“Maybe there is way to get out,” Hudro said finally.
“What?” Davis asked.
Hudro squinted, peering through the intervening smoke in the direction of a large, four-turbofan freighter that he had spotted earlier, stopped at the far end of the runway. It had been about to turn for its takeoff run when the attack came in. Its tail was in tatters, but it seemed otherwise intact. “What kind of aircraft is this?” he asked Davis.
“Which?”
Hudro pointed. “Far away distance. Other end of runway. Tail in pieces.”
“Looks like a C-17.”
Hudro talked to the operator in the tower. “This airfield. It has electronics for take-off blind, yes?’
“Yes sir. The Marines set up mobile ILS system that would do that. Don’t know if it’s still functioning, though.”
“So we have to risk. Is C-17 plane at other end runway. Can speak with captain?”
“Let me try.” The operator did, and got a connection.
“Tell him this,” Hudro instructed. “Turn plane very, very slow so that engine fans blow down along field, yes. Contact officer who commands unit that end. Must get together tires, spare wheels from trucks . . . whatever. Cover with gasoline and set fire. C-17 must blow across field. Thick rubber smoke confuses drone sensors. Is even better if they add magnesium flare or white phosphorus from smoke rounds. Set plenty fire to grass.”
“You think it could really work?” Davis asked dubiously.
“You want wait for blender instead?”
While the instructions were being relayed to the far end of the field, Hudro told Davis to begin heading back to where the C22-E was parked. The Marine private opted to stay with them. They inched their way agonizingly toward the edge of the field, Hudro remaining outwardly impassive, the Marine white-faced and rigid. Davis had to stop three times to calm his nerves. They had about fifty yards to go, when a desperate voice called out to them. Davis stopped. They looked around. “There,” the Marine said, pointing.
It was Koyne, lying in the grass behind a mound of sand where he had taken cover—presumably on his way back from the workshops, where he had gone to check for some parts. “Are you hurt?” Davis called over. Koyne shook his head in a short, jerky motion, then inclined it to indicate a spot to the side of him. A drone was lying there, just a yard or two away. It was yellow with black markings, about the size of a crow, but at close range looking more like a malevolent giant insect.
“Oh shit. . . .” Davis hissed.
“Is okay if you move slow,” Hudro called over, striving to keep his voice calm. “But careful.” In a lowered tone he muttered to the other two, “More close, gets riskier.”
But Koyne just shook his head again. “I can’t.” Clearly, he was petrified. He must have been pinned there for over thirty minutes.
Hudro looked around. There was a fire extinguisher behind the seat on the Hummer’s passenger side. “Give that,” he said to the Marine, motioning with his head. The Marine moved warily, as if he were picking up Koyne’s terror, unclamped the extinguisher and passed it forward. Hudro took it, removed the pin, and clasped the activating lever in readiness. Then, moving in carefully controlled slow motion, he straightened up from the passenger seat to place one foot outside the vehicle, following it slowly with the other.
Davis, the Marine, and Koyne watched barely daring to breath as the alien took what must have been five seconds to complete one step, then did the same again with the other foot as if approaching a coiled cobra. Koyne looked up, rivers of perspiration running down his face, while Hudro drew nearer until he was standing immediately over the drone. Keeping his movement just as slow, he raised the nozzle of the extinguisher and covered the drone in foam.
“Is safe now,” he told Koyne.
It took Koyne a few seconds more to move. He rose slowly and backed away toward the Hummer, unable to take his eyes off the drone. Hudro gave it another blast of foam and then followed.
“You okay?” Davis asked Koyne as he climbed shakily into the seat behind.