Mechanical (16 page)

            He tried to watch as one of the tech people peeled away the armor plate covering the computer in his left arm, but the angle was bad, and he failed to see the password the man entered to log into the computer's administrative menu. Another man caught Tom's attention: a man that walked on the scaffold towards his right arm and peeled back an armor plate, revealing several sockets. The man pulled up a thick black cable and plugged it into one of the sockets.

           
The electrical power recharge,
Tom realized. He half-expected some humming or some kind of feeling inside, but there was nothing. Tom returned his attention to the man manipulating the computer on his left arm. The man alternated his attention from the tablet he held in his hand to Tom's computer.
Probably running through all the checklists,
Tom thought. He had tried to see what the tablet or his left-arm computer display showed, but the angles were bad and he couldn't see anything.

            Tom realized that the two other Serpents were undergoing the same process and turned his head, trying to zoom in and see what the people who were operating the other Serpents' computers saw, to focus on the displays of the Serpents' arm computers or the tablets, but the way the scaffolds were arranged prevented him from seeing anything.

           
Did they really place the scaffolds to prevent the Serpents from seeing the computer and tablet displays? Or am I just too paranoid?
Tom wondered.
Also, where is the captain?

            The electrical recharging and diagnostics took time, but finally it was over, and the computer armor panels had been slid back into place and the electrical power lines had been pulled out.

            “Hey!”

            The tech people all moved back and the ponytail guy looked up to see Ramirez’s Serpent staring right at him. Tom could see the man go pale and he put his right hand into his pocket.

            “How much power and food is needed?”

            “Your Serpent has been charged to capacity and nutrient containers were filled to—"

            “How long do I have in the Serpent?” Ramirez talked calmly, barely above a whisper, but the man visibly shook. Tom did not blame him.

            “Two—two weeks. You have two weeks.”

            “Great. Just fucking great.” Ramirez turned away.

            The Serpents were then moved to a corridor they hadn't used in three days that had a large steel door with a complicated locking mechanism. A large number of soldiers, armed with anti-tank shoulder-fired missiles and full combat gear, escorted the three Serpents. The soldiers looked nervous, Tom thought. The presence of three huge, black monsters with long talons, viper-like heads, and horns and the spikes protruding from their heads and backs would have made everyone nervous.

            They came to a stop, and Tom could not help looking down at the soldiers. They looked tiny, insignificant, and powerless—just soft and squishy. Tom could have extended a hand and crushed a man to death and nothing could have stopped him. An almost intoxicating strength seemed to flood him, running through every one of the motors, engines and numerous electronic components in his body. This was power! If the soldiers felt something of what he felt, they had every cause to be nervous.

            They didn't wait long before the general came, escorted by Captain Emerson and another group of armed combat troops.

The general wasted no time. "This is it, gentlemen. You've trained with your Serpents; learning to pilot them. You fought with them, learning their strengths and weaknesses. You have learnt everything we know about the enemy. This is it. You're now leaving Fort Belvoir for Andrews Air Force Base. There you will mount your C-130 transport, and your mission will truly begin. One last thing, people. The Serpent is a top-secret weapon and will stay that way. You will not break secrecy on the way for any reason. God be with you. The hope of America lies with you."

The general snapped them a perfect salute, turned on his heels and left. Captain Emerson moved forward.

"Our transport is waiting. Departure is in ten minutes. Let's go. Low profile at all times."

The procedure for opening the door was quite complex and included biometric retina scans of two officers, but finally they were through. Tom realized it was the first time he had moved through this section of the giant hangar since he started piloting his Serpent. Suddenly, he realized something else: the corridors were completely empty. All personnel without clearance to know about the Serpents were clearly being kept away. Now and then, Tom saw armed soldiers with assault rifles guarding doors and hallways. Their weapons were loaded, and they seemed ready to fire.

They reached the parking spaces of the huge hangar. A standard military container waited them, its entrance gaping open right at the mouth of the corridor. Captain Emerson motioned for the three Serpents to enter it. He waited for them to file in and then followed them inside. The large hatch was lifted up and the container was sealed, soldiers making sure it were sealed shut.

Tom grabbed one of the container’s support beams and held on tightly while the truck towing it started moving. The container shook a bit before it settled down.

"Where are our weapons?" Ramirez asked softly, and Tom only now realized they were leaving the base unarmed.

"Weapons and ammo are waiting for us on the C-130 cargo plane," Captain Emerson said.

Ramirez said nothing but Tom looked hard at the captain, though of course he couldn't see any facial expression on the black armor face of the viper-like head. The captain stood calmly, one hand grasping one of the container’s support beams, and waited.

Ramirez, though keeping his silence, clearly didn't like this answer. Tom noticed that the metal support beam Ramirez held was slowly bending, a thin web of cracks spreading from the place where Ramirez clutched it, slowly but surely exerting more and more pressure.

