The corporal looked up with a knitted brow. “Three tons, huh? Suppose they, you know, run out of control?”
Anjou’s teeth clenched with the effort to remain patient. “They’re supposed to be out of control. They’re wild. Undomesticated. That’s why we’re going to deploy them only in uninhabited areas—to help make sure our precious wild frontier stays wild.” Protecting the frontier usually got enthusiastic support from Alaskans, even if what they really meant was protecting my land from other people.
Butterick folded his arms. “Hannibal was the greatest military tactician of the ancient world. From a project named after him, I expected something a little more . . . impressive.”
Anjou smiled—he’d deliberately picked the name of a military genius for a project funded by the US Army. “When Hannibal used elephants to cross the Alps and invade Roman territory, he leveraged the capabilities of the natural world to fight a superior power. That’s what we’re doing. By using mammoths, we’re harnessing the natural world to combat climate change.”
A young tree came crashing down under the foot of one of the mammoths. A smaller animal moved in to steal some of the tender twigs, only to be roughly shoved away by the tree wrecker. The mammoths bandied squeals like the off-key squawks of novice trumpet players until they settled into some sort of order and again ate together peacefully.
The major frowned. “They destroy trees. How can that be good for the environment?”
Anjou exchanged a puzzled glance with Ginger. Every other VIP the army had sent to visit the project had at least read the briefing materials.
“Trees are beneficial, of course,” Anjou answered, “but only in the right place. We need to protect the permafrost areas, where no trees should be. The greatest danger to maintaining a livable temperature on this planet is the thawing of the permafrost. Right now, there is far more carbon locked into the permafrost layer than exists in all of Earth’s atmosphere. If the permafrost thaws—if even a small percentage of the permafrost thaws—then greenhouse gases will be released in amounts that will dwarf all our puny efforts to control emissions. Worse, it will cause a cascading disaster: as the thawing soil releases methane, the greenhouse effect will warm temperatures even further. It’s vitally important to the future of the planet that the tundra remain frozen.”
“And your so-called mammoths are going to help?” Butterick asked.
Keep it simple. “Trees trap heat. Mammoths eat trees. The mammoths will inhabit the margins where the tundra meets the forest. Herds of mammoths will compact the ground at the fringe of the permafrost area, right where thawing might occur. They’ll feed on the trees that otherwise might encroach on the tundra and contribute to thawing. They are the ideal way, the natural way, to ensure the ground underlying the tundra remains frozen.”
“Humph. I don’t see much military application.”
Anjou was beginning to feel desperate. Was the man being deliberately obtuse? “Climate change is a threat to national security,” he said. “What with droughts and rising seas, we’re already seeing population movement on a scale that threatens global stability. Isn’t preventing the underlying cause of population displacement better than trying to hold it back with armies?”
“The Russians are pursuing the same kind of research,” Ginger offered. “After all, they have even more permafrost to protect than North America.”
Clever. There was nothing like a little Russian competition to spur the US military. “But while the Russians are still trying to figure out the genetics,” Anjou added, “Project Hannibal has succeeded. We have live, functioning mammoths ready to deploy.”
Butterick rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “What about the enviros? Won’t they object to introducing an invasive species?”
Ginger smiled like a fluffy cat. “They’re not invasive—mammoths were part of the natural environment in Alaska until humans wiped them out. We’re simply restoring a native species, like putting wolves back into Yellowstone.”
“Yeah, well, not everybody was happy about that, either.” The major donned his sunglasses and turned back toward the laboratory buildings and the pad where his helicopter waited. “You know, the administration has a lot of other pressures to think about. Like the homestead movement. As the weather’s pushing more people out of the lower forty-eight, they’re showing up in Alaska, looking for land to settle. And with the temperatures moderating, maybe a warmer Arctic region could be good for some people, you know? With twenty-four-hour sun in the summer . . . have you seen the size of the cabbages they grow down at U of A?”
“That’s just what we don’t want.” Anjou pushed his hands forward as if holding back an unruly crowd. “Plowing land for crops would just accelerate the release of greenhouse gases. Protect the permafrost, that’s the important thing. Future generations are depending on us.”
“Future generations depending on a bunch of mini-mammoths?” Butterick chuckled. “That’s going to be a hard sell in Washington. Before I go, I’d like to go down and see them up close.”
Anjou bit his lip. “That wouldn’t be advisable, Major. Except for our livestock managers, the mammoths have had no human contact. We’ve deliberately maintained their wild nature—you wouldn’t want them getting used to people any more than you’d want a grizzly in your backyard.”
“But if you really want to see them better,” Ginger hastily added, “I’ll call Luis.” She spoke into her radio. “Bring one of them closer . . . Yes, I understand. Just do it.” She turned to the major with a simper. “Just give him a moment.”
A slight, dark man wearing jeans walked out of the trees.
“That’s Luis Cortez,” Anjou murmured. “Head mammoth wrangler.”
Wading through the grass to the middle of
