Strike Force

“Awesome!” Hal exclaimed. “The thing unfolds itself in less than thirty seconds and it stands about nine feet tall, like an Erector Set — looking robot with skin. It sort of crouches down, and you climb up the legs and slide inside, and you’re wrapped in this snug scratchy Neoprene-like stuff. The back closes up and you feel like you’re going to suffocate for a few seconds…and then you feel like you’re standing naked in the middle of the room. You have absolutely no sensation that you’re inside a machine. The hydraulics actuate a hundred times faster than the Tin Man exoskeleton, and they’re far stronger.”

“Downsides?”

“Other than the size, not much,” Hal said. “Turlock says the CIDs are equivalent in speed and firepower to a Humvee missile or machine gun squad, and I’d agree. It’s not a sneak-and-peek system like the Tin Men — it’s definitely a break-the-door-down-and-kick-ass system. It’s not that heavy, but it’s bulky. The things suck a lot of power, and I’d say bringing spare power cells for any missions longer than an hour or so is a must. Good thing is, those things can carry a lot of stuff on a mission — a spare backpack and a spare power cell are easy, along with the mission backpack it wears. It definitely has a very high coolness factor.”

“Are they ready to go?”

“Two of them appear to be. One looks like it’s damaged; not sure about the fourth. Turlock says we definitely have two CIDs, two twenty-millimeter machine gun backpacks, two forty-millimeter missile backpacks, one ‘Goose’ mini-UAV launcher backpack — another very cool gadget that launches these bowling-pin — sized UAVs out that sends pictures back to the CIDs — and five spare power cells. I think we’re good to go.”

“Good, because we’re planning a mission to Turkmenistan for tomorrow night,” Dave said.

“Turkmenistan? Jala Turabi? Is he in trouble? Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“The general wants to rescue an Iranian princess before she’s sent back to Iran, probably to be executed.”

“A princess? Is she cute?”

“She’s fifteen years old, you letch.”

“Still cool. Doesn’t give us much time to train in the CIDs, though.”

“Do you need more time?”

“I could sure use it,” Hal admitted. “I recommend we send Chris and three Tin Men to Turkmenistan in the Black Stallion — that way I can spend more time in the CIDs. It won’t take long to get up to speed on them, but one day is not enough time. I’ll be studying the manual on the electronic visor graphics and controls all night as it is.”

“All right — I’ll pitch that to General Sparks and see how they like it,” Patrick said. “Get it ready to go ASAP.”

BANQUET HALL, IMAM ALI MILITARY

ACADEMY, TEHRAN, IRAN

THE NEXT EVENING

“I am privileged to speak to you tonight on the eve of your commissioning ceremony,” Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces General Hoseyn Yassini said. He was standing before an audience of three hundred senior classmen of the Imam Ali Military Academy, after hosting their pre-commissioning dinner. Although he was still a virtual prisoner in his residence at the Academy, he was permitted to carry out ceremonial and VIP functions, and he did so with enthusiasm. As always, if the students knew he was there under house arrest, as they certainly must have by now, they showed no signs of any displeasure. “This is one of my many official tasks that I am pleased and genuinely happy to perform.

“For two years now you have been immersed in the important tasks of training and disciplining your minds and bodies for the challenges that lay ahead. You may indeed believe that your reward for two years of Hell in his place is a lifetime of Hell on the battlefield. Well, my soon-to-be fellow officers, that is not just a cute saying — it’s the truth. But as your chief of staff, I want to be the first to thank you for your courage and dedication to such a life. I thank you, and your country thanks you. I encourage you to use the knowledge and skills you have learned here to broaden your minds to the world and the challenges that lay ahead. Do not shrink from these challenges, but embrace them.”

Yassini raised a large ornate golden flask, with a winged lion’s head and shoulders in front and a funnel-shaped cup in back. “Allow me the honor of toasting the republic’s newest officers in the ancient traditions. This is the rhython, a batu flask dating back to the Achemenid Empire of five hundred B.C., used by the kings of ancient Persia to toast to victory before sending his generals off to battle. Whenever the rhython was used, the generals of Persia were never defeated in battle.” He raised the gleaming gold flask. “Gentlemen, to our republic’s future military leaders, the prayers and thanks of a grateful and proud nation. May you continue to grow in knowledge, courage, and strength.”