Robert Doherty - Project Aura

“Boreas, this is Eagle Six. Over.”

“This is Boreas. Over.”

“CS-MILSTAR is deployed. Operational in two minutes. Over.”

“Roger. Out here.”

“What the hell?” the pilot on the lead B-2 exclaimed as the plane banked to the right. He checked his navigation computer, then turned to the mission commander in the right seat. “We’re off course.”

The commander had already noted that and was furiously typing into his keyboard. “I can’t access control.”

“Shut it down then!”

“I can’t.” The commander slammed a fist down on the keyboard. “Where are we headed?”

“I have no idea.”

A red bulb lit up in front of them. The mission commander swallowed hard. “We’re weapons hot.”

Dalton cut through a cross corridor on his way toward the bridge and paused.

Jimmy.

He was perfectly still as he faded slightly from the real plane, accessing the virtual. He knew he was vulnerable, floating on the cusp between the two planes, but he felt Marie. He waited.

Two doors down. Left.

Dalton waited, knowing as he did so that he was running out of time to act, never mind come up with a plan. But there was nothing more from Marie.

He returned solidly to the real plane. He walked down the corridor and pivoted left in front of a door. He grabbed the knob and threw it open.

A woman was sitting on a bed, several plastic weapons cases next to her, a frame in her hand-the woman who had thrown the strange grenade at the villa in Saba. She jumped to her feet.

“Cesar! You’ve reconsidered?”

Dalton had to trust Marie. She wouldn’t have sent him in here without knowing more than he did. He shifted avatars, assuming his own form.

The woman was as fast as his change, her hand snaking to the shoulder holster and having a gun pointed at him before he had finished transitioning. “Who are you?”

That was an interesting question, Dalton realized, one he wasn’t sure how to answer.

“You’re American?” the woman asked.

Dalton nodded.

“A Psychic Warrior?”

“Yes. Sergeant Major Dalton.”

“I’m Valika.” The gun was still pointed at him. “Why are you here?”

“To stop the transmission.”

“It is bad, isn’t it?” Valika asked, the muzzle of the weapon lowering slightly.

“Yes.”

“Cesar is not himself.”

“He’s being manipulated.”

“By who?”

“A group. They-” Dalton searched for words. “Live on the other side. In the virtual plane.”

Valika nodded. “ Souris has also been corrupted by them. And they have changed her. I knew it. I knew something was wrong all along.”

“They mean to kill everyone on the planet.”

Valika shook her head, but not very convincingly.

“Cesar says the satellites will target specific places on the planet.”

“The MIL STAR satellites blanket the world,” Dalton said. “And he’s not in control like he thinks. Is Souris here?”

“No.”

“Why do you think she’s not here?” Dalton didn’t wait for an answer. “She’s going to a shielded location. Everyone on this ship will be killed when you transmit.”

“The bitch,” Valika muttered. “I never trusted her.”

“There isn’t much time,” Dalton said.

“What can we do?”

He noted a long case on her bed and he had the spark of an idea. “What’s that?”

“Barrett fifty caliber.”

Dalton smiled and he knew Marie had pointed him in the right direction. “Strategic target interdiction.”

“What?”

“Something I trained on in Special Forces.” Dalton was opening the case. “Grab a couple of extra magazines.”

Boreas’s eyes were locked on the red numbers counting down.

:58:57:56

Cesar was also watching the same numbers on the screen of the computer that Souris had programmed. He briefly wondered where she was. She had not called in for a while. It did not matter. His gaze went back to the screen and the distant stare returned.

Jackson released out of the trail B-2’s computer into the virtual plane, flying along with the two bombers. She watched as they both smoothly completed the turn, led by their guidance and targeting systems, and their bomb bay doors opened.

The first cylinder of the lead plane dropped down into the opening and cycled through, spitting out bombs.

Boreas leaned forward to hit the red transmit button just as the first MK-82 landed on the leading edge of the field of antennas. The second impacted a half a second later.

Mixed among the five-hundred-pound high-explosive bombs were the cluster bombs. Two hundred meters above the ground, the casing of each thousand-pound cylinder split open, dispensing 202 bomblets. The “footprint,” as the Air Force called it, for each CBU was two hundred meters by four hundred meters. As the heavier MK-82s dug out ten-foot-deep craters, the CBUs cut huge swaths through the antenna field, slicing metal like cheese.

Boreas was stunned as the thud of the first explosions reverberated through the control center. He ran to the window and looked out, seeing flash after flash in the darkness as bombs exploded.

Jackson was satisfied the HAARP field had been wiped off the face of the Earth by the first B-2. She was right behind the second one as its first cylinder unloaded.

She’d manipulated the GATS/GAM on that one to target the HAARP control facility. She knew forty thousand pounds of ordnance was overkill for one two-story building, but the bombs were available.

Boreas never saw the B-2, five thousand feet above in the night sky. He also didn’t see the first MK-82 as it hit the roof and tore through to the first floor.

He did have a brief glimpse of the fireball that consumed him before he died.

The screen cleared and a smiley face appeared. Cesar frowned. What was going on?

“Cesar.”

He recognized the voice. Souris.

“It is too late for anyone to stop this. We will rule the world.”

“Who? Who are you talking about?” Cesar jumped to his feet and slammed the monitor to the ground, glass shattering. The smiley face was still on other screens, grinning at him.

The face disappeared, replaced by a single blinking word.

TRANSMITTING

Dalton settled down with the butt of the Barrett tight into his shoulder. Valika was kneeling next to him, a set of binoculars oriented on the closest satellite dish. They were on the walkway that ran around the rear smokestack of the Yuri Gagarin, over a hundred feet above the main deck and on level with the top of all the dishes.

He pulled the trigger and the rifle rocked back against his shoulder. The half-inch-diameter bullet hit the exact center of the dish, blowing the core into a thousand parts.

“Adjust, up one twenty meters,” Valika said.

Dalton reacted, shifting the gun.

“Fire,” Valika ordered.

He pulled the trigger and the second large dish was out of commission.

“Adjust, plus one ten up ten.”

He had the rhythm, the feel of the Barrett, a weapon he had fired in training, and it took less than a second to find the new target. The third bullet took out the next transmitter. This was a mission he had been trained for at Fort Bragg, using the Barrett to hit critical components of various systems to disable them.

Red lights were flashing in the bridge of the Gagarin.

“What is it?” Lonsky demanded.

Zenata was staring at her displays. “The two main and first alternate dish are down. Transmission is rerouting to the final dish.”

“What the hell is going on? Who’s doing this?”

Dalton pulled the trigger.

“Miss,” Valika told him.

Dalton felt the snap of bullets whizzing by before the sound reached him. “What is it?” he asked as he resighted on the last remaining dish.