Kill Decision

CHAPTER 19

Odin and McKinney moved at a steady pace across a vast expanse of undulating rock; above them was a brilliant field of stars. She could even see the Milky Way this far out from civilization. It had been a long time since she’d experienced a cold, clear night like this. Being able to be outside at night without getting eaten alive by malarial mosquitoes was a pleasure. It almost made her forget the circumstances of their journey. The temperature was down in the thirties, but she was more than warm enough in the HALO jumpsuit.

“Can I keep this thing as a souvenir?”

He just cast a look back at her.

“You can tell them it blew up in the crash.”

“Keep moving.” He turned back again. “Here…” He tossed her a plastic tube that she just barely caught. “Energy gel.”

She examined the tube. “This classified too?”

“No, I got it at a sporting goods store.”

She cracked it open and squeezed some of the saccharin-sweet substance into her mouth. “Yuck. It tastes like a scented candle.”

“It’ll give you energy and keep you hydrated. Take it all. We’ve got a long way to go.”

She kept sucking on the tube.

The nearest stationary lights were miles away still. To the north they could also make out Interstate 70 and the truck lights moving over the vast desert landscape.

Odin occasionally stopped to scan the sky with thermal binoculars. Whether he was orienting himself or looking for danger, it was hard to tell.

Before long she heard a loud caw on the wind. McKinney and Odin turned to see both the ravens flutter down to land on rock outcroppings nearby.

A smile crossed his face. “Huginn. Muninn. Good.”

The birds fluttered and caw ed again as if in response.

McKinney stood next to him, appraising the birds. “They found us. Even way out here.”

“They can cover a lot of ground-with excellent night vision. And hearing. Their eyes are sharp enough to tell a golden hawk from a goshawk at a distance of two miles.”

“Then they can hear approaching drones.”

“Long before we can.” He extended his hand to one of the ravens-it was always impossible for McKinney to tell them apart, although Odin seemed to be able to. The raven climbed onto his glove. He knelt and looked directly into its eyes. “Huginn. Scout. Muninn. Scout.” He released the bird, letting it walk over to its mate.

The ravens made a few keek-keek sounds and flew off into the night sky in opposite directions.

She watched them go. “That’s amazing.” It did feel good to have friends in the sky, scouting for trouble. “When did the military start working with ravens?”

Odin looked up at her. “The military doesn’t work with ravens. I do. I’ve known them both for twenty years, and if I’m lucky, I’ll be with them another twenty.”

“Twenty years? How long do they live?”

“They can live to be sixty.”

McKinney did the math. “But that means you’ve known them since you were a kid.”

He got to his feet. “We need to keep moving.” Odin started upslope, and McKinney ran to catch up.

“How did that happen?”

He cast a look back at her. “I spent a lot of time in the woods.”

McKinney recalled her own childhood explorations in distant woodlands and jungles-treks that inspired her career. She paused. “How’s a kid in an orphanage spend a lot of time in the woods?”

“I ran away from foster homes a lot.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I was about twelve. Had a camp hidden in the woods, and this raven kept visiting me. I’d try to shoot him for food, but he’d fly away every time I grabbed my gun.”

“You were twelve, and you had a gun.”

“This was rural Pennsylvania. A. 22 Ruger I stole from my foster father. Not the point. Every time I grabbed it, the raven would fly away. Or he’d put a tree trunk between him and me. He was smarter than I was.”

They ran for a few moments in silence. It was the most McKinney had ever gotten from him, and she didn’t want to interrupt.

Odin eventually continued. “I began to enjoy his company. He’d let out a warning whenever anyone else came near my camp. He started to lead me to carcasses in the woods. Deer that had been hit by cars. I realized he couldn’t penetrate their hides. That’s why he’d bring me-to cut them open for him. And that was our arrangement. I always shared with him after that. And he helped me survive.”

“A symbiotic relationship.”

“Not unusual for ravens. Back in school I learned all I could about them. Whenever I’d go back to those woods-even as a man-Huginn would recognize me. And later his mate, Muninn. They can remember individual humans for years. We’re special to them.”

“How so?”

They kept up a fast pace over the rocks. McKinney realized it was a good thing she was in excellent shape, because Odin was apparently used to covering ground fast.

“You familiar with the term encephalization, Professor?”

She nodded. “Sure. I’m a biologist. It’s the amount of brain mass exceeding what would be expected, given body mass. It directly correlates to intelligence. Humans and dolphins are the most encephalized species, for example.”

“And ravens.”

She frowned. “I didn’t know that about ravens.”

He glanced back. “Like I said, I wanted to learn everything I could about them. For instance, why do they need to be smart-why smarter than, say, an eagle?” He slid down a rock face and kept talking as they moved.

McKinney contemplated the question. “It’s true-brain tissue is metabolically expensive. So unless it’s needed, excess brains don’t appear in a species.”