Sergeant Jebadiah stood next to Tom and was the only one who seemed perfectly happy. He moved his head from side to side like a man trying to hear something.

"Sir, can you hear that?" Jebadiah asked.

Tom tore his attention away from Ramirez and the captain, and looked at the sergeant.

"What?"

"Outside. Can you hear that?"

Tom tried. The diesel engine of the M-939 five-ton tow truck created quite a lot of noise—probably the driver pushing the truck as fast as it would go—but Tom nevertheless managed to hear something: a metallic squealing and some kind of rhythmic grinding.

"Those are treads, Sir. Probably Bradleys. They've been around us for twenty minutes, Sir. Goddamn, Sir, that's what I call an escort!"

Tom said nothing. Of course, he wanted to ask why such a heavy escort was necessary, but he was sure that the captain wouldn't answer him anyway.

We're really going out on this mission,
Tom thought.
I'm going out on this mission! It is a mission that could decide the fate of the Twelve Cities War. A mission so important a huge amount of resources has been invested in it. It is a mission taking us right into one of the enemy's strongholds. A mission against an enemy we still know nothing about after three and a half years.

I'm in a Serpent, a futuristic weapon that is almost impervious to harm. I have really tough professional soldiers with me, along with the best weapons the United States Military has. I'm—I'm—I'm freezing up again,
Tom thought, feeling despair and fear rising in his mind like a dark tide coming from the black bowels of his soul.

Tom felt his Serpent start shaking, mirroring the fright inside his mind. He tried letting go of the container's support beam, but his hand wouldn't obey him. He was really freezing up. Tom tried hard not to look at Ramirez, though he felt the Marine Corps lieutenant's gaze on him.

With a final jolt, the container stopped, and in the relative silence, Tom could hear different noises from outside around them: aircraft engine noises. Another five minutes passed, five minutes filled with a lot of different noises, during which their truck and container moved at least twice.

Finally, the container's hatch opened, and the ramp of a C-130, leading straight into the airplane's cargo hold, waited for them. Black tarp was thrown over the opening, preventing anyone from seeing the Serpents. Captain Emerson moved right inside, followed by Ramirez and Jebadiah.

Tom stopped just before his black claws touched the ramp. The C-130 cargo hold gaped open in front of him. Its bare structure, lights, lines and exposed equipment seemed ominous, though it held nothing intimidating in itself. Tom noticed the airplane's few windows were closed and barred, as was the door leading to the pilot’s cabin.

This is it. There's no turning back. If I go on the plane, there's no turning back.

Sergeant Jebadiah looked back. He beckoned for Tom, motioning him to join them.
Does he really think something so stupid will make it easier?
Tom wondered darkly, but somehow, it did.

Tom walked the ramp slowly and hesitatingly, feeling like a condemned man walking the plank. It didn't help that as soon as he boarded the plane, Captain Emerson activated his short-link radio and issued several terse commands. With a grinding noise, the ramp came up and Tom was sealed inside the belly of the great cargo plane.

This was it!

Day Four, C-130 Cargo Plane on the eastern runway at Andrews Air Force Base

"Finally," Ramirez said and moved to where several crates lay. He opened one, pulled out a Barrett rifle and started checking it, moving the bolt and looking inside the barrel and the bullet chamber. It was disconcerting seeing the huge, black spike-filled monster handling the rifle with such care and delicacy.

            Captain Emerson and Sergeant Jebadiah joined Ramirez and a moment later Tom followed suit.

            "How much time do we have?" Tom asked.

            "C-130 departure is in seven hours. Two hours flight to deployment position by a roundabout course. Four and a half minutes is for insertion. Thirty-five minutes to reach our forward operating base. At zero-two-hundred-hours, our first leg will be complete," Captain Emerson said.

            "So in eleven hours we will be hidden inside New York City after parachuting in and traversing the city to reach our hideout on FDR?"

            "Affirmative."

            "Sir, can I contact my old unit? The boys would really want to know I'm doing okay, Sir. I'll just say hello, Sir, for luck. No secrets."

            "Sergeant Jebadiah, this mission, the weapons and the tactics are a matter of national security and are deemed top secret. There will not be any communication from this plane. We will wait here till takeoff."

            Tom was not surprised. He was starting to get used to the secrecy surrounding every aspect of this mission. Tom picked a Barrett rifle for himself and attached it to his right leg. Then, he picked a conformal ammo pack with spare magazines and spare barrels and attached it to his left leg.

            Lieutenant Ramirez and Sergeant Jebadiah were going over the magazines in their ammo packs, checking each one, probably making sure all the bullets were properly loaded. Tom wouldn't have known what to check even if his life depended on it.

