Enhanced

by Ben Brown

  She headed off at a brisk pace in the direction of an immense hanger. A minute later they arrived at a door, which looked tiny in comparison to the massive building. On each side of the door stood a guard — both saluted. Brown returned the salutes, as did Zac’s companions. She typed a code into a key panel, which was attached to the door. The door clicked as it unlocked.

  She turned to them again. “Gentlemen, once we enter the hanger you will not be allowed to exit until it’s time to leave for your mission. Is that clear?”

  Zac and his team nodded. She opened the door and led them inside. The hanger was huge, larger than an enclosed football stadium.

  On one side stood a row of tables covered in food and drinks. Zac’s team headed straight for them like a pack of hungry wolves.

  Zac, however, stood transfixed by what he saw in the middle of the hanger.

  It was the Aurora. He knew the plane was advanced, but this was unbelievable. It looked as if it belonged on the set of a Sci-Fi movie. Plus it was big, much bigger than he had expected.

  It had none of those odd angles that he had expected to see. Everyone knew the familiar shape of stealth bombers — pictures of those planes had been plastered all over the news during the Iraq war. It was sleek and triangular, with two tail fins; this looked far more advanced than anything he had ever seen.

  The main body of the plane sat above the triangular wing; the body itself was smooth and curved to a point at the front. It was completely matt black, including the glass. The main thing that struck Zac was he couldn’t see any engines.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Startled by the voice, Zac turned to see two men walking towards him and Major Brown.

  “This is Captain Johns and Captain Garstang, the Aurora pilots,” Brown said as she introduced him to the approaching men. The one who had spoken, Captain Garstang, held out his hand to shake Zac’s.

  Zac shook his hand vigorously and said, “Yes, she’s beautiful all right. But where are the engines?”

  “The Aurora doesn’t use conventional jet engines. It uses a new technology called Pulse Detonation Wave Engines. Because of this, the engines take up most of the underside of the plane. You just can’t see them from this angle.”

  “Pulse Detonation Wave Engines? I’ve never heard of those.”

  “I should hope not, or we’re not doing our job right,” said Brown as they approached the plane for a better look.

  When Zac got closer, he could see that nearly the entire underside of the plane was taken up by a massive scoop inlet and two large outlets.

  “How do the engines differ from normal jets?” he asked.

  “I can’t go into too much detail, for obvious reasons,” Garstang answered. “But basically, the main engines under the plane consist of four pulse jets. This technology is well known. What’s special about this aircraft is the Pulse Detonation Wave. In the nose cone of the plane is a device that emits powerful low-level radio waves in an immense pulse. This pulse removes any air resistance by coating the fuselage with a thin layer of plasma. This stops all drag and air friction on the aircraft. As a result, the pulse jets work at a much higher efficiency and the body of the plane stays cool.”

  Zac nodded, trying to look as if he understood. “Okay, but we have to parachute from this plane. How do we do that if the engine takes up the whole of the bottom of the plane?”

  “Well, that’s simple. You get dropped from the bomb bays, which are under the wings,” Garstang said calmly, as he gestured to a large hatch under each of the wings.

  “What! Now hold on, you mean you drop us as if we were bombs!”

  “Yes, of course. We’ve done it many times in simulations,” Johns added, speaking for the first time.

  “You mean this is the first time you two have tried this?”

  Brown was the one to answer. “Zac, this is the first time anyone has tried this.

  “After you’ve had something to eat, we’ll meet for a briefing. Now if you’d like to join your companions at the table, I will get prepared.” She took Zac by the shoulder and guided him away from the plane towards the food table. Zac looked back at the plane; both pilots had a grin on their faces.

  Martinez turned and looked at Zac as he sidled up to the table. Martinez was devouring a chicken leg.

  “You look a bit pale, Zac. Get some food; it’ll make you feel better.”

  “They’re going to drop us out of the bomb bays,” Zac replied vaguely.

  Jacobson had joined the two. “What?”

  “They’re going to drop us out of the bomb bays,” Zac repeated.