“Right. So why does a raven need a large brain?”

It was intriguing. McKinney realized she had no ready answer. “Okay, why?”

“To manage relationships with dangerous creatures.”

McKinney considered this.

“Ravens thrive around human communities. That’s been going on for tens of thousands of years. In fact, there’s evidence they had a similar relationship with Neanderthal before we arrived on the scene.”

“So what are you saying-they actively seek us out?”

“They seek out top-of-the-food-chain predators-and put us to work for them.”

McKinney laughed. “I’d be interested in seeing the research.”

“Assuming we survive, I’ll be happy to show you.” He scrambled up an escarpment.

“How do ravens get us to work for them exactly?”

“They lead predators to prey. Wolf packs will follow a raven and let it eat from their kill. Ravens helped ancient people find game too, and still do for modern Inuit people. So what I experienced as a boy has been going on since ancient times. They’ve gone to war alongside man as well-to feast on the dead. The Vikings revered them and put them on their banners. In every human culture throughout history ravens held a special place. They’re mystical, mischievous, good or evil, but never just a bird. Ravens have observed us for so long they understand us. But one misjudgment interpreting our behavior, and they’ll likely not live to make another. Working with predators is a dangerous game.”

She nodded. “That’s why they need to be smart. And the cooperation helps both species survive.”

“Exactly.”

McKinney looked up to see silhouettes sailing against the moonlight, watching over them. “And do you think they’re really aware of this relationship?”

“I’m convinced of it. They can solve complex puzzles to reach food without direct experimentation. They use their large brain for conceptualizing reality; imagining scenarios and calculating likely outcomes. No other creature except man can do that.”

“I must say you surprise me, Sergeant.” McKinney caught his gaze reflected in moonlight. “So how does a man like you wind up as an elite commando?”

He considered the question. “I know your opinion of the military, Professor, but barring some unforeseen advance in human affairs, the implied threat of violence is the only thing holding civilization together.”

“That’s a pessimistic view.”

“Where do you think political power originates?”

“Legitimate political power is derived from the consent of the governed.”

“Ah, you’re splitting hairs. Power is power.” He glanced back to her. “If we’re honest, power is derived from only one thing: physical force.”

“I couldn’t disagree more.”

He came briefly to a stop, studying the terrain and sky with the thermal binoculars. “How’s it go again? ‘Governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.’”

“Yes. Exactly. As a soldier I’m glad you know that.”

“And what if a government doesn’t listen to the will of its people? Or a citizen doesn’t follow the laws of their government? What then?”

“It doesn’t necessarily result in violence.”

He nodded. “Which is why human society mostly works; people avoid trouble. But behind every law is the implicit threat of force, and behind every vote is the implicit threat of rebellion. That’s the bargain that holds a free society together. And no society with a wide power imbalance remains free for very long.”

He motioned for them to keep moving, and in a moment they were bounding down a rocky slope.

McKinney was still troubled by his premise. “I’m not convinced that violence is the glue that binds us, Sergeant.”

“I didn’t say violence-I said the implicit threat of force. Think about it: Democracy only arose when the ability to employ force was decentralized. If you go back to the Middle Ages, the state-of-the-art weapon system was the armored knight. He cost a fortune to train, feed, and equip. But a mounted armored knight could overpower almost any number of peasants on a battlefield. And the distribution of political power in medieval society reflected that; authority was vested in a tiny minority, and the people had no choice but to obey.

“Then, with the advent of gunpowder, that all changed. Suddenly you didn’t need a highly trained specialist warrior to win on the battlefield. All you needed was a warm body who could fire a gun. Anything they could aim at, they could kill. And at that point the edge in warfare went not to highly trained warriors, but to the side that could field the most people. At which point we saw the rise of nation-states-and nationalism as a concept-as the logistical requirement for fielding an ever-larger conscripted army. But this changed the political dynamic. The nobles could no longer ignore the demands of their subjects. Those subjects now had the power to kill them or refuse to fight in their wars, and so kings began to cede more political authority to representative bodies of the people-parliaments, and so on.”

McKinney shook her head. “It’s so like a soldier to come to the conclusion that the gun created democracy. You do remember how many African nations are awash with guns without even a hint at democracy, right?”

“My point is that with autonomous drones, you don’t need the consent of citizens to use force-you just need money. And there might be no knowing who’s behind that money either. Drones tell no tales.”

McKinney examined the sky. “Ritter said, ‘Everyone wants this.’ Who’s everyone?”

Odin grimaced. “There are dozens of nations joining in the drone arms race-and companies too. There are just too many advantages over manned systems. Armed conflict is about to change.”

“We have to stop it.”

“I don’t think we can stop it, Professor.”

