Scarecrow Returns

BACK IN the assault boats, the rest of Schofield’s team waited tensely.

The Kid and Mario manned the controls of the boats, in case a swift departure was required.

Emma and Chad stared up at the ladder rising out of the lead, waiting for Schofield and Mother to return.

Zack, however, was busying himself with the wrist guard. The high-tech device was one of his pet projects at DARPA and its failure frustrated him. There was no reason it shouldn’t be working fine. Also, tinkering with it took his mind off the mission at hand.

He had the wrist guard’s upper panel flipped open and was peering at its internal workings.

He flicked it on—and suddenly the wrist guard started pinging urgently, a red light blinking.

Zack frowned. “It’s saying there’s a three-hundred-foot-long object alongside us again.”

“The sea ice?” the Kid said, glancing at the ice walls around them.

“No, it’s a metallic signature. The wrist guard’s sensors can distinguish between ice and steel.” Zack shook his head. “Why? Why is it doing that—ah-ha . . .”

He spotted something deep inside the wrist guard’s internal wiring. “The emitter mirror’s been bent sideways. It must’ve got bumped somewhere. The emitter’s been pointing down the whole time.”

Now it was the Kid who frowned.

“Wait a second. Are you saying that, right now, your wrist-gizmo is picking up a three-hundred-foot-long metal object underneath us?”

Zack said, “Well, yes, I suppose so . . .”

“How far away is it?” the Kid asked.

“Two hundred yards . . . no wait, one ninety . . . one eighty. Whatever it is, it’s getting closer.”

The Kid’s face fell. He looked up in the direction of the Beriev. “This is not good.”

A beep from just outside the Beriev’s smashed windshield made Schofield turn.

“Captain Schofield,” Bertie said. “Object identified.”

“Let me see.” Schofield was still inside the Beriev’s cockpit with Ivanov. Bertie came over, stopping next to the side-turned windows of the cockpit. Schofield looked at the display screen on the little robot’s back.

When he saw what was on the screen, he said, “Oh, shit . . .”

Bertie narrated: “Object is a Russian-made ZALA-421-08 unmanned aerial vehicle. Vehicle is designed for reconnaissance and surveillance purposes. It carries no weapons payload. Electric engine, wingspan of eighty centimeters, maximum flight duration, ninety minutes. Standard payload: one 550 TVL infra-red-capable video camera, one 12-megapixel digital still camera.”

Schofield was moving quickly now. He scrambled out of the Beriev, got to his feet and scanned the sky.

And found it: the high-flying, bird-like object he’d seen earlier.

Only it wasn’t a bird.

It was a drone.

A small, lightweight surveillance drone.

“They know we’re here,” he said aloud.

As if in answer, four dark aircraft appeared above the southern horizon, two big ones hovering in between two smaller ones, coming from Dragon Island.

They grew larger by the second.

They were approaching. Fast.

His earpiece came alive again.

“Scarecrow!” It was the Kid. “Zack’s got the wrist guard’s proximity sensor working. I think he’s picked up a submarine lurking out here and it’s closing in on us!”

Schofield’s mind spun.

Drones, incoming aircraft, the loss of Ironbark’s team and the Miami, and now another submarine here . . .

Damn.

This was all happening too fast, way too fast for a commander out in the middle of nowhere with no support, few combat troops and nothing in the way of serious hardware.

His brain tried to put it all together, to somehow order it all.

You can’t figure it out now. You can only stay alive and figure it out as you run. “Kid!” he yelled, diving back inside the Beriev. “Keep those engines running! Mother! Get these two out of the cockpit! Things are about to get hairy!”