  Martinez and Jacobson looked at each other, and then Jacobson started to laugh. Soon, They were all laughing — Zac didn’t know why.

  After a good feed and a shower, Zac felt much better. He headed back from the shower block to the briefing room. All of these rooms, including sleeping quarters, were inside the hanger.

  Martinez and the others were waiting; they all turned to look at him as he entered the room. Major Brown stood at the front of the room. She looked annoyed by his tardiness.

  “At last, we can begin,” she said, as she looked right at Zac.

  “Okay, as you know, you will be parachuting from the Aurora at eighty thousand feet. This is well above the ceiling of normal jumps. However, we can achieve these altitudes by using a specially designed suit. The early version of this suit dates back to the late fifties, early sixties. The project that first developed the suit was Excelsior. The early design allowed for a max altitude of seventy-four thousand feet. Our design, however, allows a max altitude of one hundred and twenty thousand feet. The new suit, Excelsior ten, more closely resembles a space suit than anything else. It has a self-contained oxygen supply, as well as thermal control systems, which protects the wearer from the subzero temperature of such high altitudes.”

  Brown turned to the large monitor, which sprang to life behind her. A 3-D model of the suit rotated on the screen as she continued the briefing. “As you can see, the suit has fins fitted on the calves, shoulders, and back section; the onboard flight control system controls these. Compressed air thrusters are positioned just under each fin to aid their efficiency. All these elements, when used in unison, help to control the direction of your descent to within three feet of the drop zone.

  “Any bomb release mechanisms used within the Air Force is capable of attaching to the suit. The reason for this is to make the drop as accurate as possible, by using the plane’s onboard drop systems; we can release the jumpers to within a hundredth of a second of optimal drop time.

  “When the suit is released, a small chute is deployed. This chute controls the speed of the descent until you hit ten thousand feet, at which point the main chute will deploy and take you the rest of the way, still fully controlled by flight systems. The whole drop should take approximately twelve minutes, any questions?”

  Brown turned away from the display to face the five men just behind her.

  Jacobson was the first to speak. “So — we just enjoy the ride and let the suit do the rest?”

  Brown nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Cool. I’m getting coffee, and then I’m going to take a dump!” Jacobson got up and walked away, his two men followed him.

  “Thank you, Major, I enjoyed the briefing. It was most informative,” Martinez said. He obviously felt bad about the way Jacobson had left.

  “Not a problem sir, I often get a response like that from army types. I believe there’s some animosity between each of the forces, I don’t understand why, but it no longer bothers me.”

  Brown walked over to Martinez and Zac as she spoke. Both stood, allowing her to lead the way to the assembly point.

  “This is where I leave you. Good luck with your mission and Godspeed in your return home.” She saluted, and left them to prepare for the mission.

  “Martinez, may I ask a question?”

  “Sure, Zac, what is it?”

  “Do you think we’ll be able to get Le
a and Doc out alive? It’s just — I get the feeling it’s too late. Dominic has implanted …”

  “That’s enough! Never give up, that’s the one thing I’ve learned in all my years. You never give up.” Martinez paused, as he stared at the kit he was packing. He seemed to be deeply troubled by what Zac had said.

  “I’m going to tell you something now, something I’ve never told anyone. Back in the first Iraq war, Desert Storm, I served as a U.S. Ranger. I commanded an eight-man unit. It was our job to perform recon for the advanced allied forces. On one recon mission, a small, but heavily armed group of the Republican Guards ambushed us. We didn’t stand a chance. Four of my men were killed in the battle, and another one was taken prisoner. My superiors ordered me to pull back, to leave our man behind.

  “A Ranger never leaves anyone behind. It’s our creed; we live and die by it. It’s what makes the Rangers such a formidable force. When I told my two remaining men we were going to break out Sergeant Williams or die trying, they agreed immediately. They knew, you don’t give up on one of your own.

