“Could we be that lucky?” Angriff said. A few people chuckled but most still looked at him like he was a dead man who’d risen from his own coffin.
“That’s our story, General,” Repperton said. “Now let’s hear yours.”
“I don’t know if I can top y’all’s, Lulu, but here goes. Way back in 1996, a scientist approached the American government with a technique for freezing a human being and then bringing them back to life later.”
“You mean cryogenics?” This time a woman in the back spoke out.
“So you’ve heard of it?” Many people nodded. During the nine years between when he’d gone into Long Sleep and the Collapse had brought down the nation, much had happened in the way of technology for cryogenics. “Okay, that helps. So the plan was to—”
He stopped when the corporal in charge of their escort turned away and pressed his right hand against his ear, obviously listening to someone speaking through the transducer in his left ear. Then he wheeled and stalked to Iskold, whispering in her ear. Once he’d finished, she stepped forward to Angriff, leaning forward to speak into his ear.
“Sir, the regiment has made contact with a hostile force on the outskirts of Las Vegas.”
He turned to her and spoke in a stage whisper. “Engaged?”
“Affirmative.”
“Tell the corporal to inform Captain De Lorenzi we’re coming up and to be ready to pull out immediately.”
When he informed his audience that an emergency forced him to leave, there were howls of protest for him to finish the story first. Already half-turned away, he stopped and spoke over his shoulder. “This is the five second version,” he said. “Twelve thousand volunteers went into cryogenic sleep and now we’re back to rebuild the country.”
#
Chapter 21
Break the skin of civilization and you find the ape, roaring and red-handed.
Robert E. Howard
North Dakota
0949 hours, April 25
“You’re asking me to change everything we’ve been planning for decades on a whim.”
Amunet Mwangi blinked several times to hide her consternation. Even though Györgi was the older of the Rosos brothers, and by far the nicer of the two, at times like this she wished she was dealing with Károly. He was the faster thinker and utterly ruthless.
“That’s not what I’m doing, George, and you know it. I’m asking you to take advantage of a limited opportunity to accomplish everything we want on a greatly escalated schedule. We may never get a better chance for Overtime to fall into our laps than right now!”
Unlike Károly’s slim figure and natural charm, Györgi Rosos was built like their father, tall and stout, and had a clumsiness about him that made it seem like he always said or did the wrong thing. To Mwangi’s eye, he had the look of a dog that had had all the spirit beaten out it.
“I don’t see how that differs from my original statement. My father put a plan in place and now you want me to toss that plan aside and make up one of my own.”
“Károly flew to California and that wasn’t part of the plan!”
“My father made that decision.”
“Then let’s ask him.”
“He’s unavailable.”
She closed her eyes and paused to calm herself. “George, sometimes you have to take a chance.”
“I’ll tell you what, Colonel. I’ll think about it.”
#
North Central California
0951 hours, April 25
Long before the last of the rattlesnake slipped into the king snake’s gullet, Green Ghost was asleep. Jane had agreed to take the first watch despite her own sleepiness, because a lifetime spent alone had given her the ability to semi-sleep, to rest while keeping her eyes open. It wasn’t the same as sleep, but it helped. She spent the two hours eating and watching the king snake finish its breakfast before slithering away to sleep off such a huge meal. Every fifteen minutes or so, she made a circuit of the little hilltop, which was about twenty feet across, to make sure no threat approached them.
Two hours later, she awoke Green Ghost, as agreed. She laid down but couldn’t sleep and sat back up. After chewing some jerked deer strips washed down with water, and despite the wan starlight, he picked up his M-4 and began to clean it.
“Why are you doing that?” she said. “You haven’t shot it.”
“It’s a habit I picked up in Afghanistan. We called the dust there moon dust because it was like powder that got into everything and could cause your weapon to malfunction. The dust in this country is almost as bad as it was there. You never know when you’ll need your weapon, or when a jam might cost you your life.”
“Have you been to the moon?”
It took him a moment to realize that was a serious question. “No, that’s just another expression.”
“Oh… tell me about your rifle. What’s all this extra stuff on it?”
“Everybody in the teams set their personal weapon up as they saw fit. Trial and error taught me how I liked mine set up, and I was lucky enough to smuggle it with me when I went cold—”
“I don’t understand that, either, going cold. Is that the Long Sleep?”
“Which question do you want answered, the rifle or about going cold?”
“The rifle.”
He propped the gun between his legs. “It’s a standard M-4, with defense rails along the top and bottom. This allows me to attach any accessories I might need.”
“I don’t know that word. Is it another expression?”
“Accessories?”
“Yeah.”
“Umm… no, it means extra things that help the gun work better, like this flashlight which I attached to its side. This one has a switch on top that lets me turn it on with my left hand, or switch from white light to infrared. Over here is an ergonomic grip that allows me to pull it in tighter when firing.”
“Erg?”
“Ergonomic. Never mind, it’s a grip that makes it easier for me personally to shoot the gun. I brought two sights, but this one’s a red dot sight, meaning it puts a red dot where I’m aiming the gun.”
