Kill Decision (30 page)

The sound of jet engines was now gone. In fact, there were no aircraft sounds at all, just the lapping of flames with the occasional
pop
.

“Those were short-range air-to-air missiles—probably AIM-92s.” On her frown he added, “They were gunning for aircraft, not ground targets.”

“What about the first drone? The one we caught in the bag?”

He produced a GPS unit from his flight suit and started booting it up. “I don’t know yet. It might have been sent by someone else. Did you happen to notice those drones swarming?”

“Are you joking?”

“Did you recognize any behavior from your weaver model?”

McKinney recalled the machines flying in formation “They were flying together. I wouldn’t call two drones a swarm. They certainly didn’t manifest any weaverlike recruitment pattern, if that’s what you mean. And it’s too small a group, too short a time frame.” She gestured to the wreckage. “You think this has a black box flight recorder in it?”

“Probably, but they’ll be coming for it. So we can’t stick around.” He examined the GPS screen. “We need to get to the rally point.”

“Where’s that?” McKinney looked around at the frozen, mountainous desert around them.

“Not close.” He pointed at the mesas lining the horizon. “A lot of this is exposed rock. We won’t leave tracks. We’ll move across the heights and keep close to cover. There might be UAVs coming.” He put a pair of thermal binoculars to his eyes and scanned the horizon. In a moment he put them away. “We’re good for now. And about ten miles northwest of Green River as the raven flies. It’s rough ground, and we need to make up time.”

McKinney was still studying the burning wreckage.

“Congratulations on your first night jump, by the way.”

She couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head. “Wasn’t fun.”

“Still.” He pointed toward the horizon. “South. Southeast around that ridge. Green River’s probably eighteen miles on foot; it’s gonna be a serious hump.”

“You ever do a mile through Peruvian jungle?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” He started walking. “This area will be crawling with regular military and law enforcement soon. We need to be long gone by then.”

He climbed the edge of a smooth, sloping outcropping of stone and motioned for her to follow. The rock formation continued as far as she could see by moon and starlight. He headed farther up the spine of rock, toward distant lights glittering against a jagged silhouette of mountains.

McKinney took a breath and hurried up the rock face after him.

CHAPTER 19

Hot Wash

O
din and McKinney moved
at a steady pace across a vast expanse of undulating rock; above them was a brilliant field of stars. She could even see the Milky Way this far out from civilization. It had been a long time since she’d experienced a cold, clear night like this. Being able to be outside at night without getting eaten alive by malarial mosquitoes was a pleasure. It almost made her forget the circumstances of their journey. The temperature was down in the thirties, but she was more than warm enough in the HALO jumpsuit.

“Can I keep this thing as a souvenir?”

He just cast a look back at her.

“You can tell them it blew up in the crash.”

“Keep moving.” He turned back again. “Here . . .” He tossed her a plastic tube that she just barely caught. “Energy gel.”

She examined the tube. “This classified too?”

“No, I got it at a sporting goods store.”

She cracked it open and squeezed some of the saccharin-sweet substance into her mouth. “Yuck. It tastes like a scented candle.”

“It’ll give you energy and keep you hydrated. Take it all. We’ve got a long way to go.”

She kept sucking on the tube.

The nearest stationary lights were miles away still. To the north they could also make out Interstate 70 and the truck lights moving over the vast desert landscape.

Odin occasionally stopped to scan the sky with thermal binoculars. Whether he was orienting himself or looking for danger, it was hard to tell.

Before long she heard a loud
caw
on the wind. McKinney and Odin turned to see both the ravens flutter down to land on rock outcroppings nearby.

A smile crossed his face. “Huginn. Muninn. Good.”

The birds fluttered and
caw
ed again as if in response.

McKinney stood next to him, appraising the birds. “They found us. Even way out here.”

“They can cover a lot of ground—with excellent night vision. And hearing. Their eyes are sharp enough to tell a golden hawk from a goshawk at a distance of two miles.”

“Then they can hear approaching drones.”

“Long before we can.” He extended his hand to one of the ravens—it was always impossible for McKinney to tell them apart, although Odin seemed to be able to. The raven climbed onto his glove. He knelt and looked directly into its eyes. “Huginn. Scout. Muninn. Scout.” He released the bird, letting it walk over to its mate.

The ravens made a few
keek-keek
sounds and flew off into the night sky in opposite directions.

She watched them go. “That’s amazing.” It did feel good to have friends in the sky, scouting for trouble. “When did the military start working with ravens?”

Odin looked up at her. “The military doesn’t work with ravens. I do. I’ve known them both for twenty years, and if I’m lucky, I’ll be with them another twenty.”

“Twenty years? How long do they live?”

“They can live to be sixty.”

McKinney did the math. “But that means you’ve known them since you were a kid.”

He got to his feet. “We need to keep moving.” Odin started upslope, and McKinney ran to catch up.

“How did that happen?”

He cast a look back at her. “I spent a lot of time in the woods.”

McKinney recalled her own childhood explorations in distant woodlands and jungles—treks that inspired her career. She paused. “How’s a kid in an orphanage spend a lot of time in the woods?”

“I ran away from foster homes a lot.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I was about twelve. Had a camp hidden in the woods, and this raven kept visiting me. I’d try to shoot him for food, but he’d fly away every time I grabbed my gun.”

“You were twelve, and you had a gun.”

“This was rural Pennsylvania. A .22 Ruger I stole from my foster father. Not the point. Every time I grabbed it, the raven would fly away. Or he’d put a tree trunk between him and me. He was smarter than I was.”

