Dying off with distance, the surging, whirling, swift-changing electromagnetic fields were still strong enough to create shocks and sparks around every conductor they crossed in Kansas City, Winnipeg, Halifax, and Raleigh.
THE SAME TIME. OVER SOUTHERN ILLINOIS A FEW MILES FROM PALE BLUFF. 8:22 A.M. CST. WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 18.
Inside the oak cabinet something went off like a flashbulb; a moment later, Heather realized that the plane had stopped shaking. Larsen slapped at the panel of dials and tried throwing switches.
“Come in, Yankee One,” McIntyre was saying.
Arnie had already leaned across him, turned the casing around, and was prying off the back. “No good, sir,” Arnie said. “All these tubes are burned black and that smoke smell is roasted insulation.”
Quattro stopped flipping toggles. “All our electric stuff is fried. I’ll have to glide us down onto the highway. At least it’s empty. Was that some kind of secret weapon?”
McIntyre said, “That F-35 might’ve popped us with an e-bomb, one of those missiles that sets off a baby EMP.”
“I doubt it,” Quattro said, pointing ahead of them to the F-35 spiraling downward, leaving a thin trail of smoke behind itself. “Those are fly-by-wire with no hydraulic or mechanical backups for the electronic controls, so when it takes an EMP hit, it’s done. And I doubt he used any weapon that would get him too.”
There was a flash of flame and a burst of smoke from the Navy jet and a dot shot away from it, then blossomed into a parachute. The dead F-35 plummeted onward.
“He must’ve been angling generally down at us when his controls locked, and it sent him into that tailspin,” Larsen said. “The Daybreakers might have had a point about relying too much on too-high tech; this old thing is controlled by hydraulics that are not as complicated as the brakes on a modern car, and it’s built to glide pretty well because the original engines it was built for were kind of pathetic. So I think I can glide us down on I-64 and just hope we don’t run into an abandoned car. Landing in about one minute, and I suggest you all get belted in and tied down right now.”
Already, the land was coming up to meet them, and everyone was strapping in; McIntyre was last, muttering about always having hated to fly anyway.
At the last moment, Larsen had to pull the stick back to pass over a deer on the road, so the DC-3 came in higher and harder than intended, but though they were soft, the linen and oil tires held, and though the tail rose alarmingly, the nose didn’t touch, the landing gear didn’t buckle, and when the tail wheel slammed back down, the plane shuddered but didn’t bend. They were shaken through almost eighty degrees, and Heather vomited as the old airliner came to a rest, but that was the worst of it. Quattro was leaping out the door with a fire extinguisher, and Bambi followed him with another, shouting for everyone to get off the plane now. After they had stood for a couple of minutes, a hundred yards back, watching Quattro and Bambi circle the DC-3, nothing had happened. Bambi and Quattro set their extinguishers down and came over to explain.
“Mostly empty tanks can slosh,” Quattro said, “especially an older design like that, and if you shake the plane hard enough, some fuel can slop through the pressure reliefs. Between two hot engines, the heaters for the sterilizing spray, and god knows how many little sparks the EMP might have caused, I didn’t want to take any chances; something weird might happen.”
Heather looked over the Checker Cab of the Air and the little crowd of Army Rangers, ex-Feds, current geeks, one general, and one president, and then back to the slightly mad ex-millionaire—and freeholder of Castle Larsen—in his bulky farmer coveralls and vintage leather flying helmet. “That’s a reasonable concern,” Heather said. “It is always possible that something weird might happen.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER. ATHENS. TEMPORARY NATIONAL GOVERNMENT (TNG) DISTRICT. (FORMERLY AT HENS. GEORGIA.) 9:40 A.M. EST. WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 18.
“So that’s as much as we can get from the instruments,” the physicist was saying. “And the Navy’s data were invaluable. I’m afraid we lost at least six aircraft, including the—uh—”
“The one chasing Weisbrod’s plane,” Nguyen-Peters said. “What’s your estimate on the extent of the damage?”
“So far nobody has called in at all for three hundred miles around Pittsburgh, but it’s awfully soon. I’m sure they’re all fighting fires, and probably any equipment they wrapped up and put by arced over and died, so even if they have the time they probably don’t have the radio. Outside that radius, it gets better, until in the outermost ring it’s just small fires in the ruins and current surges burning out stuff the nanoswarm would have eaten eventually anyway.”
Cam smiled with grim satisfaction. “Well, I’m glad Arnie Yang and Graham Weisbrod are alive and in good shape, because the next time I see either of them, I so get to say I told you so. Look what we have. A direct hit with an EMP right above Pittsburgh, knocking out KP-1, the Westinghouse and PPG labs, and all that stuff at Pitt and CMU. Just about the worst blow we could have taken, obviously aimed, perfectly timed to disrupt our attempt to recapture Weisbrod, leaving us more disorganized. That meets Arnie’s criteria if anything does. No question anymore—it’s a war, because we have an enemy.”
“I’m glad we have that settled, sir,” General Phat said. “May I have a moment of your time? General Grayson will come with us if you don’t mind.”
In the privacy of the office, Cameron said, “Something is serious.”
Phat handed him a short, signed, typewritten note. “My resignation. I had very grave doubts about this whole situation from the beginning. We now have a legitimate President of the United States who will take the oath anytime now, if he hasn’t taken it already. I don’t see any way I can go any further with you, so here’s my resignation, and good luck to you and General Grayson.”
Cam blinked at the small, harsh-featured man in front of him, one of that generation of military heroes that had come out of the Iran campaigns. He and Grayson both towered over Phat, and yet Cam felt small to the pit of his soul. This is where a charismatic guy like Pendano would know just what to say, to win him back. All Cameron could think of was, “Well, but… I turned out to be right. I think the evidence is overwhelming that we’re under attack.”
“That’s true, sir. But the evidence is also overwhelming that under the Constitution, we have a president, to whom I owe my loyalty. And I didn’t take an oath to back whoever had the right analysis. I took an oath to support and defend the Constitution. Were you ever in the service, or an officer?”
“No.”
“Then you wouldn’t get it. But then Grayson doesn’t either, do you?”
“You can stop harassing me now that you’re not my superior officer.”
“I also have that privilege as your prisoner. Do you want to call an MP or shall I go find one?”
ABOUT TWO HOURS LATER. SOUTHEAST OF PALE BLUFF. ILLINOIS. 12:15 P.M. CST. WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 18.
“Sir,” Rogers said, lowering his binoculars, “after due inspection and observation, I believe the person approaching us is Davy Crockett.”
McIntyre gave him a sour glare. “You’re enjoying the absence of a proper chain of command more than you should, Rogers. Let me have a look.”