“Rig’s inflated,” he reported.
“Roger, verified at fifteen-five psi,” KC responded.
Andrews activated the radio frequency for the base’s Bay Control. “Bay Control, this is SCEV Four. We’re ready for departure. Over.” As he spoke, the maintenance teams outside secured the rig. They rolled their tool chests away after disconnecting the fuel and external power lines. One lineman stood directly in front of the vehicle, adjusting a pair of noise-dampening earphones on her head. Once they were in place, she looked all around the vehicle. Satisfied everyone had moved out of the way, she pulled a pair of illuminated wands from her belt and held them in front of her shoulders. The SCEV was clear to start engines. “Crew, buckle up and prep for movement.” Andrews fastened his harness, and beside him, Benchley did the same. There was no hesitation to the older man’s movements.
“SCEV Four, Bay Control. You’re clear for startup. Make to lift one at your discretion. Over,” came the response.
“Roger, Bay Control.” Andrews reached for the center console and armed the fully automatic digital engine control, or FADEC, system. The rig’s engineering computer would oversee the entire engine start process, bringing up both turboshaft engines. The system moved into standby instantly, and Andrews held the igniter button in place for five seconds. The engineering display in the center of the forward instrument panel told him when it was safe to release the button, and once he pulled his finger off, the two variable-speed turbines moaned to life. The moan quickly rose to a loud shriek as the powerful engines spooled up.
“Exhaust gas temperature is good,” Benchley reported, reading the display. “Holding steady at eight hundred ten C, both systems.”
“KC, you verify that we’re good to roll?” Andrews asked over the intercom.
“Roger, sir, we’re good to roll. No hot start indication, all turbine wheels are doing what they’re supposed to do.”
“Bay Control, SCEV Four. We’re rolling here.” As he spoke, Andrews gave the lineman standing outside a thumbs-up. She nodded and began walking backwards, waving the rig forward.
“SCEV Four, roger your roll. Have a good trip. See you when you get back.”
Andrews double-clicked his microphone in response, indicating acknowledgement. He put his hand on the side-mounted control column to his left and held it in place while releasing the friction lock, freeing it to move. At the same time, he applied the brakes. When he did this, the rig’s twin engines spooled up to seventy percent output, then wound back down to idle.
“Okay, post-start check, General,” he told Benchley.
“Roger, post-start check. Main brakes on?”
“Brakes on.”
“Control column friction off?”
“Friction off, hand on column, positive control.”
“Automatic run-up passed?”
“No warning annunciators. Passed.”
Benchley reached down to the center console and depressed the small, yellow and gray lever. “Parking brake released.”
Andrews swept his eyes across the displays in the instrument panel. “All systems operational. Post-start check complete. Let’s roll.” With that, he nudged the control column forward a bit. The SCEV’s engines picked up slightly, and the mammoth vehicle began to slowly roll forward. Andrews followed the lineman’s direction up to the departure line, then brought the vehicle to a halt. Its nose was pointed right at the closed elevator door. Andrews returned the lineman’s salute as she holstered her wands and walked away. Before them, the big bifold elevator door trundled open, exposing the cavernous interior of the waiting vehicle lift. Once the clearance lights had switched from red to green, Andrews eased off the brake and allowed the rig to gently glide onto the lift. A luminous circle was on the lift’s floor, and he stopped the vehicle right in its center.
“Good left,” he said, looking out the side port.
“Good right,” Benchley reported. He reached out and activated the external cameras, which displayed a real-time graphic of the SCEV’s position inside the lift. It was placed properly. “Rig secure. Good for lift.”
“Send us up, sir.”
