“John, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Maybe. But that is how it comes across.”
The two men sat silent, sipping their bourbon, the high end kind, not the cheap stuff.
Finally, Jim spoke. “So, what do I get to publish?”
John sighed a bit. “You publish the basic findings, after we tone down the adjectives a bit. But you also publish in some small independent journal. No conclusions. Just facts.”
John knew the subdued Jim was signaling that his feelings and ego were hurt. There were times when John wished Jim did not work for him. He was a good friend. Hell, John introduced his baby sister to him. So, having to sometimes step on his head bothered him.
“Look it, Jim. I know you think this is all about the Institute. But it’s also about you, your wife and soon your child. Do you want to be the subject of tabloids, or have people who wear caps made out of aluminum foil bugging you all the time? Bugging you and your family?”
“I guess you’re right, John. It just that it’s so damned interesting.”
“That enthusiasm is what makes you a good scientist. A better one than me. Nope, no protests, you know what I say is true.”
John refilled the glasses. “But I am a good administrator. I have to worry about your funding, my funding, everyone’s funding. Not to mention the NSA is snooping around in everything, just looking to make some project classified, under their control.”
Jim let out a long sigh. “You’re right, damnit. Once again, you keep me from hurting myself. But it will be published, what I found, right? We’ll just let someone else make the correct connections.”
John raised his glass. “A toast, my friend. To the Professor Stevens’ paper on the Asteroid 18666 and its odd ride through the solar system.”
“I’ll drink to that, John. And to your new nephew.”
“Nephew? You guys cheated and found out?”
“Yes. And he’s going to be named John, after his uncle, his dad’s best friend.”
“You’re going to make me tear up, buddy.”
“Pour us another round, John. We might as well make this a real celebration.”
A half hour later, John began to try and sober up. If he went home, half in the bag Joanie, his wife, would give him her signature glacier stare. His administrative assistant, Stephanie, knocked on the door, and came in.
“Anything else, Professor?” Stephanie was a knock out blonde with curves in all the right places. She gave him a slight pouting smile that she knew drove him to distraction.
“Yeah, my dear. Shut the door. There. Now, come over here and show me that garter belt, nylons and panties I bought. I want to see how well they fit you.” Stephanie giggled, walked over and began to hike her skirt. Nothing like good old office politics, John thought, to get his juices flowing.
A month later, the paper was published, with Professor John C. Bodinky listed as editor, Professor John L. Stevens as author and researcher. Staff members at the Central Intelligence Agencies and National Security Agency perused it, logged it in, and then filed it away under basic “that’s nice” identifiers.
The draft copy sat in the bottom drawer of John C. Bodinky’s desk, under the bottle of scotch and a pair of Stephanie’s panties.
Then, on September 13th, at 9:13am, Jim’s possible conclusions arrived in the form of a large rock.
FIRST STRIKE
The September morning was sunny and clear, as Adam Lloyd sat waiting for his friend in Atlanta, Georgia. He smiled to himself as he again thought how Chief Master Sergeant William “Willie” Hamilton always managed to find these off-the-beaten-track small diners that served excellent breakfasts. As Adam Lloyd glanced through the diner’s fairly clean window, he could see his reflection.
Since exiting the U.S. Air Force as a Captain some six months prior, Adam had still remained clean shaven, and kept his brown hair short, as required by military grooming standards. His just under six foot frame was actually in better physical shape than when he had been in the Air Force. He was still looking for a decent job in law enforcement, had limited funds from savings and odd jobs, and no love life. Thus he spent a lot of time at the gym and running the side streets around his extended stay motel room. He was waiting for a possible training academy class at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Brunswick, Georgia. However, once again, the Federal budget was screwed up, so various agencies were unsure as to when they could start their next new hire classes.
Adam sipped his coffee. Hurry up and wait. He had left the Air Force because people seemed more involved with their own egos than doing the Mission, or even doing their job the way it was supposed to be done. Thus, inertia set in, and no one wanted to make the hard decisions. For someone who believed in working for a higher cause, it was time to leave.
Willie, as his friends called him, was still in. He had managed to be attached to some special operations and programs that kept him active and busy. The Chief had told him on more than one occasion that his idealistic tilting at windmills would just get him more frustrated. But then, Willie had ten years of age on him, was enlisted, and could let the Officer class deal with all the higher level B.S. Willie had enough time in that he could retire, if forced to do something he really didn’t believe in.
Adam looked up to the entrance in time to see the red-headed and small-mustached Chief Hamilton walk in. Shorter than Adam, he had retained the muscular build of a much younger man. His eyes shared the same blue color as Adam’s. Judging by the way the waitress flashed him a smile, he had been here before. Adam chuckled. Leave it to Willie to make contacts no matter where he went. Willie saw him, smiled, and headed his way.
“Chief,” Adam said as he shook hands.
“Boss. Looking good in civvies. Been working out too, I see.”
“You’re looking good in those civvies you’re wearing also, Willie. Wife picked them out?”
Willie grimaced a bit. “Yeah. Get her here to the land of the big BX from Afghanistan and she goes all Western civilization on me. She’s running the NCO Wives’ Club like she’s been in charge for years.”
