out and touched the fuselage with reverential awe. Where the UH-1H was the workhorse of the airborne cavalry, able to fulfill any number of roles from fire support to medevac duties, the Bell AH-1G Cobra gunship had only one purpose; delivery of large amounts of ammo in a very short time. It was best not to be at the wrong end of one of these things.

Ron pointed to the weapons mounted on both helicopters. “Those teeth are all real, aren’t they?” The answer was obvious; he could see the rails that fed into the 4 M60 pintle-mounted machine guns on the Huey were filled with ammo.

“I should hope so,” Drifter replied, “I ain’t doing no drop and extraction under fire if they’re not.”

Ron pointed to the four rocket pods on the Cobra. “And those rockets are real, too. Where the hell did you get them?”

Drifter shrugged. “I know a guy that knows a guy; you know how these things go.”

“Fell off the back of a truck, huh?”

“Ex-Israeli stock; black market gear. There’s a ton of stuff out there if you know where to look.”

Jack held up both hands. “Now hang on a minute, just hold your horses for a second, here. I’m no aviation expert, that’s for sure. But I know for a fact that this thing,” he pointed to the UH-1H, “has a range of a couple of hundred miles at best. David’s in Oklahoma, and that’s gotta be over 900 miles from here. Never mind that the second we hit a satellite covered area, all hell’s gonna rain down on our heads.”

Drifter laughed. “Truly don’t tell you boys much, does she?” He went over to the side door of the Huey and hauled out two long pointed stakes with translucent orbs on them. “Truly tells me these are old school, but she obviously didn’t go to the same school I did. All I know is, we gotta slap these in the ground on either side of the runway. They put up a portal doorway thingy, and we go from here to Oklahoma in the space of a bee’s fart. It’s gonna land us right on top of their base.”

Jack shook his head and held his silence.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Drifter exclaimed. I’ll be right back.” He raced into the little office and came back out with a small plastic bottle in his hand. It was tiny, and had a thin nozzle on it. It was filled with a jet-black fluid. “Truly said to be real careful not to get any of this on anything but the bird’s fuselages.”

They all gathered around Drifter. “What is it?” Robert Markham asked.

Drifter shrugged. “Beats me. She just said to run a bead of some of this stuff on both fuselages just before we prep to go. Let’s give it a try.”

He went over to the Huey and carefully applied a small bead onto the aluminum. The black bead sat there for a minute, and then started to grow. As it expanded across the bodywork, it’s growth rate increased exponentially. A small area of the panel was soon covered in it, and Jack noticed the actual
shape
of the chopper seemed to disappear as the black stuff grew over it.

Karl peered at where the edge of the black now literally raced across the sheeting. “Okay, that’s some weird kinda paint you got there, Drifter.”

Drifter applied a bead to the Cobra gunship as well, and they all stood and watched as every external feature of both helicopters vanished from sight. When it was done, both machines seemed to form holes in the air. They all wandered around the choppers, rapt fascination on every face.

“Light absorption coating,” Ron said. “No reflection at all. I’ll bet this stuff swallows radar signals, too. Talk about ‘stealth’ mode…”

“Truly said we can touch it as soon as it’s done growing,” Drifter said. He reached out a tentative finger and ran it across the surface. “Okay, that’s some trippy deal right there,” he declared. “You can feel it, but it don’t look like it’s even there.” He waved a finger in the air. “I reckon I know what this is for.” He went over to the office door and killed the lights. Even when their eyes adjusted to the light from outside, both aircraft were gone. They simply weren’t there, except for the interior of the craft visible through the open side doors. The M60 ‘Pig’ and its ammo chute on the side door seemed to float in midair. The sight was very disorienting. Drifter snapped the light switch back on and everybody stood in stunned silence.

“Wish we’d had that stuff in ‘Nam,” Karl muttered.

The silence slowly dissipated and was replaced by idle banter. Jack looked around at the old war-horses, who chatted and laughed together as if they were at a barbecue. They should be sitting on a front porch sucking a beer at their age, he thought, not entering a literal war zone to rescue a prisoner from an alien who was protected by US government agents. Jack could see past the casual camaraderie, too. He knew the look in their eyes; he knew it very well. It was fear. Why the hell would Truly use old men in old helicopters? Then it hit him; of course!

“So,” he said to Drifter, “these choppers don’t have any computer systems in them? No silicon chips or CPUs?”

Drifter chuckled. “The closest thing these babies have ever had in ‘em is potato chips and SOBs. Truly says the alien guys can take over anything with a computer in it. David’s put some other gadgets in both birds to keep the alien’s computer thingy out of the electronics they do have. He reckons they’ll even survive an EMP attack.”

