Ryan also saw what looked like an extra-large oxygen tank being fitted to the back of his suit, next to the miniaturized nuclear reactor that powered the whole thing. Although the suits could be sealed against any outside biological or chemical weapon for up to forty-eight hours, the R and D boys had developed a rebreather unit that continually extracted oxygen from water, extending the underwater operating life of the suits to a respectable week.
Ryan frowned at the thought of being stuck underwater in the suit for a week at a time. Although his squad had been conditioned to function in the suits for days at a time, and had even slept in them, although not comfortably, that was on land only. Underwater, there was no exit, no way out. I hope I never have to find out what that’s like, he thought.
The most unusual addition was a pair of large steelframed propellers that were being attached to each arm, just below the shoulder. Having no drive shaft to spin on, the blades were forged inside a metal circle that rested inside a metal lip that held them in place. They were powered and controlled by electromagnets that lined that same protective hood. Ryan watched as one of the propeller units was rotated on its axis a full 360 degrees. The propellers would push the suits through the water at a speed of up to 25 knots, and, with each one able to be controlled individually, allow maximum maneuverability. At least the techs hoped that would happen. The underwater propulsion system was being tested on this mission as well. Ryan was already figuring out unorthodox uses for their new way of getting around.
Gonna take some getting used to, working in three dimensions instead of two, he thought. Although his squad had practiced extensively in virtual reality, including dealing with simulated emergencies and system failures, Ryan knew that, even though it was indistinguishable from reality, there was always a punch-out button in VR. In life, as they knew from Costa Rica, there was no cancel op prog.
Ryan watched his team go to their respective suits, each one checking the modifications. He knew he’d see all of them at 0600 the next morning, putting the suits through their paces before the mission. They’re a good squad, hell, better than just good, so why don’t I just lead them and let ’em do their job?
“You don’t really expect to beat us in these mudpuppies, do you?” a voice said behind him. “They look like you stuck a pair of box fans on some kid’s Halloween costume. What was that kids’ show, the Marvelous Morphin’ Power Army Rangers! That’s what these remind me of!”
Ryan turned to see a man in a crisp Navy captain’s uniform standing next to him. “Marcus?” he said, staring at the man walking toward him.
“I mean, it’s bad enough to see those things clanking around on land like a poor man’s toy, but now you want to horn in on my territory.” The man’s voice was jovial, but Ryan knew his words carried hundreds of years of Army-Navy rivalry with them.
“Marcus, you know I only do what the top brass tell me,” Ryan said. “If they say jump into the ocean and run around chasing the Navy’s newest test sub, then I salute and ask when I leave. Believe me, my squad and I would rather leave the deep-sea diving to you tadpoles than slog in the briny deep where you’ve been leaving trails.”
“Now that’s hitting below the belt,” the other man replied.
“They told me you were captain, but I almost didn’t believe it. I didn’t think I’d see you before briefing tomorrow,” Ryan said.
“My tour of duty aboard the Hart ended with your mission, Ryan. When the brass found out, they transferred me to the R and D department. When I heard I would be going up against ‘the’ Ryan Jacobs, I knew I had to find you,” the shorter man said, grinning. “It’s good to see you again, especially under more friendly circumstances.”
Ryan had first met Marcus Masters ten months ago in Central America. His squad had been sent into Nicaragua to rescue the passengers of a C-190A cargo plane that had crash-landed near the city of Matagalpa, right in the middle of a clash with the Honduran Army, who had decided to relocate their country’s border 150 miles south. The Navy captain had shown none of the usual disdain at working with the Army Rangers, and had been instrumental in getting the rest of the people and crew out alive.