            "It will be all right, Sir," said Sergeant Jebadiah after he finished checking his ammo and his rifle. He now stood next to Tom, near the cargo ramp and the sealed viewports.

            "What will be all right?"

            "The mission, Sir. I just know it will be. Besides, Sir, you've seen what the captain can do. It's an honor following him into combat."

            "Yes, I've seen what he can do," Tom said.

            Ramirez opened a large, black metal case and lifted a Hellfire missile bin, treating it carefully and with respect. So much respect, it seemed Ramirez’s long sharp fingers were caressing the weapon. Ramirez easily lifted the five-hundred-pound weapon onto his shoulder and activated the round targeting sight, checking the integrity of the missiles and the targeting system itself.

            Captain Emerson and Sergeant Jebadiah each took out a Hellfire bin, and Tom, after some hesitation, did the same. He lifted the weapon to his shoulder and stood next to Jebadiah, to see what the sergeant did. Following the sergeant’s example, Tom activated the sight, turned on the built-in test function of the missiles, and then waited thirty seconds for the thermal sight to cool to operating temperature. He watched the tracking gates swivel in the sight's display, and then he turned the system off: three armor-piercing Hellfire rounds and one special thermobaric warhead.

            Together, the squad carried twelve armor-piercing missiles, four special warhead Hellfires, about one hundred large-caliber Barrett rifle magazines, and one must not forget the Serpents, who were formidable weapons in themselves.

            Tom, of course, finished last. Ramirez took his Hellfire bin with him and sat down near the door leading towards the pilots compartment, next to Captain Emerson.

            Tom saw no reason to carry the Hellfire bin with him for hours, so he returned it to the crate, making sure it was properly roped down to protect it from any turbulence in the flight. Then, Tom walked over to the end of the cargo hold, next to the closed-and-barred cargo ramp. He could hear muffled shouts from outside the aircraft, as maintenance people went over the C-130, going over their checklist and refueling the plane. As far as Tom could hear, guards were posted around the C-130, who shouted and threatened anyone who approached the plane's cargo hold too closely.

            "Don't worry Sir, you'll do all right in the field."

            Tom turned to look at the sergeant.

            "I'm not an educated man, Sir, but I've been around. Ten years in the army, three and a half years in this war. I've seen your sort, people sitting in cushy offices who are thrown into combat."

            Tom only half listened to Jebadiah. Ramirez was now standing next to Captain Emerson. From the few gestures Ramirez made, it grew obvious that the Marine Corps lieutenant was talking with the captain, and—judging from his gestures—telling him something quite urgent. Whatever it was, Ramirez was making damn sure Tom and Sergeant Jebadiah could not hear him.

            Tom flipped away his computer's armor panel and increased the gain on his audio sensors, trying to make out what Ramirez and Captain Emerson were talking about, but he could still hear nothing. On a hunch, Tom activated his radio scanning sensors, and now he saw Ramirez and Captain Emerson's Serpents intermittently light up with radio transmissions. According to the information appearing in Tom's field of view, Ramirez and Captain Emerson were communicating through an encrypted, short-range, high-frequency link. What was so secret?

            Jebadiah continued. "About a year ago, HQ sent us a resupply convoy. You know ammo and fuel, food and stuff. Anyway, that same night, a raid came from the enemy city. They drove Hummers and shot the hell up every man who tried to stop them. They came up so fast, they were inside the camp before we knew what hit us. I've seen hawks take doves slower than that raid, know what I mean? The raid was composed of army people, police and any badass guy with guns the enemy had in the city. Later, the commanders figured out the enemy must have made his control range longer that day and took over our sentries. Anyway, I ran out with my M16 and started firing. Little good it did me, too. A goddamned Hummer came right towards me. Out of nowhere, two of the resupply convoy people showed up. One was a driver and the other was a major. I reckon they never saw combat and they couldn't have figured out which end of an M16 to use even if you drew them a map."

            Tom saw Ramirez turn his head towards him, with Captain Emerson following suit an instant later. They were still deep in their little secret conversation. It gave Tom the creeps, seeing those two spiked-and-horned Serpent heads watching him coldly.

            "So here I was, firing for all I was worth, and those two show up. They put their hands on their ears as my M16 fired as fast as it ever had, when both of them turned and saw the Hummer right behind them. I'm telling you, Sir, it was doing sixty miles an hour, easy. So, both of them froze, two goddamn statues right in the way of that Hummer. Let me tell you, Sir, I hollered as strong as I could, but they didn't give me the time of day. They just stood there, in the way of the Hummer."

            Sergeant Jebadiah stopped and shook his head. It was somewhat funny, seeing the huge black monster performing such a human gesture.

            "People freeze up in combat, Sir, that's no shame."

            "Was that meant to make me feel better, Sergeant?" Tom asked.

