“Will do, Mrs. Blake.”
There was a cough from behind me, and Kim rolled her eyes. I grinned. “Why yes, thank you, Tom, for volunteering.”
“Volunteering?”
“To stay and coordinate the security forces with Gunny Rains.”
“But I didn’t… Ah, hell. That’s a low blow, sir.” He turned to Kim, appealing my decision. “Colonel?”
Kim was the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, Captain. Mr. Blake has operational authority; if he needs you to stay, you stay.” She glanced my way, trying and failing to keep the smirk from her face.
“I suppose I may have misheard you, Tom,” I said, laughing as I squeezed Kim’s hand and then let go, sitting back against the bulkhead. The rest of the squad was also trying to hide their mirth, some more successfully than others. “Everyone ready?” With affirmative nods all around, I waved to Kim as I pounded on the forward bulkhead. “Take us up, Charlie!”
We rose slowly up through the hangar roof and out into the bright sunshine and blue skies. Even though I’m not a huge fan of heights, I could still appreciate the beauty. It felt like I was in the observation tower, but with the wind blowing in my face it was much more real and tactile, less like the videos that ran constantly on the screens in the bunkers, reminding us that there was a real world above us.
“We’re headed to JBLM, right, sir?” asked the pilot, his voice reverberating in my helmet. JBLM was Joint Base Lewis-McChord, a combined military base in Washington, nearest to Bunker One. McChord was on the north side; Fort Lewis on the west.
“Yeah, north side, near the main airstrip. Bravo is taking the west side, Fort Lewis.”
“Roger that, sir. ETA fifteen minutes.”
I looked over at the six members of my team, knowing that each of them was more well-trained and deadlier than I could ever hope to be. It felt good to have them watching my back.
“What’s our primary mission, sir?” asked Montero. I glanced her way and was struck, as always, by her eyes. She had the most piercing, light-blue eyes I’d ever seen. The fact that those eyes accompanied a body that would’ve done the warrior-goddess Athena proud was just a coincidence. Elizabeth Montero—from Whitefish, Montana—was taller than most of the male soldiers. Only Dalton Gaines topped her, and even that was only by an inch or so. She was strong, lean, and deadly. Tom had brought her back with him from the ill-fated 8th Team’s annihilation, and I was glad, though some of the stories he told about her battle prowess I found more than a little intimidating.
“We’re recon, Corporal,” I answered. “We’re to investigate the base, locate hostiles, and scout for any possible useful supplies. If we find anything, the Skycrane will come in and haul it out for us. We’re also to get a general sense of what kind of shape the base is in.”
“What if we find hostiles, sir?”
She looked a little too eager for that eventuality. I glanced over at Tom, but he just grinned and looked out the chopper door. “Walkers, we take out as quietly as possible. Otherwise, we are under strict orders not to engage unless fired upon, Marine. Is that understood?”
She nodded, a brisk, robot-like motion. “Yes, sir!”
The last ten minutes of the ride was spent in silence as each soldier went over his or her equipment, checking and re-checking it for any problems. It seemed like no time at all had passed when I heard the voice of Chief Samuels again. “Approaching McChord Air Force Base, sir.”
“Thanks, Chief,” I said, looking out the door as we approached. “Hold up here for a moment.”
“Roger that, sir.” The chief brought the chopper to a standstill, hovering in midair while I had Gaines and Tom—who had much better eyes than mine—look for hostiles, walkers or signs of other inhabitants.
“No hostiles, sir,” said Gaines. “At least, no living ones.”
“Walkers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many?”
“Estimate twenty to thirty visible, sir,” said Tom. “No sign of habitation or fortification.”
“Meaning either Beoshane isn’t here, or…”
“Or he’s being damned sneaky about it,” finished Gaines.
“Ops, this is Alpha Six,” I said, switching comm channels. “Be advised, estimate thirty walkers on site. No sign of human habitation or fortification. Proceeding to target.”
“Roger, Alpha Six. You are go. Good luck.” I knew Kim hadn’t wanted to stay behind, but as the CO she often got the short straw.
I switched back to the chopper channel and consulted the map I’d brought along. “Take her in, Charlie. Take us down near the fuel tanks, on the north side.”
“Roger,” Charlie said, and the chopper tilted, headed north-northwest. Looking out the open door, I could see the walkers below us react to the noise of our passage, turning to follow us. That was going to be a problem, here in a minute.
It didn’t take long for us to arrive, and we looked down at the fuel tanks as Charlie kept us at a hover.
“They look fine, sir,” said Tom as he looked through the binoculars. “No apparent ruptures or leaks. At least, none that I can see from here.”
“Good. Charlie, take us down, but keep us in a hover about fifteen feet up.”
“No problem, sir. Good idea, sir.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning back to the others, who were a bit confused. Except Montero. She seemed to know exactly what I had in mind.
“A stand, sir?”
“Exactly, Corporal. What better spot?” She smiled and racked the slide on her rifle, turning to take up a position facing out the door of the chopper. The others still looked confused, but I could see Gaines got it. He hoisted his massive sniper rifle as I looked at the others. “We’re going to sit here, drawing the walkers to us, and pick them off from here. It’s the perfect hunting spot, since they can’t reach us, and it’s close enough to insure accurate shots.”