Benchley tapped a button on one of the displays, sending a wireless command to the elevator. The bifold door slowly closed behind the idling SCEV. Once it was sealed, the green lights inside the elevator turned red. The rig bounced lightly on its stiff suspension as the lift began moving, slowly bearing the vehicle upward. It took a few minutes to transit the one hundred ten feet that separated the SCEV Bay from the surface. During that time, Andrews sat listening to the whine of the idling engines. There was nothing else to listen to, aside from the workings of the SCEV itself; the rig’s thick hide was essentially a soundproof barrier, holding the racket of the lift’s meshing gears and cables and belts at bay. He swept his gaze across the displays and the few analog instruments in the panels, watchful for any sign of deviation. Despite the presence of a suspect capacitor in one of the aft electronics bays, the rig operated as it always had, even before it had been partially destroyed by being driven into rocky terrain at a high rate of speed and having a grenade go off in the airlock for good measure. New car smell aside, there was no indication that a good thirty percent of the rig had been rebuilt. That suited Andrews just fine.
There was another jounce as the elevator reached its vertical destination. It was eleven in the morning, and the surface forecast was cold, overcast, and still full of radioactive fallout so potent that it would definitely kill an unprotected man in less than a day. It would take another decade for it to dissipate enough that human beings wouldn’t need around the clock protective gear, but no one in Harmony was looking to resettle Kansas anytime soon. Because of the overcast, Andrews didn’t bother slipping on his sunglasses as the elevator lights switched from red to green. Another bifold door opened, and the dull, gray light of the world above Harmony Base reached into the lift’s dark recesses. Beside him, Andrews saw Benchley stir slightly in the copilot’s seat, watching fields of dust and snow blow past the open elevator.
“My first time up top in over ten years, and it’s a shitty day,” the general said.
Andrews eased off the brakes and gently pushed the control column forward. “It’s probably not going to get much better, sir.”
The SCEV rolled out of the elevator and into the gloomy morning. It was still late winter in the heartland of what had once been the United States of America. Snow had fallen, but it wasn’t very deep, only a patchy crust that sat on the flat landscape that, once melted, would do little to revive the earth. Sparse but hardy brown grass waved in the breeze, and here and there, short, twisted trees defied the elements, still living despite the worst that man and the elements conspired to hurl at them. They bore no leaves, and their branches reached almost beseechingly toward a sky that continued to break its promise to provide nourishment. As Andrews brought the SCEV into a left turn, its big, knobby tires kicked up loose soil which the wind immediately picked up and scattered about. As it did so, it also spread more fallout that had been lying in the soil. If he’d wanted, Andrews could have paged through to the meteorology display, which would have presented him with the radioactive count per minute and the associated Sievert derived unit of contamination. While the former was informative with regard to the overall picture, the Sievert measurement—called SI, in shorthand—was the most crucial. It determined the conditional survivability of the outside world, and from previous experience, Andrews knew that it wasn’t good. The fact that just the SCEV’s passage increased the count told him all he needed to know. Western Kansas would never host a boomtown in his lifetime, and he wasn’t even thirty years old.
He guided the vehicle out toward the sagging perimeter fence that surrounded Harmony Base. The remains of a cracked, fragmented asphalt road paralleled their course. There was no need to take it, as it was rougher than the flat, unimproved terrain the rig rolled across. The SCEV swayed a bit as it accelerated, and Andrews kept an eye on the terrain mapping window o
pened on the display before him. The millimeter-wave radar on the rig’s back revealed every pothole and ridge and rock that stood in their way, but there was nothing that could deter a multi-ton armored vehicle. A little less than a mile from the elevator, the SCEV rolled past the fence. A sizeable chunk of the barrier was missing, crushed flat many years ago by another SCEV, one that had surged forward at a far greater rate of speed than the twenty-five miles per hour rate Andrews maintained. The fence’s shattered remnants were still visible, rusted and torn, steel fingers curled upward as if they might be able to seize on to the vehicle. There was no chance they’d be able to penetrate one of the rig’s eight tires, and Andrews didn’t worry about them for a second as the SCEV rolled over the protrusions and smashed them back into the dry earth.
“We’re retracing history,” Benchley said.
“Sir?”
“We’re taking the same path he did, aren’t we?”
