Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [64]
Ruiz found a storage locker with a simple latch and was going through it when the lieutenant passed him. They noticed some coils of thin, flexible rope and a box of mundane-looking tools that included adjustable wrenches, a crowbar, and some screwdrivers with exotic heads. The master chief picked up a small plastic pouch and opened it.
“Look here, LT,” he announced. “It’s a couple of them earpiece things like they gave you.”
“Excellent,” the officer said, seeing three of the tiny translators in the chief’s hand. “Why don’t you put one in and give another to Harris? I’ll take one for Ensign Sanders.”
“Sure thing,” Ruiz said, giving one tiny device—they were no bigger than small earplugs—to the officer and placing one in one of his own ears.
Jackson made his way forward and handed Sanders the device as they took seats on the flight deck, behind Falco and Char-Kane. The gun turret was a small Plexiglas affair with a single automatic gun mounted squarely behind the cockpit atop the machine, and Gunner’s Mate Dobson, who was a master at any kind of automatic weapon, would do the honors up there. He settled in easily and found that the turret swiveled smoothly with nothing more than the pressure of a knee to the right or left. The gun tracked cleanly and had a ready ammunition supply of metal slugs in a large canister feeding directly up into the breach.
“She has a couple of forward-firing guns, too,” Falco reported. “They’re operated from the flight deck. And this”—he pointed to a red button prominently marked on the port side of the cockpit—“seems to be the sonic weapon, the blaster they used to level the trees so they could land in the jungle.”
“I suggest you not touch that button,” Jackson said seriously.
“My sentiments exactly, sir,” Falco agreed. He donned a headset with earphones and a small microphone. When he next spoke, his words were broadcast through the flight deck and passenger cabin.
“Please make sure your seats and serving trays are locked in the upright position,” he announced solemnly. “Flight zero-zero-one of Alien SEALS Airways is about to depart. Fasten your seat belts and hold on for dear life.”
The engines roared, and the aircraft began to vibrate. Jackson looked out the cabin windows, watching hopefully as the flattened circle in the jungle slowly fell away below them.
“We’re cruising at almost a thousand kph if I’m translating this indicator correctly,” Falco said with a low whistle. “Even if I got the units wrong, from what the consul told me, we are pretty much hauling ass no matter how you measure it.”
“And you can hardly feel it,” Jackson acknowledged.
Indeed, the jet transport sliced through the air so cleanly that it was only the sight of the ground flashing past that confirmed to the SEALS their incredible speed. The few tremendously tall trees provided a good benchmark as they jutted a hundred meters or more above the general forest canopy. They came into sight, whipped past, and vanished very quickly as the aircraft roared along at 500 to 1,000 meters of altitude. They flashed above some stretches of boggy marsh and crossed over one of the narrow serpentine seas they had observed from space.
Jackson gawked at the sight of a massive, coiling creature—a genuine sea serpent—sinuously working its way through those waters. He was very glad they weren’t traveling by small boat. They saw great flocks of birds rising from the marsh, some of which looked to be the size of small airplanes. The avian creatures were clearly spooked by the sound of the aircraft’s approach and had the good sense to stay out of their way.
“We are coming up on Batuu City,” Consul Char-Kane noted, looking forward.
The sprawling swath of the planet’s metropolis—the only civilized area on this world if the Shamani woman’s estimate was accurate—was so white, so purely reflective, that Jackson found himself squinting as they approached the great city. Though still a hundred kilometers away,