The War Cloud

55

Inside the 30-foot-tall turret of the pyramid, Marshall was booting up his Defender air traffic controller post when he heard the gunfire erupting below. The only reason he had kept the floor’s door open for the ladder was for Harney and Wilson, but he would close it if he had to and they would have to fry.

“See what’s going on downstairs with Harney and Wilson,” he ordered Major Banks, who was setting up the landline communications system and running a line on the floor.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Everything in the turret had been hardened to withstand nuclear impact: The walls, ceiling and floor were lined with an 11-gague steel liner plate. Mounted on the floor were open frame racks for circuit boards, and built into each of the four slanted walls was a gigantic, 20-foot disc — the complex’s phased-array antenna. Suspended overhead was a shock-isolated platform for Cold War support equipment long gone. The only thing it supported now were the servers that hosted the War Cloud cyberweapon program.

He turned his attention back to his radar screens and to opening a clear line of communications with his Defenders on the secret frequency. He was using one of Raytheon’s newer STARS, or Standard Terminal Automation Replacement System equipment, to get a clear picture of aircraft operations over the Pacific airpace.

The digitized blips on the screen represented his ten top-secret Defender 747s armed with laser canons. They were the Tier 3 component of his Defender system, based on America’s Airborne Laser Test Bed program. Each Defender plane could direct energy to attack multiple targets at the speed of light, at a range of hundreds of kilometers, and at a lower cost per intercept than missiles.

He could only imagine the look on General Zhang’s face any minute now when he launched his DF-5s in response to the incoming American Minutemen nukes. The onboard sensors of the U.S. Defenders would detect the boosting Chinese missiles and track them with a low-energy laser. A second low-energy laser would measure and compensate for atmospheric disturbance. Finally, the Defender would fire its megawatt-class high-energy laser, heating the boosting DF-5 to critical structural failure.

And General Zhang would see the futility of his response even before the incoming Minutemen killed him.

Marshall spoke into his headset, “All Defenders report.”

Defender One reported, “All clear.”

“All clear,” reported Defender Two.

Every Defender, save Defender Six, was almost in range to shoot down any outgoing ICBMs from China that General Zhang might launch before he lost them to incoming Minuteman. Zhang’s window was closing fast to make a decision, and so was Marshall’s to make sure the Defenders could take out any Chinese missiles.

“Defender, climb to 38,000 feet,” Marshall ordered.

Marshall knew from personal experience as a fighter pilot that the hardest part of mission flying was reading the clouds. Aiming a laser canon in flight was infinitely harder. Volatile temperature and barometric pressure might bend the beam just enough to miss an outgoing missile, or jiggle the plane enough to blow the shot.

Defender Six updated its position. “Barometric pressure stabilizing.”

Marshall said, “Maintain course, Defender Six.”

Marshall had trained these pilots well, and the beauty was that nobody in the current situation knew about them. Not General Zhang in China nor General Block at Northern Command. Only President Rhinehart and General Carver at Strategic Command, who allowed Marshall’s program to proceed behind Congress’s back. Now they were both dead.

Best of all, at this time of year in January, Beijing was cold but dry, with an average of fewer than two days of rain.

In short, clear skies were perfect for lasers.

Marshall heard Banks cry out and turned to see her stagger back from the open door in the floor and collapse. He pulled out his M9 and walked over. She was spitting up blood, suffering, eyes pleading for help.

Marshall gazed down at her for a moment. She reached up her hand, and he took it in his left even as he lowered his right hand holding his M9.

“Mission accomplished, Major Tom.” There was pride but no pleasure in his voice. “You are honorably discharged,” he said and shot her in the head.

The light went out of her eyes instantly, and her head rolled to the side.

Marshall moved to the open door in the floor and peered over the edge, cautiously. He saw none other than Colonel Joe Kozlowski coming up the ladder, with what appeared to be Deborah Sachs some way behind him. Kozlowski was pointing a gun up at him, and Marshall moved back as a bullet whizzed by his ear.

Marshall stuck his hand holding his gun over the edge and sprayed several bullets straight down until Kozlowski stopped firing.