The Heart of War: Book Seven of the What's Left of My World Series

by C. A. Rudolph

  The setup reminded Beatrice of a futuristic airliner cockpit or perhaps that of a small science-fictional spacecraft, but it was nothing new to her. She took a seat in a plush office chair situated behind and in between the operator chairs and folded her legs, recalling all the times she’d perched in this same position before in other UAV ground control stations in other countries, conscripted with other employers. “Good morning, gentlemen. Are we well rested and geared up for today’s merriment?”

  The two operators sent each other sideways glances.

  The man on the right, the payload operator, spoke first. “Well rested and ready, yes, ma’am. But I fail to see the correlation between merriment and a precision munitions strike on multiple hostile targets. There’s nothing fun about any of it. It’s just business.”

  Beatrice raised a brow, reaching for a pack of cigarettes in her shoulder bag. “I’m sorry, I heard you say well rested, but did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, sugar?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m—”

  “Then do you subscribe to some infantile inner dispute with levity? Lack a sense of humor?”

  “No, neither. I was only making a point, a valid one. This isn’t my first time operating in this capacity and—”

  “Shh,” Beatrice shushed him, snapping her fingers. “Enough. Mind your panel. If you want all business, that’s how it will be, all business.”

  As she went to light her cigarette, the aircraft operator to the left said, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you can’t smoke in here.”

  Smirking, Beatrice flicked her Bic, setting fire to the Virginia Slim, and drew in. “Actually, I can.” She blew out the inhaled smoke from her lungs directly into the pilot’s face. “See?”

  The pilot coughed and fanned at the cloud. “No—what I meant was that you aren’t allowed to—”

  Beatrice cut him off. “Hush, now. I think it’s time for you to mind your panel as well. If you want to tattletale, you can do so after this morning’s sortie has concluded. In the period in between, you two knuckleheads work for me until such point as I’ve deemed it so. Is that understood?”

  Both men hesitated but soon sent along a nearly simultaneous, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Maaagnificent,” Beatrice purred, drawing out the first syllable of the word. “Okay, let’s begin, shall we? I take it by the views projected on those screens of yours that we are indeed airborne?”

  The pilot nodded his head. “Roger that.”

  Beatrice removed a pile of papers from her shoulder bag and placed them in her lap. She rifled through them while mocking the pilot’s ‘roger that’ under her breath. “And where exactly are we now? Could you read aloud our current coordinates for me?”

  “Three eight decimal nine zero north, zero seven eight decimal six nine west,” the pilot rattled off. “Course two seven five, adjusting to zero one zero in approximately two minutes.”

  “Altitude and airspeed?”

  “Eighteen thousand feet and descending, steady as she goes. Airspeed eighty-two knots.”

  “Fuel?”

  “Five hundred forty-one pounds. Just about a full tank.”

  Beatrice nodded her approval. “Very well. Now, I have a written and signed report here from the ground crew. It’s informing me that a total of four AGM-114 Romeos were secured to the wing pylons at 0500 this morning. Payload, can you confirm, please?”

  The weapons operator tapped a button to bring up his inventory. “Roger that, confirmed. All pylons currently outfitted, a quartet of AGM-114 Romeos. Ready to rock ’n roll.”

  Beatrice snorted. “That’s cute…rock ’n roll. Did you make that up yourself just now?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Never mind, I’m just bein’ a goof. Okay, gentlemen, this sortie is a go, we are set to proceed. Shouldn’t take longer than ten or fifteen minutes from beginning to end, and with four missiles confirmed, I have four targets picked out to acquire.” She handed the weapons operator four glossy prints, all color aerial photographs of ground targets with detailed location information.

  The operator perused them and looked back at her incredulously. “Ma’am? Excuse me, but what the hell is this?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Beatrice blew out a puff of smoke.

  “I asked what the hell is this?” The operator held up the aerial photos. “These are your targets?”

  Beatrice nodded her head up and down in a slow, sly, methodical fashion.

