by Td Barnes
Bradley did not linger with the farmers. He could hardly wait to return to the Command Center to learn about any further radio contact. He arrived to find the radio room crowded with his officers, the sergeant major, and a few enlisted personnel. An off-duty radio operator saw him arrive and rushed to greet him. “Sir,” she said. "We contacted some survivors holed up in some old drifts in the mesa at Yucca Flats. It sounds like they were DOD and Air Force personnel at Area 51 when the EMP hit.”
Bradley thanked the young, eager specialist by patting her on the shoulder while hurriedly joining the rest of his staff in the radio room. “Sparks is right, sir,” the sergeant major said, referring to the young female specialist fifth class by using her nickname. "There are thirty-two of them, and they have a helicopter. They did like us. They loaded up supplies at the Groom Lake facility and relocated to the old atomic bomb tunnels in the mesa behind Area 12 of the old Nevada Test Site. They have no women or children. Four of them are suffering acute radiation sickness from exposure to the nuclear fallout. It apparently caught them ferrying supplies from Groom Lake to their refuge. They are not expected to make it.”
“What’s the makeup of their group?” Bradley asked.
“We do not know yet. We spoke briefly to an Air Force colonel whom we presume to be the base commander. We lost the connection a moment before you entered.”
****
T plus 20 months.
Everyone in the Command Center felt it great to know in one sense that there existed other survivors, but in another, it depressed anyone privy to the radio communication exchanges to learn the extent that their fellow survivors had suffered. Those at the mountain were living a life of luxury in comparison.
The longest radio exchange lasted only six minutes where they learned of the survivors at Yucca Flats having only the one radio and their only source of power being batteries taken from the underground trains that once transported the workers to and from their experiment stations inside the mesa during the underground atomic tests.
The Yucca Flats survivors charged the batteries using a sole solar panel found in the mesa, and only after the sun finally broke through. Placement of the batteries and solar panel in the sunlight required exposing one of them to the radiation. Thus, those at the mountain knew that future contact depended on their having a few hours of sunshine. They are most likely exposed themselves to radiation from the batteries, contaminated while being charged.
Those at the mountain had received a major morale boost last Thursday when, after two days of dim sunlight; two rad-safe technicians suited up in radiation suits and ventured out the north portal to survey the situation. They limited their stay to only 30 minutes during which time the two fixed and cleaned the lenses of the outdoor cameras and visited some of the structures closest to the portal. They managed to get the outdoor cameras and motion detectors functional again.
They reported finding skeletal remains of human and animal alike while recovering soil samples from a six-inch depth to analyze in their laboratory for radiation levels and types.
The dark clouds returned the following day, and the mountain awoke the next morning to see on the monitors where a snowstorm had deposited two inches of gray snow rather than black — a good sign.
Seeing the snow return was a major letdown for the colony now coming off a high of having functional cameras again and learning of others surviving the nuclear winter.
Bradley and his leadership tried to hide their disappointment and went out of their way to boost the morale of their people. Many with their hopes up now realized that the nuclear winter continued and that it might still be years before they could permanently leave the mountain.
Even a party with food, music, and dancing failed to restore the morale and faith of the colony. Little did they know about things going to get worse. Bradley did not have the heart to tell them that it would most likely be centuries before the residents of the mountain could leave it permanently.
Sarge entered the Command Center tailed by Bradley with his eternal mug of coffee in hand. Those already seated at the conference table included his staff. CWO Harold Yokes - personnel officer and SGM Jack Weston rushed in immediately behind Bradley. Sarge sniffed them out and settled into his doggie bed for a nap.
“As you were,” Bradley said when they started to jump to their feet. “Good morning, gentlemen. I hope we see some sunlight today.”
"Good morning, sir," they said in unison with the same degree of high spirits exhibited in the greeting of the boss.
“Sir, I ordered up some coffee,” the sergeant major said.
“Thanks, Sergeant Major,” Bradley said. He performed a toasting salute to Weston with his personal coffee mug.
The radio operator stuck his head around the door at the sound of Bradley’s voice. He caught Bradley’s eye and shook his head negatively to indicate no new radio contact. Bradley nodded his head and took his seat at the conference table.
“How many of you have been to sector four since they started blasting for the swimming pool?” Bradley asked cheerfully. A few indicated their doing so.
“Our protocol violators are learning to say yes sir, very fast,” Lt. Col. Jack Hayes said. “They thought it cool when we asked if they wanted to volunteer to learn demolition. They enjoyed learning how to handle explosives, but when the training session advanced to working with cement, it wasn’t near the fun.”
He laughed. “I believe they will be happy again once we build the forms and pour concrete for benches and dressing rooms. We do have the heaters installed."
The swimming pool idea had come from one of the teenagers asking to help engineer one after discovering an alcove stacked full of cement. Stacey and some of the volunteers entertaining the children suggested the construction of a swimming pool near the south portal for easy piping of its water for reuse at future greenhouses outside the mountain. With the water wells supplying the mountain having an ample aquifer, Bradley granted the okay provided the construction provide an educational project under the guidance of his S-3, Lt. Col. Jack Hayes. Who knew how this knowledge and experience would play out in the future?