“I saw one of those when I was a girl,” she said, shaking her finger. “When I was a girl, someone my dad knew showed it to me. He only turned it on for a few seconds because batteries had become scarce by then, but I remember thinking how amazing that was.”
“It’s a big help, that’s for sure. I tend to be rough on guns, so I put on a bigger bolt release. SEALs called it a ping-pong paddle.”
“You lost me again... were those the Air Force people?”
“No, Navy. Look here, see how much bigger it is than a standard bolt? It makes it easier for me to load new magazines. I also upgraded to a larger charging handle, so that if I’m wearing gloves, there’s less chance of my finger slipping off the handle.”
“So bigger is better for you?”
He paused and stared at her for a full ten seconds, then continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “This butt stock I added feels really good against my cheek and has storage for extra batteries, which I’m glad for now, because I have no idea when I might be able to recharge what I brought with me. Uh, oh, yeah, it also retracts like this for easier carrying.”
He showed her how it worked. “If you look here at my rear sight, I really couldn’t find one I liked, so I cut down the one on the carrying handle. That way, if something happened to my optics, my scope, I’d still have a front and rear sight. I can adjust my sling by moving this front ring forward or backward, because the rear attachment point is fixed. As to the sling itself, it took me about three years of service to finally decide which one I preferred. This one is thin and light, but very strong, and is easy to tighten in case I’m carrying it and need it close against my body. Let’s see, is there anything else? I don’t think so.”
“You talk about that rifle like it’s your lover.”
“I’ve been in too many fights where the difference between life and death came down to a f
raction of an inch or of a second. More times than I can count, things like changing a magazine half a second faster than the other guy put him underground and me standing on his grave.”
Jane stood and dusted the seat of her pants. I never knew a man could be so hard to flirt with, she thought. I wonder if he even likes women…
#
Chapter 22
The challenge of the unknown future is so much more exciting than the stories of the accomplished past.
Simon Sinek
Hoover Dam
1250 hours, April 25
As Hoover Dam had neared completion in 1936, a Norwegian immigrant named Oskar J.W. Hansen won a competition to design and install a sculpture on the dam’s western approach. The result was the largest cast bronze figures up to that time, twin figures seated on jet-black rock whose wings point to Heaven, with a 147-foot flagpole between them.
Driving straight over the dam, Angriff turned in his seat to get a better look at Hansen’s breathtaking creation. “Make a note, Major. Find the largest flag we’ve got and have a detail run it up that flagpole. And if it doesn’t look big enough, see if we can manufacture something bigger.”
The road rejoined Highway 93 and they sped west, knowing that the road should be in good repair. Boulder City was the first sizeable town they drove through, and the first abandoned place Angriff had seen. On both sides of the Great Basin Highway, as Highway 93 was called at that point, stood derelict fast food restaurants, a grocery with a caved-in roof, and parking lots with rusted cars stripped of anything salvageable. “It’s like driving through a cemetery,” he said.
Iskold hesitated before answering. “It’s hard to believe that America is really gone.”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded far away. “Until you see this, then it’s all too real.”
With ruins flashing by on both sides, the company column passed a casino partially collapsed on one end, and then turned onto Interstate 11. Countless single family houses flanked both sides of the interstate. The lead Stryker made it into Henderson, approaching the intersection with Interstate 215, before seeing stopped vehicles ahead. The fuel tankers were at the rear and Angriff was gratified to see that Colonel Young had surrounded them with APCs and at least a company of infantry to ensure their safety. Moreover, the laager stood on solid ground, not an overpass that could be destroyed.
Angriff found Colonel Young standing next to the M1130 Stryker command vehicle with his staff. The M2 50-caliber machine gun on top rotated, looking for targets, as did the weapons systems on all the other vehicles.
“What’ve you got, Colonel?” he said.
“Our scouts cleared that intersection up ahead and waved the engineers forward to check it out for structural integrity. As they began to unload, unknown enemy forces opened fire from both sides of the road. Caught in a cross-fire, they withdrew half a klick to assess the situation and call in reinforcements.”
“Then what’s that shooting I hear?”
“We don’t know. Major Strootman has a theory that we got caught in the middle of an existing conflict between two opposing forces, each of whom thought we were allies of the other.”
“That actually lines up with what I learned at Ma Kelly’s and Hoover Dam. Las Vegas has gangs that have been fighting each other for control ever since the Collapse. Hard to believe they’re still at it.”
“Fifty years is a long time.”
“Casualties?”
“Two, neither serious.”
“Good.”
“I’ve sent two dismounted companies to clear both sides of the highway, each supported by their own APCs and a platoon of Strykers. Once fire is lifted from our route of march, we’ll move out to Nellis, set up a defensive perimeter, and assess the situation.”
“Good work, Colonel.”
Despite wearing sunglasses, Angriff squinted as sunlight reflected off the metal trucks and APCs like blinding lasers. Although it was still early in spring, the mid-afternoon sun left him sweating and licking his lips. The twin Desert Eagles hung heavy in their shoulder straps and what Angriff wanted more than anything else was to lead the infantry through the side streets beyond the interstate. He couldn’t, and he knew it. He was the commanding general and, while he’d gone running off on a rescue mission as a three-star in Africa, even then it had been reckless and irresponsible in the eyes of the U.S. Army. Now, all he could do was stand in the rear and encourage his subordinates.