  “I’m sorry…that doesn’t make any sense. There’s no signs of enemy forces, nothing unfriendly anywhere. The targets you’ve chosen aren’t even military, nor are they strategic in any way. They’re all residential.”

  “My dear, do I look blind to you?” Beatrice probed. “Do I appear stupid or otherwise out of my brain?”

  “You walked in here just fine on your own, so I’m fairly certain you’re not blind. But the latter two remain to be seen.”

  Beatrice grew vastly appalled at his response. She stood and hovered over him, glaring, acid in her tone. “What precisely is your problem, sir? I happen to be a deputy director, a rank that supersedes your own by an untold number of light-years. I personally arranged this sortie and have provided you four targets. Now you will ready our bird’s weapons and fire them accurately at those targets and supply confirmation of their destruction.”

  The weapons officer studied the photographs once more, shaking his head all the while. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I won’t do it. I mean, a church? You want me to fire on a church?” He held up one of the photos. “And this…this is just a house…with a bunch of tractors and construction vehicles parked nearby.” He presented another. “Oh, and look…here we have a couple of old station wagons and some people standing around on a bridge. And here’s a little shack with sticks all over the roof. This has to be a joke—you’re ordering a launch of military-grade weapons with shaped-charge warheads at houses of worship, automobiles, and people gathered together? You can’t be serious!”

  The pilot tried to intervene. “Geoff, this isn’t up for debate. You’re under orders.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Clayton. This isn’t Syria. We’re not stationed in Aleppo or Baghdad. We’re not hunting the Taliban. This is an attack on Americans on domestic soil. Just what exactly did these people do to you?” he asked Beatrice, turning to her, only to find that she had unholstered her sidearm and had it pointed at his nose. His face went pale, and he raised his hands slowly upward.

  “You will do as I command,” she thundered, “or you will be dispatched and replaced with severe prejudice, no exceptions. No other options exist for you today. Is that clear?”

  The operator, trembling now, nodded his head.

  Beatrice pushed the gun into his eye socket, forcing him into his chair. “Now turn your happy ass around and mind your fucking panel. This sortie will go on as scheduled, and it will be a complete success. Anything short of that, and the two of you die at my hand…beginning with you, Geoff.”

  Chapter 23

  The cabin

  Trout Run Valley

  Thursday, March 10th

  Grace stared blankly across the table at the wall in a state of despair. It had been three days since Christian had been home, five since the girls he’d gone to help look for had vanished. New search parties were being formed this morning and were set to leave a half an hour from now. With a few exceptions, everyone in the valley was preparing to congregate at the Masons’ to establish plans for the day, including Lauren, who lingered at the cabin with her distraught sister, delaying departure for as long as she could.

  The siblings had decided to eat breakfast together, and Lauren had finished her plate, which had consisted of eggs, grits, and a slice of freeze-dried bacon.

  Grace, in contrast, had barely touched hers. Exhibiting a monstrous frown, she sat gloomily, fork in hand, and played with her food. “So, it appears you’ve decided…about going today.”

  “I have,” Lauren said. “I know this area li
ke the back of my hand. I should be helping. It’s been stupid of me not to go.”

  Grace sent a barely noticeable nod. “Then again, maybe it wasn’t stupid. Maybe it was smart of you to stay home. Whatever happened to Christian might have happened to you, too. And then you wouldn’t be here either.”

  Lauren held back a direct response, knowing how let down and despairing Grace had become over Christian’s failure to come home to her. Deciding to persevere into the evening hours, he’d vehemently refused to break off searching for the day and pick up again the following morning. Members of his team had grudgingly departed the wilderness and travelled back to the valley without him to convey the news. He’d been a no-show at first light at their preselected rally point, and there’d been no signs of him since.