Bradley had performed his share of extraneous assignments while a line officer. The CO in the company and battery level organizations routinely assigned butter bars, what the Army called second lieutenants, to the duties of mess officer, PT officer, VD officer, etc. He would not be assigned such trivial assignments today; nonetheless, he planned to do some major delegation of duties to his staff officers.
“I called you here to discuss preparing our troops for an excursion outside the mountain. It may be a while yet, but I want us to be prepared. When it is safe to do so, I want to send out scouting expeditions to see if there are any other survivors at the Test Site, Lathrop Wells, Amargosa Valley, and Beatty. Since Colonel Hayes did such a great job designing the swimming pool, you, Major Calhoun, will draw up plans and a list of needed resources for Intel gathering. I believe that might be worth our launching a drone. Depending on what we find, we may want to send out a UAV.”
Major Calhoun acknowledged the order.
“Colonel Hayes, in your spare time from the construction training program, i.e., the swimming pool, you are to instruct our officers and NCOs to start refresher training sessions on everything — their weapons, radiation, everything for a dangerous recon mission. You know the drill.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain Anderson, be sure our people leave here with everything they need and that it is in working order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain Schwartz, you will work with rad-safe to plan these excursions so that our people do not experience a harmful level of radiation exposure. You must adjust it to the radiation level at the time and keep in mind changing weather conditions. Do not keep my people out there too long.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Coffee is here,” the sergeant major announced when saw three of the mess apprentices entering the alcove. One ca
rried the coffee container, one a tray of coffee mugs along with sugar and spoons. The other brought a platter of hot donuts.
“Sergeant Major. Keep this up, and you will replace Anderson being my S-4. I like your style of taking care of logistics.”
Bradley glanced towards Weston when he failed to take the jab. “Weston,” he yelled when he saw Weston’s blank stare and his face starting to fall onto the table.
“Someone calls a doctor,” Bradley screamed to the others. “Weston, what’s wrong? Weston, what’s wrong?” “Doctor,” he yelled loudly to the extent his damaged vocal cords allowed. His shouts sounded only slightly louder than his normal voice and were much harder to understand.
Time stood still in the Command Center while they waited for the doctor who arrived within seconds of the call for help. Immediately behind him came two medical apprentices with a stretcher. Dr. McFarland began CPR while they loaded Weston onto the stretcher.
Word spread quickly of the emergency in the Command Center. Stacey and Robinson arrived first to join Bradley and his staff outside the medical alcove. Moments later, Barbara Weston and their two teenage boys rushed in, instantly met by Stacey and Colonel Bradley who rushed to console them.
Dr. McFarland stepped out of the medical module in what appeared forever to those anxiously waiting. Everyone could see by her face that she carried grave news.
“I am sorry, Colonel. The sergeant major has suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, a rupture of an aneurysm. We have him breathing and stabilized on a respirator. We will need your instructions concerning what comes next.”
“What is the prognosis?”
“Not good. He is in a coma.”
“No chance of recovery?”
“None.”
This caused Bradley and several of the others to tear up. They knew what came next. Bradley wrapped Weston’s wife in a bear hug to comfort her while saying, “Unplug him a doctor and make him comfortable. Do not resuscitate.”
Everyone, especially Bradley felt devastated at the thought of the sergeant major dying much too young, only a couple years older than many of them. This came with no warning. All these thoughts raced through his mind. He felt a comforting hand on his arm. “Let’s wait for the mess, Tom,” Stacey said.
Stacey led him into the mess with the others following until the mess overflowed with concerned people, military, and civilians alike.
Dr. McFarland entered the mess thirty-five minutes later and joined Tom and Stacey at their table. She laid her hand on top of Bradley’s and said, “We did all we could, Tom. He passed shortly after arrival in the clinic.”
The doctor handed Bradley a sheet of paper. “The Sergeant Major left a living will and instructions in the event of his death.” She paused, plainly distraught. “Colonel, this is a tough one. He expressed a wish that his remains be donated to the medical staff to provide a cadaver for our medical students.”
Bradley nodded his acknowledgment.
“Oh, Tom,” Stacey whispered softly. “How can we?”
“I pulled the plug on him, so the least we can do is honor his wishes. I am certainly glad not to be one of the medical students. I wonder how Jer will handle this.”
Bradley stood up to get everyone’s attention. “Sergeant Major Weston is gone. We will conduct military services at the chapel tomorrow at 1400 hours. This is our first death at the mountain. The sergeant major requested a donation of his remains to medical study, so there will be no cremation afterward."
Bradley saw MSGT Barry Marshall in the crowd of NCOs and beckoned him.
“Sir.”
“Sergeant Marshall, report to me at 0900 hours tomorrow. I am promoting you to sergeant major to replace Sergeant Weston. I will let your CO, Captain Callahan know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Maybe the sun will shine tomorrow,” Bradley thought with a sigh.