“Well... it is the most direct route, General.” Andrews accelerated a bit, bringing the rig up to thirty miles per hour. It surged across what had once been a gigantic cornfield, now nothing more than a flat dustbowl. The rig was now outrunning the plume of dust it trailed behind it.
“It’s fine,” Benchley said. “Will we see One Truck?”
“Yes, sir. It’s on the way.”
Benchley nodded silently and looked out the viewports. Andrews risked a sidelong look at Harmony Base’s commanding officer and saw the man’s craggy face was a blank mask. He wondered what Benchley’s thoughts were at the moment, as he looked out over the destruction left by the Sixty-Minute War. If Benchley noticed the quick inspection, he didn’t show it. He just stared out at the gloomy vista outside the viewports, taking in the desiccated land and the dirty, dust-infused snow that covered it here and there. Half a mile away, a withered stand of trees stood, bare branches clawing at the air. Around them, dozens more trees lay felled, forming a deadfall visible even from here.
“Shouldn’t have happened,” Benchley murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “None of this.”
“General?”
“Nothing, Andrews. Just get us to where we have to go.”
“Yes, sir.”
The rig continued on, bouncing slightly across the terrain. It crossed a road where the weathered remains of a pickup truck sat on the shoulder, its paint blasted away by the wind, the vestiges of its tires flat and crusted over. Its windows had turned milky white from the change of seasons, attracting a layer of grit that would likely require a jackhammer to remove. As the SCEV nosed over into the shallow ditch on the other side, Andrews slowed the vehicle to a crawl, fording the depression as gently as he could. Before them lay another field. The thousands and thousands of cornstalks it had birthed were long gone, now nothing more than motes of dust that had been carried away by the lethal winds. Once the rig had leveled out, Andrews got on the stick and added more power. The rig swayed as it clawed its way over some deep ruts. A chime sounded in his headphones, and a corresponding alert flashed on the display before him. The SI level had just spiked. It wasn’t unexpected. A Russian warhead had exploded nearby, perhaps blown off course after being hit by an interceptor. Even though the weapon had come to earth out in the middle of nowhere, the resulting detonation had been horrific. Andrews still remembered the force of the explosion as it sent shockwaves that could be felt even in Harmony, like some deep seismic event.
And the man who had ringside seats to the event sat only a few feet away from him, on the other side of a padded bulkhead.
A few minutes later, a hulking wreck emerged from the landscape. Battered, crumpled, its dull paint weathered to a bare surface coating over a pitted, patinaed exterior. SCEV One—One Truck, Harmony Base’s primary vehicle trainer—lay on the horizon like some slain beast. It sat rightside up, its tires spread apart as if they had just given out beneath the rig’s weight. Its armored, thick hide was dented and crumpled, and its airlock door was open to the elements. The rig was half mounded over in dust and debris. It had been felled by the shockwave from the nuke that had grounded nearby; thrown about like a child’s toy, Andrews could still see the wake of debris the vehicle had left as it rolled over and over before coming to its final resting place.
In that vehicle, his wife’s parents had died.
And in a way, so had Scott Mulligan. Though he had survived in body and mind, he had spent the lion’s share of the previous decade drifting through the corridors of Harmony Base like the installation’s resident ghost, a mourning relic of another time.
“It’s a wonder he survived that,” Benchley said, looking at the twisted remnants of One Truck as Andrews drove Four toward it.
“Do you think he wants to see it?” Andrews asked. He felt foolish asking the question, but One Truck was essentially the tombstone of Peter and CJ Lopez, Rachel’s parents. Even though their bodies had been removed from the wreckage on that fateful day, they had been Mulligan’s friends. He had watched them die, and Andrews had heard the tale from the man himself, when he’d finally decided to talk of the event with Rachel.
“The SCEV rolled three times, tossed around like some kid’s Tonka toy. Your father was killed instantly. One of the gravity belts on your mother’s harness broke, and she was ejected from her seat. When it was over, she managed to hang on for another three hours. I had no voice contact with the outside world, and the rig was demolished. I figured there would be at least an attempt at a rescue, but it didn’t come soon enough. CJ died in my arms.”
