by Rob Lopez
“But we will. Look, we’ve put the warnings out, and it’s on the network news. Everyone’s as ready as they’re going to be.”
“But they’re the same kind of warnings we always put out. People get complacent.”
Kathy got impatient. “There’s procedures and rules, and we’re doing everything we’re paid to do. I can’t control how people respond. Go home, Brad. I’ll see you in the morning.”
3
Flight VT002 from London to New York was halfway across the Atlantic when it got its first warning.
“VT002, we’re expecting a geomagnetic storm this evening that could interfere with the landing radar. Any chance you can expedite your arrival? Over.”
Captain Harry Nills keyed the microphone. “Negative, JFK. We’re experiencing strong headwinds and expect a delay to our landing time of an hour. Can you give us a weather sitrep?”
Flight Officer Lars sat up in the co-pilot seat. He’d been taking a nap. “Problems?”
“Geomagnetic storm,” said Harry. “Check the systems. We might have to land on our own instruments.”
As Lars scanned through his checks, JFK’s flight controller came back to them. “Hi, VT002. You’ve got headwinds down to 23,000ft, but below that you’ve got a cyclone with crosswinds.”
“What do you think?” said Harry to Lars.
“We could handle the buffeting if we drop lower, but I don’t like the extra fuel use. We’re light at the moment. Might be better to do a shallow dive to 32,000 and pick up a bit of speed. But if the beacons are working, I don’t see a problem with the approach.”
“No, me neither,” said Harry. He keyed the microphone. “Thank you, JFK. We’ll try and pick up a bit of speed. Keep us updated on the situation.”
“Roger that, VT002. Assume procedural control on approach. The air will be clear of traffic, so steer a direct vector to runway 4R. We’ll get you down as best we can.”
“Doesn’t sound very confident,” said Lars.
“No, sounds like they’re grounding all flights. Hit the seatbelt sign and make an announcement, informing connection passengers of a possible delay once we’re on the ground.”
“That’ll make them happy,” grunted Lars.
“Doesn’t it always?”
Disconnecting the autopilot, Harry slowly pushed forward on the flight controls.
*
Lauren arrived at check-in at Newark Liberty airport to find a lot of people hanging around with their luggage, complaining in loud voices. Pushing through to the check-in desk, she got the bad news.
“Sorry ma’am. There are cancellations across the board. Your flight time’s been moved to 5am tomorrow morning.”
“Are you kidding me? Why?”
“Can’t say. We’re trying to get more information now. If you leave me your mobile number, we’ll be putting out texts for passenger updates. Again, my apologies.”
Lauren blew hair from her face. Traffic had been bad from Manhattan and she’d had to run from the taxi, fearful she might be late. “What are the chances the plane could leave earlier?”
“I don’t know. But they give us that time for a reason. You can wait at the check-in area, or try a hotel.”
There weren’t many seats in the check-in area, and some of the passengers were sitting on the floor amid their luggage. It wasn’t an option that appealed to Lauren.
What the hell. She’d find a hotel and bill it to the company. It was the least they could do after wasting her day. Josh and Lizzy would miss another day of school, and Lauren would probably receive another letter about Josh missing valuable education time and the effect on his grades.
They weren’t great all ready. She really needed to sit down with him and check his school work to find out what was going wrong. Maybe even hire a tutor for him.
Oh my God, listen to yourself. Are you some kind of rich socialite now who’s too busy to spend time with her children?
With the longer hours she was working, the truth was that she couldn’t. That hurt.
Wracked with guilt, she called her mother, toying with Lizzy’s takeout box while she waited to connect.
*
“Scott, how come you never retired?”
Rick lay on the lip of the wadi, his low-light binoculars focused on the convoy of pickups that moved along the horizon, kicking dust up into dusk’s fading light.
“Nothing to retire for,” said Scott, focused on the same convoy. “I count two heavy machine guns and a twenty mil AA gun on the last vehicle.”
Rick zoomed in on the last vehicle. He assumed the angular shape was a multiple rocket launcher, but he decided Scott was right. “Don’t you ever get tired of this shit, though?”