Their most recent meeting had been nine weeks ago, when Ryan and his squad had been airlifted, suits and all, to Marcus’s Orca-class sub, the USS Hart, then docked at a Mediterranean port. That was the Libyan mission, which was also serving as a top-secret field test of a new way of inserting the MICAS suits into a drop zone. Ryan and his squad had sat in their suits in the dark for thirty hours, then they had been launched from the submarine in modified, cloaked cruise missiles that had carried each suit to the target, a Libyan air base, then ejected them. When the target had been destroyed, Ryan and his squad had led the Libyan forces on a dangerous chase to the coast, where Marcus’s sub had picked them up. They had had to endure another six hours lashed to the outside of the submarine before being able to get out of the suits, but, as Paddy had said, the mission had been accomplished.
The only bright spot in this assignment had been when Ryan found out who would be commanding the “enemy force” he and his squad would be going up against during the exercises.
“I suppose you wouldn’t want to help a friend out and let me know just what we’ll be going up against, would you?” Ryan asked.
Marcus shook his head. “You Rangers have got to work on your intelligence-gathering, ’cause that was the lamest pass I’ve ever heard. No, you’ll get your chance to see what the boys at Groton have cooked up along with everyone else come tomorrow morning. However, I’ll give you a little hint: I hope those things are hardened. See you in the morning.”
With that he walked away, leaving Ryan staring after him. What the hell did that mean? Do they have a lightning gun on that thing? It’s bad enough going in blind on this thing, now we got a new weapon system to worry about, too.
“All right Raider Squad, form up, double time!” Ryan shouted, his words echoing in the cavernous hangar. When everyone had assembled in a row before him, he continued. “Since we’ve got the evening, we can run through one more set of VR drills before sack time. Everyone fall out, and meet at the simulation building at 1830 hours. Move it!”
The other four squad members jogged off, each heading for their quarters, except for Vasnej, who veered off to the mess hall. Ryan walked after them, trying to keep one thought in mind: Whatever happens tomorrow, it’s only a test.
After accessing the internal firewalls and onboard security system with the proper passwords, Succubus had access to all of the submarine’s systems, from navigation and reactor control to sensors, life support, and weapons, in less than a minute.
It was the last system that attracted the majority of the virus’s attention, a weapon it had never encountered before. As it absorbed what the system could do, Succubus realized that it had found the perfect vehicle to hide in.
The mission parameters called for the sub to move out at 0900 the next morning. Succubus would wait for the operation to begin, then take over, counting on surprise to make its getaway. After incapacitating the primary and secondary targets, it would go to stealth propulsion and escape.
The virus spent just under a second examining every available travel route, from courses that would take it to the Bering Sea and under the Arctic ice cap to circuitous routes that wound up near Australia, the southern tip of South America, and any one of dozens of places in between. Where it would go would be decided based on what route the submarine took as it headed out of port.
As the virus worked, the subroutine that had been deciding whether or not to keep the crew alive had finished its calculations and had decided to terminate the crew as soon as the submarine was in Succubus’s control. That last problem solved, the virus settled down in the internal bowels of the submarine to finish one last task, then wait. . . .
October 20, 2042, 0828 Hours, Aboard the Military
Research Vessel Carson Wainwright
Somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico
RYAN
SIPPED A cup of coffee and watched the sun come up to the east. Nothing but unbroken blue water as far as he could see.
They had left port an hour earlier, towing the prototype submarine behind them. Designed for stealth and reconnaissance, the Barracuda was much smaller than the U.S. Orca-class littoral missile boats that patrolled the seas. At 120 meters from stem to stem, it was shorter than the research vessel towing it. The morning sunlight seemed to fall into its matte-black, anti-sonar-painted hull and disappear.
Ryan shook his head, his private misgivings growing stronger every minute. It had begun when he had woken up that morning, and their premission briefing hadn’t helped any . . .
“Good morning, everyone,” the square-jawed man dressed in a rear admiral’s uniform began. “Before we begin, I must remind all of you that the tests and technology we’ll be discussing today are classified top secret.
“With that in mind, I realize that this operation is a bit unusual, with so many new systems being tested on the MICAS suits alone, as well as the new submersible reconnaissance system code-named Barracuda,” the briefing officer began. “Let me outline the parameters of the mission, and then I’ll take any questions you may have.