“How long has Truly been talking to you guys?”

“Oh, about six months or so, I reckon. She never talked to us direct, though. David used to bring these little devices with him all the time. We just sat them on the ground and she’d talk to us. Got me beat, but it was like we really spoke with her. Pity she ain’t a real woman,” Drifter mused. “She sounds smokin’ hot.”

Jack laughed. He mulled the whole crazy deal over in his head. The use of old technology negated Kestil’s AI; it had no access to take down the choppers. They still had to contend with the troops on the ground, and the situation didn’t stop Kestil from calling in heavier support. He also worried about these old guys; what if one of them had a heart attack? Especially one of the pilots.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “You need to trust Truly, Jack,” Ron said. “Sure, this is mostly duct tape and jam tins. But remember, Mandy found Kestil’s base on her own with no tech whatsoever.”

Jack flinched; he didn’t want to think about Mandy right now. Ron patted his shoulder. “Think it over, Jack. You reckon Kestil will be prepared for an airborne attack? He doesn’t even know we’re coming.”

There was a crackle of static from the headset of a helmet on the seat next to Drifter. He picked it up and listened for a second. “Copy,” he said into the microphone. He looked around at them all. “Saddle up, boys, we’re satellite clear in twenty minutes.” He saw Jack frown at the headset. “We got our guardian angel with us tonight, too.” He pulled a little cube out of his pocket and held it up. “David gave it to me just before he got caught.” He kissed it and put it back in his pocket.

Jack grabbed his rucksack and headed for the Huey. Mandy’s last words to him echoed in his mind. He couldn’t give her those drives, that much was certain. But if he didn’t, there was no way in hell she’d let it go. Focus! he scolded himself. The past is the past, and you can’t change any of it. Get on with the job at hand, and leave the past where it belongs – and the worries of the future to tomorrow.

Chicago, Illinois, 2005

A dark grey sedan pulled up outside the burnt-out shell of a four-bedroom two-story house. State Fire Marshal Louis Benton looked up from the set that had probably started the fire. He cursed under his breath when two men got out of the car. Both wore suits, sunglasses and an attitude you could smell a mile away. That’s the end of that, then, Benton thought.

The first guy showed Louis a badge; FBI. “Mr. Benton, I’m Agent Donovan, this is my partner Agent Prentice.”

Louis reluctantly shook hands with both. “I take it I’m leaving?”

Donovan shrugged. “Very shortly, but first I’d like your opinion on this case.”

“Well,” Louis replied, “without the dead body that was just over there, I would’ve said electrical fault in the power outlet that was here.” He pointed to the blackened remains of an internal wall. “Guy who set it was a pro, out and out. A fuse of sorts from the outlet to the cupboard under the stairs. Probably light accelerant on fast burning medium, possibly ripped cotton or screwed up paper balls. No remains of that, of course. Main point of combustion was the cupboard, well stocked with cleaning equipment and materials, much of it flammable. Judging by the hinges, the door to the cupboard was wide open.”

He held up the twisted remains of a door hinge. “This is the only thing that would have given me any cause for doubt. Well, that and the fact that the glass sliding door to the patio was open, too. The cops tell me the body had one knife wound. Stabbed in the chest, one blow, fatal.”

The two agents exchanged a brief glance at that. “Go on,” Donovan invited.

“So, the dead guy must have been the arsonist, or he would’ve closed the door when he left. It was set to lock when closed, classic exit strategy for a quick burn like this.”

“I see,” Donovan said. “How do you know it was a combat knife?”

Benton pointed outside. “Cops got it. The assailant dropped it when he did a tumble off the roof. Looks like he went upstairs and got the daughter out through a window above the porch. He dragged her clear and got away.”

Donovan pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Thank you, Mr. Benton. This is now a Federal case, so I must ask you to leave. No written records, please.”

Benton sighed and started to pack his kit. Donovan lit a smoke and strode over to a uniformed policeman. “Officer in charge, please.” The young cop pointed to a burly plain-clothes detective. The agents introduced themselves and he told them he was Detective Monahan.

“I understand,” Donovan began, “that the victim found downstairs was killed by a single knife thrust to the chest. Is that true?”

Monahan nodded. “Incredible, but true. Probable cause of death was a precise horizontal blade, diagonally from right to left between the ribs and into the heart. Blade driven in up to the hilt and withdrawn to speed up death. Guy was dead in minutes, or asphyxiated from the smoke. Autopsy will tell us that, hopefully. Either the killer was lucky, or a real pro.”

