Whereas every other limb had been fused to form part of the gleaming cavern, one arm protruded sharply from a rippling wall. Hand open, palm upward, it was clearly offering something to any who might enter the tomb of the ancients. Sam rushed to it, peered down between the slightly upward-curling fingers, and discovered in the open metal palm . . .
Sand. A small mound of black sand.
Having found even less, his companions gathered around him.
“No .. .,” Sam mumbled. Coming up behind him, Simmons eyed the handful of grains matter-of-factly.
“Thousands of years—we don’t know how many thousands. Must’ve turned to dust. Rapid decay. All that energy would consume itself, leave nothing behind but—this.”
Sam looked away, shaking his head in disbelief. “No—no. This is not how this ends.”
The ex-agent smiled sanguinely. “Give you the bright side, kid. Means there’s nothing here for the Decepticons either. Consider that...” He broke off, frowning. “You hear something?” When no one answered, he ran for the entrance. No one followed him, but they could hear him shouting from the far end of the main corridor.
“C-17s! They’re air force, they’re ours!”
Simmons’s declaration did not move Sam. He was too numb, too disappointed to care. Staring down at the little pile of black sand, he contemplated the end of his hopes, of all that he had aspired to accomplish in this far-off place. Mikaela moved close, wishing there was something she could offer other than a restatement of reality.
“Sam—there’s nothing left. We tried. We revived an ancient Decepticon and we came partway around the world via a transspatial portal and we dodged police, and now we’re here and—there’s nothing left. Nothing left to try. You can’t bring him back.” “Don’t tell me there’s nothing,” he muttered unhappily.
Leo was pacing impatiently back and forth, kicking at the grainy floor underfoot. “It’s sand, are you kidding me? We came all this way for worthless sand! Are we done now? Can we go?”
Looking up, Sam let his gaze travel around the room, taking in the contorted, flowing faces of the Ancients whose very bodies had been utilized to construct the chamber. It made no sense. Something rendered out of the Allspark itself wouldn’t just disappear, wouldn’t simply decay into grit. Bending, he pulled off a shoe, peeled off the sock, and began shoveling the black sand into the only suitable container at hand.
“They hid it, you hear me? They hid it! They sacrificed their lives for this. Everyone’s after me ’cause of what I know? Well, I know this is gonna work.”
Mikaela just looked at him. “How?”
“Because I believe it,” he told her as he started tying a knot in the neck of the sock.
The loud buzzing and flashing lights that suddenly filled the passenger section of the C-17 caused Galloway to look up sharply from the report he had been reading. All around him the soldiers who constituted the bulk of the group being returned to Diego Garcia were rising from their seats, moving with confidence born of extensive training. The big jet began to shake and rattle, then banked sharply to starboard. Before the alarmed advisor could ask what was going on, the voice of the pilot sounded over the intercom.
“We’ve got an emergency engine situation up here. Indicator lights just came on for both port engines. We’re losing altitude fast. We’re going to try to divert to Soccent, but there’s a real chance we may not be able to make a safe landing. Procedure in this instance calls for lightening all noncritical materials and emergency evac of personnel. Move, people, move!”
Galloway looked over at Lennox. “ ‘Emergency evac,’ what’s that mean?”
Lennox was addressing his troops. “Okay, boys, grab your chutes. Soon as we’re down to fifteen thousand, open bay doors.”
Preparations proceeded smoothly and with little conversation—too smoothly and with too little conversation for Galloway, who was immediately suspicious. Extensive training or no, a call for an emergency evacuation ought to have prompted at least some obvious anxiety among the affected soldiers. Instead, they were going about the necessary planning as if it had been—planned.
Lennox was in his face before the advisor could voice his reservations. The major was polite and proper, all business now.
“Familiar with a standard-issue air force chute, Sir?”
“Of course not!” Galloway sputtered. “I’ve never had to jump out of an airplane in my life! What the hell did you do?” Peering past the major, he saw technical sergeant Epps conversing with several other soldiers. Epps was smiling and joking, which seemed somehow out of place onboard a plane whose pilot had just declared that it was at risk of going down.
