Wells stepped toward the table, but instead of retreating Sal circled in search of his next shot.
"Get out of the way, it's my table."
"What do you mean? I made the shot. Four ball, corner pocket."
"No man, you did NOT call it with all those bumpers and kisses. No fucking way."
"Yeah man, I did."
"You are such a bullshitter, Sal."
"I may be a bullshitter but I called that shot."
Without looking up from his game, Pearson said, "Uh-oh, trouble in paradise."
Wells shook his head and retreated to the wall again, vigorously chalking his stick. Sal went back to planning his next shot.
Colonel Liz Thunder walked into the room, glanced at the large game board, and said, "I hope you're not the Allies."
Captain Campion swiveled to perfect attention. The other men did the same, although Pearson did not let go of his game.
Thunder waived a hand, signaling "at ease," and the men returned to their recreation.
Major Gant answered, "Unfortunately, I am one of the good guys in this one. And the good guys are getting pounded."
"Well, judging by what I see here, I wouldn't count on promotion to a theater command anytime soon."
"Did you come all the way down here to bust my chops?"
"Actually no, but that’s just an added bonus," she said as she grabbed his arm and led him to the doorway, out of earshot of the rest of the men. "What have you got planned for the rest of today?"
Gant checked the schedule he kept tucked inside his head. "Two training sessions. I plan to use one of these vacant upper levels to simulate entry into the quarantine zone. Basic stuff—I don’t have enough intel to do anything more than that."
"Cancel it," she said. "Or hand it off to your second. We’ve got a date."
"Sounds interesting. What have you got?"
"How about The Tall Company? They’ve got a research facility in upstate New York. I’ve got a chopper booked and ready to go." She glanced at the clock on the wall and added, "If we leave right away we can get there before closing time."
"They have files on this Briggs experiment? Something that can help us?"
"Better," she smiled. "A week before the experiment here Briggs booted one of his researchers off the team. That may make her the luckiest person on the planet, but it also makes her very important to us. And guess what—she still works for Tall after all these years."
Thom considered and asked, "What makes you think she’ll talk to us? I also wonder exactly how General Borman would take to an off-base excursion."
"Like I told you before, I’m in charge of this base and security here. I deem it necessary to learn more about the nature of the containment. Therefore I am doing this on my own authority. Corporal Sanchez commanded this base for more than twenty-four hours on his own after Haas was killed, so he can handle a couple of hours this afternoon."
"Are you sure that is a good idea?"
She told him, "I thought intelligence gathering was critical to your missions."
"So is following the chain of command. You could get your head bit off for it."
She laughed. "I specialize in putting heads back together."
Thom glanced toward the table and the war game.
"Well, Doctor, maybe you can put my infantry back together."
He spoke in jest, but Thunder approached the game board and analyzed. As she moved she told them, "I used to play this game with my brothers. Maybe I can help."
Campion stood back and let the colonel examine the board. She said to him, "You look like you're in pretty good shape, Captain."
"Yes, ma'am."
His forces were poised for one final push to Moscow. He had manipulated the game brilliantly, feinting a number of times, hiding the strength of his forces, and thinking two or three moves ahead. And now that the time was right, Campion moved without hesitation toward the end game. No more feints, no more hiding, just an outright lunge for the prize. And it was his for the taking.
Gant walked around the table, studying the map, but also watching Thunder as she commented on Campion's positions, asked questions about how long it had taken him to conquer France, and noted his use of Italian forces in contrast to their historical performance.
The captain answered, and while it was hard to tell with the man, Gant thought he heard a chord of pride in his voice, maybe even bravado. Campion knew he had been clever and seemed appreciative that someone had noticed.
Most interesting to Gant, however, was how Thunder studied not only the board but Captain Campion himself. It seemed as if she took note of his body language, and her questioning appeared aimed at eliciting emotional responses, albeit subtle ones.
Thunder looked at Gant. "May I?"
He shrugged and motioned to his pieces. "It is my turn, and right now I will accept any help I can get."
Liz folded her arms and looked more closely at the board. She then leaned over even further, as if searching for tiny details. Then she swiveled her head to look at Campion.
He was just finishing a drink from a bottled water.
"Don’t mind him," Gant said. "He doesn’t care if you or anyone else helps out. He’s not fighting me, you see; he’s fighting the Allies."
Campion answered, "Of course. It’s World War II."
"I see," the lieutenant colonel remarked.
She used her finger to count hexes on the game board, as if measuring distances between pieces.
She asked, "Supply points are through cities marked in red, right?"
Gant nodded.
"What turn is it?"
Campion answered, "Summer of 1941."
"Winter is a looong way off," Gant added. "I have reinforcements coming, but they will not reach the front for a couple of turns."
"Siberian divisions?" she asked, and Campion's eyes widened just a little at her knowledge of that historical detail.
Thunder spent five minutes walking around the board, measuring distances, and asking technical questions. Gant started to feel embarrassed for her: had she bit off more than she could chew and now could not think of a move to make?
