Kraken Rising

CHAPTER 12

Hours later, Hammerson sat in his office, flicking through his HAWC profiles. Alex was on his way, and now he needed a backup team. He wanted HAWCs who could secure the Chinese base, and their mining tunnel system, so when Alex came back up, he’d find an open door.

He had no doubt the Chinese would make the job red-hot. So his team needed to be lasers — burn their way in, and then keep the door open at all cost. Hammerson hoped the Chinese saw reason. But there was too much at stake and too little time now. Bottom line was, his team wasn’t there to make friends.

Chilton had asked him personally, The Hammer, to get the job done, and he’d get it done the only way he knew how, by hammering. He sat back and smiled. The toughest jobs were the ones Joe Public never knew even existed… just the way they liked it.

Once again Hammerson checked Alex’s vital signs on his monitor — strong and calm — the man could be taking a stroll in the park, instead of where he now was.

The B1R Lancer cut through the atmosphere at 20,000 feet doing just under Mach 2. The high speed, high altitude bomber had departed from the southern tip of Australia several hours back, and was already approaching its destination — the edge of the ice shelf of Antarctica.

The single pilot began to ease back on the throttle, the plane immediately slowing among the freezing clouds, and dropping down below Mach 1 with an associated boom. He turned to look back into the small hold. There was one delivery package — a single passenger, designate unknown. He was simply referred to as Mr. Hawk, and that was it.

The huge figure hadn’t moved a muscle the entire trip. He sat like he was carved from stone, with hands clasped together and resting on his knees, his head tilted down at the now closed bomb-bay doors. He looked more machine-like than human. The pilot eased back around; he wasn’t paid to ask questions.

“Crazy bastard,” the pilot whispered. No one was going to survive the descent, even if he was wrapped in all the freaking tech in the world. The bulky outer suit the guy wore had rigid folds between the legs and under the arms. Normally a Spec Op high altitude drop would mean a torpedo frame made of high tensile steel, but as no metals could be worn that would cast a radar signature, it had to be a ceramic and polymer framework. He doubted it would be effective when fighting the cold, and speed, and then there was the final impact with no chute. At least he’ll be an invisible dead man, the pilot thought gloomily.

The radar pinged and the pilot turned back to the controls momentarily before switching the cabin lights to a deep red. He swung around and held up two fingers. Eerily, the figure was now facing him, and he nodded once. His head and face were encased in a bullet-shaped helmet, his eyes impossible to make out. He could have been a robot for all the pilot knew — a robotic human-shaped wing.

The pilot exhaled, opened the bomb-bay doors, and then hunched over. Even from where he sat he felt the murderous waves of ice-pick cold air screaming up into the interior. He gritted his teeth, and then after another moment, turned again. The cabin was already empty.

“Good luck… Hawk.”

He switched on the mic. “Package away.” He banked and kicked the dart-shaped bomber back up to Mach 2. He’d be long gone before the guy’s body even hit the water.