  “We waited until dark, and then the three of us stormed the Iraqi stronghold, killing everyone we encountered. We found Williams; he’d been beaten up pretty badly. The bastards had broken all of his fingers and covered him in cigarette burns.” Martinez shook his head in disgust as he talked.

  “Anyhow, we got that man out of there, a man that we had been told to abandon for dead. That man went on to get married and have two kids. I’m his son’s godfather for Christ’s sakes! Now, if we had followed orders and given up on him, he would’ve died in that house, beaten and humiliated. Instead he has a beautiful wife and two great kids.” Martinez looked Zac straight in the eyes as he continued, “you don’t know whether Lea and Doc are beyond help, but you do owe it to them to find out, or die trying. Do I make myself clear?”

  Zac felt ashamed of himself. Martinez was right; it was too soon to give up on Lea and Doc.

  “You’re making yourself perfectly clear. And Martinez — thank you. You’re right. Lea would never give up on me, Doc, or anyone else. They’re both coming home with us, there’s no other option.”

  Martinez grabbed Zac’s hand and shook it; he pulled him into a hug, slapping Zac hard on the back.

  “You two ladies need to get a room! Us men, we have to prep our gear and suit up. We only have an hour until take off.”

  Martinez and Zac broke apart, both felt awkward, but Zac was grateful for the talk.

  “Are you two ladies nearly ready?” Jacobson continued, grinning.

  Jacobson’s two young subordinates didn’t seem to notice the interaction, but instead carried out their duties with a diligent enthusiasm.

  “I think our gear is ready, we just need to suit up,” said Zac.

  “Then shake a leg, man! We want to get on the plane ASAP, or we’ll miss the hostess handing out the peanuts.”

  All five men headed to the plane together; all wore the advanced suit, their gear stowed across their fronts. As well as thin sleeping bags and a medi-kit, they carried enough provisions to last them several weeks.

  They also carried their weaponry across their fronts. Zac had Doc’s gun, the sword, and an MP5. The Platt boys carried M16’s, plus sniper rifles. Martinez and Jacobson carried an M16 with grenade launchers as well as a compact version of the MP5.

  As the group drew closer to the plane, Zac could see Major Brown waiting. Martinez and the others saluted as they approached and she reciprocated.

  “Well gentlemen, this is it. Extraction will occur in ten days. You must be at the rendezvous point on time; our choppers have orders not to wait. This means you will have a maximum of six days in the combat zone — if you stay any longer than that, you will not make the hike out in time. The jungle in that region is notoriously dense and hard to navigate, so don’t underestimate it. Am I clear?” Brown spoke without emotion; she clearly knew the chances of survival were low, but showed no signs of concern.

  “That’s crystal clear,” said Jacobson. “Let’s synchronize watches. It’s twenty-one fifteen hours in, 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – mark.” While he checked his watch, all did the same.

  As the team began to board the plane, Brown shook each man’s hand one by one. Zac was the last to take her hand. She held it for a few seconds; he looked her in the face.

  “Take care, Zac. I know you’re the only civilian here. Stick close to these men and you’ll come home in one piece.”

  “Thank you,” Zac smiled. “I’ll try to keep up with them.”

  As the heavy hatch shut behind him, the engines fired up. The roar was deafening. The crew member stood next to the hatch, pointed to Zac’s seat, and gestured for him to put his head set and oxygen mask on. He complied; a second later Zac was buckled in. He tightened the straps to his headset.

  A voice rang out through his earpiece; he recognized it as Captain Garstang.

  “Gentlemen, once the engines have reached full warm up, which will take a further two minutes, we will commence the takeoff. The takeoff will be extremely steep and fast; this will help avoid detection. Once we reach one hundred thousand feet, we’ll engage the Pulse Detonation Wave. This may cause a feeling of nausea that can last for several minutes. The pulse wave takes about fifteen seconds to envelop the plane, during which time you will feel a distinctly unpleasant pulsing. It’s like being inside a giant heart, but as I say it passes quickly. Once the Pulse wave is engaged, we will accelerate to Mach 6.1, this takes less than ten seconds to achieve.