McKinney was surprised by his admission. “Then you agree with Ritter.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. We might not be able to stop it, but we can sure as hell alter its trajectory.” He motioned for them to keep moving.

O din stared downslope through binoculars in the predawn light, watching a bustling truck stop that served the nearby Interstate. He and McKinney were concealed in a drainage ditch. They had peeled off their free-fall and flight suits and stashed them under rocks near an old barbed wire fence post. The Ancile Services shirts and jeans they wore underneath were wet with sweat from their nightlong trek, making the cold wind that much colder. McKinney was now shivering, exhausted, hungry, and terribly thirsty. It had indeed been a tough hump.

Odin lowered the binoculars. “Interesting. Over by the gas pumps.” He passed them to McKinney. She raised them to her eyes and noticed they had a built-in laser range finder. It showed their distance to the truck stop gas pumps as five hundred eighty-three meters. But what she saw at the pumps was unusual-several media satellite trucks idling or refueling, with camera crews and reporters sipping coffee and chatting. One was speaking into a camera under lights.

“Probably covering the plane crash.”

One of the satellite trucks rolled out of the parking lot, headed back toward the Interstate.

“Hungry?”

“And thirsty.”

“C’mon…” He collected the binoculars from her and stowed them as they headed to the truck stop at the edge of a small Utah town.

McKinney scanned the horizon. “What about Huginn and Muninn?”

“They’ll keep an eye out for trouble.”

“Don’t you need to feed them anything?”

“Not in the field. They’re masters of survival. C’mon.”

Odin knelt and produced an inch-thick wad of cash from a slot in the upper portion of his boot. He peeled off a few twenties and stowed the rest. “There are usually shower facilities in these truck stops-but also criminals. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t have to.”

“I’ve dodged rebel checkpoints in Uganda. I think I can manage a Utah truck stop.”

“We’re coworkers traveling together, but you barely know me.”

“If we get separated, where’s this rally point you mentioned?”

“Don’t get separated.”

She gave him an irritated look. “How far?”

“A few hours, but I’ve cached equipment here. We always plan for the worst, and we’re seldom disappointed.” They walked past the long rows of diesel fuel pumps and trucks idling with their running lights lit here and there in the gravel parking lot. Women were standing on the steps of a semi cab talking to a trucker. The reporters and crews at the satellite trucks seemed to be winding down and getting ready to go.

McKinney and Odin entered the main truck stop concourse, ringed by a minimart, a Jack in the Box, Internet kiosks, a coffee shop, and shower/restrooms. It was early yet-about five-thirty in

the morning-but the morning papers had arrived and were on display at the front of the minimart. The screaming headlines were unavoidable: AMERICA UNDER DRONE ATTACK.

Odin and McKinney exchanged looks. He grabbed a couple of different papers and headed toward the cashier.

“Water too.” McKinney raided the nearby glass case for several plastic bottles and followed.

He gestured to packaged sandwiches. “Grab some food.”

She gathered a few processed-looking sandwiches that she wouldn’t normally have touched. In her current state, though, they looked delicious.

They brought everything to the front. The cashier was an overweight fiftyish Caucasian woman with too much eye shadow. She shook her head sadly at the headlines as she rang them up. “Can you believe it? Drones’ve been attackin’ us all this whole time? I’ll tell you what, you just wait till they find out who’s sendin’ ’em. Somebody’s gonna pay, is all I know.”

Another customer, a sixtysomething trucker who sported a frazzled long beard, much like Odin’s, and a feed company baseball cap, nodded. “Probably China. Hey, you got any a those American flags with the suction cups that go on the car?”

“No, we ain’t got no flags, but I should have Sam buy some ’cause we’d sell out, right?”

“Damn straight.”

She turned back to Odin. “That’ll be twenty-three seventy-five, hon.”

He paid and joined McKinney over by the shower entrance, as she opened the water and started taking measured sips. She handed one to him, but he was too busy reading the paper.

She looked around at the truck stop. “We’ve been gone a day… look at this place…” She gestured at the people reading papers and glued to the flat-panel televisions above the coffee shop counter. Odin folded his paper back and pointed to a diagram captioned “Air Force Sets Trap for Enemy Drone.” McKinney leaned in with widening eyes to examine it alongside him.

The diagram depicted the series of events above Utah with childlike simplicity. It showed a cartoonish cargo plane being shot down by the mystery drone over Utah’s desert, with the enemy drone subsequently intercepted by twin jet-powered American drones. It was a cover story, one that introduced to the public a previously top-secret autonomous drone, known as the “Manta Ray,” which was apparently the hero of the moment. It was everywhere in the news. A media blitz.

McKinney pointed at the stock photo of the jet-powered drone. “Look familiar?”

Odin nodded to himself. “Someone had this all ready to go.”

“Probably the Pentagon.”