“You heard the pilot, Sir,” Lennox explained. “Engine trouble. Both port-side engines. Right now the guys up front are doing a terrific job just keeping us
in the air, but there’s no telling how long they’ll be
able to manage that. This is a serious situation, Sir. I’m sure you realize the diplomatic ramifications if an air force plane was to go down in this politically sensitive area. The pilots’ll have a much better chance of making it to Soccent if they don’t have to worry about passengers and cargo and the plane is made as light as possible.” Picking up a tightly packed chute, he advanced on the advisor.
“There’s nothing to it, really, Sir. These things are pretty much idiot-proof these days. Here, let me assist you . . .”
Raising his hands defensively, Galloway stepped back from the helpful officer. “There is no trouble; you’re behind this ...”
At that moment at least two and possibly three of the big plane’s engines shut down. The result was an eerie lack of noise inside the fuselage.
Lennox persisted. “No idea what you’re talking about. This is regulation procedure, pilots are doing what they’re supposed to do—and now it’s our turn to comply. I just follow orders. ‘To the letter.’ Isn’t that what you said?”
With nowhere to go, Galloway halted. His tone matched his expression. “You just signed the death warrant on your career, Major.”
“Always wondered what it would be like to be a warrant officer.” Lennox was urging the chute on the other man. “Better put this on quickly, Sir. We’ll only get one chance at a clean drop.”
The howling wind near the open cargo doors compensated for the lack of engine noise as everyone gathered near the rear of the cargo plane. Wearing his chute, a terrified Galloway stood at the back and clung tenaciously to the nearest drop line. Only then did he notice that while Lennox had quickly and efficiently helped the civilian into a chute, the major had yet to don one of his own.
“Why aren’t you putting on your chute?!” He had to yell at the top of his lungs to make himself heard over the noise.
“Gotta secure VIPs first, Sir!” Lennox spoke loudly and very fast. “Listen carefully and memorize what I say. Each chute has an integrated GPS tracker so the wearer can be located by Search and Rescue. Right next to that’s a fabric webbing called a bridle. The bridle holds the pin that keeps your main chute container closed—you with me?”
The wind was making Galloway’s eyes tear up and hurting his ears. “Yes—no—stop, slow down!” Lennox did neither. “When the pilot chute inflates in the airstream, it pulls the pin and opens the main container. Red cord’s your backup, blue cord’s your main. I want you to pull the blue cord, and you need to pull it hard. ”
Confused and frightened, with the plane jumping and bouncing around him, Galloway hurriedly complied and yanked hard on the indicated cord. His main chute promptly began to unfurl.
Taking a step back into the plane, Lennox finally allowed himself to grin. “No, no, Sir—I didn’t say now. You pull the cord when you jump. ”
“YOU SONOFAB . .. !”
The rest of the advisor’s mostly unprintable comments sailed away along with him as the rapidly ballooning chute grabbed air and yanked him out the open back of the plane. His shrieking, along with his
body, faded rapidly with distance.
Coming up alongside his friend, Epps watched as the advisor’s parachute swiftly disappeared behind and below the C-17, which continued to lose altitude.
“Sounds like the engines are working okay again even though we’re going down fast.”
Lennox nodded solemnly. “How ’bout that? Gotta hand it to the guys up front.”
Epps squinted as the descending chute slipped completely from view. “So rude, he didn’t say good-bye.” Looking back into the fuselage, he nodded meaningfully. “Left in such a big hurry that he forgot his briefcase. I guess without his laptop and cell phone he’ll just have to wait awhile for pickup.” He sighed. “Where we supposed to meet up with our ‘contact’?” “Rendezvous point’ll be an abandoned town by the sea. Jordanian authorities have been informed that we’ll be conducting an ‘exercise’ there so they should’ve closed the north-south highway south of Aqaba and north of Tala Bay. That should give us enough room to operate without having to worry about busybodies.” Making sure his headset was on, he spoke into the pickup.