  “I don’t know why I’ve been so reluctant,” Lauren said finally, reflecting on herself. “When I was away, all those children we rescued mattered so much to me, and they were barely more than strangers. The ones around here are practically family. I should’ve been involved from the beginning.” She paused. “I don’t know, I haven’t been or felt like myself. Ever since Dad’s been home, it’s like this whole new dynamic has taken shape around here.” She rolled her eyes and blew a puff of air into her bangs. “Then there’s this single life that’s still alien to me…and the fact our home has been converted into a halfway house.”

  Grace grunted. Elbows on the table, she dropped her fork and leaned her head on her fist. “Maybe I should dig up some wood and some paint and make a sign for it. That ought to provide at least a two-hour stay of execution from agonizing myself into an inauspicious demise.”

  Lauren sent a thoughtful glance. “Grace, I’m sure it’s nothing. You know Christian, ever since learning you were pregnant, he’s become ‘mister conscientious’. He’s just going the extra mile to look for them. Maybe he got sidetracked…or lost—”

  “He didn’t get lost,” Grace spat. “I do know Christian. He isn’t stupid or dimwitted…like I am. I would get lost. For fuck’s sake, I can’t find my way around our backyard sometimes. I don’t even know which direction north or south is. I wasn’t born with a sense of direction worth a damn. Christian is smart about things, almost everything I’m not. And he grew up not far from here, so he knows these mountains, probably just as well as you do. There’s no way he got lost. It had to have been something else…or someone else.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lauren. “I wasn’t trying to make you more upset. I wish there was something I could do or say to make this better.”

  “I don’t want better. I just want Christian!” Grace sighed, slumping in her chair. “The love of my life is missing. I’m carrying his child, and I can feel that life inside me as clearly as this…awful feeling I’m getting. I know something bad happened to him.” She sighed. “Remember when he went up Mill Mountain by himself the day after you and I got back? I told him I didn’t want him to go, and he did anyway despite me? Remember how mad I was?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I’m ten times madder now,” voiced Grace, “hopping mad. Mad as a…hatter, whatever that even means. But I wasn’t mad at all when he asked me this time. You should’ve seen him. It was clear how badly he yearned to go, but he didn’t just leave, he came to me for permission. I guarantee if I would’ve told him no, he wouldn’t have left.” Her sulk deepened. “I should’ve just told him no. I hate this. I hate that he’s not here. I can’t lose him, Lauren…I just can’t.”

  “You won’t. We’ll find him, okay?” Lauren reassured her. “And we’ll find those girls. We’ll bring them all back, and everything is going to return to normal around here soon enough, I promise you. But you need to find a way to keep your spirits up. You’re having a baby soon, and he’s feeling everything you’re feeling.”

  “He?”

  “Yeah,” Lauren said, looking shamefaced now. “I recognize the chance is fifty-fifty, and I won’t be ungrateful either way, but still, I’m hoping for a boy.”

  “That’s off the wall, me too. But why are you hoping for a boy?”

  “Because there’s already too many damned troubled women in this household,” she joked. “We need more males to counteract the hormonal imbalance.”

  Grace giggled briefly through her frown. “Isn’t that the truth.” She paused a moment, attempting to estimate the time. “Do you know when you’re leaving?”

  “Shortly,” said Lauren, sighing. “I have to stop by the shed and see Neo. He has some radio gear for us. After that, I’ll be off.”

  “Well, you’d better come back,” Grace hissed. “Who’s going with you?”

  “Jae, my steadfast bodyguard, insisted that I join his team, so there’s that,” Lauren mused. “Fred’s entrusted Megan with him, and Lee follows Meg around like a lost puppy, so I’m sure he’s coming. And I think both Jean and Francis are joining.”

  “What about Dad?”

  “I think he was intent upon leading a team himself until Mom talked him out of it.”

  “Mrs. heavy-handed herself.” Grace slowly got to her feet and leaned over to give Lauren a hug, halting at feeling mild discomfort. She reached for her lower back. “Ouch, ouch, ouch. Damn…help me out a little bit.”

  Lauren helped Grace fully extend, then walked her to the couch and aided getting her settled there amidst a sea of pillows.