“Sometimes. Tell me what’s better than this and I’ll take you up on the offer. Another vehicle coming up behind the convoy. That’s six, now.”
Rick turned to the new contact, seeing the black ISIS flag fluttering proudly on the vehicle. This was the second convoy they’d seen in half an hour. The empty desert was coming alive as the enemy sought the cover of darkness to move. There was more activity heading north than he expected, though. “Got anything waiting for you, back home?”
“My sister, an empty trailer and a drunken halfwit of a brother who keeps owing people money and wants me to bail him out.”
Rick had two F18s on standby, plus a Predator drone armed with hellfires that would make short work of those vehicles. This was meant to be an intel gathering mission, however, and he didn’t want to kick the hornet’s nest.
Not yet.
“What happened to that business idea you were talking about?” he asked.
“That was Rudy’s idea. Remember him?”
“Yeah, I remember Rudy. Said he was sick of sunshine. Moving to Canada, wasn’t he?”
“Changed his mind. He wanted me to partner him in creating a contract firm to offer close protection to TV stars in Mexico City.”
“Didn’t appeal?”
“Nah. Goofy idea. And can you imagine me in Mexico? I’d stick out like a sore thumb.”
Rick thought he stuck out wherever he went. Especially in Fort Bragg, which was where he lived. Even the local rednecks thought he looked strange, and that was saying some. Rangy and pop-eyed, he got into more bar fights than the rest of the unit put together. Rick knew the reason he didn’t want to see his drunken brother again was because Scott’d likely be arrested after putting him in hospital. Or the morgue. Scott and his brother really didn’t get along. And Scott liked to drink too. Rick suspected he didn’t want to end up like his brother, which was why he stayed in. On operations, he never touched a drop.
“And what about you?” asked Scott.
“I don’t know,” sighed Rick. “I’m not sure what I’d do if I quit.”
“Open a bar,” said a voice behind him.
“Or a gym,” said another.
Rick turned to look at Walt and Jamie, the two youngest guys in the team. Jamie certainly looked like he already owned a gym. Rick remembered a time when he too took abnormal pride in his physique, and, like Jamie and Walt, saw retirement as some far-off thing where he’d get a chance to spend all the money he’d accumulated. It was a comforting fantasy until it started to draw close.
“There you go,” said Scott. “Open a gym with a bar. Throw in a shooting range and these guys’ll be your first customers.”
“Make it a brothel and I’ll sign up now,” added Leroy. “You do life membership, right?”
“Why do I get the idea you guys want to get rid of me?” said Rick.
“Might be something to do with the fact that you’ve been talking about retirement ever since your pa died,” said Scott solemnly.
Rick fell silent for a moment. “He was a good father,” he said.
And there lay the rub.
4
Brad didn’t go home in the end. He just couldn’t. The computer model on the screen showed the fiery serpent about to swallow the Earth in its gaping maw.
/> Of course, it was just a simulation, based on the known factors measured at the sun. What the ejected mass was doing in space was another matter, and they wouldn’t know until it started to hit the satellites.
Emma Goodrich was the late shift supervisor, and she was impressed by Brad’s nervousness.
“So you really think this is a Carrington?” she said.
“That name’s being bandied about too much,” said Brad, trying to resist chewing his nails. He needed to go outside for another cigarette. “We’ve got hardly any scientific data for Carrington. All we’ve got is news clippings of eye witness reports. We have no idea whether that was really a big deal for the sun, or just a taster.”
The Carrington event was a geomagnetic storm that lit up the night sky in 1859. It induced massive currents in telegraph lines that melted platinum contacts and gave electric shocks to telegraph operators, setting fire to telegraph paper. In a world before ubiquitous electricity lines, that was all that made the news. There was no data regarding x-ray levels, polarity alignment or induced wattage.