They both laughed and sat down. The smiling, attractive young waitress came over with menus, and Willie waved them away.
“No need, darlin’. Steak and eggs, pancakes on the side, with some o.j. and coffee.” The Chief still had an Alabama accent despite all of his travels.
“Will do, Chief. Coming right up.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Been coming here long?”
“On and off for years. Good place to have an off the record conversation. Nobody of any importance comes here, especially not at nine in the morning.”
The waitress came with the coffee, and poured them each a cup. The Chief slurped it in his typical style.
“They do have good coffee here. So, any job nibbles yet?
Adam shrugged. “I’m still waiting on the budget problems to get sorted out. Hiring is paused until they get some more funding. You know the drill.”
“Unfortunately, yes I do, Boss. You should have stayed in, so I could’ve stayed working for you.”
“Nah, Willie. I just would have said the wrong thing to some martinet field grade fool. Then I would have been in the shits. It was time for me to leave.”
The Chief gave him a firm stare. “Well, if you need some work, let me know. I have some irons in the fire where I could hire a ‘civilian contractor’ for at least a few months.”
Adam smiled. “Thanks, old friend. Give me a few more weeks of pounding the pavement, and I may give you a call.”
“Make that two weeks. This window won’t stay open forever.”
“Okay. It’s a deal. Shake.” They shook hands. Willie suddenly looked up at the television that had been mounted above the old-fashioned diner counter and frowned. Adam turned and looked also. The regulars seated at the old-fashioned diner the counter were all intent on a bright “Breaking News” logo plastered on the cable news screen. Just then, something in the Chief
’s diddy bag made an odd beeping and ringing sound. He reached and pulled out a state of the art encrypted satellite phone.
“Hamilton here.” Willie listened intently, trying not to draw attention to his unique-looking piece of equipment. He frowned.
“You’re bullshitting me, right?” he replied to the person at the other end of the conversation. “Alright, you’re not. I’ll get my family packed up, report back from leave ASAP. Out.”
“Trouble, Chief?”
“You are not going to believe this. The breaking news is what appear to be meteor strikes around the world, including four blocks from the White House. They are coming in hot, with some as big as semi-truck trailers.”
Adam’s eyes widened. “My God! At that size, depending on the speed of impact, it can hit like a small nuke! Was Space Command asleep at the switch?”
“Good question. That large Asteroid they numbered 18666 is nearing Earth and moon orbit. They were supposedly watching it, and said there was no dangerous fragment field around it. But it has to be connected.”
He looked intently at Adam. “By the way, consider yourself hired at this moment, Shanghaied if you want to consider it in those terms. We’ll go get my wife and kids sent home, then find a Western Union or some other wire transfer place. I can get a down payment on your wages wired to us from a fund I have access to in D.C.”
Adam smiled. “Shanghaied? Hell, I volunteer. I think this will all turn to shit in a minute. People are going to throw accusations and missiles around like tennis balls. Conspiracy theories seem to fuel international politics.”
“You got that right. By the way, does it bother you that I’m your boss this time?”
“Nope. Now you get all the headaches from being in charge, not me.”
Willie Hamilton chuckled. “I guess you get your revenge. Now, I’ll pay for the meal we didn’t eat, we take off, and pick up…”
A rushing, crackling, thunderous sound like a freight train passing nearby shook the diner. Adam stared out the large pane front window, catching a glimpse of a sight he could never forget. A large fireball was streaking towards impact on the next block over.
“Get down! Bomb!” Adam figured by yelling that he would get the automatic response from the diner patrons and staff he desired. It worked. Nearly everyone hit the floor. Adam and Willie also dove under their booth table, as the entire front window was shattered by the shock wave of a huge impact.
Adam and the Chief recovered quickly, having experienced similar events before. They made their way out the front door of the diner, stopping to stare at the scene around them for a few moments. The next block was becoming a flaming mess.
“That parking garage is where my car is parked. Was parked,” Adam stated.
“Ditto, Boss.” Willie turned and placed some bills on the counter. As he did, the vehicle gas tanks in the parking garage where the supposed meteorite had hit began to explode.
“We need to get to your wife and kids, Chief. How far out of Atlanta are they?”
“Wingate Hotel near the Six Flags theme park, which is about nine miles west of here on Interstate 20. Azita, my son, and my daughter made a weekend of it while the water park was still open.”
“We need some wheels. Let’s get looking.” The two military comrades left the diner and headed in the opposite direction from the parking garage. Adam’s motel room was a bit east of their location, but he made a split second decision that getting to the Chief’s family was more important than getting any of his equipment.
Adam glanced down the first alleyway they came to, while the air around them resounded with sirens. Someone had pulled in their dark blue SUV and fled, in an apparent attempt to find cover. The door was open, engine was running.
“The Gods of War are smiling on us, Chief.”
“That they are, Boss.”
Adam automatically went to the driver’s side door, then stopped. He looked at Willie. “I seem to remember something about you being in charge…”
His friend waved him off. “We’ll worry about that later. You do what you do best. Make command decisions. Just like old times…Captain.”
Adam gave him a grim smile. “Okay. Let’s find a way to Interstate 20, and get you to your family.”