“He’ll pay his respects another time,” Benchley said. “Not now. Keep pushing on, Andrews.”
Andrews did as ordered, and One Truck fell behind them. The SCEV continued rolling across the dead fields, bumping along. There was no chatter from the second compartment. He knew KC was busy with the engineering station, doubtless obsessing over the capacitor in the back. And Mulligan and Leona kept silent, even though there were certainly things to discuss. Like why Mulligan was out here in the first place, and why was the base commander along for the ride?
Nine minutes later, SCEV Four arrived at its destination. As Andrews slowed the rig, he sensed Mulligan’s presence in the cockpit doorway. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to confirm it. When Mulligan was around, you just knew it.
“You can stop right about here, sir,” the big sergeant major said.
“Sure thing, Sarmajor.” Andrews pulled back on the control column, cutting off power to the wheels. The engines spooled down to a low idle as he eased on the brakes, bringing the big rig to a gentle halt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Benchley look out the viewports, then slowly lower his eyes until he was looking at his hands, which were clasped in his lap. The general seemed to be in deep thought, and whatever he was contemplating wasn’t pleasant. While his face betrayed nothing, Andrews could feel the emotion emanating from him like some sort of queer energy.
Before them was a small, single-story house. Ranch style, probably built sometime in the late 1950s. Its paint had been blasted away by the shockwave, its vinyl siding melted so severely that the entire structure looked more like a well-used candle than a house. Shingles had been torn from the roof, and the tattered remains of curtains rustled in the cold wind through windows that were devoid of any glass. The entire structure listed to one side. Every window had been blasted out, as had the back door. It faced the idling SCEV like a gray-black maw, featureless, its true depth unknown.
“I’ll be gone for a bit,” Mulligan said. His tone of voice was natural, as if he was discussing taking a quick trip to the gym or the latrine. Andrews turned and looked up at him, and was surprised to see the big man was already dressed in a protective suit complete with respirator that would protect him from the harsh elements outside. The Sievert level was still above four, but in the suit, Mulligan would have a good five hours of protection, at minimum. And with the respirator assembly, he’d have enough canned air on hand for at least two.
“You need me to do a check?” Andrews asked him.
>
“No, sir. Lieutenant Eklund already did that. I’m good to go.”
“Well, let’s not be so hasty, Sergeant Major.” Benchley unfastened his harness. “I’ll need a few minutes to get suited up.”
“What?” Andrews said.
“Not part of the deal, General,” Mulligan said. “This is as far as you go.”
Benchley looked up at the towering sergeant major. An icy smile slowly spread its way across his face, and Andrews caught a glimpse of what Benchley must’ve been like as a younger man: tough as nails, and ready to prove it.
“That’s funny, an enlisted man telling me what I can do,” Benchley said. Despite his smile, there was no humor in his voice. “I mean, here I am, an honest to God general officer. And you think you can tell me what to do, Mulligan? If I remember my military hierarchy, you’re what? Eleven stations down the food chain from me?”
“Sir, this isn’t your job to do,” Mulligan said.
“The fuck it isn’t!” Benchley roared, the fury in his voice mirrored by the expression on his face. Andrews had never seen the Old Man so energized before, and it was both an awesome and fearsome sight. “You back up right now, Sergeant Major, and you do it God damned fast!”
“Marty,” Mulligan said, “this is for me to do.”
“Make a hole,” Benchley growled. “Make it wide.”
“General—” Andrews looked from Benchley to Mulligan. “Sarmajor... listen, you can’t do this by yourself. I’ll go. I can do whatever you need me to do, and hey, I’m replaceable.”
Benchley turned his withering glare toward him. “Andrews—”
“Captain, I appreciate the sentiment, but this is something I have to do,” Mulligan said. “You have a rig to command. You need to stay here.”
“Lieutenant Eklund is quite capable of operating the SCEV, Sarmajor,” Andrews said.
Earthfall (Novella): The Remains of Yesterday Page 3