One of Our Own: Final Dawn: Book 11

by Darrell Maloney

  He wedged the flashlight between two boxes on a pallet he wasn’t working yet and got busy.

  The other pallet at the front of the trailer, the one in the number two pallet position, was about three feet high and held nothing but fifty pound bags of peat moss.

  Not something he’d need, now or ever.

  So he worked to cover it up.

  One box at a time, he moved cargo from the number one pallet to the peat moss pallet, until he stacked boxes upon the peat moss all the way to the top of the trailer.

  By that time there were only a few boxes left on the number one pallet. He could easily inspect them to make sure none of them contained the foil he was looking for.

  Assuming they didn’t, he could then bury them with boxes from the number three pallet.

  One pallet at a time he’d work his way to the end of the trailer, using the empty space between the top of each pallet and the top of the trailer to free up space to move around.

  If there was any aluminum foil in this trailer, then by God he’d find it.

  He looked at his watch and said, “Oh, crap.”

  Ten minutes had passed. He had just enough time to scramble into the running tractor for a quick warm-up before he’d have to trudge up those seventeen steps to the roadway again to work another shift pacing and hoping.

  For a man fighting desperately not only for rescue and from being bored to death, the hunt for aluminum foil gave him something to be excited about.

  For he now had a mission. Something to work on while awaiting his rescuers.

  His state of mind improved tremendously.

  -24-

  Selleck walked across the top of the bunker with a team of security forces personnel, who on an Air Force base act as military police.

  He pointed out which of the pipes protruding from the bunker were vent intakes, and which were outtakes.

  “Why don’t we just drop them into all of them?” one sergeant asked him.

  “No need to,” Selleck explained.

  “The ventilation is set up to provide a constant movement of air throughout the whole bunker. Fans inside the bunker will draw the outside air in and then force it through the bunker. Drop a few tear gas canisters into the intake vents and tear gas will come out on the other side of the bunker a few minutes later.”

  “So, how many will it take?”

  “I’ve done some rough calculations. I’m guessing forty should do it.

  “If my calculations are way off, or if there’s a second level below the first level we don’t know about, we’ll drop forty more.

  “But barring that, I’m guessing forty should be enough to send them streaming out in search of fresh air.”

  Selleck backed away.

  The men donned gas masks and began their task.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” Wilcox asked Sergeant Selleck as they watched from a distance. Even from fifty yards away they could smell the gas. It made their noses start to twitch and their eyes start to tear just a bit.

  Selleck turned to the growing crowd of spectators before answering the colonel.

  “You people drop back another hundred yards or so.”

  It was for their own benefit.

  He turned back to Wilcox.

  “The short answer is maybe.”

  “Then how about a long answer?”

  “Maybe it’ll work. If they don’t have an air scrubber. If they have an air scrubber or filtering system, it’ll act in the same way our gas masks do. It’ll filter out all the tear gas before it reaches the occupants.”

  “What do you think the odds are of them having such a system?”

  “I’d guess probably fifty-fifty, but that’s not really based on anything. There are a lot of unknowns.

  “For example, as I said before, the bunker itself is strictly amateur by comparison to modern facilities. It was as though they found the blueprints for a Korean-war era bunker system and used that to build it.

  “That means either they were just a bunch of inexperienced engineers who didn’t know they could do so much better…”

  “Or…?”

  “Or they were so confident that their secret was safe from the general public they wouldn’t be discovered and attacked. So they could therefore cut corners to get their bunker built faster.”

  “How soon will we be able to tell whether they’ve got such a filtering system?”

  “Just a few minutes.”

  Selleck got on his radio and said, “CE Ops to CE-2.”

  “This is CE-2. Go ahead.”

  “Go to the far end of the bunker, where the outtake vents are. Tell me if you smell anything coming out of the vents.”

  “Ten four. It’ll take a few minutes to get there.”

  “Roger.”

  He turned back to Colonel Wilcox and said, “By the time he gets there we should have our answer.”

  Fifty feet from the only entrance and exit to the bunker, two armored personnel carriers sat parked forty feet apart and at forty five degree angles to the door.

  If an armed force came out the door with guns blazing, they’d be caught in an immediate cross fire.

  They wouldn’t have a chance.

  The spectators were all lying on the ground now, unsure of what was about to happen.

  Most eyes were glued to the bunker’s heavy steel door.

  Colonel Medley had gone to check on several of his patients at Wilford Hall Hospital. He returned and joined Wilcox and Selleck at the makeshift command post.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re trying to gas them out,” Wilcox responded.

  “How long before we find out if it works?”

  “Any minute now.”

  For several minutes there was almost dead silence.

  No one knew quite what to expect.