            "Well, Sir, I was talking about those two fellas. I shouted, I did, but they were frozen stiff. The Hummer came then, eighty yards away, fifty, and then twenty. By the grace of God, one woke up and saved himself. The other one, the major, the Hummer ran over him, one of the worst road kills I ever saw. But the other woke up, the driver."

            "And what did he do?"

            "He ran away, Sir, just like a smart pig when the butcher's coming. It's a smart thing to do, running away. He survived. I saw him two or three months later. Last night, Sir, you did your best, only the captain was faster. But you woke up, Sir. That's my point, Sir."

            Tom saw Ramirez and the captain turn away from each other. It didn't make Tom feel any better, especially when he saw the finality in Ramirez's final gesture in their secret conversation.

            "You'll do better, Sir, I know you will. We all will be counting on you to find us the enemy. Don't think about your sister, Sir."

            Ramirez now returned to his place and sat down, though the Serpent of course did not need to.
Force of habit
, Tom thought.
Rest before the battle, with your weapons close by, because you don't know when you'll engage the enemy. Well, we’re a little more sophisticated here.

            The sergeant sat down next to Tom, his own Hellfire bin close by. Sergeant Jebadiah did not seem concerned the least bit. Without knowing exactly why, it made Tom feel angry.

            Tom glanced at Captain Emerson, who was standing motionless, one arm grabbing the C-130 for support. The gaunt black monster kept standing there like a statue, only a few aerials on its back moving slightly.
He's a having a conversation over his radio,
Tom realized, though he could not see it in his sensors.        

With a sigh, Tom settled down. They had a long time to wait.

Tom realized in surprise that sitting down made him feel slightly better. He did not feel tired because, naturally the Serpent's engines and motors could not possess that feeling. It was something in the mind.

"What wouldn't I give to see the look on my pa's face when I'll tell him I was one of the four who killed the enemy in New York? He never did think too well of me. We had words when we last talked. Honest farming work is not for me, he says. He said I was looking for an easy way out. American Yorkshire hogs were good enough for his grandfather and his father, and they should be good enough for me. My brothers laughed. One had a black eye for a month after that, let me tell you. Well, I hope you'll find your sister when the time comes. Maybe you will find her and talk to her. I haven’t talked with my pa for ten years now. He did say a real man sticks to what he believes in."

            Tom would have blinked in surprise if he could.
Why was everyone bringing up his sister all the time?
He hadn’t really spared his sister one thought since the matter was last brought up a few days ago. Perhaps, summoned by these thoughts, a memory now surfaced—a memory that Tom had repressed for the last three years.

            It was about fifteen or sixteen years ago. His sister was small, about two years old at the time. He was a little more than ten, her older brother and guardian angel. He looked out for her, played with her, made her meals and read her stories. His mother told him that his sister always asked where he was if she was brought back home from kindergarten and he wasn't around.

            But kids are kids, and even his sister, his adorable sister, had her bad times. One of these came to Tom's mind. She was angry at him because of—of something he couldn’t remember. She had scratched him—at least she had tried scratching him with her small fingers and tiny nails. As far as Tom could remember, there hadn’t even been a mark on his skin.      But Tom got furious. He was tired or frustrated or simply impatient, and he tried  to scratch her back, pressing hard on her white arm till a red fingernail mark appeared on her skin.

            What always squeezed Tom's heart was the look on her face. She looked at him with the solemn face of a two-year-old girl who was being betrayed, whose guardian angel had turned on her. Then she started bawling.

            That look on her face. That look of betrayal. That sliver of a moment when her large liquid eyes bore into his ten-year-old soul was something Tom could never forget.

            "She was just learning the facts of life. When you use force and aggression, don't be surprised when it's directed back at you."

            "Sorry, Sir?"

            "Nothing, Sergeant. Just talking out loud," Tom replied.

            The noises outside the airplane had quieted down. Muffled noises from the cockpit indicated that the flight crew was no doubt going over their flight plan. A rhythmic sharp noise caught Tom's attention. Ramirez was sharpening his claws, one by one sliding the talons of one hand on the surface of the talons of his other.
A butcher readying his knives
, Tom could not help thinking.

            “Where do you think the captain came from, Sir?”

            “What?”

            “The captain. What was his old unit?”

            “I’m not sure. I think he isn’t from the same branch of the military as the general.”

            “Just wondering, Sir. Told you before, he's like my old man. Eyes on the target, mouth shut, always on the job. You know my father was never sick? He never went to town except to buy supplies, tools or grain, or a new pair of hogs. Never partied and never had what I like to call fun. I can't imagine the captain going to a bar as well, Sir. See what I mean?”

            “Yes. You know, Sergeant, we didn’t even get the general’s name?”

            “Yeah. It isn’t really important, Sir. The mission is.”