“That good enough?” Slater asked.
“I need him to move closer so that I can see him and the cameras can see him.”
“Tell me exactly where you want him to stand” Slater said. “You need to be specific here.”
“Three feet behind where you’re standing now,” the man shouted back.
Slater signaled again to Hastings and the captain led the president and his formation forward. It was a difficult transition, as danger was essentially lurking in every direction now.
“That’s good—have them stop where they are,” the sentry shouted. “Wait here until I get back.” Without waiting for an answer, he began backpedaling again.
“No problem. We don’t have any other plans for today,” Slater called after him with a smirk.
The man returned several minutes later and was clearly less concerned, as he didn’t use the shield when he approached. He still had his M4, but the weapon was at the low ready.
“I take it you have good news for us?”
“You’ve been verified, both the senator and yourself. The commander has vouched for you, and the senator is on the access list. He can bring his security detail with him, but that’s it for the moment.”
“What do you mean, just us? We have more people in our party, to include the First Lady,” Slater said.
“I’ve been authorized to let you and the senator inside in order to proceed to the security building. If everything checks out, the rest of your group will be allowed access.”
“Doesn’t that contradict the Hasty entry protocols? The president can vouch for the entire group, from what he told me.”
The guard just shrugged. “I’m just doing what I was told.”
“Oh yeah? Tell you what, go back to your shack and get on the horn to Gottlieb. Tell him I said to stop dick dancing around and follow the protocols unless he thinks he has enough ass to withstand a presidential ass chewing. Because that’s what he’s gonna get if you only let a few of us in while the rest of us stand out here dragging our dicks through the dirt. Go ahead, I’ll wait right here for you to come back with the answer.”
“Only following orders here, Sergeant.”
“Only following orders here.”
The guard looked singularly unhappy behind his mask, but he turned around and returned to the shack.
“Hey, Slater. What gives?” Hastings asked.
Slater glanced back at him. “Just a little cock fight here, sir. It’ll all be straightened out in a second.”
A short while later the man returned. This time, Slater saw he had plugged a supplemental air hose to his SCBA system. The hose snaked back all the way to the guard shack. Unlike other SCBA systems, the Osen-Hunter system could recharge its air tanks quickly via a compressor system without needing the user to remove it from his person.
“Why the fuck are you in level B and wearing an SCBA?” Slater asked. “You know this shit isn’t airborne, right?”
“You don’t know that.”
Slater waved that aside. “So what’s the old man’s answer? You letting us all in or not?”
“Your entire group has been authorized entry. You will need to pull all your vehicles inside the compound gate and stage them in the vicinity of the security building. From there, some of you will be issued an interior badge once you are cleared to enter the facility. Are you going to call up your vehicles down on the road?”
Slater smiled. “So you guys know about those, huh?”
The guard only nodded.
“Well, I see Gottlieb still has some common sense. Give us five minutes to get the rest of the unit up here.”
The convoy snaked its way up the mountain road, passing the fire station and the helo pad, where several helicopters currently sat. The lead vehicle and the Eagle One detail vehicles pulled over to the side as they neared the first of the four entrances to the underground facility. The rest of the vehicles in the convoy continued to pull forward and off to the side, so as not to block the narrow road.
Staff Sergeant Drecker walked down the line of convoy vehicles parked between the first and second entrance into Site R. The drivers and occupants had already unassed their vehicles and were stretching, pissing in the grass and smoking cigarettes, the typical things soldiers do when they get a break after a long drive. Drecker needed to check on his guys and put out information to them. As Drecker approached one of the MRAPs, he spotted two of his guys, Specialist Gerber and Private First Class Weaver, already outside their vehicle. The two were in the middle of a smoke break and shooting the shit rather enthusiastically—something which to the uninitiated might resemble arguing. Drecker walked up as Weaver was in mid-conversation.
“I don’t have PTSD, I cause PTSD, brother. All those dudes who claim PTSD, I don’t believe them. I think they gave in to it, because that was the easy out that was offered to them, ya know, ’cause they were predispositioned to be mentally weak. I don’t mean they didn’t have some real shit to work through or a legitimate reason to be fucked in the head. We all have some fucked-up shit we gotta process. But let’s be real—that dude who spent his whole time in the rear, never saw one contact, never shot someone or seen someone die, but claims he has PTSD? That dude is a fucking oxygen thief milking the system.”
