Chapter 38

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 13, 2006, 0630 Local Time

Charles entered the project room feeling refreshed after his sleep, and intending to get a good breakfast at the earliest opportunity. He was surprised to find he was the last to arrive, and all the other members of the support team, including Captain Freedman and the Farsi speaking Lieutenant were already there.

He went over to Fiona, and asked how things were. She looked like she hadn't slept in a very long time. It had been primarily a question about her welfare, but Fiona interpreted it as a question about the aerial vehicle.

“The infiltrators are still at their overnight camp. No sign of them getting ready to move out.”

“Has the System B aerial vehicle refueled yet?”

“Yes, it went smoothly. The infiltrators must have just taken the bird, and not touched the rest of the equipment.”

“Is the System A aerial vehicle on its way?”

Fiona looked down into her lap, and her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I fell asleep. When I woke up, the System B vehicle had already refueled. I wasn't sure if you still wanted the System A vehicle. Should I fly it in now?”

Charles thought, stress affected people in different ways. Some people it fired up, and made them more effective. With others it impaired their capacity to function, particularly to make decisions. Fiona was clearly in the latter group. Charles had trouble recognizing the articulate and assured woman he thought he knew.

Charles reassured her, “The refueling was successful. We don't need the System A vehicle. Not flying it in, turned out to be the right thing to do. I suggest you get some breakfast, find a quiet place to eat it, and then get some sleep.”

Fiona smiled weakly, and nodded in agreement.

Charles checked in with Richard. “What’s the status of System D?”

“Nothing significant to report. The robots are still at their ambush locations. Should we move one of them back to protect the control unit?”

They had discussed this late the previous evening, and Charles had referred the question to Captain Freedman.

“What does the Captain say?”

“He said, his orders are ensuring the security of the control unit is a priority, second only, to stopping infiltration across the pass, and we should pull one of the robots back to protect it, but to wait until I confirm with you.”

Richard added with emphasis, “It's just the standard military aversion to taking direct responsibility for anything.”

Charles ignored Richard's editorializing within Freedman's earshot. He recognized the Captain was just showing him respect as the Project Director and the person nominally in charge, even if Richard didn't.

“Captain Freedman is right about the need to protect the control unit. Move the robot.”

Richard turned to his keyboard, and began to type the commands to relocate the robot.

Captain Freedman was watching, and waiting for him to approach. “I heard you confirm my request to Richard. Thank you, Mr. Corrigan. I thought it would be a nice gesture if I ordered breakfast. It should be here shortly.

"The Ranger force is on the ground, and preparing for contact with the terrorists. We need to go over the plan for today, but first, it looks like we may have a problem with Captain Razmara. He hasn't answered our radio message this morning, and we are about to try again."

“Go ahead, Lieutenant Ryan.”

The blond Lieutenant spoke in Farsi. “Captain Razmara, come in.”

She repeated the request three times without a reply.

Charles asked, “Have you asked Richard to check the comms to make sure it’s working properly?”

“I was just about to.” Freedman didn't mention that he was waiting for Charles to arrive before tackling Richard.

Breakfast arrived, sausage and pancakes with two pots of coffee.

***

Captain Razmara had plenty of time to think during the long night. The lure of America fought with his desire to return to his family and the life he knew. Fear of what these people who claimed to be Americans would do to him, battled with his fear of the mystery killer machines.

By dawn, his love for his wife and children had beaten the lure of America. The fear of what might happen to him in the hands of these unknown people overcame his fear of the machines. He had decided to return home to Iran with the bird.

He stretched, trying to get the aches out of his stiff limbs. The sun was rising, and the clouds, covering the mountains on the opposite side of the pass, were lit in a pink glow. He started to move around on the narrow ledge, and his circulation slowly returned. He was hungry and thirsty, but drinking would have to wait until he reached a stream. He would eat a little of the bread, and save the rest, as well as the few pieces of dried fruit he had left, until then.

He was chewing on the bread when the, by now familiar, female voice issued from the radio. “Captain Razmara, come in.”

Razmara resisted the temptation to explain what he was doing and why. His thumb moved to the radio’s on-off switch, and pushed it into the off position.

He lifted the mechanical bird onto his back, and began to negotiate the steep, snow-covered slope down from the ledge where he had spent the night. He wondered how his men were doing. They should cross the mountain pass into Azerbaijan today.

Razmara reached the gently sloping pass, and followed his own footprints still clearly visible in the snow. When he reached the trail that led back to Iran and his home, he summoned his courage to face whatever had killed his men the previous day.

He walked slowly forward scanning the area in front of him in order to see whatever was out there before it saw him. He could see fifty or sixty meters ahead before the ground fell away hiding whatever was further away.

He had spent a portion of the night hours convincing himself he could find a way past the ambushers. He hadn't seen what had killed three of his men on the trail, but it must be another of those strange containers. If he could see it first, before it saw him, he should be able to find away around it, out of sight of its cameras. He had convinced himself, it could only kill him if it could see him.

Razmara walked past the place, marked by footprints in the snow, where they had first come down from the mountainside, and encountered the container with its camera eyes. The trail was out of sight of that thing, but still he looked nervously in its direction, while trying to maintain a survey of the ground in front of him.

