by Summer Lane
“All launch prerequisites have been met,” they reply.
“SSBN-627 concurs.”
There is a long beat of silence. I look at the computer screens and I see a sonar readout. I also spot a digital map on one of the screens, and I recognize San Francisco Bay immediately.
“You brought this on yourself,” I whisper.
San Francisco, once so beautiful. Now, nothing but a collection of devastated rubble and thousands of Omega soldiers, infecting the city like a colony of termites.
Elle gives me a sad look, but says nothing.
“SSBN-627, you have permission to fire,” the radio crackles.
I inhale.
“Missile away,” Captain Stanley says.
I exhale.
The entire submarine shakes slightly as the ballistic missile empties from its chamber, plunging through the water, toward the surface. When it breaks the surface, a fiery propulsion explodes beneath it and drives it into the sky, toward its target on land.
I place a hand on my chest.
We’ve done it. We’ve really, truly done it.
“Missile is on trajectory,” Officer Green says.
Elle’s fingers are pressed against her lips, and she’s staring intently at the map of San Francisco. Manny is stone silent.
“Missile is on trajectory,” Officer Greene repeats.
He says this several times. As the minutes tick by, I pray under my breath that God will somehow find it in his heart to forgive us for this war, for this killing. For this horrific measure that we have taken in order to secure our freedom and future victory.
“We have a confirmed hit,” Officer Green says suddenly. “The missile has detonated in the harbor, sir.”
Elle releases a breath and Uriah’s fists tighten.
“So it’s done, then,” Elle whispers. “We’ve struck back.”
I don’t reply.
Captain Stanley turns to me, his face as expressionless as ever.
“The U.S.S. Peter is capable of holding twenty-four ballistic missiles at one time,” he says. “I suppose what I’m saying, Commander, is that we have plenty of insurance on board.”
“You want to launch more at the city,” I say.
He raises his hands.
“It’s your call, Commander,” he replies.
I consider this – one or two more missiles would make absolutely certain that not a single Omega trooper within fifty miles survived the biochemical weapon.
“Do it,” Uriah says.
I meet Captain Stanley’s gaze. I nod.
He dips his head, and then he picks up the radio, and we start all over again.
***
We are up all day, into the late hours of the night. As our sub fleet moves down the coastline, we wreak destructive chaos on our home state for the sake of driving the enemy out. We launch missiles in San Francisco, San Jose, Monterey, San Luis Obispo, San Simeon, Santa Barbara, Ventura…any place where Omega troops have congregated in large numbers. There is no shortage of Omega occupation, and between the five subs headed south, we have no shortage of missiles.
And so we empty our stores of them, launching the potent, poisonous weapons at the towns along the coastline where we know Omega is keeping the bulk of their invading armies.
Silent and stealthy as we are, we have no radio contact with the militias or the outside world. Our best weapon is our silence, as Captain Stanley tells me, and we will not know the extent of the damage we have done until we surface in San Diego.
It is not until we reach Los Angeles that the morbidity of our mission really sets in on me. Los Angeles – my home. I know that it has been hit before with a chemical weapon by Omega…but now, I am the one who is giving the order to hit it again.
My only hope is that if there are any survivors left there, that they will somehow survive this attack. But my common sense is louder than my hopeful nature; I know that Omega has completely taken over the urban city. Anything left needs to be destroyed.
When we have launched missiles at Los Angeles and Long Beach, our destructive assault finally ends. I clutch the wall, emotionally spent, my mouth and throat dry.
“Mission accomplished,” Elle whispers, and she turns away, slipping into the hall.
“So it’s done, then,” Manny says. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “It was a necessary purge, my girl. There was no other way.”
I know that he is right – Manny is pretty much always right.
But that doesn’t make this any easier, not really. I talk to Captain Stanley for a few more minutes and then turn to Manny and Uriah, who are still staring balefully at the computer screens.
I feel odd and detached.