The shooting had become intermittent, until suddenly from the northeast side of the road there erupted automatic weapons fire, including the unmistakable woodpecker hammering of a 50-caliber machine gun followed by three rounds from the 30mm cannon of a Stryker Dragoon. Whoever was on the receiving end of that fusillade wouldn’t be sticking around for more, unless they were already dead. A few more rifle shots followed, then silence. Before long, both companies sent reports back to Young over the radio, while Angriff listened in via his own headset.
“Charlie One, go for sitrep,” Colonel Young said.
“Enemy dispersed and fleeing east. I intend to pursue half a klick and set up defensive perimeter to prevent renewed attacks as column passes by on the interstate. Following that, I intend to withdraw and follow the regiment as rear guard.”
“Casualties”
“Negative on friendlies, two enemy dead. They’re… they’re kids. They can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen.”
Both Young and Angriff noticed the hitch in the woman’s voice. “Charlie One, please maintain radio protocol.”
At the mild rebuke, the voice steadied and grew stronger. “Enemy dead appear to be juveniles. Both have complex tattoos on arms and torsos. Will send photos following this message. Both are female, neither wearing shirts or shoes. Weapons appear to be civilian shotguns.”
“Roger, Charlie One, Forest Green Out. Delta One, this is Forest Green, go for Delta One.”
Only Delta One didn’t respond, Delta Two did. The Delta Company commander had taken a high-caliber round through his left shoulder and was being worked on by the medics, but could the colonel send a full medical team right away? Delta Company had suffered no other casualties and counted three enemy dead. Like Charlie Company, there were no enemy wounded. Unlike Charlie, the enemy dead all appeared to be adults wearing pants, shoes, and shirts, firing semi-automatic rifles modified to full automatic. They were also heavily tattooed, with all of the wording in Spanish.
Once finished with the report, Young instructed Delta Two to also set up a perimeter long enough to ensure the convoy moved safely past the point of contact, and then to pull out their company.
“Three wounded in a minor firefight,” Young said to Angriff. “Damn.”
#
“Your people did a fine job out there today, Bob,” Angriff said as he toasted the foot of his first cigar of the day. Somehow, in the twilight of a cooling April afternoon, it tasted better than it ever did in the confines of the Crystal Palace. The regiment deployed on the old runways, where they had clear fields of fire in all directions.
“Thank you, sir.”
“We’re alone. Call me Nick.” With hostile forces potentially in the area, four guards had accompanied them, but they stood well out of listening range.
“Thank you, Nick.”
“That’s better.”
“Have you seen the photos of those kids we killed today?”
“I have. That’s depressing stuff. Girls with guns but no shoes or clothes, and neither one of them looked like they’d eaten for a while.”
“They definitely needed some groceries.”
“There’s probably a lot more of that out there. But the other three haven’t missed any meals.”
“Whoever they were, they’re definitely from two different groups warring with each other, probably over food.”
Angriff nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
West of the runways, the hardened bunkers and parking aprons that once housed squadrons of F-15s, F-16
s, F-22s, and F-35s stood empty, except for a few skeletal wrecks. Records for the battle against the Chinese invasion of California were virtually nonexistent in Overtime’s databases, but it stood to reason that any Air Force units still fighting would have staged through Nellis and Creech. Some buildings showed signs of recent occupation, although most were in serious disrepair.
He nodded west. “I bought a book from the base exchange once. It was right over there. I think I was a lieutenant dead-heading home on leave, but that was a long time ago. You ever come through here?”
“I was in Vegas once with some friends and we lost most of our money on the strip, so we pooled what was left for a cab and came over here to the O-club to drink cheap. Those were good times.”
“They were indeed.” From where they stood, there was no sign of the strip, the fantasy land where architectural excess had stood in mute testimony to the glorification of chance. Instead, on the horizon in every direction stood mountains, like the walls of a giant fortress, while nearer at hand were the ubiquitous fast-food and coffee shops that characterized every 21st century American city. “We lost so much, Bob. How many billions of man-hours did it take to build the USA? How many untold trillions of dollars, how much blood was spilled defending it? And in the end it all fell apart… We were Rome. Some people tried to warn us, but just like the Romans, we didn’t listen.”
“I’ve used that very analogy myself, Nick.”
“Yeah…” Angriff drew on the cigar until the ash blew off in a swirl of orange and gray. The regiment’s encampment was three hundred yards down the runway. From where they stood on the empty asphalt, the only sound came from the hissing of a desert wind as it sprayed them with pebbles and dust.
Neither man spoke for the next minute. Instead, both officers were lost in thought until footsteps alerted them to someone coming their way — Majors Strootman and Iskold.
“Per your orders, Colonel, the updated operations plan is ready,” Strootman said. Being the XO for the regiment, he had responsibility for all tactical planning involving its forces. Iskold was there to frame those tactical maneuvers into the mission objective as it pertained to the brigade as a whole, in this case delivering the food, fuel, and medical supplies to Sierra.
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