For his part, Gant saw see no option other than fighting a static defense in Russia and hoping Campion made a mistake.
Just when he was about to offer Thunder a way out, she bent over the table and moved the game pieces deliberately and precisely, rechecking measurements and unit types as she worked.
To his horror, she pulled several of Gant’s strongest Russian units away from the Eastern Front, creating a gap in his lines. She moved one unit, stopped, recounted hexes, then moved it another space. As she did this she paused on several occasions to ask Gant for clarifications of the rules, especially those regarding the effects of terrain on combat.
Campion watched her, first nonchalantly then a little more intensely. He finished his first bottle of water in two big gulps and grabbed another. He fumbled with a vending machine for a cupcake as if desperately trying to look unengaged, yet Gant felt certain he saw sweat forming on the younger man's brow.
After nearly fifteen minutes of questions, moves, re-moves, and calculations, Lieutenant Colonel Liz Thunder moved away from the game board, turned to Gant, and said, "Well, it took some doing but I think there’s still hope for Mother Russia. It all depends on what he does now." She walked to the door with a confident gait and called to Thom, "Our chopper leaves in about fifteen minutes. Don’t be late."
Gant nodded, then looked at the map of Europe as she disappeared. He could not glean the purpose behind her moves. It looked as if she had weakened his position, in fact.
Campion, meanwhile, slinked toward the game board carefully, as if it might be a land mine.
10
The teardrop-shaped OH-6 Cayuse chopper lifted away from the pad, then swooped into the gray sky on a north by northeast heading. As the helicopter gained speed, the rain splashing against the windshield turned from drops into a constant deluge that pelted the glass and
warped into long streaks.
Gant sat in the rear seat, Thunder up front next to the pilot. The sound of the rotors made it impossible to converse without aviation headsets. The two spoke on a channel separate from the pilot’s.
"So how’s Campion handling my move?"
Gant smiled to himself and told her, "When I left he was still circling the board and studying. He cannot figure out what you are up to. I admit, neither can I."
A crosswind bucked the Cayuse side to side.
Thunder told Gant, "Good. That’s the entire point."
"I do not follow you."
"Let me ask you this," she said as she turned enough to look at him. "Are you playing a game or refighting World War Two?"
The question confused Major Gant. After a moment he answered, "The game is World War II."
"No, it’s not war at all . It’s a game. You’re not fighting with real tanks and bombs and troops, you’re fighting with finite rules and random chance."
"The game is a fairly complex and detailed re-creation of the Second World War."
"Yes, it’s a re-creation. But it’s not World War Two all over again. Campion is caught up in the war. You won’t be able to beat him if you fight the war against him. You need to play the game better. You need to understand the nuances in the rules."
"So you have found something in the rules to slow him down?"
She laughed. "No, not at all. You’re toast; he’s got you by the balls."
"I feel much better. So what did you do, speed up my defeat? The moves you made do not make sense to me."
"Good. If they didn’t make any sense to you, they didn’t make any sense to Campion."
Gant tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and said, "So you are faking him out. A bluff."
"He’s intent on not making the mistakes Hitler made. He’s determined to get to Moscow before winter hits. But he’s still fighting World War Two, not playing the game."
"How so?"
"Historically the Russians just sat there and let themselves be surrounded during the early months of Hitler's invasion. They held their lines and wouldn’t retreat. Stalin traded men for time. You were doing the same thing."
Gant thought about it. Maybe he had fallen into that trap. The speed of Campion's advance had taken him by surprise, and while his Russian armies were plentiful in number, they lacked combat effectiveness. Throwing his numbers at the Germans was akin to throwing meat in the grinder, but he had hoped to throw enough of them in to jam that grinder.
She went on, "He plots every single move with tremendous care, doesn’t he? He probably tricked you plenty early on. Outsmarted you at every turn."
Gant said nothing. She was right.
The chopper bucked again.
"Now he’s being aggressive because he sees victory just a move away. He sees German armor blasting through Russian infantry. He probably can hear the artillery in his mind. To his way of thinking, he’s mopping up a defeated enemy and heading for the gates of Moscow. So what did I do? I asked him about the game. I asked him about rules. Then I moved pieces around and counted spaces. If I had really been a Russian general Stalin would have shot me for pulling front line forces into reserve. The Germans would have rushed and filled those gaps without thought, without even consulting the bigger picture."
Gant started to catch on. "But Campion can see the big picture. And he heard you asking about the rules and the game—forcing him to remember that this was a game."
"Yes, and what did I remember that he forgot while he was living in fantasy land on the Eastern Front?"
"I do not know. What did you remember?"
She smiled "Nothing. Not a damn thing. Like I said, you’re toast. But he doesn’t know that."
He glanced out the side window, seeing little more than rain and fog, although it seemed they traveled over an endless field of forest.
"What happened historically?" she asked.
Gant told her what she already knew: "Instead of taking Moscow in the summer Hitler moved his tanks south to surround and destroy several big Russian armies. That took time. When they finally returned to attack Moscow the rain and mud set in. After that came winter."