Clouds rolled down the mountainside and occasional patches of mist blew across the open ground of the pass. Razmara was familiar with mountain weather, and knew within minutes, he could be enveloped in thick fog reducing visibility to a few meters. He decided to wait beside some rocks to see if the mist thickened, and hid him, before continuing.

He leaned against the rock, as the mist patches blowing off the mountain, became thicker and more frequent. One moment he would be wrapped in a chill white blanket, and the next burst into bright sunshine. A few more minutes, and the fog should be a solid blanket hiding him completely.

He once again burst in sunshine and could see for a considerable distance down the trail. What looked like a child-sized version of a four-wheeled motorcycle, suddenly appeared from out of a depression in the ground. It was coming directly toward him. Its cameras were rotating in the same way as the cameras on the container.

Thick white fog enveloped Razmara. Within seconds he burst once again into bright sunshine. In the brief time the fog hid him, the machine's twin cameras had found him.

For a moment, he thought the machine didn't have a weapon. The realization that it could see him through the fog occurred at the same instant he saw its weapon had been pointing backwards, in the direction the machine had come from, and was now rapidly rotating around.

He instinctively ducked behind the rock, then crouching to minimize himself as a target, he ran back in the direction he had come. He expected to be shot at any moment, but all he heard was the sound of his own breathing, and the slight noise made by the bird bouncing on his back. He was sure the wheeled machine was pursuing him. Perhaps, he could lose it in the fog. He ran straight past the place where he had walked to the side of the mountain the previous evening, and on into Azerbaijan.

Razmara ran for more than a kilometer down the valley, leaving the mist behind before stopping, out of breath, his heart pounding. He looked back up the trail, expecting the strange, wheeled machine to appear at any moment, but nothing came.

His decision of the previous night had been reversed. The machines could move, and they seemed to know he was coming. Perhaps, there was another mechanical bird up in the sky watching him. The purpose of the bird was now obvious to him. It kept watch for the machines. They could see him coming and there was no way past them.

Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and switched on the radio.

Almost immediately he heard the woman's voice, but much fainter than before and with considerable interference. “Captain Razmara, come in.”

He pressed transmit and said, “Captain Razmara here.”

After a short delay, the female voice repeated the previous message. “Captain Razmara, Come in.”

He again pressed transmit, and said, “Captain Razmara here.”.

After a longer delay, the female voice had a new message. “Captain Razmara, please return to your previous position. You have moved out of transmission range. Please return to the last position you spoke to us. We assure you, the machine will not harm you, if you do not approach the container or try to return to Iran.”

There was no sign of the four-wheeled machine. He waited twenty minutes before deciding he would risk going far enough back up the trail to get within his radio's transmission range.

He needed to leave the bird to become more mobile. He found a place to hide it behind a large rock, and carefully placed the bird there.

As he cautiously made his way back up the trail, the adrenaline levels in his body subsided, replaced by an urgent thirst. He stopped at a small stream crossing the trail, sank to his knees in the snow, and drank like a dog, still keeping his eyes on the trail ahead. When he had drunk enough to slake his thirst, he continued up the trail, stopping every couple of hundred meters to see if the woman could hear his response to her continuing calls to 'come in'.

He walked almost to the pass itself, before he got a response.

“Reception is poor, but we can hear you.”

The female voice continued. “You need to be close to the place you found the bird, for us to hear your radio.” The voice quickly added. “Not too close, you understand. The thing you saw a short while ago is dangerous, and you must stay away from the place you saw it.”

Razmara resisted the urge to ask them how they knew about his encounter with the wheeled machine, and just responded, “Yes, I understand.”

“You must also understand the mist does not hide you. The machines can see through the thickest fog. You were very lucky to get away unharmed.”

Razmara had almost persuaded himself his earlier conviction, the machine could see him through the mist, was an irrational fear. But the way the voice so matter-of-factly told him the answer to the question he had debated with himself for the last hour was uncanny, as if they could read his mind, as well as watch his every movement. Being able to see through thick fog, suddenly seemed unremarkable.

“We need you to stay in radio transmission range until we make arrangements for our people to meet you. We will try to contact your wife today.”

Razmara didn't want to spend another day without food, and a cold uncomfortable night in this place. He felt a strange sense of relief that the machines, and his mystery caller, had made his decision for him. Now he just wanted to proceed with whatever he needed to do. “I have made up my mind. I want to give you the bird today.”

There was a delay before, “We will contact you as soon as we have made arrangements. Until then, please stay where you are.”

“The wheeled machine,” Razmara hesitated, “Will it come searching for me?”

“No, as long you stay where you are, and do not approach the place you took the bird, or try to return to Iran, you are safe.”

A part of Razmara's mind wasn't sure he believed what he was being told. Was it true, or just to intimidate him into not returning to Iran? Another part of his mind believed completely. He was dimly aware he had reached a point where he needed someone to tell him what to do in a situation so far beyond his experience.

Razmara found a rock he could sit against, and keep the trail in view. He lay back, chewed on dry bread and waited for the next development.

Chapter 39