Mechanical

by Bruno Flexer

  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.”

  Tom looked at the sergeant who was sitting calmly, hands in his lap. His Serpent was giving the impression that the sergeant piloting it was trying to get some sleep. Only the mission is important. Real soldiers try to rest before the mission, even if they are piloting incredible fighting machines.

  “Don’t you want to know, Sergeant? We don’t know what branch of the military we now work for, we don’t know the general’s name, we don’t know where our captain comes from. We don’t even know the names of the people who worked on the Serpents. Don’t you find that suspicious? Interesting? Why are we kept in the dark? Why aren’t we given even the administrative password to our computers? Why is all the secrecy? Why were we escorted by armed troops wherever we were in Fort Belvoir?”

  “Sir, I’m just a soldier. I shoot where they tell me.”

  Tom got up, shaking his head.

  “Well, I want to know the answers to at least some of my questions.”

  Tom walked determinedly over towards the captain while making an effort to keep as much distance as possible from Ramirez.

  Captain Emerson was still standing motionless—still communicating over the radio, as far as Tom could see. Some of Tom determination faded in the light of the captain’s sheer immovability.

  “Captain Emerson, Sir?”

  There was no response.

  “Sir? I wanted to ask several questions. Sir?”

  Slowly, Captain Emerson’s head swiveled, and he stared right at Tom. Unbidden, the feeling of the captain’s hands on his neck rose in Tom’s mind.

  “This will have to wait, Lieutenant. I’m receiving updated mission intelligence.”

  With that, the captain turned away. Tom returned to his place next to Jebadiah and sat down dejectedly.

  Then, Tom straightened up. The C-130 engines were starting to work one by one, their noise slowly increasing in pitch and volume.

  “We’re taking off,” Tom said rapidly.

  “We’ve waited long enough. Just let me at the enemy!” Jebadiah said.

  The aircraft started moving, and Tom got up. The windows were still closed and barred, and Tom could not see outside, but he turned towards the cargo ramp, closed and shut. Tom made one-half step forward, towards the entrance.

  “Let me out! I’m no good in the field!” The shout had barely left his speakers when Tom felt something burn his back like acid. He didn’t have to turn to know what it was Ramirez’s cold, mocking gaze.

  The aircraft taxied on the runaway and stopped, waiting five additional minutes for air traffic control clearance. Then, the engine noises increased till they became a constant roar, and the C-130 brakes were disengaged. The engines roared and the airplane, lurching at first, started gathering speed. Its nose went up, and an instant later, accompanied by a final bump, the C-130 was airborne. A moment later the gear came up.

  Tom sat down heavily next to Jebadiah, and his large Serpent hands held onto the airplane’s structure so hard the metal started to buckle under the grasp of the lean but powerful black-armored fingers.

  There was no turning back now.

  Chapter 14

  Day Four, C-130 Cargo Plane, en route

  None of the Serpents moved during what seemed to Tom to be hours of flying.

  Tom started relaxing after a time, at least enough to pay attention to details, such as the flight itself. Tom had flown two or three times before the Twelve City War, but flying aboard the Hercules was something different altogether. The C-130 was much louder, and the flight was nowhere as smooth.

  Of course, there were no flight attendants and no chairs. The Serpents needed nothing of the sort, but Tom still missed them. No in-flight meals nor movie as well.

  Captain Emerson finally started moving.

  “Soldiers, gather round,” were Captain Emerson’s only words.

  The three Serpents approached the captain, and he turned towards them.

  “Current situation is as follows. The enemy forces are scattered across Manhattan, Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens with no discernible pattern. Analysis of twelve-hour-old satellite imagery reveals about ten roaming motorcycle groups, five civilian-vehicle groups and three medium-armored-vehicle groups in Manhattan itself, but the biggest potential threat there is one heavy-armor group in position in Midtown West. There may be more forces our satellites cannot pick up. The enemy moves his forces around from time to time. We must remember that the enemy will be able to easily reinforce his forces by using civilians and by pulling troops and vehicles from other parts of New York City.”

  "Bring up your detailed map of New York City. Zoom in on these places." The captain then read out a number of places, junctions and locations in New York. “These places are used as staging areas for the enemy forces. The medium-armored vehicle groups comprise mainly M2 Bradley armored personnel carriers and Hummer light utility vehicles, army vehicles the enemy took over after the war started. and the army launched attacks to get the city back. The M1 Abrams were also acquired this way.”

  “How operational are these vehicles?”