At last, we have had a victory against the Omegan forces, and yet we still feel hollow and spent. And I think I know why – it is because we sacrificed so much of our humanity for this war. We defend ourselves because we fear the scourge of Omega. I guess, in a way, that fear has really driven us to come this far. After all, without fear, there can be no courage.
“Let’s get out of here,” Uriah mutters.
We leave Command Control, head back to the Wardroom, and all of us – Captain Stanley included – grab a hot mug of coffee and gather around the table.
We enjoy our first moment of true peace in months.
Chapter Fifteen
U.S.S. Peter (SSBN 627 – Ohio Class)
San Diego, California
It is early morning when we arrive in San Diego. I sit on the edge of the bottom bunk, waiting for Vera to finish using the bathroom. My backpack is slung over my shoulder, along with my rifle, and I focus on breathing evenly.
Almost done. Almost home.
Yes, I have never been to San Diego before. But the truth has always been clear to me: my home is wherever Chris is. Always. And when I am on dry land again, the first thing I will do is make radio contact with Sector 27 and check in with him.
“You done yet?” I ask, impatient.
“I’m working on it! Rome wasn’t built in a day, geez,” Vera shoots back.
I roll my eyes and stand up, leaning on the wall, anxious to leave. We are maybe ten minutes away from emerging from the watery depths of the ocean. Ten minutes until we surface. Ten minutes until we are back on dry land, and I step foot on Californian turf once more.
Finally, Vera emerges from the bathroom, her platinum-blond hair pulled into a slick ponytail, a baseball cap snugly resting on her head.
“Happy now?” she snaps.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
We leave the cabin and head toward Command Control one more time, where I know Captain Stanley will be. When we duck inside, the rest of my platoon is already there.
“See?” I whisper. “Everybody was waiting on you.”
“Beauty takes time,” she replies.
Of course, I know she’s joking, but still. Annoying.
“Welcome back to the Golden State,” Captain Stanley says. And this time, there is the slight hint of a smile on his lips.
Miracles can happen, I suppose.
We all watch with bated breath as the ballast tanks blow their water and fill with air, pulling the submarine up through the water. The rising sensation quakes in my stomach, but I feel myself smiling anyway.
As the submarine reaches the surface, it rises above the water with a tremendous burst of motion, throwing us all forward. I grab Uriah’s arm to steady myself as the sub hits the top of the harbor, and then the screens in Command Control register daylight.
Bright, beautiful, pure daylight.
After being stuck in the barren winter solstice of Alaska, it looks like heaven. I let go of Uriah’s arm and step away from him, focused on the activity in the control room. The Peter plows through the waves. Nervous anticipation pools in my stomach.
Will Chris be waiting for us to arrive? By now, we have made radio contact with the naval air station, and they know we are coming in to dock.
“This is going to be different,” Manny says,
turning to me. “This time, when we get off this thing, we’re the victorious ones.”
I nod, slightly. He’s right…and I’m not sure if that revelation is calming yet.
As we come into the docking area, the sub slows down. I leave Command Control and walk to the stairway that leads to the main hatch, tapping the strap of my backpack. Uriah is right behind me. I turn to him.
“What?” I ask.
“We never got to finish talking,” he replies. “In Alaska, we were interrupted.”
“I don’t want to know anything else,” I say, firmly. “I mean it.”
“You think your dad didn’t know who I was?” Uriah presses. “I met him in the city, Cassidy. He recognized me – he’s a cop, for the love of God. He knew exactly who I was and what I’d done.”
I stare at him.
“He never told me this,” I say.
“He gave me a chance to start over,” Uriah says, his eyes reddening. Tears? “He believed in me when no one else did. I went with him to your cabin, Cassidy, all that time ago. We started the Freedom Fighters together. We helped build Camp Freedom.”
I feel as if someone has taken a knife and twisted it in my heart.
How could my father keep this secret from me? How could Uriah keep this secret from me? They knew each other since the beginning of the Collapse?