“Arcee, spread the news—let’s go go go!”
Turning back into the cargo bay, Lennox, Epps, and their fellow NEST soldiers began to release the straps and bonds that secured the body of Optimus Prime. At a word from the major to the cockpit, the C-17 abruptly angled upward. Freed from its restraints and grabbed by gravity, the massive shape began to slide out the open rear cargo doors. As it did so it was accompanied by a small squad of armed, grim-faced, exceedingly determined men. Free-falling beside the descending bipedal mass, they looked like sparrows attending a broken branch.
Having followed the lead cargo on its downward path, the pilots of the C-17 reduced their altitude. In the big plane’s cargo bay the engines of the tightly packed Autobots suddenly flamed to life in unison as their terrestrial motors started up. Exhaust belching from multiple tailpipes quickly filled the huge storage area with fumes. Coughing and gasping for oxygen, unable to get his breath, one of the guards hit the emergency release on the cargo bay doors. As they continued to descend and fresh air began to replace the smoke that had filled the interior, all three MPs suddenly found themselves confronted by the multiplicity that was Arcee. Gun muzzles came up—and hesitated as their wielders found themselves facing weapons of considerably greater potency.
“Just stand there and watch, boys,” advised the tripartite Autobot. Wisely, the soldiers complied.
Throughout the cargo bay heavy-duty straps and metal bands began to snap and break, ricocheting against walls and ceiling as the Autobots freed themselves. One by one they began to roll out the open cargo bay doors. When the last had finally dropped clear, Arcee turned to the watching guards.
“Have a nice trip, fellas. This now concludes our in-flight service.” And with that, she turned and leaped out into the open sky.
It was just as well that there were no beachgoers in the vicinity and that the Jordanian government had cleared the strip of land along the Gulf coast. When Optimus’s body slammed into the ground, the concussion would have been sufficient to deafen anyone situated close by. As it was, only a few startled seabirds fled the scene in panic.
Landing around the fallen giant, Lennox and his team snapped off their chutes and hurriedly regrouped. Around them, aged and worn structures spoke of an earlier time. The old fishing village was long abandoned, its sons and daughters having surrendered family traditions in favor of far better-paying jobs in the hotels and tourist venues that spotted the coast and air-conditioned condos and houses in the city of Aqaba itself.
Weapon at the ready, one of the United Kingdom team members hustled up alongside Epps. “It’s a little bit like—now what?”
“Now we wait and find out,” the American non- com informed him as he studied the surrounding empty buildings. “We just dropped a thousand tons of alien robot in a ghost town. Sure as hell hope there’s a reason.”
Lennox came up behind them. “Cordon and search, find the kid. Ray’s little phone chat with his missus suggested he’ll show up here somewhere. Au- tobots, stay out of sight—low-visibility recon. This area’s supposed to be clear of civilians, but never bet against a family that’s prepaid for a beach vacation.” He gestured toward the old town minaret. “Graham, get up high.”
The UK soldier nodded and ran toward the indicated tower.
Epps moved closer. “What next?”
Lennox was pondering the motionless form of Prime. “Might be a chopper come down this way, private plane—or worse. Don’t want any rubberneckers posting stuff on YouTube. Let’s get him under cover best we can.”
Epps nodded, backed up, and began yelling orders at the waiting, wary troops. Working together, they managed to scavenge enough corrugated scrap from collapsed roofs and walls to cover nearly all of Opti- mus’s body.
That task accomplished, they settled down to wait.
They didn’t have to wait long.
From his position in the minaret, it was Graham who spotted the rising dust through his binoculars. Whatever was in front of it was moving at law- breaking speed southward along the main road. But that road was supposed to be closed to traffic, he reminded himself.
Unless . . .
He waited a moment longer for the image to more clearly resolve itself before shouting down to the soldiers hugging the shade below.
“Got a visual! Yellow team! Two kilometers out!”