“How come the body wasn’t burned beyond analysis?” Prentice asked.

Monahan gave him a shrug. “CSI said they had conclusive visual evidence. They wouldn’t have given me a PCD otherwise, would they?”

“Do you have the knife?” Donovan asked.

Monahan yelled out to one of the crime scene investigators, and the man brought the murder weapon over. He handed the weapon in a plastic bag to Donovan.

Agent Prentice gave a low whistle. “KM2000; very nice.”

Donovan nodded. “Polyamide handle, laser sharpened blade. German army issue. Our boy’s possibly German, then.”

Detective Monahan cleared his throat. “Knife belonged to the victim, actually. The body had the remains of a scabbard on his belt.”

Donovan turned to the CSI. “How come the body was in good enough condition to get all the detail?”

“Fire boys said most of the heat went up, concentrated around the stair well, until it hit the timber floor of the upper level. Your boy was over there,” he pointed towards where the glass door had been, “where a section of upper floor came down and kind of protected it. Hoses got to it before it could burn properly. It seems both men wore high-end surgical gloves; non-latex and thick enough to leave no prints. We’ve got plenty of blood samples, though, and DNA.”

Donovan thanked him and the CSI picked his way back through the rubble.

Agent Donovan nodded to Monahan. “Sorry, Detective, but this is now a Federal inquiry; I’m sure you know the drill.”

Monahan strode away with a scowl on his face. Donovan turned to Prentice. “Pro hit gone wrong.”

“Yeah,” Prentice replied, “but another pro took him out. Bet we get nothing from the blood and DNA samples.”

“I bet you’re right,” Donovan replied. “Identifying the dead guy is gonna be tough enough, but we really need to worry about the one that killed him. He’s out there somewhere, and he may not be done yet.”

“True that,” Prentice said. “But, why get the girl out? Second guy possibly connected to the victims somehow?”

Donovan kicked at a piece of charred timber on the floor. “The girl may be able to shed some light on that. Twenty bucks says we’ll never talk to her, though. I’ve got a nasty feeling we won’t even get to lay eyes on her. This will be kicked across to the CIA, just you wait and see.”

*****

Drifter’s home, Arizona, Present Day

They’d pushed the two helicopters through the big doorway, and they now sat outside the hangar, ready to go. They had a small window of opportunity before another satellite came into range and Drifter was yelling at everyone to get butts in seats, pronto. Jack buckled himself into a seat in the rear of the Huey. Ron dropped into the seat beside him. He could hear Drifter and Karl as they ran through the preflight checklist. Then he heard switches being snapped on, followed by the whine of pumps and various hydraulic gear being tested. Around him the chopper started to come to life; clicks, buzzes and other small noises. These soon faded as the Lycoming turboshaft engine whined into life.

The ascending note of the compressor turbine was drowned out by the unholy scream of the power turbine. The rotors picked up speed and the whole machine started to shake. The slow wobble got faster and faster, until it became a constant vibration. The thwack of the blade’s leading edge increased tempo into an immense staccato roar. The scream of the engine and clatter of the blade was a sound most military personnel knew in their heart and never forgot. It was the sound of war; the harbinger of battle.

Across the concrete apron the Cobra was already in the air. Its sleek, aggressive profile futuristic for its time, it would have looked every inch the weapon platform it was, if Jack could actually see it. Jack did briefly spot the twin 7.62mm mini-guns in the nose pod as they swung experimentally from side to side.

Jack felt their chopper leave the ground and Drifter’s voice crackled over comms. “This is it ladies; pucker up, we’re going in. LZ will be lively, but the boss lady wants minimal casualties. That means suppressive fire; put ‘em on the ground and keep ‘em down. Oh, and Mitch, stay high as you can for the most part. I can’t see you, and I sure as hell don’t want to find you the hard way.”

“Copy that, boss,” Mitch drawled. “The feeling’s mutual.”

*****

Kestil’s base

Kestil watched a bead of sweat meander down David’s brow. The Starchild’s face was deathly white; his eyes unfocused and glazed.

Kestil held out his hands. “Give it up, David. What difference does it make to fight anymore? You have more intellect at your disposal than most people could ever dream of. Surely you can do some simple math. The time ticks away towards your unavoidable failure. My AI was created as a virus; invasion of other systems is its raison d’etre. You even told me yourself that 100% success would be achieved within 76 hours. By my estimate, that means there are less than two hours to go before you
must
fail. What do you hope to achieve before then; your death? We won’t allow that to happen, surely you know that.”