They ran for a few moments in silence. It was the most McKinney had ever gotten from him, and she didn’t want to interrupt.

Odin eventually continued. “I began to enjoy his company. He’d let out a warning whenever anyone else came near my camp. He started to lead me to carcasses in the woods. Deer that had been hit by cars. I realized he couldn’t penetrate their hides. That’s why he’d bring me—to cut them open for him. And that was our arrangement. I always shared with him after that. And he helped me survive.”

“A symbiotic relationship.”

“Not unusual for ravens. Back in school I learned all I could about them. Whenever I’d go back to those woods—even as a man—Huginn would recognize me. And later his mate, Muninn. They can remember individual humans for years. We’re special to them.”

“How so?”

They kept up a fast pace over the rocks. McKinney realized it was a good thing she was in excellent shape, because Odin was apparently used to covering ground fast.

“You familiar with the term
encephalization
, Professor?”

She nodded. “Sure. I’m a biologist. It’s the amount of brain mass exceeding what would be expected, given body mass. It directly correlates to intelligence. Humans and dolphins are the most encephalized species, for example.”

“And ravens.”

She frowned. “I didn’t know that about ravens.”

He glanced back. “Like I said, I wanted to learn everything I could about them. For instance, why do they need to be smart—why smarter than, say, an eagle?” He slid down a rock face and kept talking as they moved.

McKinney contemplated the question. “It’s true—brain tissue is metabolically expensive. So unless it’s needed, excess brains don’t appear in a species.”

“Right. So why does a raven need a large brain?”

It was intriguing. McKinney realized she had no ready answer. “Okay, why?”

“To manage relationships with dangerous creatures.”

McKinney considered this.

“Ravens thrive around human communities. That’s been going on for tens of thousands of years. In fact, there’s evidence they had a similar relationship with Neanderthal before we arrived on the scene.”

“So what are you saying—they actively seek us out?”

“They seek out top-of-the-food-chain predators—and put us to work for them.”

McKinney laughed. “I’d be interested in seeing the research.”

“Assuming we survive, I’ll be happy to show you.” He scrambled up an escarpment.

“How do ravens get us to work for them exactly?”

“They lead predators to prey. Wolf packs will follow a raven and let it eat from their kill. Ravens helped ancient people find game too, and still do for modern Inuit people. So what I experienced as a boy has been going on since ancient times. They’ve gone to war alongside man as well—to feast on the dead. The Vikings revered them and put them on their banners. In every human culture throughout history ravens held a special place. They’re mystical, mischievous, good or evil, but never just a bird. Ravens have observed us for so long they understand us. But one misjudgment interpreting our behavior, and they’ll likely not live to make another. Working with predators is a dangerous game.”

She nodded. “That’s why they need to be smart. And the cooperation helps both species survive.”

“Exactly.”

McKinney looked up to see silhouettes sailing against the moonlight, watching over them. “And do you think they’re really aware of this relationship?”

“I’m convinced of it. They can solve complex puzzles to reach food without direct experimentation. They use their large brain for conceptualizing reality; imagining scenarios and calculating likely outcomes. No other creature except man can do that.”

“I must say you surprise me, Sergeant.” McKinney caught his gaze reflected in moonlight. “So how does a man like you wind up as an elite commando?”

He considered the question. “I know your opinion of the military, Professor, but barring some unforeseen advance in human affairs, the implied threat of violence is the only thing holding civilization together.”

“That’s a pessimistic view.”

“Where do you think political power originates?”

“Legitimate political power is derived from the consent of the governed.”

“Ah, you’re splitting hairs. Power is power.” He glanced back to her. “If we’re honest, power is derived from only one thing: physical force.”

“I couldn’t disagree more.”

He came briefly to a stop, studying the terrain and sky with the thermal binoculars. “How’s it go again? ‘Governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.’”

“Yes. Exactly. As a soldier I’m glad you know that.”

“And what if a government doesn’t listen to the will of its people? Or a citizen doesn’t follow the laws of their government? What then?”

“It doesn’t necessarily result in violence.”

He nodded. “Which is why human society mostly works; people avoid trouble. But behind every law is the implicit threat of force, and behind every vote is the implicit threat of rebellion. That’s the bargain that holds a free society together. And no society with a wide power imbalance remains free for very long.”

He motioned for them to keep moving, and in a moment they were bounding down a rocky slope.

McKinney was still troubled by his premise. “I’m not convinced that violence is the glue that binds us, Sergeant.”

“I didn’t say violence—I said the implicit threat of force. Think about it: Democracy only arose when the ability to employ force was decentralized. If you go back to the Middle Ages, the state-of-the-art weapon system was the armored knight. He cost a fortune to train, feed, and equip. But a mounted armored knight could overpower almost any number of peasants on a battlefield. And the distribution of political power in medieval society reflected that; authority was vested in a tiny minority, and the people had no choice but to obey.

“Then, with the advent of gunpowder, that all changed. Suddenly you didn’t need a highly trained specialist warrior to win on the battlefield. All you needed was a warm body who could fire a gun. Anything they could aim at, they could kill. And at that point the edge in warfare went not to highly trained warriors, but to the side that could field the most people. At which point we saw the rise of nation-states—and nationalism as a concept—as the logistical requirement for fielding an ever-larger conscripted army. But this changed the political dynamic. The nobles could no longer ignore the demands of their subjects. Those subjects now had the power to kill them or refuse to fight in their wars, and so kings began to cede more political authority to representative bodies of the people—parliaments, and so on.”