Almost simultaneously a distant whine became audible off to the west, out over the Gulf, and grew steadily louder. Raising his own binocs, Epps checked it out. The sound was too high-pitched to come from a C-17, and in any case the silhouette he identified was far smaller, sharper, and sleeker than that of a cargo jet.
He recognized it immediately.
“F-22 Raptor,” he murmured to no one in particular. “Just one. Way out here.” He shook his head slowly. “Got a bad feelin’ festering, tellin’ me we got the leading edge of an alien war on our hands.”
The sound from high above changed abruptly. As it shot painfully through Epps’s headset he wrenched it off, then spoke into the pickup.
“EMP burst! Anyone copy? Copy?”
Lennox came running over to him. “Just lost all electronic communication.”
Working in unison they rechecked their headset units, then Lennox pulled his cell phone. The device was deader than the famous inland sea that lay far to their north. He tried their last remaining comm unit. “Anybody on radio? Hello?”
Epps gave voice to his disgust. “Ah, man, I hate it when they cut the damn phones. These aliens got their shit down. ”
“Y’know,” Lennox told him as they started off toward the old village center, “I do not need the negativity right now. ”
“You know it means we’re about to die,” the sergeant replied cheerfully. “Ain’t no credit card’s gonna save us this time ...”
The vivid blue of the Gulf of Aqaba contrasted brilliantly with the paler sky and the golden-brown of the mountains and desert off to their left as Bumblebee and the Twins roared down the deserted coastal road. Each lost in his or her own thoughts, the Camaro’s passengers rode in silence. Leo was half asleep, Simmons was planning, and Mikaela was sneaking worried glances at Sam, who just stared at the sand-filled sock he held in one hand.
All such meditating vanished instantly as the roadway erupted in front of them.
Bumblebee and the Twins swerved to avoid the resultant crater as two huge winged shapes shot past overhead and then swooped around sharply to come straight back at them.
Megatron. And Starscream.
“Get out of the way!” Sam screamed, the sock and its intimations of failure momentarily forgotten. Behind him Leo was waving his arms frantically in front of him, as if by some magical means that could ward
off the developing attack.
“They’re coming right at us!”
Accelerating in front of the Camaro, the Twins executed a
series of unpredictable crisscrossing maneuvers on either side of the road that threw up a dust cloud thick and wide enough to obscure not only themselves but the larger vehicle in their midst.
Within the cloud they projected multiple rezzed images of themselves, further confusing the two attacking craft and leading their probing pulse-blasts astray.
The newly erupting clash on the highway served to punctuate Graham’s warning. Soldiers who had been resting in the shade rushed to recover their weapons and take up their assigned positions. As they did so, Lennox happened to glance skyward.
Thirteen shapes were descending straight toward the abandoned town, and every one of them was a Decepticon.
“Oh, my God,” he mumbled, “we’re dead.”
“You call me negative?” Eyes also on the sky, Epps pressed against the wall behind them. “Now that’s negative.”
Both men waited apprehensively, as did the rest of the troops, as one by one the alien intruders touched down on the opposite side of the town from where the human soldiers had taken cover. Thirteen Deceptions began taking up strike positions on one side of the abandoned village, while deeper within waited a ten-man human strike force team and half a dozen Autobots.
High overhead, at a distance from which the town under attack was less than a dust mote against the sandy yellow-brown of the Jordanian coast, a military surveillance satellite aimed its high-resolution cameras at a selected sliver of Gulf shoreline. Silently, it beamed images back to Washington, D.C. and to the Pentagon, where Chairman Morshower and his subordinates gazed anxiously at the relayed feed.
“Satellite’s approaching coordinates over the Gulf. Image in twenty seconds.” The console technician made the announcement as he adjusted his instrumentation.
Without fail, the pixilating image on the main monitor began to resolve, to clear, and to graduate from black and white to color. It showed the scene on the ground closely enough for those in the Joint Ops Center to plainly pick out the waiting Autobots. The Decepticons .. .
Transformers-Revenge of the Fallen Page 22