****
“I hoped I could find you here,” Barlow said. She set her coffee down and sat down across from Bradley in a mess.
“Good morning, XO,” Bradley responded somberly. “I could not sleep, so I decided to keep the mess crew on their toes,” he said jokingly. His attempt to joke fell flat. His facial features still displayed his shock of losing his friend, the sergeant major.
“The sergeant major?” she asked.
“I guess so. I could not get our losing him so quickly off my mind. One minute he jokes about my coffee and the next, I am pulling the plug on him.”
“Tom, you know better than that. For Christ’s sake,” she scolded. “He’s not the first good soldier that you’ve lost. A commander triages the situation and moves on.”
“What if he could have recovered?”
“You know better than that. Besides, we do not have the luxury of taking prisoners or caring for long-term patients. We make them comfortable and let nature take its course. We are not a pod of whales, where, rather than abandon a sick member, the entire pod follows the sick one onto the beach, and they all die. The price of being in command is your having to make the tough decisions to protect the entire command even if you must sacrifice an individual. Move on, Colonel, we must prepare for the much larger battles ahead.”
Bradley held his coffee mug to his lips without drinking while digesting the words of his XO. “I know, Jane. This one hurt me. I will put it out of mind in a day or so. Let us check the monitors. Perhaps we will see the sun.”
“I am beginning to believe seeing the sun is a bad thing,” Barlow said. “It is like peeking through the window of a candy store. You see something you want, but cannot have.”
Bradley released a weak smile despite his state of depression. “We did not finish our meeting yesterday, but I believe we covered enough to get our troops preparing for when they do leave the mountain.”
“Oh, you did light that fire. I saw Colonel Hayes in the map room digging up topographic maps of Jackass Flats. He said he felt like a mosquito in a nudist camp; he knows what he needs to do, but he does not know where to begin.”
Bradley chuckled this time. “Thanks for the lift, Jane. Let’s go to work.”
****
T Plus Two Years, one week.
Bradley did not expect those at the mountain to experience depression from seeing the sun, but they did four months after he spoke of spring with the farmers. Seldom did the sun push through the fallout cloud that the air stream had parked over Nevada. Instead, the days of blackened snow and high radiation levels returned with no further contact from snow blanketed Yucca Flats. Bradley and his staff recognized depression setting in and shifted into overdrive to raise the morale back to pre-contact levels.
The military intensified the training ordered by Bradley, and on the civilian side, Stacey and Robinson created social events to fit the interests of everyone. They increased class attendance, organized parties, and generated activities to keep everyone busy and their minds off the hostile environment and austere conditions outside the mountain.
One of the more popular social activities occurred with their starting a World Championship Pitch Tournament, where partners competed with other partners of two in the card game favorite in Kansas and Oklahoma. Three nights a week, the players met in an organized playoff schedule to decide who would advance to play for the championship. The second week, a group of the teenagers had taken up their tournament with the competing interest growing ever since.
They and the other department heads had found long ago that creating competition not only improved knowledge and proficiency; it also generated interest in competing. They exploited this concept with the children whom they encouraged to do chores and stimulated their interest in expanding their knowledge.
They studied and practiced to increase their proficiency to compete. Soon the adults also competed against one another to learn new trades and to become better in their current occupation. Colonel Bradley showed exuberance over one of these competitions that caused Stacey to leave steaming mad when they walked out of the cubicle.
“Dammit, Tom, why can’t she study to be a doctor like her brother? She’s a lady, not a soldier.” Stacey said argumentatively.
Bradley knew she was pissed, but did not intend to argue the issue. “Well, she looked like a lady to me. Wow! She really blew Sergeant Jones away, didn’t she? A fifty-cent piece would cover all three shots.”
“Yes, but she . . . . .”
“What did you think of that, Dad?” Sammie asked while rushing to catch up with them.
“I was telling your mom that you blew away the competition with a shot pattern smaller than a half dollar.”
Stacey did not say a word. Sammie looked at her and then at him. Bradley winked at her, and she understood. Whatever bothered her mom, she knew, would pass in a moment. “Good evening Colonel Barlow,” she said to the approaching XO.
“Excellent shooting, Lieutenant,” the XO said. “How do you like the M110?” She said referring to Sammie’s semi-automatic sniper system.
“The M110 rifle is an improvement over the bolt action M24 Sniper Weapon System. I know the Israeli Defense Forces preferred the M-24, but I like this sniper system for its powerful optics for sightings, night vision, and a quick swivel base for tracking enemies on the move. The ambidextrous feature and lightweight are great features plus its accuracy, and adaptability to harsh environments. I wish we could fire real bullets in here instead of the laser simulation. I shot that last set of shots at an effective range of 1,000 meters.”
Deep down, the regimented ways of her father had always intrigued Sammie. She admired his dedication to duty and his serving in the Army when most any university or company would welcome him on their campus or in their boardrooms. He chose instead to serve his men and his nation, though it posed a hardship and worried about those he loved.