“Roger that.”
Adam drove through the alleyway, then out onto the next street. Traffic was complete chaos as people maneuvered around abandoned vehicles and responding fire trucks, or just stopped, frozen in place. The explosions from vehicle gas tanks had sent people scurrying for cover in any available building, so Adam ran the SUV up on the sidewalks, maneuvering around the remaining traffic.
“Hauling ass in a stolen vehicle,” the Chief opined. “Been playing Grand Theft Auto a lot?”
Adam laughed. “You’ve got a point there, Chief. It just comes naturally, I guess.”
The former Air Force Security Police Captain cut down a couple of alleys, then turned toward what looked like a highway onramp. As they neared it, the two military men noticed a large number of figures milling around the roadway. Adam honked the SUV’s horn as he tried to maneuver up the ramp.
Two dark-skinned figures suddenly appeared, each with some kind of pistol in their hands. They pointed their weapons at the slow-moving vehicle.
“Get the fuck out of the car, motherfucker!” the one on Willie’s side yelled.
“Okay, okay. No problem,” Adam replied. “It’s not ours anyways. Be advised, it’s stolen.”
“Like we give a fuck,” growled the scruffy looking black male on Adam’s side.
As the two men exited the stopped vehicle, the Chief produced a small pistol from some hiding place and, in one smooth motion, shot the man on his side through the right eye. The carjacker toppled backwards.
The ne’er do well on Adam’s side yelled and swung his gun towards Willie. This gave Adam the chance to close the distance with him, grabbing the gun hand with his right hand. He twisted it so the arm’s elbow was extended and pointing upward. With his left hand, he smashed the elbow joint in the wrong direction, breaking it.
The man screamed and dropped the handgun. Adam followed with a blow to the throat, then kicked the thug’s left kneecap. After the man fell to the ground, Adam stomped on his head. The attempted carjacker laid still.
“Also been doing some hand-to-hand training I see, Boss.”
“I started working out with a couple of MMA fighters at the gym. They specialize in teaching attitude adjustments.” Adam recovered the dropped pistol, and saw it was a .38 five shot snubby revolver.
“What did you shoot your guy with, Chief?” At the sound of the shot, everyone else had scattered, leaving Adam and Willie alone near the SUV.
“Little Smith and Wesson 22 Passport auto. They stopped making them years ago.”
Adam laughed. “Still going the retro route.”
“Hell, Boss. The old shit works just fine. Sometimes better than all this twenty-first century crap.”
“What was your guy carrying?”
“Cheap thirty two auto. It’ll do for now. Let’s be sheep and get the flock out of here.”
“Roger that, Chief.” Old habits came back. They were a deadly team again.
“Ever notice, Chief, that there are always some assholes around making bad situations worse?”
“Well, those two won’t be doing that again.”
Adam maneuvered the SUV up the ramp and onto Interstate 20 westbound. He drove in any available lane, through any available space, up on the shoulder, down the median. Adam didn’t care about breaking any traffic laws. He was focused on getting his friend to his family.
Between the Chief’s satellite phone and the car radio—now broadcasting National Emergency Alerts—they pieced together the narrative so far. There were “rock strikes”, as some bright eyes had labeled them, all over the world. The term “a natural disaster of biblical proportions” was bandied about.
“Looks like a big one passing over Atlanta broke up, Boss,” Willie sha
red. “Led to a shotgun effect instead of just one good sized smack.”
“Why aren’t they breaking up, exploding in the air like that one over Russia some years back?” Adam asked, as he passed a car slowing on the shoulder.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Boss. Leave that one to the big brains, along with why no one noticed them incoming until the last moment.”
“Yeah, Chief. Someone is gonna have some ‘splainin’ to do’, as Rickie Ricardo once said.”
Willie laughed. “Now who is going old and retro?” Just then, all traffic stopped. Adam pulled onto the shoulder. They made a few more car lengths before that avenue was blocked.
“I think I see a stalled tanker truck up ahead, with some flashing cop lights, Boss.”
“Still have some type of special ID that might get us through, Chief?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Willie grabbed his diddy bag. “Hide your pistol and follow me. We’ll see if I have any magic today.”
The two men left the SUV with the doors open, still running. A car thief would get nowhere in this traffic jam. They walked forward about fifty yards, weaving their way through the stopped cars and up to a Georgia State Trooper, who was arguing with an older retiree in front of the man’s RV.
“No sir, I cannot let you through. See that tanker truck? It’s sprung a bad leak and is rapidly soaking the area around it with flammable gasoline. A hot muffler, a large spark, boom! The fumes go up, then the tanker.”
The Chief walked up, interrupted the conversation with a set of credentials. “Homeland Security, officer. Chief Master Sergeant William Hamilton. This here is Special Agent Adam Lloyd. We need to get by to meet up with a group near Six Flags, trying to figure out this mess.”
The heavy set older trooper grunted. “Hell, Chief, I figured it out. Hell from the sky made a mess of everything. But I can’t let you near that tanker. If it goes up, this part of the Interstate is toast. And an evacuation of Atlanta has started. Just got word.”
Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation Page 2