by Bobby Akart
When he caught up to Howard, his old pup was sprawled on the beach in front of several dead red drum fish, also known as redfish, piled near some debris that had washed ashore. The smell was overwhelming, which was probably what drew Howard to this point, but it also stopped him in sheer disappointment when he arrived.
Gunner walked hesitantly toward the debris when something caught his eye. The stars provided just enough illumination to cause a reflection on a shiny brass object. He pulled his tee shirt over his mouth and nose and approached the glistening object.
He reached down and picked up a twelve-inch desk globe. He stretched his arm away from his body and held it high before turning the miniature version of Earth on its axis so that the remnants of seaweed could fall off. He continued spinning it, faster and faster, until it broke loose from its base and landed in the water near his feet.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
Howard gruffed in response.
“Come on, boy. Let’s get this home and fix it up.”
Chapter 9
Saturday, April 14
Gunner’s Residence
Dog Island
Florida Panhandle
Gunner never went back to sleep after his middle-of-the-night stroll with Howard, who was so exhausted that he had to be carried to bed. The sheets were covered in sand, but Gunner didn’t care. He’d just pile them up and throw them in the wash before he left.
Pop rolled in just after sunrise with a Tupperware container full of cinnamon-pecan buns, one of his many specialties.
“Ghost said pack light,” said Gunner as he chomped into the sugary delight. With his mouth full, he explained to Pop what packing light meant to him. “I don’t have a bag. There’s not a change of clothes. I don’t need stuff like a toothbrush, deodorant, and the like. What you see is what you get.” Gunner held his arms out as if to put himself on display. He wore khaki pants, a black polo shirt, and black sneakers.
“Shouldn’t you at least put on your fatigues, son? Last time you went in to see your superiors, you were a little disrespectful.”
Gunner finished off the first of two breakfast treats. He nodded his head to indicate he understood and agreed. “I know, Pop. I admit that I went to Eglin that day with a bit of an attitude. It wasn’t fair to them and was certainly out of line. Dr. Dowling and I hashed it out; plus I apologized to the colonel the next time I saw her.”
“What about today? Shouldn’t you—?”
Gunner cut him off. “Pop, are you seriously nagging me about my attire? I’m likely to be put on a C-130 to who knows where, for who knows how long. They’ll dress me out for the mission.”
“Okay, I’m just, you know. Son, I’ve always believed you were destined to do great things.”
Gunner wrapped his right arm around his father’s shoulder and led him toward the deck. Bear and Cam had just left and said they’d be back to say their goodbyes. “That’s what every pop says.”
His father laughed and wrapped his arm around Gunner’s waist. “Well, this Pop means it. Listen, you’ve experienced highs and lows in your life, and I’m not just talking about Heather. Do you remember when you didn’t make the varsity basketball team?”
Gunner chuckled. “Yeah, best thing that ever happened to me.”
“True, in hindsight. But, at the time, you were devastated. There were other things, minor instances, that have shaped your life. You’re a survivor, like your mother. You’ve always bounced back from adversity and attacked life with a vigor I never had.”
“Until now,” said Gunner, turning to face his father. He finished the second cinnamon-pecan bun. “Look at you. You fly airplanes for a living. You bake like Betty Crocker. You take care of me.”
A tear came to Pop’s eye with the last statement. He was proud of the role he’d played in his son’s life, and appreciated it when Gunner noticed. “Son, you’ve made me proud in so many ways. But no more so than the way you have managed the past few years. It’s what you do after you’ve lost everything that defines who you are. I’m very proud of the man you’ve become.”
Gunner hugged his father again, and the two shared a moment.
“Pop, don’t worry about me. I don’t know what they’ve got in store for me, but it isn’t anything that I can’t handle. You know that.”
Pop wiped the tears off his face and squeezed his son around the waist. “I know that, but then again, I can’t help being concerned. Since your mom died, I’ve put on a good front, but I miss her terribly. I know she’d be very proud of you and—”
Gunner let out a hearty laugh. “Get real, Pop. If Mom knew what I did for a living, and especially if she knew you were flying an airplane full-time, plus baking cookies with a bunch of biddies, hellfire would rain upon us both.”
Pop laughed with his son and glanced out toward the beach. “Hey, what’s that?”
“What?”
“There’s writing in the sand. See?”
Gunner shielded his eyes from the rising sun and looked down toward the beach. The letters were somewhat disproportionate, but it was clear what they read.
Day by day.
Minute by minute.
Ride or die.
We stick together.
And after the last word, Cam and Bear stood arm in arm, both holding sticks high over their heads, waving them triumphantly.
Chapter 10
Five Years Prior
Dog Island
Florida Panhandle
“Sometimes an unpleasant ending is nothing more than a new beginning.”
Heather was feeling philosophical that morning as she and Gunner observed the armada of barges delivering building materials and equipment to their job site on Dog Island. The night before, the two of them, and Howard, had made camp on their beach.
They’d built a bonfire, which was especially helpful in fighting off the bugs that had descended upon the island that spring, and cooked hot dogs for dinner. Beers were consumed, laughter was had, and love was made under the stars.