Suddenly the light dawned, and they understood the idea. Just in time, too, since the first of the roaming walkers was now within range.
“Take your time. Go for the headshots. There’s no rush.” The others nodded and took up their positions, as did I. When everyone appeared ready, I gave the order. “Open fire!”
It was a slaughter. Or it would’ve been, had the ‘victims’ been alive. The noise of the helicopter kept them streaming toward us, right into the kill zone. The chopper hovered well over their heads and well out of reach, and we picked them off, one by one, until none were left.
“No targets this side, sir!” said Montero.
“Roger that. None here, either. Reload, folks. Charlie, you can set us down over in that clear area, then find a spot to chill.”
“No problem, sir. I spotted a helipad on a roof on the way in.”
“I’ll leave Armstrong with you,” I said, looking at Nathan Armstrong, Army Specialist. “Just in case.”
“I appreciate it, sir.” Charlie touched us down outside the kill zone with barely a bump, and all of us but Armstrong stepped off. I moved around to look into the cockpit and waved at Charlie before disconnecting my headset.
“Keep an ear out for us, Charlie. If we need you, it’ll be quick.”
The pilot nodded. “Roger that, sir. We’ll be ready.”
I took off my flight helmet and stowed it in the main bay. We all ducked down as the chopper took off, headed east to whatever helipad Charlie had spotted. The others had arranged themselves in standard formation, facing out from the point of landing. As I glanced around, Jake Powell raised his rifle and fired, and I saw another walker fall. Late to the party, buddy.
“All right, folks. Let’s check out those fuel tanks, then we’ll move on to the aircraft. Powell, see if you can find us a working jeep. Take Montero.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, and the two raced off towards a likely looking target, one of the nearby hangars.
“The rest of you, with me.”
We headed toward the large white fuel tanks, giving th
e walker kill-zone we’d created a wide berth. It didn’t take us long to reach the tanks, and took even less time for Johnny, our resident mechanic, to evaluate them.
“This one’s nearly full, sir!” he said. “It’s in great shape, too. No leaks.”
“Seriously? After ten years of no maintenance?” I was amazed, and shook my head. No chance the rest of them would be that way, though. “What about the others?”
“I’ll check.”
“Tom, go with him.” As they left, I looked up at the tank’s roof. “Gunny, do you think…”
“It couldn’t hurt, sir,” he said, following my glance. “Good sight-lines from up there.”
“Good. Then let’s go.” We climbed up the tank’s attached ladder, though it was somewhat rusted near the top. Even military maintenance loses its effectiveness after ten years of rain and snow, I thought.
My radio crackled. “Alpha Six, Montero. Found a jeep and on our way to you.”
“Negative. Swing around and pick up Reynolds and Barnes at the north tanks, then come to us.”
“Roger that.”
“Alpha Six, Barnes. These tanks aren’t as good, sir.”
Well, I knew that was gonna happen. “What’s their status?”
“One’s about a third full, but from the smell alone I’d say it’s unusable. Likely bacteria has spoiled it. The other two are about three-fourths full and look good from outside. The only way to know for sure is to test it back at the base.”
“See if you can find something to take a sample in, and we’ll take it back with us. How many gallons is that, total?”
“Well, these are three-hundred-thousand gallon tanks, so call it about a third to half a million gallons, sir.”
I looked over at Gaines, who whistled in amazement. “Ops, Alpha Six.”
“Go ahead, Alpha Six.”
“We’ve found about half a million gallons of aircraft fuel, ma’am.” There was silence on the line, and I checked my radio. “Come in, Ops.”
“We hear you, Alpha Six. Say again, half a million gallons?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“Uh, well done, Alpha Six.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Be advised, we’ve neutralized upwards of thirty walkers in the vicinity. There does not appear to be any human presence here. We’re headed to check out the aircraft that are left.”
“Roger that, Alpha Six. Any luck finding any regular gas?”
“Not yet, but it’s on the list, ma’am.”
“OK. Check in at 1300 hours.”
I glanced at my watch. That was an hour from now. “Roger, Ops. Out here.”
Bunker One
A few hours later, I sat at the table in the conference room back at Bunker One again, my head in my hands, memories rushing back to me of the many, many times I’d sat in this same room, at this same table, in this same damn chair, even. The brief trip out of the bunker hadn’t helped as much as I’d hoped it would. Only another ten years to go.
I scrubbed my hand through my hair and reached for the cup of what passed for coffee nowadays. We’d been supplementing our dwindling supply with homegrown beans from the hydroponics bays, but the results were just not as good. I sighed and took a sip anyway.
“You’re sure there wasn’t any gas?” Governor Gates asked.
“Positive, Governor,” said Kim. “The teams found several storage tanks, more than a few full, but none of the samples we brought back were viable. Those tanks just weren’t meant for long-term, maintenance-less storage. If they’d been properly tended… well, maybe. But regular gas doesn’t last very long. What we’ve got is likely all we’ll have.”
“Very well. But we did get some jet fuel?”
“Well, yes and no. It’s there, about half a million gallons, more or less. The problem is getting to it.”
