“It’s all gone.” Five-star General Marcus “Chili” Chilton threw the folder onto the desk. “The International Zone is gone; even the surrounding land will be uninhabitable for the next decade, and that’s only if we get scrubbers in there.”

He sat down heavily. “Sixty thousand dead. That’ll end up more like a hundred thousand once the critically injured die. And that included a helluva lot of our people.” He sighed. “Greg Swan and his family were in there. Good people, all vaporized.”

Chilton turned to Jim Harker, his staff sergeant. “Thirty fucking kilotons, Jim. Bigger than Nagasaki and Hiroshima combined, and the first goddamn thermonuclear device to be set off in a major city for over seventy years.” He clasped one fist in another. “A big tactical weapon, a city killer, brought right to our front door.”

“Walked to our front door,” Harker said softly. “Jack Hammerson is calling them Travelers; he’s sent us some images you should see.” He called up the data on his tablet and handed it to Chilton. “It’s just like Soran.”

Chilton stared at the small screen for a moment. “Yeah, just like Soran.” He snorted softly as he watched the satellite trace track backwards in time. “And emanating from Mosul again.”

Harker nodded.

Chilton laid down the tablet and sat back. “We burned through a lot of blood and treasure in Iraq, we’re pulled out for less than a year, and already its cities are being overrun by medieval barbarians. They’re beheading, burying alive, butchering, and raping their way across the countryside. Many can’t even read or write, and now they suddenly get access to nukes? This is not a good picture being painted here.”

Chilton stared into the distance. “We should go back in, to Mosul. But it would take a thousand troops and a mountain of armor to fight our way into that city. Congress would never allow it.”

“And even if you got approval, what if you managed to get your troops and mountain of armor to kick down Mosul’s front door, and they had another nuke, just waiting for you?” Harker shook his head. “Can’t bring ashes home in body bags, sir.”

Chilton turned, his face grim. “We still need to go in.”

“We need to go in, but can’t be seen in there. Need something that can travel under the radar, but has high lethality.”

Chilton picked up the small computer tablet, and looked once again at the screen images. “Hammerson gave us this, did he? Seems he’s already taking an interest.”

Chilton’s finger tapped on the desk for a moment as his eyes narrowed. “If I know that old hardhead, he’s already halfway there.” He leaned forward and snatched up a phone. “Get me Jack Hammerson, now.”

*