Their excitement was building as the distant sound of the diesel engines churning their propellers through the water approached the island from nearby Carrabelle. Building on an island that didn’t have vehicular access was complicated and expensive. The money they saved by purchasing the unusual piece of beachfront property was easily offset by the additional cost of construction.
But the couple didn’t care. They had a stranded-alone-on-a-deserted-island mindset. They enjoyed each other’s company more than anything, with Howard, of course, being their only child.
They’d discussed having kids on occasion but agreed their lives were so great together that they didn’t want to introduce another human being into the mix. Plus, there was always the risks associated with their careers. Heather had not yet been into space, but she would be within two years. Gunner was a combat pilot who, at that early stage in his career, had already been shot down several times. He often said that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his child fatherless, and by the same token, he couldn’t go into a firefight worried about the consequences of his death.
So, the two, plus Howard, lived happily together in DeFuniak Springs until this property came available. Because they lived modestly but were generally savers, they could easily pay cash for the parcel, and their credit enabled them to secure a bank loan in Apalachicola. That day, their dreams were coming to fruition.
“I hate what happened during the Artemis launch,” added Gunner. “But you and I wouldn’t be standing here if it hadn’t. That day had an effect on us like 9/11 had on our parents. Something like that, an emotional event, has the ability to transform your way of thinking.”
“Life’s too short,” said Heather.
“It is, and that’s why we took the plunge to become homeowners. And there it is, our home, or at least pieces of it.”
Heather laughed and pulled out her phone to take some pictures of the momentous occasion. “This is incredible. Look, I’ve got chi
lls.”
Gunner rubbed his wife’s arms and held her tight, taking a moment to steal a kiss. He let the breeze muss his hair before getting philosophical. “Before the invasion of Normandy, as early as 1942, Army infantry divisions rode onto this beach on barges not that different from the ones we’re looking at. Over time, a quarter of a million soldiers prepared for amphibious landings in both Japan and France. Standing here, I can feel the excitement and energy of those brave guys who knew they were going to leave for battle overseas and possibly not come back.”
Heather looked up to her husband. “Do you ever feel like that? I mean, you know, that you might not come back.”
“No, darling, not once. I have too much to live for. I hate being apart from you for a second, but it’s my duty. Just like you have to get ready to leave the planet, for Pete’s sake. Let me turn the question back on you. Do you lie awake at night thinking that I might rocket off into space, never to return?”
Heather hesitated and kicked at the sand. “I’m not going to say that being an astronaut is different from what you do. At least in space, nobody’s trying to kill me. There’s just no margin for error. If you make a mistake, you can die. Simple ones, like not putting your suit on correctly before a space walk or flipping the wrong switch on the spaceship’s console.”
“I get it. In our respective professions, mistakes can be deadly. That said, do you think we should consider another line of work?”
Heather laughed. “Not on your life, buster. I’m going into space, come hell or high water.”
Gunner then teasingly began singing the lyrics to Elton John’s “Rocket Man.” Heather quickly joined in, yelling the lyrics so loud that Howard began to howl.
“And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time!”
Chapter 11
Present Day
Saturday, April 14
Defense Threat Reduction Agency
Fort Belvoir, Virginia
With a hint of apprehension, Gunner gazed through the windows of the helicopter that had whisked him away from Tate’s Hell State Forest hours earlier to the sprawling complex that made up Fort Belvoir. The U.S. Army complex, located largely on a peninsula extending into the Potomac River in Virginia, was developed on the site of the former Belvoir Plantation, home of the prominent Fairfax family for whom Fairfax County, Virginia, had been named.
The base was headquarters for a number of military units, including Army Intelligence and Security Command, the Missile Defense Agency, the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency and the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.
Gunner’s last visit to the DTRA had reunited him with his old mentor and friend Colonel Gregory Smith, who was now working within the U.S. intelligence apparatus, coordinating dark ops for the government. Code-named Ghost, Colonel Smith had the highest regard for Gunner, which was why he’d picked his team to be inserted into Russia to investigate the Cosmodrome.
The chopper took a circular sweep across the front of Fort Belvoir, where Gunner could see a heavily armed sentry detail searching vehicles before entry. The line of vehicles was a clear indication of the enhanced security measures put into place since the president had increased the terror level threat to its highest point since 9/11.
Scattered throughout the complex was an army of satellite dishes, antennas, and microwave transmission devices, which had been upgraded to be used in cyber warfare. The bright sun glistened off the various devices, causing them to twinkle and at times blind him. The mesmerizing effect caused Gunner’s mind to wander—back to his flight aboard the F/A XX, high into the stratosphere, where he’d soaked in a view of the universe.
The chopper landed abruptly on the concrete pad, jarring Gunner back into the present. Two armed soldiers hustled toward his ride and immediately took up positions flanking the Sikorsky’s exit. Gunner waited for the copilot to give him clearance, and he opened the door, enjoying the warm sun on his face.
