Extinction Machine

Chapter One Hundred Twenty

VanMeer Castle

Near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Monday, October 21, 8:18 a.m.

I rounded the next bend and saw Warbride and Prankster hunkered down by the entrance to the cavern. As I moved up behind them I could see that things were going into the crapper very quickly.

Hatches on all of the T-craft were open and pilots in orange jumpsuits were climbing up as techs disconnected hoses and cables. I wondered how many of the pilots knew that they were flying suicide missions. Not many, I guessed. Easier to fool people than to try and manage a large number of highly intelligent, highly trained pilots who had to go kill themselves. The kamikaze had Shinto going for them. I didn’t see Shelton as a spiritual leader who could make realistic promises about a glorious afterlife.

I tapped my earbud.

“Cowboy to Deacon.”

“Go for Deacon.”

“Where are we with stopping that T-craft.”

“Nowhere. It has eluded all attempts so far.”

“Well, here’s more bad news. I’m looking at a fleet of these frigging things that are going to be lifting off in the next few minutes. We need a play here.”

“Open to suggestions, Cowboy. I’m off-site.”

I opened the call to the whole team. “Who has eyes on the exit from this cavern? Did anyone see the first one launch?”

“Ronin to Cowboy,” said Sam Imura. “It came out from behind the second hill north of the castle, call it four o’clock using the castle. It’s private forestland back there.”

“Shit. I need that hole closed and I need it closed right now.”

There were three seconds of agonizing silence on the line. Then Bunny said, “Cowboy, Sergeant Rock and I can get over there, but all we have are blaster-plasters. They’ll have to be rigged high in order to block an entrance that big. That’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time,” I said.

It was Top who answered. “Buy us what you can.”

I looked at Lydia and Pete. The hard looks on their faces gave me an answer before I asked the question.

“Copy that, Sergeant Rock. Warbride, Prankster, and I will make as much mischief as we can.”

“Good hunting,” said Top.

I knew that Bunny would have wanted to say something to Lydia, and she to him, but there was no time left. No privacy left. All that was left to us was the killing and the dying.

Somewhere out there was a sleek, dark craft that had no business being in the skies of our world. An impossible machine flying at impossible speeds to fulfill the dark dreams of a greedy and murderous madman. Would our fighters knock it down? Could they?

And if they didn’t, what would happen to the world?

If the Truman Engine detonated over Beijing, how could we ever convince a shocked and grieving Chinese people that this was not an act of war? How could they ever hear our explanations through the roar of their own hurt and outrage? They would attack us because that is what countries do. We are a warlike people, but beneath the technology and the machines and the sophistication of our weapons we have that primitive imperative to lash out when struck. To hit back, even if our blows land on the wrong flesh.

Shelton thought that this would lead to the end of war, to a kind of peace through conquest. And how wonderful it would be to live in a world where we could lay down our arms and never again fire a shot in anger. How idyllic.

The price tag was the thing, though. If the deaths of tens of millions was the cost of a future without war, how could we actually call that peace?

These thoughts hammered in my head as Lydia Ruiz, Pete Dobbs, and I prepared to rush into the cavern.

And a twisted little voice whispered to me as I checked my ammunition and adjusted my gear. It said, If the bomb goes off over Beijing and the Chinese retaliate, won’t we need these other ships? Even if it’s a war we don’t choose to start, how can justify taking away our best hope of surviving the inevitable retaliation?

Man … those were ugly, ugly questions.

Questions for which I had no answers.