“Weave, man. That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think? I mean, how do you know what the dude’s issues are?”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Gerber? You mean to tell me some fobbit who never left the wire, never fired his gun, never did or saw the shit we saw can claim to have PTSD just because he deployed? Nah, I ain’t buying that shit. You remember Rodgers? That dude was the last guy I thought would be a fucking war machine. You were there, you saw the shit that went down. How that dude is even alive is beyond me. He must have a horseshoe shoved up his ass. Dude gets blown up in an ambush with his whole squad and gets up and goes beast mode and assaults through and kills all the hajis. As if that wasn’t enough, two weeks later, he’s in second squad, clearing that fucked up ’ville just outside of the gate and gets jumped in a room and fucking beat that terry to death with his helmet while the rest of the squad was trying to get a clear shot. He beat that fucker to death … with his helmet, bro. Bashed that old boy’s skull in, dude’s head didn’t even look like a head when Rodgers was done with him. That dude should have some PTSD issues, not some admin dude whose worst injury was a paper cut and missing Friday night chow. But guess what, Rodgers came back CONUS and was as normal as he was before he deployed. I asked him afterwards if he was having any issues and he looked at me like I had a dick growing out of my forehead. Dude sleeps like a baby at night, doesn’t think about any of that shit, or if he does, it doesn’t fuck with him. Why do you think that is? Fuck if I know, but all I know is the shit I, we, saw wasn’t that bad, and sometimes I get to thinking about all that shit that went down, the guys that died, the fucked-up shit we had to deal with on a daily. I ain’t gonna lie, it fucks with me sometimes, but I work through it and drive on.”
“You know you can always go talk to someone about that, right? You don’t have to hold all that shit in, Weaver.”
Weaver snorted. “Yeah, right. You and I both know how that shit would have gone over. Besides, I don’t have any issues … anymore, really. I mean, I think about that shit sometimes, everyone does. I was wrapped tight for a few months when we got back, just like you and everyone else was. You mean to tell me you don’t have any shit you deal with now and then?”
“I’m not saying it doesn’t cross my mind sometimes. It does.”
“Then why the fuck haven’t you gone to see the head shrinker and get your PTSD on?”
Gerber shook his head. “I’m not having any issues, that’s why. I said I think about it now and then but it isn’t fucking with me. You on the other hand, are having some issues, my friend.”
“Why do you say that?”
Gerber chuckled. “Seriously, bro? do you want me to start counting the reasons why?”
Drecker too
k the opportunity to break into the soldiers’ conversation. “What the fuck are you two talking about now?”
Gerber spoke up first. “Weaver and I were just talking about how whoever it was that had to shoot one of our own back at the ambush site is probably gonna have some serious PTSD to deal with. Hell, we’re all gonna have to deal with it when this shit is over.”
Drecker took that in for a long moment before he looked over at Weaver. “Weaver. You need to talk to someone? No shame in owning up the that shit if it’s happening. Really,” he added for emphasis. “We all deal and process these kinds of things differently.”
Weaver shook his head quickly. “No, Sergeant. Gerber and I were just jaw jacking. My shit is still wired tight.”
“Good to know. But if that ever changes, clue me in. That goes for you too, Gerber. It goes for everyone in this unit. Good to go?”
“Roger that, Sergeant,” Gerber said.
Weaver was the first to change the subject. “So now that we’re here at the bat cave, what’s the plan?”
“As soon as we have something, you’ll all know. For right now, I need an ACE report from each vehicle. I want half the guys from each vehicle pulling security, while the other half inspect the vehicles and gets accurate ammo counts for each. Once that’s done, guys need to get some chow in them and the usual, drink water, change your socks. Don’t fuck up on the security, I want a man in the turret at all times and the rest facing out around the vehicle. You tracking?”
“Copy that, Sergeant,” Gerber and Weaver both answered at the same time.
“All right, get to it and don’t let me catch you half stepping.”
Drecker watched as both soldiers moved off to execute his orders. He knew he had to stay on top of his people. No doubt some of them would have some shit to work through, but he couldn’t afford to let them slide.
Because one you let motherfuckers slide, they start thinking they can ice skate, he thought as he walked away.
Slater took the time to bring Hastings up to speed on everything that had transpired during his discussion with the guard as they waited behind their MRAP for the president and his security detail to get issued their access cards. The shuttle bus hadn’t arrived yet, so it wasn’t like anyone was going anywhere for the moment.
“So you know the commanding officer of the facility?” Hastings asked.
“Pretty sure it’s the same guy I knew back in Group when he was an ODA commander and then went on to become the S-3. I lost track of him after that. Looks like he’s done pretty good for himself to land this type of gig.” Slater shrugged. “Then again, he might have pissed someone off too. This isn’t a typical career path assignment for an SF officer.”
“Anything I need to know that could help out?”
Slater thought about for a moment. “Nothing really comes to mind. I remember him to be a good dude. He got along with the enlisted really well and had a wicked sense of humor that he’d unleash on anyone deserving of it.”
“Like what?”
“Well, sir, let’s put it this way. He’s the kinda dude that’d Astro glide the stairs at the Clinton Foundation, suction cup dildos to the landings, and then pull the fire alarm. Afterwards he’d recover the dildos, because they’re his.”
Hastings cackled. “Slater, I’ll give it to you, man—you never cease to amaze me with the way you can so vividly paint a picture.”
Slater smiled and spread his hands. “What can I say? It’s one of my many talents, sir.”
Once the shuttle bus arrived for the president and his detail, the vehicles followed it up the hill and lined up in front of the massive blast door known as Portal A. All four entrances to the facility were large enough that a semi truck and trailer could easily enter it. Once past the entrance door, a series of interior blast doors lined the length of the entrance tunnel. Even a near hit from a nuclear weapon would be unlikely to compromise the subterranean fortress buried beneath the mountainside.