“Carrington, super-Carrington, whatever,” said Emma. “We’ve got shielded systems now. Forget the doomsday stuff. We’ve been testing the effects of nuclear EMPs, and scientists have shown that modern electronics in cars, for instance, just trip. After resetting, everything works fine. And the National Grid disconnects to control surges. It’s a myth to say everything will grind to a halt.”
Brad stared at her. “Nuclear tests induce EMPs lasting a couple of nanoseconds. That was impressive enough, although the majority of the data we have comes from the Soviet era. They didn’t anticipate the kind of technology we’d have now, and we haven’t done any serious tests since on account of the test ban treaty. But this isn’t a nuclear bomb. When that CME engulfs Earth, it’s going to take minutes, not nanoseconds, to pass through. Look at the length of that thing.”
“Yeah, and Earth’s magnetosphere will shield us. That’s what it does.”
“It protects us from the proton storm, but when the CME hits it, it’s going to turn into one big Van de Graaf generator.”
“Okay, that’s just too many certainties. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’ve got no hard data either. The effects of this are above our pay grade, Brad. We let the computers make the predictions and we pass it up the line. Leave it to the scientists to analyze the results. You already got burned once for this. Each time this kind of thing happens, we learn from the results and adjust the statistical data. You know: science.”
“Yeah, thanks for patronizing me,” said Brad dryly.
“You’re welcome,” said Emma.
Brad rubbed his arms. “I’m going out for a cigarette.”
Emma watched him go, feeling a little sorry for him. He hadn’t been the same since the official reprimand – which was totally out of order. It smacked of political interference. Somebody up top clearly got worried about the effect on their funding, and Brad was the fall guy. Since then, however, he’d got strangely erratic. Emma got the sense he didn’t trust the data anymore – nor what was done with it. It was like he was over-compensating by reaching his own wild conclusions.
She wondered if he’d built a bunker, yet.
What he needed was time-out. A sabbatical. When he came back and saw the world hadn’t ended without him, he’d calm down.
“Data from the WIND satellite’s coming through,” called someone.
The satellite measured the solar wind, the stream of energized particles that flowed constantly from the sun. It also took more accurate magnetic readings. As the graphs surged upwards, somebody whistled. The computer took the new data and plotted the effects on the atlas. Emma stared in shock as the screen went a uniform red.
“What’s the relative polarity?” she asked.
“Between a hundred and seventy two and a hundred and eighty eight.”
Near opposite polarity to Earth’s magnetic field.
“Give me a time for impact.”
“Fifty three minutes.”
“Put out the alert. Now!”
Brad came rushing back into the office, unlit cigarette still in mouth. Wide eyed, he watched the simulation on the big screen change as the computer adjusted. The fiery serpent bloated and grew.
*
“Mom said you had to sleep early tonight,” said Lizzy.
“What for?” said Josh. “Don’t need to get up tomorrow.”
“Because Mom said.”
The room was dark, lit only by the console of Josh’s 3DS. He was sitting up in bed, with Lizzy curled up next to him.
“Don’t forget to unplug it when you’re done,” said Lizzy.
“It needs to charge.”
“Grandma doesn’t like things plugged in at night.”
“Grandma doesn’t need to know.”
There was a moment of silence. Josh had his headphones on.
“Does the light bother you?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine,” said Lizzy sleepily.
“Better get back to sleep.”
“Okay.”
Josh battled zombies for a few minutes longer, then gritted his teeth when he died again. Seven attempts at the level, and he still hadn’t gone any further. He wanted to pound his pillow and throw his 3DS at the wall.
If he was at home, in his own room, he would have.
Frustrated, he switched it off and lowered it gently to the floor so as not to wake his sister again. Easing himself under the sheet, he lay down and listened to her gentle breathing. Whatever anger he had subsided quickly and he touched her shoulder to wish her goodnight. Then he rolled over and dropped into a deep sleep.
5
“Mayday, mayday, we have multiple contacts. We need that air strike now!”
“Roger that, Nomad. We’re working on it. Wait one.”
