Hammer of God

CHAPTER 4

From the ground the Rockwell B-1R Lancer bomber was invisible as it slipped through the atmosphere at around 42,000 feet. The high speed, high altitude bomber was doing a tick over Mach 2, and at that speed and height, it was well beyond the range of guided missiles. The craft had been cleared by the Iraqis on the pretext it was examining the radiation bloom traveling across the continent — but only part of that data had been true, as the examination to be undertaken would be a little more intrusive than the locals expected.

The three figures seated in the back looked more like assembled robots than human beings. From head to boot, they were encased in an armored uniform that reflected the inside of the bomber’s rear cabin. It was an adaptive camouflage that interpreted their surroundings to provide a suitable cloak, blending them to their environment.

For now, it was as black as the shadows they sat within. Some of the molded plating looked like the exoskeleton of an insect. Further adding to this image was the full-face helmet that had dark lenses, glossy black, and impenetrable insect-like eyes. Over the back and shoulders were aerodynamic packs in a twin-bulbed case that contained a simple thruster propulsion system. Not that the HAWCs would need any more speed on their way down, but as they had no parachutes, there would be a reverse blast from the turbine fans when they needed to slow. Parachutes could be seen from the air, and in some cases even picked up on radar. A single falling body, with low metallic trace, was harder to see… and therefore harder to hit.

Weapons were stored in pouches and sheaths. Heckler & Koch USP45CT pistols, a HAWC favorite, were smooth and matte black sidearms made of a molded polymer with recoil reduction, and a hostile environment nitride finish. The variant trigger made it lightening quick, and the upgraded frequency shifting pushed discharge noise beyond the range of human hearing. The HAWCs also had K-Bar knives — long and short, their tanto edge was like that of a chisel and they were laser-honed so they were sharp enough to perform surgery, and strong enough to cut bone.

The lights in the rear cabin’s bomb bay went to red, and everything took on a gothic gloom. Alex stood and looked at his small team. Both Casey Franks and Sam Reid rose to their feet. Alex held out a fist and they all brought theirs together at the center, the plated knuckles clacking as they struck one another.

“We are ghosts; in and out without a trace.” He waited as they repeated the phrase, knowing it by heart. He stared into the glossy black eye-shields. “We are the sword and the shield. If any get in our way, they will fall.”

“They will fall,” came the response.

Thirty seconds to target zone. The voice from the cockpit sounded just as the bomb bay doors whined open. A blast of sub zero air screamed in. Beyond the doors, there was nothing but a dark void.

“Form up.” Behind Alex, the huge form of Sam and the muscular Casey got into line, waiting.

Five, four, three, two, one… drop.

Alex walked forward and without hesitating, dived. Neither Sam nor Casey flinched before following. Yet both probably remembered one of the things that Major Jack Hammerson had told them many years before — HAWCs rarely died of old age.

The outside atmosphere at forty thousand feet was a staggering sixty degrees below zero with little oxygen. Their suits would provide air and thermal protection, but only for a while. As they fell, short wings emerged from their packs, and they accelerated quickly. Within a minute they were traveling at two hundred miles per hour.

Alex and his small team moved into an arrowhead formation, hands back by their sides and feet only slightly spread. The ground was still just patches of yellow and brown with a huge mountain range to the north. It was a strange sensation and one Alex never stopped being thrilled by, being at such a height, free falling, and looking down onto snow-capped mountains. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, but they would outpace it, and when they reached landfall, there would still be predawn darkness.

In the distance Alex could see Mosul, their target, perhaps another fifty miles to the north-north east, and just below them was the much smaller town of Jurn, where they were to meet an old friend. Alex smiled in his helmet at the thought of the encounter.

He dropped his shoulder by about an inch, causing his body to bank. Casey and Sam banked with him. They needed to land on the outskirts of the township, and nowhere near any houses or people. The entire area was under control of the terrorists now, and though the people might not have been sympathizers, they were in such fear of the butchers that they might inform on the HAWCs, just to try and buy some safety for their families.

Together the human gliders in the sky corkscrewed down in a two-mile wide loop. They passed through the five-thousand-foot barrier, and Alex’s eyes moved over the landscape, searching for anything that could hint at danger while they were vulnerable in the air. They were still traveling too fast for any snipers to pick up, but he certainly didn’t want helicopters following them to earth.

“Begin our slow.” Alex said to his team, then spread his arms and legs. “Brace.”

The buffeting was instantaneous and punishing. He heard the grunts from Sam and Casey. Alex had done this many times, and he was well aware of what the high velocity turbulence could do to muscle and bone. The suits would insulate them from most traumas, but still, it was like being beaten with a hundred baseball bats.

“Still coming in too hot, boss.” Sam’s voice was tight as he probably gritted his teeth through the beating he was taking.

Time to throw out the anchors, Alex thought, and then: please work. A lot of the HAWC kit was experimental, and they got to field test some cool stuff. Most of the time it worked just fine.

“Fire ’em up.” They each started their thruster packs. One after the other, the turbines began whining to life, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief. Vents opened, front and rear, and air was grabbed, compressed, and then blasted out. The packs were not strong enough for actual flight, but could hold a single passenger’s weight just long enough to give them a soft landing — or at least that was the plan. Sam wasn’t exactly your usual passenger’s weight, though.

At a thousand feet from the ground, the human missiles spun in the air and spread their arms out, their feet directed at the ground. The thruster’s bulb engines sitting over each shoulder started to get hot as they furiously vented the air behind and below them.

They slowed, and then the only problem became keeping upright for a perfect landing. Still, it would feel like jumping off a two-story building, so rocks were best avoided.

Alex and the team headed for a patch of hard-packed sand, just a mile away from the oasis town of Jurn. Alex came in first, landing hard with an audible thump and sinking to his ankles in the sand. He went down on one knee with one fist striking the ground like he’d been taught. He immediately straightened.

Two more thumps and then grunts around him told of his team landing close by. He turned in time to see the huge form of Sam Reid sunk in to his knees, and then dragging his trunk-like legs free to stand tall. If anyone were watching, they would have just seen three huge figures fly in and land.

The thruster engines whined down to nothing as they powered out, their batteries exhausted. Each of them then quickly shrugged off the winged machines that now glowed red from the heat. The dust swirled around them and then settled. On the eastern horizon, a hint of orange told of an approaching dawn. Alex clicked on his throat mic.

“All down; proceeding.”

He knew there would be no response. The information would be compressed, and then bounced off numerous satellites to Hammerson back home. The granite-faced man would read it, his face impassive, knowing the hard work was yet to come.

“Let’s move.” Alex began to head toward the tiny town of Jurn with Sam and Casey at each shoulder.

Leyla had her hands clutched to her chest, and could feel her heart beating under her tiny fingers. She had seen the light in the sky and had at first thought it was a shooting star. But it had been much, much more. She barely believed her eyes.

She remembered what her father had told her before he was taken, before the fire. That when things were darkest, then the angels would come.

The dust cleared some more, and then there they were — the three huge angels with glowing wings on their backs. She swallowed down her fear. They were giants, and powerful, but not as she had pictured them — they were frightening to look at.

Good, she thought. Father also said that they would strike like the hammer of God.

She stepped back further into the shadows. She watched them head toward Jurn, and she crushed her eyes shut, and prayed that her father would be rescued.

And if he was dead, then she prayed for a bloody vengeance.