Dissension nw-6

by John O'Brien

  On surfacing, the bridge crew races up the ladder. Opening the watertight hatch, they step onto the bridge and begin their lookout duties. On the lower deck, hatches open and crews emerge dragging inflatable zodiacs onto the black surface. Readying the craft, they motor over to the floats bobbing on the calm waves to open the protective, submerged netting. After some time, they create a hole for the sub to motor through.

  Leonard climbs and steps onto the bridge. The low clouds and early morning cast a dim light over the dark waters. Watching the crews work with the nets, he sees them create an opening. He orders the boat in. The sleek bow responds and, turning toward the docks, the Santa Fe, his pride and joy, rides slowly upon the dark waves of the inlet. Looking down, he sees some of his crew emerge from a hatch and line the deck with the few weapons onboard.

  The Santa Fe glides slowly past the zodiacs and eases up to the concrete dock. He sees the dormant missile boats tied to the adjacent pier and wonders if there are any other surviving boats. The lack of communications seems to indicate that he may be the only one although the others may be keeping a radio blackout. If there are any others, they should have responded to his attempts at communication although they may still be proceeding underwater. He’ll keep the comm center manned and flash regular messages in an attempt to raise others.

  The zodiacs motor in and pull up to the dock. It takes some time but they eventually tie in with the dock and the gangway is lowered. The occasional cry of a gull, the drip of water still running down the sides of the boat, and the soft lap of waves against the concrete dock are the only sounds. The base remains silent and there is no sign of the people who ran through the night.

  Looking at his watch, there’s little time until their appointed rendezvous with Captain Walker. He calls down to have the chief ready the resupply teams. Several minutes later, the teams appear and begin making their way across the gangway. Leonard watches as they walk up the pier and disappear around a corner as they proceed toward one of the large warehouses in the distance. The remaining crew members climb the ladder and gather on the deck. Several rub the white sleeves of their uniforms as they attempt to ward off the chill.

  Soft murmurs arise from the crowd above the faint slapping of waves and cry of birds flocking the area. Another faint sound arises on the moisture-laden air… vehicles approaching. The crews form up in a row, those with weapons are dispersed among them. Captain Leonard makes his way down and onto shore with CPO Krandle and his SEAL Team close behind. Standing on the dock, he looks up. On the rise above the docks, he sees a Humvee appear with more military vehicles behind. He watches with a sudden apprehension as they start down the road towards him.

  We start down the steep decline toward the docks. Although I’m not usually nervous about meeting anyone and really never have been in the past — after all, we all put our pants on the same way — I feel apprehensive about this one. I’m not really sure why. It’s not like we’re going to trade gunfire and I know I won’t allow anything to disrupt the harmony of our group. Working together is the most important thing right now. Well, anytime. I just know it’s going to be a hard sell with a submarine captain. I can almost feel the personality conflict. I try to keep my mind open as this may not be the case but anticipate it anyway. I’m not out to rule over anyone nor do I have an ego so big that I think my way is the only way. Or our way for that matter. My main goal is for the safety of the group, with my kids coming first.

  I eye the boomers sitting silently parked at the docks. My thoughts quickly go to the possibility of learning the systems and holing up there. Parking off shore and coming in for supplies. Those boats are pretty self-sufficient. Yeah, let’s see the night runners swim the strong currents and try to penetrate those. That seems like an impossibility though. The systems will break down regardless of the long-term viability of the propulsion system. No, we have carved out our place and, although the night runners seem to be adapting amazingly fast, we’ll have to make do with what we have. Still, I park the idea in the back of my mind.

  I pull alongside the piers and park. The Strykers and Lynn’s Humvee park in line behind. Opening the door, I hear a clang as the back doors of the Strykers drop. Lynn’s shout of “Form up” echoes across the silent base and adjacent waters. Boots pound across the pavement, muted to an extent by the moisture in the air, accompanied by the rattle of gear. The intrusions of noise are sudden but over quickly as the soldiers find their places. Robert and the rest of Red Team riding with me trot over and take their place in the formation. I’m left alone for a moment.

  Shutting the door, which adds its metallic slam to the noise taking place, I glance down the dock seeing one man standing by the sub with a team behind him. The others gathered with him are dressed in camo uniforms marking them distinctly different than the sailors lining the low deck of the sub. I walk to the start of the dock and am joined by Frank and Bannerman. Lynn announces that all are present and accounted for before directing the teams to parade rest.

  Silence descends, all sound seemingly absorbed by the gray cotton of clouds just overhead. I feel the moisture in the air condense on my face and in my hair. The fog is just a few scant feet over my head and the chill I felt before intensifies. I know it won’t be long before my fatigues are completely damp. I feel the nervous energy build inside as I look down the dock where the other men stand. Again, I don’t know where this feeling is coming from. I should be elated to find the crew and another group of survivors. I take a deep breath and feel the calm return. With a nod to Bannerman and Frank, I start walking down the wide concrete path.