  And everyone remained focused on the bunker door, all the time wondering if they were far enough away to be safe. Whether there was going to be a bloodbath. Whether the people inside the bunker would peacefully surrender.

  And what would happen to them if they did.

  Wilcox had already briefed the security forces personnel. They were not to fire unless fired upon. And then they were only to return fire long enough to quell the assault.

  “There will be no mass execution. Not today, and not on my watch.”

  Of course, many spectators in the crowd were armed as well. And most were quite angry.

  Wilcox wondered whether they should have established a secure perimeter and kept out the masses before they started the operation.

  It probably would have been a good idea.

  But it would have almost certainly been problematic as well.

  About a week before, someone had seen a string of buses with District of Columbia license plates come through a back gate of the base. The buses disappeared into the darkness, and became the subject of wild rumors.

  A couple of days after that, word started spreading there was a secret bunker on the far side of the base, and that the President of the United States was hiding inside.

  And that their own base commander, a one-star general named Swain, was in there with him.

  The base populous was, in a word, peeved.

  They already felt betrayed twice. Once by their government (again). And once by General Swain, who they believed was one of them.

  Medley told Wilcox, “If we tried to keep them away from here they likely would have seen it as a sign of a third betrayal. That we were trying to break in so that we could join the traitors ourselves.

  “They likely would have revolted and rushed whatever security we put into place to keep them out.”

  Wilcox looked out upon the three or four hundred spectators lining the hills behind them.

  “What do you suppose they want?”

  Selleck answered.

  “I was out there talking to them earlier. Some of them want their own place in the bunker.”

  “Well, that’s not very realist
ic. Even after we empty it of all the scum, it won’t hold the whole base populous.”

  “They don’t want it to hold the whole base populous. They just want their own seat in the bunker. They’re not thinking about their friends and neighbors.

  “Others are hoping for a bloodbath. They’re hoping we drag the all out, line them up against that concrete wall, and shoot them down like the dogs they are.

  “Many of them brought their own personal weapons.”

  “They’re not planning on using them, are they?”

  “On us? Probably not. On the rats, once we chase them out of the bunker, hopefully not. But there’s a lot of anger out there.”

  Wilcox considered his words, then made a decision.

  “Wayne, call back to Security Forces. I want every cop on this base armed up and out here in an hour. Pull them off the gates, out of the armory, out of the cop shack, wherever they are. I want a show of force that no one will challenge.

  “One thing we’re not going to let happen today is a massacre.”

  -25-

  It was truly a sight to behold.

  Seventeen blue over white Security Forces patrol cars, lights flashing and sirens blaring, coming over the hill in close quarter.

  As instructed, they parked bumper to bumper between the bunker and the spectators, effectively forming a line in the sand.

  Security Forces personnel streamed out of the units, each one standing tall and brandishing an M-16 rifle.

  They were ready, willing and capable of maintaining order and discipline.

  Colonel Wilcox asked one driver to stay in his unit, turn on his loudspeaker, and to hand him the microphone.

  “My name is Colonel Wilcox. I am your new base commander.

  “I want to remind you all that you are still members of the finest military organization in the world. As members of the United States Air Force you are to carry yourself in a manner which would not bring dishonor upon yourself or your country.

  “You took an oath. Every last one of you. For those of you who do not remember it, I will refresh your memory for you.

  “You raised your right hand and you swore tosupport and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

  “You swore that you would bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that you would obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over you, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

  “There will be no bloodbath here today.

  “The people in this bunker will be called to task for their actions. The people in charge will be brought before a military tribunal to determine their culpability. Those who are guilty of crimes will be punished.

  “All others will be assessed and either taken into custody for trial at a later date or released.

  “Remember that just as you have families, so do the people inside the bunker. You would not want harm to come to your children, and we will not allow harm to come to theirs.

  “I am well aware that many of you have weapons, and some of you are itching to use them.

  “My first inclination was to clear the area before we went any further. But that would only sow more suspicion and mistrust.

  “I want whatever happens here today to be open and transparent. We will hide nothing from you.

  “I trust you all to remember your oath and act as responsible members of the military.

  “For any of you who don’t plan to do that, I warn you. If you raise a weapon against these people, you will identify yourself as a terrorist and an enemy of the United States of America. My security forces have orders to gun you down.

  “I cannot make myself any plainer than that.”

  There was some grumbling among the masses, but no open rebellion.

  Many in the crowd had expected to be pushed back. They expected to be excluded from witnessing whatever was to transpire.

  Most had developed a severe mistrust of authority figures since the first blackout. And that was understandable, for they’d been lied to by the very leaders of the government they depended on to save them from Saris 7.

  Many called them paranoid. Many said they couldn’t mistrust all people in authority because of a few bad apples.