  Smiling, though not jovially, Grace went to lie down, only to perk up at the last second. “Shh!”

  “What?”

  “There it is again.”

  “There what is again?” Lauren whispered, looking confused.

  “That…noise. The one I’ve been telling everyone about. The one no one else seems to hear but me.”

  “What does it sound like?”

  “Kind of like buzzing.” Grace imitated the noise as best she could. “Like that. Low-pitched buzzing, kind of like a bee, but a big freakin’ bee. It’s hard to explain.”

  “And even harder to mimic,” Lauren jeered.

  Grace cupped her ear with her hand. “Shit. It’s gone already. What the hell?”

  “Maybe it’s your prenatal mind playing tricks on you.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t care either. I’m officially giving up on today.”

  Lauren kissed Grace’s forehead. “Mom and Dad should be back soon. I love you. Try to get some rest.”

  Lauren departed and made her way behind the cabin to the shed, noticing a few augmentations had been made to it. A tripod, steel mast, and a white fiberglass antenna, possibly taller than she was, had been erected above the metal roofline. Several runs of round black coaxial cable in varying diameters flowed from holes newly drilled in the side of the building. One looked to be connected to the antenna, while others snaked around the building’s edge, disappearing into the tree line yards behind, leaving two lonely cables to run through the halfway-closed lid of a five-gallon bucket.

  She halted to study the scene. Neo had been up to his old tricks again. As a favor to her, Lauren had asked him to reassemble her father’s radio equipment and verify its working order before they had parted ways in Cumberland. Understanding his ingenuity well, it didn’t surprise her seeing that he’d gone above and beyond.

  She continued inside the shed to find Dave Graham’s RTO perched on an old barstool before a plywood bench covered in random radio equipment, most of which she recognized as being her father’s. He had headphones over his ears and a microphone in his hand pressed to his lips, appearing back in his element.

  When Neo saw Lauren enter, he held up a finger and keyed the mic. “Net control, AmRRON Tango Papa. Check me out for a few; something’s come up on my end. I’ll recheck momentarily. AmRRON Tango Papa out.” He removed his headset and placed it on the bench along with the microphone. “What’s up? Are you here for the radios?”

  “You guessed it.”

  Neo pointed to a five-gallon bucket near the door. “It’s all in there—everything you need plus extra batteries and antennas, enough
for each team.” He rotated away awkwardly, then cast a glance at Lauren over his shoulder. “Did you need something else?”

  “Nope. Just the radios, I think.”

  “Are you sure? You’re giving me a look.”

  Lauren tilted her head slightly. “I am?”

  “Yes, you are. It looks like you have something to tell me. What did I do?”

  Lauren took a few steps closer to get a better look at the bench. “I think the better question is, what didn’t you do?”

  Neo’s look signaled confusion, but Lauren gesturing to the radios squared him away. “Oh, you mean this. I only did what you asked of me. Are you disappointed?”

  “Hardly.” Lauren snickered, smiling at him. “I’m astounded. How long did it take you to do all this?”

  Neo shrugged. “This? Not long at all, really—and this is nothing. I mean, it’s not nothing, it’s something. Just…not in any way complicated. Maybe for some, but not for me. But to answer your question, a few hours total.”

  “A few hours, huh? How precisely long did it take you?”

  Neo’s eyes lit up and he looked away shyly. “One hundred ninety-six minutes. And forty-three seconds.”

  Lauren beamed. “I’m impressed. It probably would’ve taken me ten times that to figure all this out.”

  “You’re estimating on what you can see, but there’s a lot you can’t see. That was the most time-consuming part. I’ve strung about five hundred feet of wire through the trees.”

  “What for?”

  “Antennas,” said Neo, his brows beginning to dance. “I didn’t find many commercial aerials stowed away. Your dad had mostly homebrew. I found G5RVs, dipoles, slopers, inverted Vs, random wires and baluns with matching counterpoises…”