“This mission will consist of two parts. First, we will put both the Barracuda and the MICAS suits through their individual paces, testing speed, maneuverability, and systems effectiveness in a real-world environment. This will include the mine-clearing tests for the Barracuda. Basically, it’s a rehash of everything you folks have been doing in VR for the past two weeks.”
There were stifled groans from several members at this, Randy included, and Ryan noticed several of the submarine’s eighteen-man crew shaking their heads. Everyone wants to get down there and mix it up, he thought with a smile.
The briefing officer noticed the dissatisfaction as well, and wiped the smile off his face. “If all the tests are completed satisfactorily, we will move on to the second part of the test. This will consist of a game of hide-and-seek, with the Barracuda being the hunted, and the MICAS squad being the hunters. At this time we will test simulate the use of the Barracuda’s primary weapon system, the XRM-70 UEMP system. The XRM-70 is designed to incapacitate enemy mines, vehicles, vessels, and systems while maintaining stealth mode, allowing the Barracuda to continue its reconnaissance or escape if necessary.”
Ryan caught Marcus’s eye and found the submarine captain grinning like he’d already won the contest. If they’re fielding an EMP weapon platform, then we are screwed. Jesus, they’ve always talked about it, but I thought they hadn’t worked out all the bugs yet.
Electromagnetic Pulse, or EMP, was normally the byproduct of a nuclear detonation. It was an electromagnetic wave that radiated from ground zero of the blast point, destroying any nonshielded electronic components in its radius, everything from hair dryers to computer systems in aircraft or—
Battleships, Ryan thought, nodding at their ingenuity. If they’ve cloaked and shielded the Barracuda like I would have, it would be the perfect disabling tool against enemy navies and even foreign coastal installations, including radar and air bases. Hell, it could even stop enemy torpedoes fired at it, if the system can hit something that small. Ryan looked around and saw his squad members exchanging uneasy looks. Nothing like having the cards stacked against you from the start.
“What are the boundaries of the Phase Two test?” Randy asked.
“The floor and radius of the testing area are all in the folders in front of you,” the admiral replied.
“With all due respect to classification policy, sir, would it be possible to get a bit more detail on the Barracuda’s primary armament?” Nick asked from where he was slouched in his chair.
“Actually, I’ll let the man who has been overseeing the installation and field testing of the Barracuda answer that. Captain Masters?”
Marcus, clad now in the submarine captain’s jumpsuit, rose to his feet. “Thank you, Admiral. I’ll keep this short. As I’m sure all of you are aware, when a nuclear device is detonated in the atmosphere, one by-product is an electromagnetic pulse, created when high-energy gamma radiation meets with air molecules in Earth’s atmosphere. This interaction produces positive ions and recoil electrons called Compton electrons in a process called ‘charge separation.’ The Compton electrons are ejected from the interaction and then accelerate upon encountering Earth’s magnetic field. This event is called charge acceleration, which further radiates the produced electromagnetic energy. An electromagnetic pulse is created by these charge separation and charge acceleration phenomena. A burst five hundred kilometers above the United States would send out an EMP wave over the entire continent. Its effects range from power surges with their possible attendant damage to incapacitation of logic circuits to actual burnout of these same circuits.”
“Sir, pardon my interruption, but the majority of weapons platforms and military equipment in particular have already been shielded in the years after the Weldon committee hearings on EMP in the late 1990s,” Paddy said. “Why has the Navy continued to develop a weapon that would seem to have no practical purpose?”
Marcus smiled. “That’s a good point, but as mentioned in the weapon’s classification, this weapon uses UEMP, or ultraelectromagnetic pulse. Security restrictions prevent me from giving you more details on the system, but that’s why we’re here today, to test the MICAS suits’ shielding against the XRM-70’s capabilities.
“Besides, many Second and Third World countries have not upgraded their technology, figuring that the odds of a nuclear detonation over their defenses is slight. I believe that Mr. Weldon and his people came to that same conclusion as well.”