  “We only have assessments of the vehicles and weapons operational status. Based on the raids the enemy keeps launching, and remembering that he completely controls the army personnel he acquired, along with whatever technical people were in New York at the time the war started, we assume that every weapon and vehicle he has is operational. The enemy’s biggest problem is spare parts, but vehicle and weapon cannibalization no doubt provides whatever he needs. There is no shortage of fuel.”

  “Fucking great,” whispered Ramirez, the spikes on his back twitching.

  “As to the lighter, faster groups, we do not know what weapons they possess. Anything from handguns to anti-tank missiles. In addition, new images of the multistory parking garages across Manhattan show signs of
work and modifications. The enemy uses camouflage and cover to defeat satellite scans, so we don’t know what’s going on there, but these may be staging areas for the enemy’s vehicles.”

  "Now, zoom in on Central Park. Our waypoints stay the same. Our mission priority is to use the stealth capabilities of the Serpents to reach our forward operating base on the FDR undetected. We will not start shooting until we find our mission target. Shooting will be on my command only.”

  Captain Emerson looked at his small team.

  “From our forward operating base, we will ascertain the situation, and Lieutenant Riley will begin his mission of locating the enemy’s command and control center. Then, we will attack.”

  The captain opened a radio link on his left-arm computer and Tom listened in automatically. Since reaching the airplane, Tom had turned all his sensors on. It made him feel a little bit safer. Now, he could see the captain glowing periodically when he transmitted.

  “Major Scott, our situation?”

  “Captain Emerson, ETA in fifteen minutes. Fifteen percent visibility, light humidity and almost zero turbulence. Ideal conditions for parachuting cargo.”

  “Roger, Major.”

  “Captain, would you like our Jumpmaster to help you with preparations?”

  “Negative, Major. You and your men do not have the security clearance to enter the cargo hold until the drop. Emerson, out.”

  Captain Emerson killed the link and picked up a large package that had been securely stowed in the C-130 cargo hold. “This is our cargo parachuting system, modified for our mission. When we drop, two extractor parachutes are released, stabilizing the cargo and then deploying the three main parachutes. A GPS-automated parachute control system will steer you to your target landing area. Scan the area for hostiles, but do not engage without my order. Move!”

  Without being asked, Sergeant Jebadiah walked over to Tom and helped him put the bulky parachute system on the back of his Serpent, making sure the metal straps were safely secured and tightened. Tom saw Ramirez and Captain Emerson working together, checking each other’s parachute systems. There was also some kind of short muffled conversation between the two, though Tom could not make out what they were saying.

  “Sir, where is your missile bin?”

  “What?”

  “Your Hellfire weapon. It’s good practice to keep your weapons by your sides at all times. Saves lives, it does,” Sergeant Jebadiah said. Tom only now noticed that the sergeant, Ramirez and Captain Emerson all indeed carried their Barrett rifles and its ammo pack secured to their Serpents, with the Hellfire bin strapped to their backs, beneath the parachute system.

  Tom shook his head and headed towards the crate with his Hellfire weapon. He was already carrying his Barrett anti-materiel rifle, but he had seen no reason to carry the bulky Hellfire missile bin before it was strictly necessary.

  The airplane shuddered, moving up and down violently. Tom cried out and fell down, crashing against the airplane’s cargo-hold wall. Tom slowly got up, holding the struts and beams crisscrossing the walls of the airplane’s cargo hold. The other three Serpents held their balance without any apparent difficulty.

  Another shudder passed through the airplane, and Tom felt the airplane’s nose go down while the C-130 started dropping into a shallow dive.

  “Major Scott, this is Captain Emerson. Report,” Captain Emerson said through his link.

  There was no response.

  “Major Scott, reply. What is the status of the airplane?”

  The airplane’s nose suddenly rose, and the airplane started a shaking, shuddering ascent, accompanied by irregular noises from the airplane’s engines. This time Tom’s hands clutching two struts saved him from falling down.

  “Major Scott, respond. This is an order.”

  Captain Emerson moved towards the barred hatch separating the cargo hold from the flight compartment and paused there, one huge Serpent hand on the hatch.

  “Major Scott, you are compromising the mission. Respond now. Over.”

  Still there was no answer.

  With one push, Captain Emerson broke through the hatch and entered the flight compartment. The other Serpents, limbs folded down to fit inside the human sized compartment, followed immediately after.

  Tom saw the two pilots sitting in their chairs, hands on sticks and throttles, looking outside. Two additional flight crew personnel—a flight engineer and a Loadmaster who was also a Jumpmaster—sat at their stations, monitoring their instrumentation.

  “Cap—Cap—tain—Eme—Cap—Cap—uk—lok,” the pilot stammered with a broken, shuddering voice, giving the impression he was forcing words out of a mouth that refused to obey him.

