Drone Strike

1

Christine Mary Todd put down the phone and looked over at her visitor.

“Our last operatives are out of Iran,” she said. “It’s a great day.”

“Yes.”

“We had to make the strike,” continued the President. “It’s too bad that so many Iranians had to die, but they were all involved in the program — the vast majority were involved in the program,” she added, correcting herself. A handful of people had died on the ground during the team’s attempts to get out. Some were undoubtedly civilians.

A number of Americans had also died — the entire team that had escorted Captain Mako, who by some miracle and his own ingenuity, along with the heroic efforts of Mark Stoner, managed to survive.

Truly, considering all that was at stake, the toll was extremely light.

“Are you going to explain how we did it?” asked her visitor.

“Absolutely not. Some will figure it out eventually. The Chinese, I’m sure, will have their suspicions. And the Russians. They’ll be doubling their investment in nanotechnology, and UAVs, I’m sure. The Iranians, though — they haven’t a clue. Why they wasted their resources in this way, building weapons they not only can’t use but can’t completely perfect—”

“I meant are you going to explain it to us.”

“Eventually.” Todd smiled. “Yes. In general terms, of course.”

“There will be blowback,” said her visitor.

“I expect it. We’ve already seen an uptick in communications traffic among the usual suspects.” Todd glanced at the phone on her desk. Nearly every button was lit, even though she had told her operator and the chief of staff that she wouldn’t be taking calls for an hour. The world, it seemed, was determined to spin on, with or without her.

“But back to the matter at hand,” said Todd. “The presidency. Given everything I’ve said — would you consider running?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you’d make a great President. And, since my medical condition will be… tiring, I don’t think I should run for reelection. So, you would have a wide-open shot.”

“I see that.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“You don’t want the job?” Todd asked.

“I’m, uh — I hadn’t realized you were sick.”

“Nor did I. And I don’t feel it either.” Todd smiled. Not today anyway.

“Why back me? We’ve never completely gotten along.”

“Oh, I think we have, in the important areas. And frankly, I liked your opposition. It kept me honest. Besides, I think you’d make a great President.”

“Well, thanks.”

Todd rose. “Think it over, Senator. There’s no need to give me an answer, but you will want to start getting your ducks quietly in place. These things take an enormous amount of energy and time.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Zen, wheeling forward to shake her hand.

2

Turk Mako remained at attention as the Bugler’s notes faded. The ceremony honoring Grease and the rest of the team had come to an end.

Their bodies hadn’t been recovered. The Iranians had been curiously silent so far, despite the President’s statements and numerous analysts’ pronouncements that the U.S. had managed to destroy the Iranian bomb program with weapons that it steadfastly refused to describe. Todd had promised that the details would be revealed when appropriate; Turk understood that to mean never.

They’d given him a place of honor at the front. He remained standing as the others left, nodding as people looked at him but remaining in his own cocoon. Soldiers, civilians, filed by silently.

Turk glanced at Stoner, standing toward the back. He hadn’t seen him since the hospital in Bethesda when they’d returned. Stoner hadn’t said much. Turk couldn’t tell whether he was fighting some inner demon or simply a very quiet man.

Stoner had saved his life, not least of all by disobeying orders to kill him.

No one said those were the orders, but Turk knew they were. He wasn’t sure exactly how to treat Breanna. She’d known all along that he was to be killed.

It was her job; he knew that. It was his job; he knew that, too. But it was hard to know what to feel about a person after that.

Turk’s body had taken a beating, but the mission had done more than that to him. He’d changed. He’d been a cocky pilot when he started, sure of himself in the air. On the ground, he’d been a bit of a dweeb, awkward and timid at times.

Now he wasn’t.

A pair of jets passed overhead. Turk glanced upward. They were F-35s, the latest multirole fighters in the U.S. inventory.

And maybe the last. A lot of people thought manned combat flight was over. Machines could now fill the gap, making their own decisions, flying more reliably than men ever could.

Had he proven them wrong? If he hadn’t been there, the nano-UAVs wouldn’t have succeeded. A human was still needed in the mix, and a good one.

Or was this just one last gasp? The next generation of aircraft, surely only a few years away, might have enough processing power to handle all decisions on their own.

Turk wasn’t sure. He liked to fly, and he was very good at it, and that colored his opinions.

One thing he did know: true courage would never go out of style. It would just be harder to find.