“But how in the hell did they manage to keep the pulse focused underwater?” Ryan heard Paddy mutter.
Apparently he wasn’t as quiet as he thought, for Marcus addressed him again. “I’m afraid that’s classified as well, but, assuming the first tests go well, you’ll get to find out soon enough. Of course, as these are tests only, you won’t experience the full magnitude of the UEMP, just a simulated version which will temporarily incapacitate your suit. The condition can be overridden by each pilot after ninety seconds.”
“Assuming you can hit us,” Randy said with a smirk. Marcus smiled again. “That I’m not worried about. Any other questions?” He looked at every member on both teams. “As most of you have figured out, the potential for this weapons system as a means of disabling enemy technology is vast. The hope in Washington and Groton is that these tests will verify our lab results, and prove the Barracuda’s viability on today’s battlefield. Good luck to you all. . . .”
We’re gonna need it, Ryan thought now, looking toward the stem of the ship where Masters and his crew were in two Zodiac motorized rafts, heading toward the Barracuda. He saw Masters look back and wave at him.
“Sir,” a voice said behind him. Turning, Ryan saw the four members of his squad salute. Behind them were the five MICAS suits standing in a half circle on the deck, the sun gleaming on their armored surfaces. “Raider Squad ready and waiting,” Paddy said.
Smiling in spite of his misgivings, Ryan saluted back. “Let’s go.”
Taking the lead, Ryan led his squad to their suits. He opened the back hatch, which moved a bit slower now with the extra equipment attached. Grabbing the top of the suit, he lifted himself into the cocoon, inserting his legs into the bottom sleeves and pulling himself up into the upper half.
“Okay, Melody, I’m in. Close outer hatch.”
With a pneumatic hiss, the rear hatch closed, enveloping Ryan in darkness.
“Helmet down.”
Ryan held perfectly still as the neurohelmet came down around his head. There was a sharp click, and the world blurred into focus as Ryan jacked in. The readouts came to life in front of his eyes as the suit adjusted him to their surroundings. The external visor lightened from opaque to transparent, allowing Ryan to see. The visor system was based on the same kind used by NASA, and would automatically darken in the even
t of a blinding light from an explosion or flash-bang grenade. Of course, the pilot was perfectly able to continue operations from the cocoon, using the rest of the sensor suite.
“Good morning, Lieutenant Jacobs,” a pleasant female voice said. The bigwigs at R and D claimed that a female voice would help keep the MICAS pilots calm in combat situations. That was all well and good, until Peyton came along. To this day, no one except Paddy knew what kind of voice she had in her suit, and neither one was telling. “Hello, Melody. Systems report?”
“All systems are nominal.”
“Give me a profile on the new systems.”
There wasn’t even a pause as Melody brought up the information she had already stored away upon start-up. “Propulsion system green, primary weapons system green, rebreather system green, sonar system green. All systems on-line and nominal.”
Was that a note of reproach in her voice? The NIA was a straight-up tasked analysis and operations system, with no emotion programming of any kind, yet Ryan thought he’d heard, well—a miffed tone in Melody’s voice. Just imagining things. Report in, and get this show on the road.
“Melody, squad channel open,” Ryan commanded. “Good morning, folks, this is Raider One.”
“Raider Two here,” Paddy’s voice said.
“Raider Three good to go,” said Peyton.
“Raider Four on-line,” Nick said.
“Raider Five cocked, locked, and ready to rock,” Randy said.
“Anyone have any problems with suit start-up?” Ryan asked. A chorus of negatives came back to him. “All right, if anything out of the ordinary does happen, report it immediately. Don’t try to handle it on your own. That includes you, Paddy,” Ryan added, well aware of his mech’s penchant for jury-rigging repairs in the field.
“LT, I ran a Class Three diagnostic on every squad suit, and we are all on-line and fine,” Paddy replied. “Say what you want about the eggheads, they knew what they were doing yesterday.”
Crash Dive Page 14