“I fell in love with the idea of finding you before I even met you,” Uriah whispers. “I wanted to be the one to rescue you, to prove to your father that I could be a better man than the one I was when I killed those men.”
I swallow.
“Uriah – ”
“But you found me,” he interjects. “You changed me. You showed me morality again, how to fight for something worth fighting for. Cassidy, I owe everything to you, and to your father. Like it or not, we’re bonded, you and me.”
I run a hand through my unruly red hair and shake my head.
“You should have told me a long time ago,” I say.
“My past is not something I tell just anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone.” I level my gaze. “We’re friends, you and me. We trust each other. You should have told me.” I take a deep breath. “But it’s in the past, now. Whatever you did back then…it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re Uriah True today, right now, and until the day you die. Understood?”
He says nothing.
“Don’t think ill of me, Cassidy,” he says quietly. “Just remember, I never did anything without you in mind.”
I frown, just as the klaxon wails on the submarine, the whistle blows, and the radio crackles with orders from Command Control. Seamen scuttle around the hallways and voices echo off the walls. Elle runs down the hall, an excited grin plastered across her face. Cheng follows behind her, as always. I’m starting to think that boy is her permanent shadow.
“Home, home, home,” Elle is muttering.
Two seamen climb the metal stairwell and the hatch pops open with a loud hiss and a bolt of bright sunlight. My eyes water from the sudden influx of light. I feel the warmth of it on my skin and take a deep breath.
Ocean air. Thank God.
I hurry up the steps, my boots clanging on the metal staircase, emerging on the top of the sub.
Coronado Naval Air Station.
The sun sears my vision and the wind from the bay cuts into my cheeks. But compared to the frigid temperatures of Alaska, this is almost sweltering weather. The harbor is huge and blue behind me. A massive blue bridge spans the space between Coronado Island and San Diego. The city itself is in relatively good condition. A few buildings have fallen, but the bulk of the urban skyline is still intact. Coast Guard Cutters patrol the water, and in the distance, warships are guarding the coastline.
I walk down the gangplank, onto the dock. To our left, a mighty aircraft carrier is docked, being serviced by dozens of Naval seamen. A road runs parallel to the dock, busy with military vehicles and foot traffic. Buildings dot the perimeter, and to the right, two large air hangars are sparkling in the early morning light.
A fleet of military Apache helicopters sit on the tarmac – there are at least two dozen of them. I hear the powerful blades of a Blackhawk and watch it thunder above our heads.
I smile. Here, in the middle of the military might of the United States Navy, I feel safe.
“This beats Alaska, any day,” Manny exclaims, stepping onto the dock. “Can you believe this weather? I’ll have to shed a few layers if you ask…”
He trails off. He, like me, has spotted the welcoming party at the end of the dock. It is a small group of Naval Airmen, and at the front of the crowd, Arlene Costas is waiting. She is wearing blue fatigues and a white shirt. Her loose, gray hair is braided down her back.
What is she doing here? Why is Arlene here?
Fear of the unknown races through me. What happened to Sector 27?
If Arlene is here, why isn’t Chris here?
Oh, please no. God, no.
Sick terror swirls in the pit of my stomach, just as Margaret Young and Isabel climb off the sub behind me. I turn to Margaret and see the same look on her face: fear. Where is Chris?
Manny seems frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do.
“Go,” I whisper.
He looks at me, genuinely lost. But he doesn’t have to make the first move. For the first time since I have known Arlene, I see her beam with happiness. She runs forward and throws herself at Manny, locking her arms around his neck. She is crying, and Manny swings her around in a circle, laughing and grinning like a silly schoolboy.
I stand there and watch them, tears burning my vision. I swallow and straighten my shoulders. I don’t want people to see me cry, not right now.
“I was afraid I’d never see you again,” Arlene sniffles. “Dear God, you crazy old man. I can’t believe you found your way home this time.”
