"The East has long ceased to be that backward nation only capable of copying and imitation. They've weaponized their endless cheap labor and those damn low-quality industrial goods to become a massive threat to the free world. The enemy is in the Senate, my friends! While the so-called torchbearers of the free world are still basking in the glow of our unbeatable carrier fleets, they fail to realize that the Eastern nation has grown into something even more terrifying than the old red bear ever was—"
"Ahem," Reacher cleared his throat loudly, cutting off Boyd's impassioned, self-indulgent rant. "So what you're saying is, Lavoie didn't exactly take the clean route to clear all that bureaucratic red tape?"
"Of course not," Boyd smirked, now fully in his element. "I helped sneak the proposal into a thousand-page bill. Meanwhile, Lavoie went around shaking hands and collecting votes. No one ever notices a tiny little defense allocation buried in a monster like that."
It was unclear if it was the lingering effects of the white powder, or just his own ego, but Boyd no longer needed much prompting. He explained everything in vivid detail, chest puffed with pride.
"So you're saying Lavoie did all this out of sheer patriotism? Out of love for the free world? No personal gain whatsoever?" Reacher asked, pushing the bait just a little further—remembering Jack's earlier instructions.
Boyd burst out laughing. "Don't be naive. You think lobbyists work for free in Washington? Please. And anyway, 'Little Wings' works. I saw it. Lavoie saw it. You push the button and you don't have to do anything else. That's how it should be."
He scoffed. "Isn't that what the Easterners call it? Win-win? We advanced a tech that benefits our military superiority—that's what matters. Whatever we made on the side, it's just pocket change in comparison."
"What about these numbers: 650 and 100,000 per unit?" Reacher asked bluntly.
Boyd blinked in confusion. "What?"
"So you never even considered that this supposedly cutting-edge portable SAM system could fall into the wrong hands? That someone could sit outside a civilian airport, push a button, and down a passenger plane?" O'Donnell interjected sharply.
"That's impossible," Boyd insisted, waving it off. "'Little Wings' is designed to save our soldiers' lives. It's built to neutralize drones, armed helicopters, and all low-flying threats. New Era Tech is on our side—the tech stays in our hands."
He went on defensively, "They split the manufacturing: Denver handles the special missiles and launchers. The chips? Produced in New York. They're secure."
O'Donnell stared at him. "So you're saying, Lavoie and you used some dirty tricks, cut corners, maybe even bribed some colleagues—but all of it was for the good of the free world?"
Boyd nodded, as if this were self-evident. "Exactly."
Reacher looked to the one-way mirror. "Then let's see where that 'patriotism' leads us."
He rose to his feet and gestured to O'Donnell.
"Wait—wait!" Boyd called after them. "You're gonna drop the drug charges, right? I told you everything I know!"
Reacher paused, then tossed a casual look back over his shoulder. "Who knows? I'm not a cop."
——
"Six hundred and fifty portable SAMs. A hundred grand a piece. That's the only explanation I can think of." Reacher's tone was grim.
Inside the observation room, the haze of cigar smoke had already turned the air thick. Between the freshly lit and half-smoked stogies, the tiny exhaust fan was doing little to help.
"I've already notified Clay and Aubrey in Colorado," Jack added, calm as ever. "They'll head to the Denver factory first thing tomorrow morning, posing as DCAA agents. With that many missiles, someone will notice."
His relaxed demeanor baffled the others, especially Finlay, who was pacing restlessly. "You're not even a little worried that those missiles might end up with terrorists?"
Jack didn't respond directly. Instead, he turned to Reacher and O'Donnell. "You two ever get hands-on experience with the newer models of the Stinger missile?"
"Tell the man," Jack said. "Tell him what the effective range and engine burn time are."
O'Donnell rattled off like a soldier in a field manual: "Effective range: 4,800 meters. Altitude: 3,800. Max speed: Mach 2.2. Main rocket motor burn: 5 seconds."
Seeing Finlay still looking lost, Jack launched into his usual brand of reluctant technical exposition.
Unlike cruise missiles, which use turbojet or turbofan engines and have huge fuel tanks for long-distance flight, man-portable SAMs are short and light—around two meters long and thirty pounds heavy—just enough for one soldier to carry and fire.
They use solid fuel rocket motors. After launch, the main engine ignites after 1–2 seconds and burns for just a few more before exhausting its fuel. After that, the missile flies on momentum, with small fins helping to adjust its course.
Once the fuel runs out, making sharp turns—or doing any course correction, really—becomes incredibly difficult.
Sure, some air-to-air missiles can do mid-flight turns, but those are in a whole different weight class, and certainly not man-portable.
"This kind of maneuver—what Boyd described—just isn't physically possible," Jack concluded.
"But he saw it happen. He and Lavoie watched it," Finlay argued, clearly struggling to reconcile the contradiction.
"In real combat? Probably not. But during a staged demo? Definitely," Reacher replied. "You ditch the warhead, load it with more fuel, and program it to do a fancy maneuver before burnout. Put a remote-detonated explosive in the target drone, and boom—there's your magic trick."
"You mean... they faked it?" Finlay blinked.
Jack sighed, patting his shoulder. "Clearly, Senator Lavoie isn't the only one in D.C. who knows how to... improvise."
Sure, maybe New Era Tech had developed some unique innovations. But using them in a shoulder-fired missile? That was fraud, plain and simple.
Jack figured the missiles likely didn't have no warhead—but whatever payload they had would be minimal. Their actual effective range was probably less than one-third of a standard-issue Stinger. But it didn't matter.
All New Era needed was to secure a contract, get that juicy funding, and keep greasing the wheels of government to pave the way for future projects.
That near-billion-dollar defense bill wasn't just for buying new missiles—it included R&D money for developing newer generations. And once that money started flowing, who'd care if the missiles didn't work as promised?
After all, a single new-generation Stinger now cost the Pentagon upwards of $400,000. Back in the '90s, it was $25,000. If New Era could provide their "magic" missile at $100,000 or less, it'd seem like a bargain.
So what if the tech was flawed? So what if it couldn't actually "turn around" mid-flight? The contrails didn't lie. The fancy demo worked. That's all that mattered to the suits in charge.
And if the military ended up with a pile of overhyped prototypes? Just bury it. Store them in a warehouse, let them rust, write it off.
After all, the military once spent hundreds of millions on a floating pier that never worked, got washed away by the tide, and no one so much as farted in protest.
What's a few faulty missiles compared to that?
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/Mutter
Every 100 Power Stones = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.
Every 5 reviews = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.