  “When we are twenty minutes from the drop zone, the bomb crew will attach you to the release mechanisms. So until then enjoy your flight in the world’s most advanced aircraft.”

  As Garstang finished speaking, there was a vibration through the plane as the brakes were released. The plane began to taxi from the hanger. It took less than a minute to reach the runway.

  The plane came to a complete stop at the end of the runway. There were no windows in the main cabin, so Zac and the others couldn’t be sure of what was happening. A second later the engines roared, and the plane shook as it held its position.

  Then with incredible power, it began its takeoff. Zac had never felt a power like it before; extreme g-force drove him back into his seat as the air inside his lungs was forced out.

  Less than five seconds later, they were climbing into a near vertical ascent. Zac guessed that this would be what a rocket launch would feel like. Ever upwards the plane climbed. It seemed endless, but it probably only lasted a few minutes. Then the plane began to level out.

  “Crew members, prepare for Pulse Detonation Wave, in 3 – 2 – 1.”

  As Garstang spoke, Zac could see the crew closing their eyes and lowering their heads. He did the same.

  The pulse wave began to envelop the aircraft. Everything seemed to shrink inwards, and then suddenly, explode outwards again. The sensation of the pulse was sickening; it felt as if Zac’s body had expanded, then returned to normal.

  Matt ripped his facemask off just in time to throw up the contents of his stomach, all over Jason’s feet. The Air Force guys cheered and clapped, pleased to see that at least one of their passengers had been grossly affected by the pulse wave.

  “Platt, clean that mess up and get control of yourself — you’re showing the team up,” barked Jacobson.

  Jacobson himself looked as if he was going to chuck-up at any second.

  “Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” the young man replied.

  “We are now cruising at Mach 6.1, ETA two hours and twenty minutes, which is zero five hundred-hours local time, approximately one hour before sunrise.” The voice on the head set seemed unaffected by what had just happened. Garstang was clearly used to the feeling of the pulse wave.

  The rest of the flight was uneventful, until it came time to attach the team to the bomb release devices. Zac could feel his heart beating like a drum as Martinez and Jacobson joined him in the port bomb bay. The Platt boys were in the starboard bay.

  “Okay, sirs,
we need your helmets on for pre-drop checks,” said a young crewman.

  After they donned their helmets, the crewman carefully checked all of their suits. He checked the air seals, the navigation computers, the thrusters, and finally the parachutes themselves. Once he was satisfied with everything, he attached the men to the bomb release, which hauled them above the bomb doors. There they hung in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Gentlemen, this is Captain Garstang. We are two minutes from drop zone, we are descending to eighty thousand feet, and we are decreasing speed to sub sonic.”

  The bomb doors below them began to open. The crewman had already retreated to the safety of the main cabin. The wind noise through the open doors was deafening; the view that met Zac’s eyes was solid black. There were no apparent lights of any kind on the ground below; he started to feel very cold.

  Now a different voice spoke, Zac assumed that it was one of the tech officers. “Activating all primary systems. Thermal. Navigation. Life support. HUD. All systems are showing online, and reading A-Okay.”

  Suddenly, Zac felt warmer and a display appeared in front of his eyes — it was being generated on the visor of the helmet. It showed altitude, body temperature, heart rate, and air speed, among many other things.

  “Ten seconds until the drop zone. Once again, good luck, gentlemen, and we hope to see you all Stateside soon.” It was Garstang again.

  Zac closed his eyes tightly. Then, with a gut wrenching suddenness, he and the others plummeted towards the earth.

  He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see a thing except the digital display flashing up the distance to the ground — and that distance was getting less and less by the second.

  15

  “Lea, can I interest you in some champagne?” Dominic asked from the comfort of one of the six large, black leather chairs that adorned the cabin of the Bombardier Global Express XRS.

  An attractive woman poured him some champagne then walked over to Lea. She had an expensive bottle of Dom Pérignon in her hands. She bent to pour the drink into a champagne flute, which sat on the table next to Lea.