“This way, sir,” instructed one of the guards. Gunner’s mind raced as he began to question why it was necessary for an armed escort. Seconds later, he was escorted through two security doors that were also monitored by armed personnel. Once inside the tiled hallway, he sensed the faint echoes of whispered conversations emanating from each office. It was a Saturday, and ordinarily this facility would be operating with essential personnel only. Clearly, it was all hands on deck in light of yesterday’s failed mission launch.
Gunner was led down a different hallway than the one the other day when he and his team had met with Ghost. Through another set of doors, the sterile white walls and shiny tiles were replaced with plush carpet, high-gloss white trim, and walls adorned with massive photographs of rocket launches, battleship christenings, and experimental aircraft. The kinds of towering achievements that made the military proud and provided for the defense of the nation.
Another set of doors appeared before Gunner, except these were not the glass and aluminum entries that had preceded them. Large, ornately carved wooden doors were slightly ajar as an Army captain stood to greet Gunner.
“Major Fox, welcome to Fort Belvoir and the DTRA. Follow me, please.”
He led Gunner into a room where a nurse stood behind a medical table. Off to her right was a series of computers and a LabCompare DNA analysis device. The elderly nurse stood without expression, holding a hermetically packaged cotton swab.
“Well, this is a first,” muttered Gunner.
“Yes, sir,” said the captain. “Advanced security protocols dictate these measures. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
The nurse removed the plastic covering and Gunner assisted by opening wide. She placed the swab under Gunner’s tongue, who obliged by closing his mouth briefly before she began to pull it out.
The nurse quickly went about her business, and within ten seconds, she nodded to the captain that Gunner was, in fact, Gunner.
The captain nodded to the armed escorts. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll take it from here.”
“Captain, I’ve been around a while and that’s the first time I’ve been DNA tested to enter a building. I know there’s a terrorist alert, although I suppose there was an ulterior motive for raising the threat level, but this is a little over the top, don’t you think?” When Gunner had first heard about the alert, he’d speculated that the action was a precursor to declaring martial law.
The captain nodded and didn’t answer for a moment. He gestured for Gunner to follow him down another hallway. Unlike the other parts of the building, where office doors were open and voices could be heard, this area was silent, as if devoid of life.
The DTRA was a highly secretive agency known for its covert activities. It was especially active in the war on terror, but also played a pivotal role in the newly revived cold war with the Russians.
The captain reached a bank of elevators and retrieved a key from his pocket. He inserted it and led Gunner inside. The first thing Gunner noticed was that the cab did not have the customary control panel indicating floor numbers, the open and close option, or an emergency button. There was only a place to insert the key again.
Wondering what the hell was going on, Gunner shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was going into the belly of the beast, and he hoped that he came out alive.
When the elevator doors opened, the serene impression left by the floor he’d just left was replaced with a cacophony of sounds ranging from commands being issued to computer printers spitting out reports. Satellite images flashed across ten-foot-wide television monitors that surrounded a half-oval wall. Some screens featured military personnel providing a briefing, but one that could only be heard by the officers who were patched through on their terminals.
The hustle and bustle jarred Gunner’s nerves at first, and then he settled down somewhat when he was approached by a familiar face.
Ghost greeted Gunner and extended his hand to shake it. Reluctantly, Gunner, who’d already begun a salute, changed his motion and shook his old commander’s hand.
“Seems odd not to salute, doesn’t it?” asked Ghost.
“It does take some getting used to, sir.” The military salute was a long-honored tradition dating back to the Roman Empire. In today’s military, it was customary to salute a uniformed officer and was considered a courteous exchange of greetings, as well as a show of respect. Veterans and out-of-uniform personnel restricted their salutes to the raising and lowering of the flag, or during the national anthem.
“Come on, I’d like you to meet somebody.”
Gunner followed Ghost through the operations center, turning sideways at times to make his way through the large numbers of personnel on hand.
A man wearing dark slacks, a short-sleeve white shirt and a navy-blue tie stood alone, studying the monitors. To describe him as a stereotypical accountant would be appropriate, right down to the balding head, black-framed glasses, pens in his shirt pocket, and slightly protruding belly that hung over his belt.
Branson Ford, the director of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, was anything but plain or ordinary, despite his outward appearance. This gentleman spent every waking moment with his eyes on the nation’s deepest, darkest secrets. His short stature was not indicative of his importance to the U.S.
“Director Ford,” announced Ghost as he approached his boss. “I’d like you to meet Major Gunner Fox.”
Without taking his eyes off the monitor, Director Ford reached around and shook hands with Gunner. “Nice to meet you, son. Good job the other day.”
“Um, yes, sir. Thank you. It was a team—”
“Excuse me a moment,” the director interrupted and scampered down two levels to a bank of computer terminal operators dressed in Army fatigues.
He patted a young man on the shoulder, who slid his chair out of the way, allowing Ford to take over his keyboard. Shortly thereafter, one of the monitors revealed a satellite feed that began to zoom in on a snow-covered location near a large body of water. The director spoke to the young man and patted him on the back. The soldier nodded and resumed his work.