Goliath

The hangar bay is a gymnasium-size compartment located at the very center of the sub. Dominating the room, mounted to the rubber-coated decking, are two imposing T-Rex-sized steel appendages. Gunnar is familiar with the design of these mechanical limbs. With advanced pistons for muscles, miles of hose, wiring, and cable for blood vessels, nanoreceptors for nerves, and hydraulic cranks serving as shoulder, elbow, and wrist joints, the cranelike arms are capable of the most intricate three-dimensional movements while lifting objects as large and as heavy as an ICBM.

Without Sorceress on board, it takes a trained robotics operator to manipulate each of Colossus’s monstrous appendages.

Set upon the deck in pairs are a dozen twenty-foot-high-by-eight-foot-wide hatches, which Gunnar knows are lockout berths containing Colossus Hammerhead minisubs. Each of the piloted craft are identical to the prototype he designed a lifetime ago.

Reading his mind, Commander Terry says, “The berths are empty. None of Colossus’s Hammerheads were ready. Your prototype is over here.”

Mounted on a skid atop berth 9’s raised platform is the Hammerhead.

Gunnar runs his palm along its smooth aluminum surface. Designed to be piloted by a Navy SEAL, the prototype is slightly larger than the computer-controlled versions. The midwing stabilizers, shaped like pectoral fins, are wider, the tail assembly, containing the single-engine, pump-jet propulsor unit, a bit longer.

Still, this is his sub, his design. His heart pounds with excitement at the thought of piloting her again.

Commander Terry kneels, pointing beneath the Hammerhead’s undercarriage to where a manhole cover-size device is held within the grasp of two robotic claspers. “Special Ops designed the mine to your specifications. The release mechanism for the claw is located on the right side of the cockpit floor.”

“Yes, Commander, I know. I designed it.”

The XO does little to hide his contempt. Climbing up on the sub, he reaches for the dorsal fin hatch, yanking it counterclockwise with both hands.

The hatch rotates open, revealing the two-seat cockpit inside. Commander Terry reaches inside and removes a machine gun-like rifle designed with two barrels and two magazines, one below the trigger, the other built into the butt of the weapon.

“The general ordered this for you. I’m not familiar with the gun,” Terry says, holding it out.

Gunnar takes the weapon from him. “We call it the OICW, an Objective Individual Combat Weapon. It’s arguably the most lethal gun ever developed. The rifle features two types of ammunition controlled by a single trigger. This larger top barrel fires a new 20-mm high-explosive air-bursting round. Six rounds are loaded into the rear magazine.”

“You trying to pop an eardrum?”

“The OICW’s barrels were designed to absorb sound. It’s quieter and lighter than an M-16 and more powerful than a grenade launcher. Army Rangers have been using them in the field for years.”

A distant memory slips past his mind’s eye. He quickly shakes it loose, refocusing on the gun.

“This smaller bottom barrel uses the standard 5.56-mm NATO bullet, which is loaded into this thirty-round magazine.” Gunnar points to the clip beneath the trigger. “The fire control system activator is located here. Right now it’s set to bullets. Push this switch, and it changes to HE bursts. But the real beauty of this weapon is its computerized firing system, which is built into the gun’s sight. A laser range finder measures distance to the target and communicates the information to a computer chip located within the fuse of each of the 20-mm rounds. Allows you to adjust detonation time.”

Commander Terry takes the weapon from him, reinspecting it. “So … why’d you do it?”

Gunnar swallows the bile rising in his throat.

Terry doesn’t wait for a reply. “You were a decorated war hero. People looked up to you. You had it made, a great job, a beautiful lady. What the hell were you thinking?”

Gunnar stares at the prototype, his patience waning. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. Make me understand how a dedicated decorated soldier turns his back on his country. I remember the day you went to prison … it was like a slap in the face to every man in the service.”

Gunnar looks up, locking onto the XO’s brown eyes. “Ever kill anyone, Commander? Ever look into someone’s eyes while they bled all over you? Ever feel a life actually leave your victim’s body as you held them in your arms?”

“No, I … well, no I haven’t. But it still doesn’t give you the right—”

“How many Trident nukes on board this death machine? Twenty-four?”

The XO nods.