Interlude
USA. The Pentagon.
In a spacious office, an elderly man in the uniform of a United States Army general sat behind a desk in a luxurious leather chair, facing a small, bulky monitor.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," the General said in a hoarse, smoke-roughened voice.
A forty-year-old man with a soldierly bearing marched into the room. He wore a dark green uniform, and the insignia on his shoulders identified him as a major.
"General, sir, you need to see this."
The General gave the barest nod, and his subordinate immediately sprang into action. The Major walked over to the enormous television set opposite the General's desk, inserted a disc into the player and started the video.
The General watched what was happening with growing scepticism. Finally unable to stand it any longer, he exclaimed roughly:
"What the fuck is this? David, have you decided to show me some shitty Japanese movie in lousy quality?"
"No, sir! This isn't a film. This footage was recorded by our intelligence service."
"Intelligence?" the General said incredulously. "Do you take me for a fucking idiot? What the hell is this shit?!"
"Sir, this is not shit, sir!" the Major replied smartly. "It's a giant armoured robot, sir!"
"Major, is this another fake?" the General asked sceptically.
"No, sir. The experts have confirmed the recording is one hundred per cent authentic. That really is a giant armoured robot!"
"No fucking way!" The General stared at the television, his eyes round. "That shit doesn't exist!"
"Apparently it does, sir," the Major said with a shrug.
The General turned his attention back to the screen. A short while later, he exclaimed in astonishment again:
"And what the fuck was that?! Am I seeing things, or did that thing just blow away five tanks in a matter of seconds?"
"Railguns, sir. You're not seeing things."
"Railguns?" The General stared wide-eyed at his subordinate.
"Railguns."
"Fucking railguns?!!!"
"Yes, sir! Powerful, ultra-compact, insanely rapid-firing railguns mounted on the robot's arms."
The General gave his subordinate a signal. The Major paused the recording. A desk drawer slid open with a rustle, and an ashtray, a packet of cigarettes, a lighter, a tumbler and a bottle of whisky migrated onto the desktop. Whisky gurgled into the glass. The General knocked back the fiery drink in a single gulp. A cigarette began smoking between his fingers.
At a wave from his superior, the Major resumed the recording. The General watched the events on the screen with bated breath. With every passing moment, his expression grew more astonished.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" he exclaimed. "That's impossible!"
"Apparently not, sir," the Major said sadly.
"No fucking way!" The General looked utterly dumbfounded, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. "Are you fucking serious? Lasers from its eyes?!"
"Lasers from its eyes, sir," the Major confirmed with a nod.
The General took a deep drag on his cigarette. Meanwhile, the Major continued his commentary:
"As for additional armament, there are four cruise missiles mounted on pylons on the robot's back."
The General's already enormous eyes bulged even farther from their sockets. His face went slack as he stared fixedly at the screen.
"Motherfucker!" he exclaimed with feeling. "That fucking thing can fly too?!"
The Major sighed heavily and said mournfully:
"It can, sir... Gets up to Mach five... Leaves an F-15 standing still..."
The General choked on his cigarette smoke, then nervously stubbed the butt out in the ashtray, crushing it almost completely flat.
After coughing himself clear, he stared at the Major in disbelief.
"Mach five? That fucking thing doesn't even have wings!"
"No, sir," the Major confirmed quietly. "Doesn't stop it flying."
"For fuck's sake!"
The General tried to find his heart with his right hand. He had suddenly begun to feel ill. The Major paused the recording while his superior struggled to pull himself together. Once the General had caught his breath, he waved his hand, signalling him to continue. His attention returned entirely to the screen.
Silence... It seemed as though one could hear a heartbeat. Blood pounded in the General's temples. His hand found the packet of cigarettes on the desk, and he nervously lit a second one.
"David, did it just disappear?"
"Yes, sir. Stealth mode."
"Stealth mode?"
"Stealth mode, sir. Complete stealth. The robot is invisible to the naked eye and doesn't show up on radar."
"Fucking fantastic!" The General's vision began to swim. "Is there any good news?"
"Er..." The Major drew the sound out thoughtfully. "Would it count as good news if I told you the robot can withstand direct hits from tank guns firing armour-piercing shells?"
"David," the General rasped quietly, "I asked for good news, not fucking catastrophic news! It's the Russians, isn't it?"
"No, sir. The British."
The General froze. He looked from the screen to his subordinate. Then back to the screen, and back to his subordinate again.
"The British?" he asked in utter disbelief.
"The British, sir."
The General froze again. He sat motionless, unable to process the news.
"Sir, are you all right?" the Major asked worriedly. "Should I call a doctor?"
"Fuck the doctor!" his superior snapped back to life. "David, are you serious? The British?!"
"Yes, sir. The British!"
"Where the hell did the Limeys get technology like this?!"
"I don't know, sir. But that's not all."
"Not all?" his superior asked in a defeated voice. "What else?"
"According to our intelligence reports, the British recently acquired a spaceport of their own and launched their first rocket into space."
After a few adjustments to the remote control, the picture changed to the bridge of a spacecraft.
The General's eyes remained glued to the screen. For some time, the two men watched what was happening on the television in complete silence. When the recording came to an end, there was once again the sound of whisky gurgling into a glass.
The General downed the contents in one gulp, grimaced and asked hoarsely:
"What the hell was that? David, this isn't fake, is it?"
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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