“Don’t be too hasty. War isn’t a purely military endeavor-especially nowadays.”

He walked toward the coffee shop and the televisions up near the ceiling above the counter. McKinney went with him, and they stood near several truckers, male and female alike, watching cable news. There was a live spot of a reporter standing in the Utah desert.

One of the truckers pointed. “That’s down by Hanksville Junction, off the Twenty-four, twenty miles from here.”

A murmur went through the crowd.

On-screen there was an inset of green, night-vision video showing tracer bullets flying in the night sky, missiles streaking overhead, and the C-130 exploding in midair, spiraling downward. It looped endlessly as the reporter spoke live in the other half of the screen.

“… awoke to a dramatic scene in the night sky. Pentagon officials have refused to provide details of the operation, but the shoot-down of an enemy drone marks the first successful interception of what-instead of terror bombings-now appears to have been a wave of drone attacks on America’s heartland. Attacks that have so far claimed one hundred and four lives and cost tens of millions of dollars in property damage. Attacks that likewise shed new light on the drone missile attack in Karbala, Iraq.”

The lip-glossed news model back in the studio took her cue. “What’s surprising, Matt, is how easily these mystery drones penetrated American airspace. How long has the Pentagon known that these were drone strikes, as opposed to planted bombs?”

“That’s not clear, Jenna, but word came this morning of a classified multibillion-dollar emergency defense appropriation that would clear the way for mass-production of the type of Manta Ray autonomous drone that proved so successful over Utah last night. That legislation will no doubt be fast-tracked in light of recent events.”

McKinney nodded. “That’s what this is about.”

He watched, saying nothing.

The anchor then did her best impression of disarming feminine ignorance. “What do you mean when you say these Manta Ray drones are autonomous, Matt?”

“That means they aren’t remotely piloted. They’re programmed to hunt on their own.”

“Why wouldn’t the Pentagon use the remotely controlled Predator or Reaper drones that have been so effective over Pakistan and Afghanistan?”

The pretty female being lectured to by the man. McKinney felt like punching the screen in. “God, she’s nauseating…”

“Jenna, the Pentagon points to the scalability of these drones. They can be deployed in large numbers without the need of a human operator and ground control station.”

“Automating combat aircraft sounds like a troubling shift.”

“Actually, Pentagon officials stress that there’s always a human in the loop to make what they call the ‘kill decision’-whether to shoot or not. But the benefit of these autonomous drones is that, unlike human operators, they’re ever-vigilant-and this is key: They aren’t susceptible to radio jamming like the current Predator or Reaper drones.”

“Radio jamming-what is that, Matt?”

McKinney balled her fists. “Is she supposed to be retarded?”

The man-in-the-field provided the answer. “It’s a key weakness of remotely piloted drones. Any technologically advanced opponent can simply jam the radio signals that permit you to communicate with your drone, rendering it useless. With this new generation of Manta Ray drones, they’re fully autonomous, and so can continue a mission even if their radio communications are jammed.”

“So this provides us with greater security, while still keeping a human in the loop?”

“That’s right, Jenna.”

Odin walked away, shaking his head.

McKinney came up alongside him, pondering the situation. “They’re screening ‘Autonomous Drones for Dummies’ on every channel.”

“Molding public perceptions is what they’re doing. Creating a new reality. This is the real campaign. The actual bombings were just prep.”

McKinney looked across the faces watching the news-Caucasian, Latino, Black, and Asian faces. All of them were watching attentively, followed by mutterings of “We’ll get those sons-a-bitches” and “Don’t fuck with the U-S-A.”

“Apparently it’s working.”

“They’re good at what they do. War is just one of their products.” He headed for the rear exit doors. “C’mon, we’ve got to get to the rally point.”

“Can we rest a bit and eat before we start walking again?”

“We’re not walking, and time is a factor.” He pushed through the truck stop concourse’s rear doors and headed out through the parking spaces behind the building. He was searching for something, and moments later he focused on a late-model Ford Expedition with U.S. Forest Service markings and rack lights on top. He glanced around, then reached under the chassis to produce a magnetic key case. He removed a key fob and used it to pop the SUV’s rear cargo door.

McKinney studied the vehicle. “You plan ahead.”

“Multiple exfil routes and cover for action is standard operating procedure.”

Just then both the ravens fluttered down and landed atop the SUV, pacing around.

McKinney was happy to see them. “Hi, guys. Is the coast clear?”

They caw ed at her in response.

Odin came up with two small suitcases. One he handed to her.

She took the bag. “What’s this?”

“Forest service uniform and identification. It might not fit well, but it will fit. Head into the showers, get cleaned up, and change. We meet back here.” He nodded to the ravens. “Back soon.”

He locked the SUV with a flash of lights, and McKinney fell alongside as they walked back toward the truck stop.