“Jesus Christ,” hissed Rick, releasing the radio button. Through his night vision goggles, the darkness around the vehicle seemed to be painted with green lasers. Loose equipment flew around inside the cab as Flynn drove fast over the hard dunes, jerking the wheel left and right to present a harder target. The suspension squeaked and pounded, and loose vegetation flew out of the night as Scott’s vehicle swerved ahead of them, driving the same crazy evasive maneuvers. A slope loomed up ahead of them, and the packed earth disintegrated into plumes of dust as the machine gun and cannon rounds zipped past the pickups. From the back bed, the grenade launcher pounded triple salvos in return, though how Leroy was able to both aim and hang on was a mystery to Rick.
After leaving the wadi, they’d headed north and found more activity in the desert than Rick anticipated. The number of vehicles he saw didn’t match the traffic data he’d got from the JSTAR. Near Ain Issa, artillery pieces and rocket launchers lit up the sky as they pounded Kurdish positions. Perhaps understanding the forthcoming interruption in air cover, ISIS forces were gathering for a surprise offensive, converging from different directions. Rick’s team were spotted and, after a brief firefight, chased back south by increasing numbers of vehicles engaged in a well organized pursuit. Rick caught snatches of Arabic on the radio as he intercepted enemy messages. Whoever was coordinating the pursuit knew exactly who they were, and their value if caught. Without air support, there wasn’t a lot to prevent the enemy achieving their objective.
Powering up the slope, Flynn launched the pickup over the ridge. A bullet shattered the windshield as they skidded down towards a rocky gully. Up ahead was a farm, surrounded by vehicles, and machine guns stationed there lashed the team with tracer fire, cutting off their escape. Flynn fought with the wheel as the pickup dropped into the gully. Sharp stones lacerated the tire, and the pickup pitched forward as it blew, pieces of rubber flying past Rick’s window. Flynn stood on the brakes, and the pickup skidded to a halt, leaning at a dangerous angle. It looked like it was going to roll over. Rick kicked open the door and ran clear. The vehicle rocked, but stayed put. Leroy had already jumped down.
Tracer rounds kicked and whined. Sco
tt, seeing them stop, reversed back up to them. Jamie, firing his grenade launcher from Scott’s vehicle, bracketed the farm house with explosions, but the fire was unceasing, multiple tracer lines converging on Rick’s position.
“Set up the M249 in those rocks there,” called Rick to Leroy, pointing.
The M249 was the team’s light machine gun and Leroy heaved it out of the truck, extending the bipod and racing to set it up. Flynn ran over to Scott’s vehicle, but it was already taking hits. When the engine died, everyone bailed out.
The pursuing ISIS vehicles crested the ridge behind them, a line of headlights blazing. Leroy opened fire with the M249, halting them with a rapid buzz saw of bullets that shattered windshields and sent ISIS fighters scurrying for cover. Rick crawled up the gully, adding fire from his M4 to the onslaught, but for every fighter he targeted, ten fired back, ricocheting bullets around the gully. Pinned down, Rick was helpless as a mounted 20mm cannon pounded his position and shredded his stricken pickup, igniting the fuel tank with a deep whumph.
*
Flying at 45,000 feet in Bird Two, Captain 'Skip’ Saunders had a problem. The side-scan radar and powerful cameras on his modified Boeing 707 gave him the ability to spot and track ground targets for hundreds of miles, but he was suffering unprecedented interference from the ionosphere, and sending faulty data down to Nomad. The gathering proton storm in space leaked into the atmosphere, and the invisible proton particles were already whizzing straight through his aircraft. He knew that because he was seeing bright flashes as the particles plowed through his retinas. A glowing green aurora started to form in the dark sky, way further south than was predicted. Those same proton particles were cutting through the digital image sensors of the cameras, degrading the images. The computer compiling the data from all the sensors was thus producing contradictory pictures of the situation below, at one point contrasting sharply with the frantic radio messages from Nomad.
Unable to trust his equipment, Skip was also unable to vector a single aircraft to Nomad’s aid. The F18s had been ordered to return to their carrier, and the Predator drone had developed a fault with its targeting sensors and forced to abort its patrol.