“I always do, my dear,” Manny replies. “I always do.”
“Arlene!” Elle says. She runs down the dock and embraces her aunt warmly. Bravo trots alongside her, tail bobbing back and forth.
Vera and Andrew walk hand in hand up the dock. Uriah watches the entire scene wordlessly. I look at the welcoming party at the docks, my heart sinking.
Chris is not among them.
“Where is he?” Margaret whispers, paling.
“Is he dead?” Isabel exclaims.
Margaret chokes on a sob.
“Isabel,” I say. “No, of course not.”
But the tremor in my voice tells the truth.
“Arlene,” I exclaim.
She wraps me into a warm hug – surprising me. I gently return the gesture. Her eyes shine with tears. “Cassidy Hart,” she says. “What have you done?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Sorry?” I say.
“Everything has changed,” she replies.
She pulls away, smoothing her hair. Straightening her spine.
“I guess you wouldn’t know yet,” she says.
“Know what?” I press.
She says, “Sector 27 no longer exists.”
“What happened?” I ask, struggling to remain in control of the raging emotions in my head. “When we talked on the radio you said you were fine!”
“We were. It all happened in a single night. Omega attacked, of course. We couldn’t hold them off, there were too many. They were trapping us inside the desert mountain.” She shakes her head. “There were just too many of them. So we retreated, and Commander Young ordered a self-destruct of the base.”
I inhale.
“Where’s Chris?” I ask quietly, terrified of her answer.
“That’s not all,” she says, carefully ignoring my question. “The biochemical weapons that you dropped on the coastline on your way down…”
“Spit it out, woman!” Vera exclaims, flushed.
“They were effective, for the most part,” Arlene says, looking away. “But many of Omega’s forces have settled in the Central Valley, away from the coastlines, sponging off the agr
icultural workers there. They’re stealing the food and water supplies to feed their army.”
“They’ve gone inland,” I say, simply.
“Yes.”
“And the biochemical weapons? The sarin gas?”
“The missiles that you deployed effectively destroyed Omega’s forces in San Francisco, Monterey and Los Angeles.” At this, she smiles a little. “It’s the first ray of hope we’ve had in a long time. But the fight is far from over.”
I feel relief – but only for a moment.
“Arlene,” I say again, firmer. “Where is Chris? And don’t you dare lie to me.”
She looks at me.
“G Avenue,” she whispers. “He’s at home.”
“Home?”
“You’ll find him there.”
“He’s here?”
“Yes, Cassidy. He’s here.”
I look around.
“I need a car,” I reply.
“I’ll drive you,” Uriah volunteers.
“No,” I reply. “I’ll go alone.”
Arlene gestures to the Jeep sitting on the side of the road. She hands me the keys.
“Take my vehicle,” she says. And then, “Good luck.”
What is that supposed to mean?
I don’t even say goodbye, and I definitely don’t look back. I jog down the dock, past the crowd of people gathered to see the infamous Freedom Fighters, and throw my gear into the Jeep. The vehicle is open, without a roof or windows. I jam the key into the ignition and the car rumbles to life. My heart skips a beat and I speed down the road, leaving my platoon and the submarine and the harbor behind me.
I stop at the gate of the naval base and ask for directions to G Avenue. The men there help me out, but not without asking questions like “Are you the Commander Hart?” or “What you did with the missiles was a godsend, ma’am. Knocked Omega right off their feet.”
I nod, say thank you, get the information I need, and then screech onto the roads outside the Naval Base. I see civilians here. Some of them are sweeping the gutters, others are gathering trash. A small shopping center has been renamed “THE TRADING SQUARE.” Men, women and children are milling around large stands and tents, trading food and clothing for valuable items like medicine and car parts.
I flit past. The air is warm and fresh, and the streets are incredibly clean. Apartment buildings and condominiums are crammed close together, whitewashed and red-tiled. I can see that before the Collapse, this place was probably a very expensive location to live.