"Yes," she said. "Hitler's move delayed his armies long enough for reinforcements and General Winter to stem the German advance. Moscow was saved in '41 and the rest is history."
Gant told her, "My opponent has gone to great lengths to avoid that same mistake. He's ignoring everything except for Moscow."
"You're right, but this time it’s not a bad decision by Hitler to attack a Russian army in the south that is going to delay the Germans—it’s indecision. You wait and see. If I read his personality right he’s going to get nervous now, tentative. He could finish it in a move or two, but he’s afraid I’ve laid some sort of trap."
Gant asked, "And if he realizes it was all a ruse?"
"Better learn to speak German."
—
To Thom Gant's eyes, The Tall Company's New York facility resembled a military installation more than a commercial complex. For starters, it sat far away from civilization in a valley surrounded by a chalky white forest of bent and broken trees seemingly suffering from some cancerous blight.
The compound included three windowless rectangular buildings standing four or five stories, apparently designed by an architect who consulted shoeboxes and bricks for inspiration.
As they flew in, he spotted fences topped with razor wire, cameras, and rooftop walkways equipped with spotlights. The helipad on which they landed actually descended on a lift into an aviation hanger.
A thin man with thick glasses from the public relations office escorted them across the grounds, including through an underground tunnel where Thom spotted armed guards and numerous "Security Is Everyone's Responsibility" signs.
Whatever ruse Liz had used to gain access had worked; their guide kept babbling on about how the company appreciated working with the military and how Uncle Sam was more a partner than a customer. The man professed his admiration for men—and women—in uniform a half-dozen times during their walk despite Gant and Thunder wearing casual civilian attire.
Finally they reached a laboratory situated in a quiet corner of one of those big brick-shaped buildings. Their accommodating host led them around rows of silent computers and electronic equipment in various states of repair to a lonely office, at which point he left the visitors to their business.
Inside that office waited a woman whose strong muscle tone helped hide her age. She wore a lose-fitting white jacket over a black turtleneck. Thin glasses hung from a strap and dangled to her chest, and she kept her gray and blond hair in a tight bun.
"Dr. McCaul?" Thunder started the conversation.
"Yes," the woman answered. "You must be Lieutenant Colonel Thunder and Major Gant. Please come in. And my name is Doreen."
Unlike General Friez's office at Darwin and Thunder's new home at Red Rock, Doreen McCaul's corner of The Tall Company featured numerous personal touches.
The color green dominated the decorum in the form of plants—some hanging, others crowded on shelves. Thom did not have an eye for such things, but he did recognize several ferns, a Chinese evergreen, a couple of arrowhead plants, and a row of lucky bamboo. His wife, Jean, had cultivated similar plants during their first year of marriage when they lived in an apartment in North Carolina with small windows and a lack of natural light.
"Please, take a seat," McCaul invited.
Thunder accepted the invitation and took advantage of a wood bench with cast iron legs positioned beneath a window looking out at the laboratory. Gant remained on his feet and drifted around the office. Collections of figurines, photographs, a child's finger painting, and all manner of books grabbed both his eye and his curiosity.
Their host rolled a swivel chair out from behind her quaint antique desk to the center of the small office, as if preparing to lead a discussion group.
"You’ve come a long way for a short story," she told them.
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"Dr. McCaul—I mean, Doreen," Liz said in a friendly tone, matching their host's demeanor. "I was recently placed in charge of the facility at Red Rock."
"Red Rock? The big hole in the ground in Pennsylvania. Nice countryside, though. I remember a little restaurant not far away down on the main road. Of all the places, do you know what they had?"
Gant smiled and told her, "A fantastic roast beef melt sandwich."
McCaul flashed a similar smile and nodded. "Yes, it was always a favorite with the soldiers. The Rooster restaurant, or something like that."
Liz seemed eager to get to the point. "I found your name in files regarding an experiment run in 1992 by a Dr. Ronald Briggs. From what I read, you were a member of his research team prior to the actual experiment. I should add that both myself and Major Gant have all the necessary clearances."
McCaul waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not that impressed by clearances. I find all of that rather silly, to be honest."
Liz pressed, "But you were on his team?"
McCaul sighed in what sounded like disappointment. Judging by the isolated location of her office, Gant figured she received few visitors and might have enjoyed some chitchat.
"Yes, yes, I was on his team. Still, there’s not much to tell. Dr. Briggs removed me before the big day."
Gant listened but his eyes drifted across a line of books covering subjects from ancient civilizations to mathematics, so wide a range of topics that the collection of reading material did not reveal the doctor's area of specialty.
"The records are sketchy as to the nature of the experiment," Liz said. "Any information you can provide would be useful."
"I’ve tried for a long time to put Ronald and his pet project out of my mind. It was not a very pleasant experience."
Liz leaned forward. "What was so unpleasant about the experiment?"
"Not the experiment; Ronald Briggs. He was not a pleasant man."
"Oh." Liz relaxed, but her question obviously had struck a nerve, and Doreen's memories came flooding back.
Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle Page 9