“Yes, sir.”
The Marines boarded the last transport out of Harkness and left the town quietly, dead in the midday sun.
“Sir, what do you think this is all about?”
“Private, Uncle Sam doesn’t pay us to ask questions.”
Sawyer AFB.
They had the base surrounded.
“Tell Wind River that the Sawyer perimeter is secure. We’re moving in.”
The Marines tightened the noose.
((“Reynald, the natives are closing in on us. We’d better launch as soon as possible.”))
Reynald sat in the cockpit of a B-4. Such simple technology, with its electrical circuitry and computer controls. No bioneural flux or Shadow here. He only hoped that this plane carried enough fuel to take them to Magdalene.
((“Understood. We’re launching. You know what you must do, Joseph.”))
((“Yes, Captain. Godspeed.”))
((“Thank you, Joseph.”))
The man in the guardhouse turned back to the road before him. An armored transport was coming up the path.
He heard a noise behind him, engines cycling up, and he felt the earth shudder as the B-4 taxied to the runway and picked up speed. The huge plane seemed to attain an impossible speed as it lifted off the ground. The landing gear retracted.
He was alone now.
He did not feel any anger or despair at being left behind. He had volunteered for this job in the first place, and he knew at some point he would have to give his life to preventing the Purpose. He felt a resigned satisfaction.
This was his time.
His job completed, Joseph closed his eyes and heard the voices of the countless dead within him. He took a calming breath and felt the shift within himself.
He could not remain here. He could not let the Enemy rape the souls from within him. He would sooner die than let the Omega consume the lifetimes and civilizations that resided in his carrier mind.
“Good luck, Reynald. May we meet again in a better time.”
He shifted higher than he ever before had and felt his mind tear itself free from the boundaries of his body. In the instant before he died, Joseph could see the faces of everyone he had ever loved; he could see everything and nothing. Joseph died in the light of non-existence, and his lifeless body fell to the floor of the gatehouse, cold gray eyes looking still into the void.
“Damn it! Get a squadron of Spears on that B-4, stat!”
The Marine Commander standing at the gate to Sawyer watched the B-4 until it was a small speck on the northwest horizon.
“It heading towards Harkness! Take it down.”
Jennings sat alone in his private quarters, staring at a portrait of his family, his beautiful wife and daughter. He wept in the cold darkness of his isolation.
This time would be different. He would nip the problem in the bud. This time, America would not be dragged into a war. They would end it before it began, and if that meant using extreme measures, if it was for the good of the people, it would be done.
The phone rang. He was startled, recovered, picked up the receiver.
“Good. Okay. It’s time then. You know what to do. This is authorization Jennings, David IDCOM 050 776 9191.
He hung up the phone.
Please forgive me, he thought, and wished that he still believed in a god.
The troop transports formed a convoy on U.S. 41.
The citizens of Harkness and several close villages had been evacuated because of the bad Chemtek nerve gas leak. They would be housed in Ishpeming until the gas dissipated.
Robert Hodge found the troop transport intimately boring, so he stood and peered out the canvas cover of the back door. Those Chemtek nuts had finally messed up, and Rob was the one being punished, forced under armed guard into a dim, noisy troop carrier that was crowded with other townspeople.
Sighing, Rob continued to stare out the door.
In the northbound lane, a line of armored military assault vehicles was travelling towards Harkness…
What the hell?
So this was something bigger than a gas leak…
He watched in silence.
Spears pursued the B-4.
“They’re closing, Captain.”
“I know…” They needed to lose the two smaller airplanes following them if they wanted to live.
“Incoming missile.”
“Changing course to avoid impact.”
“What weapons does this plane carry?”
“Only heavy weapons, like atomics.”
“Atomics? Are there any on board?”
“Sensors read twenty-two.”
A plan flickered to life in Reynald’s mind.
“This is Spear One to Command. Target is locked. Eliminate?”
“Command to Spear One. What is your present position?”
“Command, we are closing on Harkness.”
“Do not, I repeat, do not take down the B-4 over Harkness. It’s packing quite a few atomics. Take it down over the Lake.”
“Affirmative, Command.”
“Spear One to Spear Two! Evasive action! It’s launching something! I repeat launch in progress.”
“Command to Spears: identify projectile!”
4:45 P.M.
The sky over Harkness was clear, blue, empty. The sun slid casually toward the western horizon. Birds sang, and the day was peaceful. The only sound was the approaching line of military vehicles on U.S. 41.
The sound barrier was broken and the bombs had been released and had begun their fateful descent before the birds even had a chance to be startled from their perches. Three jets flashed across the sky, leaving ghostly white contrails in their wake.
The sonic boom came, and the birds departed.
Something flashed in the sky, a metallic flash.
A sparrow gazed at the shimmer, mesmerized.
As it took to wing, Harkness was enveloped in fierce, white, cleansing light, and was no more.
Rob Hodge yawned as he stared out the canvas cover. If he strained his eyes, he could just make out the thin blue line on the horizon that was Lake Superior. He couldn’t see Harkness, but if he squinted he could make out the faint projection of the Calumet water tower. He saw three planes streak overhead—
Silent white light filled the world, and Robert Hodge was blinded by its glory.
The explosion of white hell threw the dark interior of the transport into harsh brightness, terrifying everyone within. As the shockwave swept over the line of trucks, a deafening, explosive sound tore through each passenger’s head.
Robert Hodge groped around the interior of the transport, forever blinded by the initial explosion. His hands found the neck of the GI who had been sitting next to him by the back door.
“What have you done!? What have you done!?” His grasp on the struggling soldier’s neck tightened.
Hodge’s blood stippled the face of the soldier as the bullet tore through his head. The commander of the evacuation stood with gun smoking, and he wrestled Rob’s body through the open canvas cover. He watched as the body struck the asphalt of U.S. 41 and rolled.