  Dressed in a dark pea coat with a braided officer’s hat, the man whom I assume to be Captain Leonard starts towards us with his small group of six in tow. I look Leonard over as he approaches. Tall and thin with short-cropped dark hair lined with silver, he has the pale skin common with submariners. His angular face with deep lines in the corner of his blue-gray eyes, his long, thin nose, and his confident stride mark him as a man to be reckoned with. We meet a short distance down the pier.

  I stop with Bannerman and Frank behind and to each side. He comes to a halt in front of us, his stance rigid. I know he expects a salute but I stick out my hand not wanting to set a senior officer/subordinate tone.

  “Jack Walker,” I say, holding my hand out. He has a look of uncertainty which disappears quickly.

  “Captain Raymond Leonard,” he says returning my shake.

  I don’t miss the fact that he threw his rank in. I also note his quick glance at Bannerman and Frank noting their ranks. Another quick look of puzzlement crosses his face as, I assume, he is wondering why there is a major and colonel behind a captain. In the world past, due to his rank, Frank would have been the one in front talking. I observe the relaxed stance of the men behind Leonard taking everything in without being overly obvious. More interesting are the SEAL badges sewn into their fatigue tops.

  “What unit are you with, captain?” Leonard asks, emphasizing the ‘captain’.

  “We’re not with any particular unit. What you see is what’s left of various units. Most here are from Army units but we have a scattering of others. What exactly do you know about what happened?” I ask.

  “Only what I’ve heard from you and the chief here,” he replies with a brief nod toward one of the men behind him.

  I am about to ask what he’s been told by the chief and the story there when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I look over to the side and see a group of men heading across an open area toward one of the large buildings nearby.

  “Are those your men?” I ask, pointing to the men and fearing they are actually about to head into the structure.

  “Yes, captain, they are. We’re resupplying,” Leonard answers, narrowing his eyes.

  “Are they going into that building?” I ask, hoping for a negative reply.

  “Yes. That one and several others in order to restock our supplies,” he replies.

  I turn back toward Leonard momentar
ily. “Seriously? You did hear what I said about going into buildings, right? About what happened and what is going on?”

  Without waiting for a reply, I turn my head quickly back toward Lynn. She is standing in the center front of the teams watching our little group. Even from this distance, I see her eyebrows rise wondering about my quick movement. She knows me well and realizes that something is up.

  “Lynn!” I shout and point toward the men about to enter a door into the warehouse. Lynn looks to where I am pointing. Seeing the men poised at the door in the near distance and knowing their intentions, she turns toward the teams standing at parade rest.

  “Black, Blue, Charlie Teams on me,” she shouts, knowing exactly what is about to unfold.

  Amid a clatter of noise from weapons being readied, Lynn begins trotting toward the warehouse. With their boots pounding on the hard surface, the three teams follow. The eighteen men and women head toward the large building in an attempt to stop the inevitable yet knowing they won’t be in time to stop the other group from entering.

  I watch them race after and hear Lynn shout at the group from the sub to get their attention. I see no reaction from the people at the door and know Lynn won’t be able to get there in time. I cast out quickly and sense night runners within the warehouse and in several buildings in the area. My only hope is that Lynn and the teams arrive in time in order to get those starting to enter out safely. The thought of putting the teams at risk entering a darkened building arises. I have a momentary thought of not putting them in harm’s way but there are people in danger. We are here and if we can help, well, then we have to.

  “Lynn, there are night runners inside. Watch your asses in there. Assess the risk and get out if you need to,” I say.

  “Copy that, Jack,” she replies over the radio.

  This happens in mere moments. I hear a clatter of weapons directly behind me. Turning, I see the SEAL team has brought their weapons up. Not aiming at us but definitely ready to do so. Looking over at the sub, I see several sailors lining the sub deck aiming weapons in our direction.

  “Captain, those are my men and under my orders. We have every right to enter any facility on this base. As a matter of fact, being the ranking member here and with what you have told me, you are technically under my command. As far as I can see, I am the ranking officer on this base and therefore the acting base commander. You will tell your men to stand down,” Leonard says. His head is thrust forward with his lips drawn tight with determination. His eyes narrow.

  I hear movement from the remaining teams. Glancing behind, I see Greg has spread out the teams in reaction to the sailor’s reaction. They have taken cover behind the vehicles. Soldiers climb in the Humvees to man the M-240s. Within seconds, the whine of the Stryker turrets reaches across the dock area as the guns are brought to bear. Tension fills the moisture-heavy air.

  “Captain, they’re not going to stop your people, they’re going to try and rescue them,” I say, holding up my hand to Greg telling him not to take any action. I turn back to Leonard.

  “Rescue them? What do you mean rescue them?” Leonard asks, his voice rising.

  “You heard when I told you about the night runners, right? That building you just sent your men into is the perfect lair for them. They hide in darkened buildings. Your men will get torn apart inside. Did you send them in armed?” I ask.

  Leonard stares at me for a moment. I can almost see the gears within turning. Whether he is thinking about his answer or absorbing the information is beyond me. The silence is virtually complete. Waves lap gently against the concrete dock. The cry of a lone gull drifts across the open waters. The faint sound of boots running on the ground as the teams race to the warehouse. The cotton gray of the clouds lie just overhead as if held up by the tension of the moment, muffling all sounds. Turning his head, Leonard gives a signal for the sailors to lower their weapons.