David’s eyes rolled back in his head. He managed to squeeze out some words. “I…I am waiting.”

Kestil laughed. “For what? A sudden rescue by your compatriots? They cannot enter here, especially not the two who would present a real threat. We would hack their implants instantly, and simply portal them out of reach. You can’t win, David.”

*****

“All quiet?” John Crabtree and Barney Cantock sauntered out of the tree line towards a guard who leaned casually against a no smoking sign.

A cigarette dangled from his lips and he squinted at Barney through the smoke that glowed orange in the dark as he took a deep drag. The guard gave an elaborate yawn. “Ain’t it always?”

Barney bummed a cigarette and the guard lit it for him. The two men lounged in companionable silence, while John panned his eyes around the base.

Barney sighed. “Relax, John. What the hell they gonna come at us with?”

John knew he was right. But, he had so many centuries of combat experience behind him, he just couldn’t relax. If there’s one thing he’d learned from all those infused memories, it was that you should never underestimate your enemy. He asked the guard for a cigarette, too. Kestil hated smokers, so John never did it around him. But, he determined to enjoy this one.

And he did, too. Right up to the second the sky exploded in a crescendo of sound. The effect on all three men was akin to a bucket of ice water dashed into your face while you’re deep asleep.

Not ten yards away and fifty feet up, the mind-numbing roar of a large, but invisible, helicopter had come into being in the blackness above them. The cacophony arrowed straight towards the center of the compound. A second one thundered into existence hard on its heels. This one was lower, and they all choked on dust whilst being pelted with gravel from the downdraft. It took a different route and went nearly vertical as it climbed, and arced off to the right. Though both moved off almost instantly, the sound sure didn’t.

John had to yell at the transfixed guard, who stood glued to the spot, the battered remnants of his cigarette plastered to his face. “Sound the alarm and fire on those aircraft!”

“I can’t see them!” the guard shouted back.

“Then shoot at the damned great noise they’re making, you jackass!” John screamed at him, before he raced for the silo shaft.

Barney headed in the opposite direction. He had no idea what the hell was going on, but he wanted distance between him and the two roaring machines that had to be brought down.

Behind him several guards came to their senses and opened fire into the darkness. Barney’s heart fell when he heard several heavy machine guns hammer out a reply. There’d been something weird about both birds, he thought. When they appeared, it was like he could sort of see them in the momentary glimpse he got before he was blinded by the dust, but more as an area where there was empty blackness, in the shape of a chopper. He was soon inside the tree canopy, and found a perch behind a huge fallen tree. He unslung his AX338 and tried to get a bead on either chopper. One was near the ground and close to the compound. He could make out occasional muzzle flashes when the M60s barked at someone, but the bird was damned near invisible. The other one had simply vanished, although he could still hear it.

*****

Kestil sighed. “Come on, David; give it up. You say you wait, but nobody’s coming. You’re extending your suffering for-”

Kestil was cut off by his AI over the PA system in the base. “Seal the access shaft. Surface forces converge on the main entry. Airborne attack incoming; two signatures. Get those doors closed,
now!
”

Kestil ran for the doorway, shouting as he went. “How the hell have they got aircraft anywhere near us? Why didn’t you stop them?!”

“The aircraft came in through a portal located just out of range of our jammers. The aircraft themselves are helicopters; old relics. They have no on-board computer systems at all. Their controls are archaic and I have no access.”

“Get a call through to Maitland, now!” Kestil’s shouts faded up the corridor.

David leaned his head back with a sigh. “I was waiting,” he whispered, “for that.”

*****

Truly had instructed Drifter to take the Huey straight to the center of the compound, find the main shaft down to the base and wait for instructions. He’d never married, but he thought that, in the last six months, he’d come to know what it felt like. He went in and did a sweep of the large round shaft; the original silo the base was built around. The two concrete doors were wide open; the guards had no time to close them before the chopper arrived on the scene. He used the pintle-mounted M60s on either side of the chopper to keep the guard’s heads down. Meanwhile, Bobby and Bear did the same from their positions in the doorways. One guard got brave and fired a quick burst, and Drifter demolished a corner of the building where the muzzle flash was.

Others were brave enough to send some bullets their way, but the quick replies from the Huey soon saw them lose interest in that idea. It was obvious they had been overconfident in Kestil’s AI’s ability to counter any attack from above without resorting to heavier weapons. It was equally obvious nobody had thought of this unusual counter to the protective abilities of the AI. That situation would change in short order, Drifter knew. He scanned the area adjacent to the shaft, but wherever he set down, they would be horribly exposed. The big doors started to slide shut.