The A and B portals were interconnected and formed a giant U, with an inner road at the U’s base. The C and D portals on the opposite side of the mountain were identical in configuration. Each of the configurations were accessible from a road that led to the inner and outer roadways inside the facility. These portals led 650 feet down from the summit of the Raven Rock Mountain.
Deep below the surface, a series of five buildings—identified letters A through E—extended down farther into the earth. Each structure was separated by thick rock walls, in what equated to three-story buildings, with each building isolated in their own cavern. The facility was comprised of living quarters, a fitness center, a medical facility, dining facility, barbershop, chapel, legal service, and a convenience store. The inside of the facility looked like a typical office building but without windows. Millions of gallons of water were stored in the reservoirs and two separate power plants provided redundant power to the HVAC and emergency generator systems.
Buildings A, B, C and E were used for living quarters, administrative space and operational facilities. The presidential quarters were housed in Building D along with the Alternate National Military Command Center or ANMCC. The facility had been designed to hold up to three thousand people and remain locked down for thirty days if needed. Needless to say, entering the facility was like stepping into another world. It was simply enormous, both in physical scale and in the amount of planning and effort that had been expended to construct it.
President Cornell stood in the Secret Compartmentalized Information Facility, called “skiff” for short, deep inside of Site R. The few remaining members of the government that had made it to the facility before Washington, DC, was overrun and several members of the Department of Defense, all sat around the conference table. None of those seated at the table were faces that Hastings or Slater—or perhaps even Cornell—recognized. All of them were designated successors, several times removed from the top of their departments. Simply surviving this long had qualified them to fill the positions. At the moment, people were going around the table and introducing themselves to Cornell. Slater and Hastings were two flies on the wall, observing the nation’s new government leaders.
Slater leaned over and whispered to Hastings. “You know that old saying, sir?”
Hastings tried to speak without visibly moving his lips. “Which one is that, Slater?”
“Fuck up, move up.”
Slater was referring to an old saying in the military that referenced how some people, usually shit bags and fuck-ups, were fired from their job and moved to another job, usually somewhere else in the command. Oftentimes this new position would provide the recipient with greater authority, which could lead to them being fast tracked for promotions over their more competent peers.
“Yeah, what about it?”
Slater nodded at the conference table. “Everyone at the table is that guy.”
“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw rocks. The way things are going, you will end up being Sergeant Major of the Army at the end of the day.”
“I’d get fired quicker than a monkey gets fucked if they gave me that job.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because political correctness and tolerance are the lubricants that allow the dildo of dysfunction to slide into society’s asshole. And you have to be PC to hold that job down.” Slater turned and gave Hastings a sideling glare. “If I catch wind that someone is even thinking of throwing my name in that hat, I’ll be sure to nominate you for whatever shitty officer position is now open, sir.”
“But Slater ... think of the prestige, man. Fame, fortune, all that.”
Slater faced forward again with a slight grunt. “Hell. If I’d wanted those, I’d be in porno movies.”
Across the room, Colonel Victor and his XO leaned against the wall opposite Hastings and Slater. He looked at the two soldiers and held his index finger to his lips. Hastings nodded back. Message received.
The last man finished his introduction. Cornell nodded t
o him and then took over the proceedings. When he spoke, his voice was deep and clear. “Thank you for the round of introductions, ladies and gentlemen. As you’ve probably heard by now, I was sworn in at Indiantown Gap and have been serving in the capacity as the president of the United States since then. Prior to that, I was the chair of the Senate Armed Services Committee. As far as it’s known, I’m the only surviving member in the line of presidential succession. As such, I will continue to serve as the president, until such time as another member is discovered whose authority supersedes mine. Does anyone here object or have information that would preclude my serving in this role at this time?”
Heads turned as those at the table looked around, searching for any sign of objection. No one seemed put out by what Cornell had just told them; in fact, to Hastings it looked as if most of the assemblage was relieved someone was on-station who could take charge and assume the reins of responsibility.
Cornell waited an appropriate amount of time, then nodded to his colleagues. “Very well, then. If no one objects, I suggest you bring myself and my people up to speed on what you currently know about the situation, and who you have established communication with. From here on out, I’d like you to keep my interim staff briefed. Colonel Victor and Command Sergeant Major Parker are my current go-to guys—they’re standing right there.” Cornell pointed to the two men, and both Victor and Parker nodded to the assemblage. “Please keep them in the loop on all matters. In the meantime, I’d like the comms center to transmit to all stations we’re in contact with that I have assumed the office of the president of the United States and that we are working on finding a solution to what is happening. Colonel Victor can assist in drafting that communication with all the pertinent information. Sergeant Major Parker will lead the working group on establishing a daily presidential briefing schedule. I’d like to meet one more time today, say around”—Cornell looked at the digital clock on the wall—“1800, to give you all a chance to fill me in on specifics related to your sections. Are there any questions so far?”
These Dead Lands (Book 2): Desolation Page 18