He received acknowledgments from all three flight leaders. Three lines of planes were spreading out below him, each circling just outside the shield near their target. Each line consisted of twelve planes, a five-thousand-pound bomb under each wing. Twenty-four bombs per ship.
Lockhart gave the order to launch. The two carriers turned into the wind and the first planes were catapulted into the air. At that moment, the shield was shut down.
“Go, go, go!” CAG screamed into his mike. All the planes headed for their targets.
Lockhart saw the planes coming in for the attack. She smiled, but the smile disappeared as the nanovirus took over, forcing her to put the shield back up.
CAG saw the second plane launched smash into the invisible barrier just ahead and cursed. His squadrons didn’t have enough fuel to hang around here much longer and still be able to make it back.
CAG launched his bombs and then cursed as he saw the impotent explosion when the ordnance hit the shield wall.
CAG looked once more at the Arizona. “Flight leaders, take your planes home. Over.” He turned his plane and started to circle, just outside the shield. “This is Alpha flight leader. CAG, what are you doing? Over.”
“I’m going to hang around.”
Lockhart saw the planes fly away. All except one. But it had dropped its bombs already so it was no longer a threat. She ordered the shield down and the launch to resume.
She looked over at the Washington, seeing a third plane brought onto the parallel catapult.
CAG saw the plane rocket down the runway and into the air. At the same time, he turned the nose of his plane toward the large carrier. He could see sailors on the deck of the ship.
Infected sailors, he reminded himself. He took a look to his right as he passed by the Arizona. He could swear he saw someone on the bridge looking straight at him. He flicked a half salute, then turned his attention back to the deck of the carrier. He saw the two planes in launch position and aimed directly for them.
As the deck rapidly approached, CAG suddenly remembered a prayer he’d been taught by his mother so many years ago. He began reciting it as he lost altitude and continued to accelerate.
Lockhart watched the F-14 and it was only when it was less than a quarter mile from the carrier that she realized what the pilot was planning on doing. As the part of her controlled by the nanovirus yelled commands, the smaller part that was her free self mentally saluted the pilot.
The commands were far too late. The crews manning one of the 20mm Phalanxes on the carrier got off a short burst that missed badly and the escort ships were too slow to react. The F-14 traversed the last quarter mile in just a couple of seconds before slamming into the Washington just forward of the two planes loaded on the catapults. The aircraft exploded, ripping open the flight deck and blasting down through the hangar deck into the bowels of the ship. Secondary explosions from fuel on board waiting planes rocked the ship.
The forward speed of the carrier fanned the flames, which enveloped planes farther back on the flight deck. One by one they also exploded, adding to the carnage and destruction. The captain of the Washington immediately ordered the engine room to reverse thrust to bring the massive ship to a halt before the flames engulfed the entire ship. He gave the order with tears in his eyes, forced to by the nanovirus, while his core wanted to keep the ship moving, to burn it all up. He could look down on the deck and watch his sailors fighting the fire, getting too close, forced by the nanovirus, and being burned alive. More sailors would move forward to take their place.
Lockhart immediately issued orders for the entire Alien Fleet to halt. The shield generator was on board the Jahre Viking and the options were either keep moving and leave the Washington practically undefended, or halt the entire fleet until the fire was brought under control.
She checked status of repairs on the Stennis. The nanovirus was very efficient. It would have one catapult ready for launch in eighteen minutes.
Leaving Briggs and Kakel at the entrance, Yakov had made his way along the walkway to the Master Guardian. He was standing on a three-foot-wide, black metal ledge, which went all around the pyramid. He placed his hands on the Master Guardian. Nothing. The surface lacked the glow he had seen on the golden guardians. He looked around. The pyramid was in the exact center of a perfect sphere and the walls were featureless. He could see no visible means of support for the guardian unless it was the ledge and the walkway.
“Trouble,” Major Briggs called out in a low yell.
Yakov ran back to join them. Briggs was lying on his stomach, peering down the center corridor, showing as little of his body as possible. Kakel was against the far wall, also slightly leaning out and looking. Yakov peeked around the corner and saw what had alerted Briggs. Several tall figures were slowly walking their way. They were so far away that Yakov couldn’t see much detail, but he did note the red hair, the spears in their hands, and the disproportionate bodies.
“Airlia,” he whispered.
“We don’t have much time,” Briggs said.
“We do not control our fate,” Yakov said. “That is up to Major Turcotte. He must free Excalibur so I can access the Master Guardian.”
CHAPTER 19: THE PRESENT
Major Turcotte had stopped. Both hands were wrapped around the sling attached to his harness and he was leaning against the side of Mount Everest, hunched, lungs screaming for oxygen. He felt far removed from the world and the troubles that had precipitated his coming here and climbing the mountain.
Morris had said that the blood packing would last for forty-eight hours. Turcotte wondered how the medic knew that; had they tested it? Or was it a typical military SWAG — stupid wild-ass guess? The pounding in his head was worse; he couldn’t even come close to feeling like he had caught his breath, and his extremities felt like lead pipes.
He dully felt something vibrate the rope. Again. Reluctantly, Turcotte turned his head. Mualama was still moving along the ledge, heading for the cornice, jerking the rope with each step. Turcotte saw frozen blood around the edges of the archaeologist’s oxygen mask. He was amazed the older man was still moving. Leaning back on the rope Turcotte reached inside his parka. He pulled out a small metal thermos. He carefully unscrewed the cap. Steam rose out of the small opening. He pulled his oxygen mask away, distantly feeling skin rip where it had frozen to his face. He didn’t care at all about that as he slowly tipped the thermos and felt the scalding hot coffee pour into his mouth. In reality, he figured the coffee was lukewarm at best, but it burned into his core as it went down his throat.
He tucked the thermos under one arm and reached with his free hand once more inside his parka. Two pills lay in his gloved hand. The amphetamines that Morris had given him with his dire warning about their use. Turcotte took one, popped it in his mouth and washed it down with another mouthful of coffee, then did the same with the second.
The rope vibrated again and Turcotte almost lost his grip. He was reminded of the Darby Queen obstacle course at Ranger School at Fort Benning so many years earlier. There was a rope climb where there were so many students making it across at the same time that when one fell the entire thing whipsawed, often tossing off others.