  Tom saw the copilot jerk twice and then slowly extend a shaking hand towards a lever on the instrument panel. The copilot’s hand shook so badly that he had to make three or four attempts to press the small lever before he managed it.

  “Cap—" The pilot went silent, and Tom saw a thin trail of saliva dribble down his face.

  “The enemy has got to them,” Tom said, appalled. “How? We are still miles from New York City!”

  “Kill them,” Captain Emerson said. Ramirez moved faster than a striking snake. His right hand flashed once, and the heads of the flight engineer and the Loadmaster rolled down to the floor. Then, faster than the eye could follow, he stabbed forward with both hands, one stiff finger extended on each one. Ramirez’s Serpent fingers went right through the pilots’ seats and into the pilot and the copilot themselves with no resistance.

  Ramirez drew back his hands and shook the blood off his fingers. Tom could have sworn the Marine Corps lieutenant was now smiling inside his own pilot compartment of the Serpent. The pilot and copilot both slumped down to the floor, but as fast as Ramirez had been, he was too late: Tom saw the pilot’s hands slide off his instrumentation panel.

  The engine noises changed from a steady high-pitch whirring to a drone constantly descending both in pitch and volume. Tom looked backwards out the cockpit windows—towards the propellers—trying to see what was going on and dreading the answer.

  “The propellers are slowing down,” Tom said, his words unsteady, his speakers conveying something of his fear.

  “The far right propeller just died. The pilot killed the plane,” Ramirez said calmly, looking out the window to the other side, his hands leaving bloody prints wherever he touched the plane.

  Then the plane’s nose dipped down and the C-130 started to dive, gathering speed and momentum. It started to rock, shaking violently. Bodies, papers and equipment flew freely in the cockpit, though the Serpents, Tom, too, this time, used the claws on their feet and the long talons of their fingers to hold on securely.

  “Can’t you do something?” Tom fretted.

  The world turned sideways as the heavy cargo plane titled sharply to the left and started rotating. The roaring noise started to subside as the engines died, but was replaced by groaning noises as the wings and hull were subjected to forces they weren’t designed for.

  Captain Emerson seemed to hesitate for one tiny moment before he closed the fingers of his right hand and punched straight up, creating a hole in the top of the pilot cabin. He thrust in his left hand and pulled sharply, tearing a great gash in the metal skin of the aircraft.

  “We deploy. Now.”

  Tom had one instant to be irritated by the calm voice of the captain in this situation, before a giant Serpent hand grabbed him and threw him out of the airplane through the hole.

  The world changed suddenly and irrevocably. A great whistling sound almost drowned Tom’s audio sensors. He tumbled out of control, darkness all around him, intermittent flashes of light sometimes registering in his vision. Tom shouted and flailed his hands and legs, his out-of-control motions wild, and he was filled with an unbridled fear, drowning in a wailing abyss.

  He fell. His internal stabilization sensors screamed at him. He spun and turned, buffeted on all sides by the black air vortex that shrieked at him. He
felt he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t move. Was he flying up and not down? He couldn’t sense anything except the air battering him. He had never felt so helpless, so out of control or so dizzy.

  “Stop moving or you’ll foil the parachute lines!”

  This was the first thing that made sense to Tom during the seeming eternity of his fall. For the first time that he could remember, Tom really welcomed Captain Emerson’s emotionless voice.

  Tom froze, clinging to the captain's command as if it were his only lifeline. Tom thought that was the most difficult thing he had ever done. An instant later, Tom realized he was screaming at the top of his speakers’ volume. He shut up, though he felt the scream on the boil inside him. His tortured stabilization sensors shouted at him, making him feel their anguish, making him sense every wild turn and spin that he made. But he kept his hands and feet rigid at his sides.

  Then a powerful blow hit him, shaking him to his core. Tom shouted again. It must be the earth! He had hit the ground. He was dead for … but he wasn’t dead. His sensors reported that he stopped spinning and turning, and now he was simply falling. Tom could now feel where up and down were. It was comforting, in its way. He glanced up and saw the pilot chute far above him. It stabilized him, and now the main parachutes deployed, forming a triangle of canopies above him, their black color barely visible on the background of the star-lit night sky. The main parachutes deployment delivered another powerful blow to the Serpent, but since he was expecting it, it felt almost satisfying.

  Tom’s fall slowed noticeably, and the vortex around him subsided. He looked around him, though he could barely see anything in the darkness. Tom glanced at the display on his arm computer and was surprised to discover that only one and a half minutes had passed from the time he had been safely on the C-130, calmly talking to Jebadiah. Now this. Tom found it hard to believe. He shook his head. Things were moving too fast!