  The latest affront by the federal government gave them a feeling of vindication.

  Now apparently their own commander, Brigadier General Swain, had joined those who betrayed them.

  Their initial feeling was to mistrust Colonel Wilcox as well. But he was straight with them. He didn’t try to force them out of the area. He told them they could stay, and stated his terms clearly.

  Those with handguns put them back into their holsters.

  Those with rifles returned them to their vehicles or placed them on the ground at their feet.

  And all of them watched in rapt anticipation to see what happened next.

  And what happened next was rather anti-climactic.

  MSgt Selleck called the colonel on the radio from his position atop the bunker.

  “Sir, there’s still clean air coming out of the outtake vents. We should be smelling tear gas by now.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They’ve got a filtering system in operation. The tear gas is having no effect on them.”

  -26-

  At Salt Mountain no one was getting any rest.

  They’d expected to find Brad by now. Everyone had just assumed he’d slid off the roadway on Interstate 10, had gotten himself stuck in the snow, and his radio had picked that inopportune time to stop working.

  But they’d done a preliminary search of Interstate 10 for two hundred miles in each direction.

  That was far outside the range they’d have expected Brad to go for a load.

  As David put it, “He wouldn’t go that far for a truck full of gold and pretty girls.”

  They were at a loss. They thought about searching some of the tributaries that connected with Interstate 10, but were relying on their belief that Brad was following protocol on the day he disappeared.

  That he wouldn’t deviate from his assigned route without calling in to notify the control center.

  In other words, they were discounting the fact that Brad was an idiot.

  Their new tactic was to abandon the big rigs. Instead, they were going out in pickup trucks with quad-runners in the back.

  Driving the pickups was an adventure in itself, for after the weight of the quad runners was taken out of their beds they got very little traction.

  But quads handled the ice quite easily, and allowed their operators to ride within inches of the guard rails. They could quite literally lean over the rails and peer into ravines and valleys in a way that was impossible to do with the big rigs.

  The pickup operator was simply there as a backup, both to help with the rescue if Brad was found, as well as to switch places with the outrider occasionally.

  It was slow going. They’d determined going in that being thorough was better than being fast, and were only covering three to four miles an hour.

  To make matters worse, a snowfall the second night after Brad disappeared had coated everything in the area with two inches of white powder.

  They knew going in that Brad’s trailer would be difficult to spot if it were off the roadway. The majority of trailers on the road were white in color. And many of the painted ones were white on top.

  Manufacturers as well as the major trucking companies simply saw no reason to paint the tops of trailers that the public would never see.

  So going in they knew they’d have little chance of spotting the trailer in a ravine.

  But now, with a blanket of snow covering everything within three hundred miles, there was a good chance they wouldn’t be able to spot his tractor either.

  There was also a certain element within the compound who thought the disappearances of Brad and Frank were somehow linked.

  It was easy to laugh off the thought as simply
paranoia.

  But facts were facts, and the facts were two of their men were missing without a trace.

  Debbie’s thoughts went back a year and a half when, not long after they’d come out the mine, they’d come under attack from outsiders.

  They’d repelled the attack, but not without a heavy cost. Sami still felt pains sometimes when the weather changed, from the gunshot wound she’d suffered.

  “What if we didn’t kill all of them?” Debbie speculated. “What if some of them ran away? What if they regrouped? What if they’ve come up with a plan to pick us off one or two at a time? What if they want to diminish our numbers so they’ll have better odds the next time they attack us?”

  Sami had been distraught.

  “What are you saying, Debbie? Are you saying they’ve taken Frank and Brad prisoner? They’re holding them at ransom, so they can trade them for the compound? Tell us they’ll give back our men if we’ll evacuate and turn this place over to them?”

  “No, Sami. That’s not why I’m saying at all. That wouldn’t make any sense. I’m saying what if…”

  She never finished the sentence.

  But everyone knew what she meant.

  She meant if there was a band of outlaws out there intent on taking them by force, then surely Brad and Frank were already dead.

  -27-

  Late the next morning Brad was feeling blue. Almost as if he’d lost his last friend. He was never one prone to depression, but this was as close as he’d ever been. He’d fallen to sleep the night before thinking of Sami.

  During the night he dreamed of her. It was a truly horrific dream. She was screaming and in tears.

  In his dream his disappearance had caused her so much stress it had caused her to go into early labor.

  A baby, any baby, born two and a half months early, is likely to have problems.

  In a modern hospital, in a fully equipped neo-natal intensive care unit, most can be nursed to good health.

  The compound wasn’t a modern hospital. It didn’t have a NICU.

  It had Debbie, who’d been a paramedic for many years before Saris 7 came along.