  “No, Captain Walker, they are only armed with flashlights,” he finally replies.

  Lynn watches as Jack and the other group comes together. The teams behind her are in formation at parade rest. Although she doesn’t think any violence will come from this meeting, she stands ready for anything. Everything she has gone through since waking and seeing her feverish roommate back in the sandbox has taught her to be ready for anything. The rules and the assumptions that governed society before everything went to hell have been thrown out of the window. Not only have they been thrown out, but they have been wiped out. The world is now filled with the unknown.

  Night runners, bandits, small pockets of survivors, dwindling resources, and their own very survival fill this new world. Every day seems to bring something new and to let down your guard for a moment is an invitation to potential disaster. They have made it far in a short period of time but how long can they keep this up. There was a reason for soldiers to be rotated after a year. What will happen to them if they are still in this after a year… after two? Will they constantly have to react to how the night runners adapt? How far will they be able to adapt? What is up with some seemingly turning back? Will that happen more? Could it be they only have to hold out for a certain time and all of the night runners will eventually become human again? These thoughts hold her mind as she watches Jack, with Bannerman and Frank behind him, converse with this Captain Leonard.

  Jack points off to the side and, after a second, turns quickly toward her. By his movement, she knows that he is worried about something. She has seen it enough times to instantly know something is wrong. The previous thoughts leave her mind. She tenses, ready to react to what is amiss.

  “Lynn!” Jack shouts and points off to the side.

  She looks and sees a group of people gathered near a door to a warehouse a short distance away. They appear to be about to enter. Immediately knowing they don’t know the danger they are about to enter into and sensing that Jack’s call was for her to gather teams to prevent or help them, she turns to the formation.

  “Black, Blue, Charlie Teams on me,” she shouts.

  She makes sure the teams are ready and then begins trotting toward the large warehouse hearing the footfalls of the teams behind her. She knows immediately they won’t be able to reach the people in time to prevent them from going in. Gathering her breath, she shouts out to them attempting to get their attention. No response. Fuck, she thinks and picks up her pace. She hopes she can reach them before they venture too far inside. If she can reach the door quickly, she can shout inside for them to get back out. She feels the heightened rush of adrenaline knowing she may have to enter into yet another darkened building. This is fucking shit, she thinks as she watches the last of the group disappear into the open door of the structure.

  “Lynn, there are night runners inside. Watch your asses in there. Assess the risk and get out if you need to,” she hears Jack on the radio.

  “Copy that, Jack,” she replies. This shit just gets better and better.

  She knows what Jack is saying between the lines. If the risk to the teams is too great, he wants her to pull the teams out regardless of the situation. They had this discussion a while ago in the gym rescuing his kids and the others held captive. Some of those they had rescued wanted to go to the bathroom and she was to provide escort. Jack has told her to pull back if they were attacked and let the others fend for themselves. She argued that she wouldn’t leave them defenseless and that’s not what they were there for; they were there to protect. Jack had agreed with that but losing the teams would leave everyone else without the protection they needed.

  While the events of the past months have changed her way of thinking to a certain degree, she still feels that sense of protecting those that need it. It’s a core part of her; help those that need help regardless of the risk. She understands Jack’s concern. If they lose teams here, that would leave the compound with less to defend it, especially with the night runners showing their tremendous ability to adapt. This is the quandary she finds herself in — what is the acceptable level of risk? For her,
there is no limit to the risk in order to help someone but who is it they are there to help — those in the compound or the ones directly in front of her. They both need levels of help. Well, fuck it, I’ll try to help the ones here to the level I can without losing the teams, she thinks as they close on the building.

  Lynn folds against the outside wall next to the open door. The clouds hang close to the tall roof of the cream-colored warehouse. Looking at the building closely for the first time, she realizes just what they are up against. The door she is next to is near the far left side with large sliding doors in the center of the building. This is evidently a large storage facility meant for trucks to enter and fill with supplies. Looking along the front of the structure, she notes the complete absence of windows. Quickly walking to the corner and peering along the wall there, she sees a similar sight; cream-colored sheet metal walls stretching high without a door or window to mar the surface. The inside will be pitch dark. She reaches up and feels for the NVGs fastened securely to her helmet.

  Turning back, she sees Horace, with her Blue Team against the wall on the other side of the door. Behind Horace, Mullins waits with Charlie Team. Her own Black Team is pressed against the wall on her side. All have their weapons ready to bring to bear. She knows each and every one of them dread heading into yet another darkened building. And Jack telling her there are night runners inside, well, she can take that one to the bank. A trickle of thought enters that he broadcast that in the open and it will be noted. Looking at the teams tense and ready, she feels her own tension drawn tight like a drawn bowstring.

  Pressing the mic button on her throat mic, she says, “Horace, you have the right, Mullins the left. I’ll take the center. Twenty feet in and be ready.” Lynn watches Horace nod and Mullins give a thumbs up.