“I take it we can’t fly it in?”
“No, ma’am. We thought about finding a tanker truck and just flying that in, but we did the calculations, and even the Skycranes can’t lift that much. It’s about three times their max payload.”
“I see. And Beoshane is keeping us from getting up the mountain in the truck itself.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. There’s no way he won’t find out about this. He’s likely already seen the choppers going back and forth and has planned some sort of action. Right now he may not be sure where they’re going, but if we keep going back and forth…”
“Then he’ll know exactly.”
“Yes, ma’am. The upshot is that he’ll be ready for anything we try. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he’s got someone watching us twenty-four by seven right now, just in case.”
“So what do we do?”
I looked at Kim, who cleared her throat before speaking. “Nothing, ma’am.”
Gates looked as confused as I’d been when I first heard about the plan. “Nothing?” she asked.
“Not about the jet fuel, anyway. We’ve got a list of the useful stuff left at the base that we’ll need. Ammo, weapons, medical supplies, and even some MREs that the rats and mice hadn’t gotten to yet.”
I snorted.
Gates raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry, ma’am. I just hate MREs. It would’ve been better if the rats had got them, in my opinion.”
Gates smiled. “You and I can agree on that, anyway,” she said. “Please continue, Colonel.”
“Yes, ma’am. What with Beoshane watching us, there’s no way we can go back and forth, or even make one trip and expect him not to think about the base, if he hasn’t already done so. By all indications, he’s not an idiot.”
“So how do you suggest we move everything out?”
“After dark, ma’am.”
“That’s it? After dark?”
“Yes, ma’am. We rig the birds for dark running—that is, remove or cover all exterior and interior lights—and have the pilots and personnel use night-vision. The idea is that we get to the base without being seen, load everything we can into a couple containers, then use the Skycranes to bring them back here. If everything works, we’ll be in and out and Beoshane will never have known we were there.”
“What about the jet fuel?”
“We found some large underground storage tanks during our recon. They were bone dry, likely drained for our use here in Bunker One. We can rig up a temporary system to take the usable fuel from the above-ground tanks and move it to the underground storage, then remove key pieces of the access ports for the underground tanks so only we can get to the fuel. That way, Beoshane and his cronies can have the run of the place, and will either never know the fuel is there, or at the very least be unable to access it.”
“Well done, Colonel. That’s a sound plan. I can’t think of anything better, and I’m sure you can’t either, or you would have brought that plan to me instead.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Since we don’t have any extra gas, there’s no point in bringing back any more vehicles, I suppose. What’s the condition of the base, otherwise?”
“Beyond the walkers we’ve seen, it appears to be in reasonably decent shape. The runways look fine, if a bit overgrown, a few of the buildings caught fire during the mass hysteria ten years ago, but if it wasn’t for Beoshane, I’d say it could be up and running with about a year’s worth of solid work.”
“That quickly?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, at least we have some good news.”
It was at that moment that the governor’s assistant, Daniel, appeared in the office doorway. “Ma’am, I thought you should see this right away, given the conference call next week.” He handed her a piece of paper and as she scanned it, her eyes tightened and her face fell.
“So much for good news,” she said, then slid the message across the desk to Kim as she rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Kim shook her head as she read it, then looked up at me. “It’s from Bunker Seven. Their astrophysics group has reported a massive X-class solar flare. It app
ears to have started a solar storm that they estimate will be pretty bad, affecting our satellites and other unshielded equipment.”
“How long will it last?”
“The flare will hit in about twenty-two to twenty-eight hours, according to their estimates, but the storm will last for days, maybe even a week and a half.”
I sighed. “We’d better put that retrieval mission on hold, then. No sense frying our systems outside.” If it’s not one thing, it’s another. At least this one we can’t blame on mankind.
McMurdo Station
Jim Atkins had dreamt of the long, lean Russian goddess Tatiana Zavrazhny more times than he cared to admit. But dreams had a way of making you… well, they didn’t use that word down here, not any more. Not when your population had been whittled from twelve hundred people to just over nine hundred. Nearly three hundred people dead. He had a hard time visualizing that many corpses.
Especially now that his dreams had become reality, and Tatiana was actually in his quarters in Hotel California. On the thrown-together piece of furniture he euphemistically referred to as his couch. Half-dressed—and he was working on the other half. He pushed all thoughts of the dead out of his mind and concentrated on the beautiful woman in front of him. The one everyone wanted, and now, by all appearances, the one he had. Even though he knew she’d been through just about every man on the base so far, he hadn’t made it on the list yet… and he was happy to have the next spot.
“Oh, Jim,” she murmured, his name sounding warm and wonderful as she whispered it in the darkness. He said something unintelligible, even to himself, and continued nuzzling her neck, his hands roaming over her body as though they’d never found anything half so interesting.
“Jim… Jim,” she said, and it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t merely calling his name in the throes of passion, she was also pushing at him, gently, and he summoned all the willpower he had left to sit back against the wall, taking a deep breath.
“What is it, Tatiana?”
“Jim, I like you… but… but I am being worried about something.”
The Dying of the Light (Book 2): Interval Page 17