by James Cook
I found an unused corner of the tent, requisitioned a folding chair, and sat down. I heard reports about the F-18s that had flown ashore during the night and rained down JDAMs in hellish profusion on KPA outposts from Washington to California. The effect on KPA troop numbers was devastating.
People buzzed in and out of the command tent over the next few hours, occasionally being sent by Mike or General Jacobs to ask me questions. Mostly those questions pertained to what I had seen inside the command building and the inner compound, and what was said to me by Park Heon-Woo and Kim Ji-Su. I answered the same questions ten or eleven times, and then people stopped bothering me.
When not being interrogated, I kept my mouth shut and my eyes and ears open. I gleaned from the conversations around me that the final assault against the ROC had been mostly successful.
Mostly.
There were more inoculated troops than expected. Resistance and Army forces faced hard fighting from KPA soldiers not downed by AIM-38. I remembered Doctor Faraday saying they were fanatics. Their actions in the face of overwhelming odds proved him right. Especially as regarded the prisoners.
Here in the Klamath Basin, the damage dealt to the prisoners had been minor compared to the other camps. We had gotten lucky. If Gabe and I had not seen that mortar crew when we did, things would have been much worse.
At the other sites, they were.
In battle, mistakes happen. They happened to my squad, they happened to the troops that assaulted the Klamath Basin internment camp, and they happened elsewhere. Somewhere north of a hundred Resistance fighters died liberating the camps. We also lost ten special operations personnel with another two dozen wounded. Three helicopters crashed due to mechanical failure, and a fourth was shot down by KPA troops armed with RPGs. None of the pilots or aircrew survived.
As bad as our losses were, the prisoners suffered even more. In total, nearly two hundred of them died in the fighting. The AIM-38 virus claimed over a hundred more.
I thought about Gabe admonishing Doctor Faraday about what effect AIM-38 might have on the sick, the elderly, and the very young. As it turned out, his concerns were well founded. Most of virus’s victims fell into one of those three categories. Their battered, tortured bodies were just too weakened by abuse, starvation, and disease to survive the effects the virus wrought on them. As reports later showed, most of them died mere hours before the offensive began. And most of them were children.
It was a good thing for Doctor Faraday he was not present. I’m not sure I could have restrained myself.
Around mid-afternoon, General Jacobs caught sight of me and stopped short. I assumed he had forgotten I was there.
“Had anything to eat yet, Captain?” he asked.
Of course not, you fucking old dunce. I’ve been sitting here for the last nine goddamn hours.
“No sir.”
“Go on, then. There’s a chow tent set up that way.” He pointed a thumb toward the east side of the compound and then went back to his endless supply of maps.
“Yes sir.”
I got up and left. The first place I went was the nearest latrine. Someone had thoughtfully set up a tarp, and beneath it, placed a large jug of hand sanitizer made from distilled grain alcohol and some kind of thickening agent. After relieving myself, I washed my hands as well as I could and followed my nose to the chow tent. Once there, I stared at the goat meat, rehydrated potatoes, and pinto beans, and decided I did not have much of an appetite.
By that point, the command building and the lab had both been gutted, the contents thereof packed into sealed crates and loaded onto a procession of HEMTTs which, from what I had learned sitting in the command tent, had been kept hidden less than a hundred miles away for the last six weeks. The transports departed the camp and set out for a pre-designated staging area twenty miles away, otherwise known as the parking lot of a pre-Outbreak mega-mart in an abandoned town. They were accompanied by four Apache attack helicopters, six Bradley fighting vehicles, and six Stryker IAVs.
Three companies of infantry and two support platoons, including mechanics and aircrew, were on their way from Idaho to meet the convoy at the staging area. From there, they would begin the long journey back to the Springs. In the interim, two hundred Resistance fighters had been assigned to help keep the infected at bay until reinforcements arrived.
I wondered for a moment why the seized research was going to the Springs in ground vehicles and not aircraft. Then I thought about the three Blackhawks that crashed due to mechanical failure, and figured General Jacobs was playing it safe. The folks at Cheyenne Mountain undoubtedly wanted every letter of that research delivered undamaged into their eager little hands. Jacobs obviously was not willing to risk losing any of it to another crash. The same courtesy, apparently, did not extend to the two scientists he’d had us capture.
I walked to the command building. The clouds overhead had grown dark and angry, turning what should have been a bright afternoon into a sullen, humid gloom. Lightning flashed and darted from cloud to cloud, illuminating the ground below in flashes of neon blue. I stepped over the remnants of the door Smith had blown up and looked around. The entire squad had assembled in the lobby and sat on chairs they had scavenged from the surrounding offices. The muttered conversations going on between them stopped when I entered.
“Long time no see,” Gellar said. “Been busy?”
“Not really.”
“Learn anything interesting?”
“No.”
Smith looked dubious and started to say something.
“Hey,” Gabe interrupted.
Smith looked at him. “What?”
Gabe shook his head. Smith stared a few seconds, then shrugged and went back to whittling a stick with his fighting dagger.
I did not feel like talking. I did not feel like being around people who were talking. I dropped my weapons, vest, body armor, and everything else I could divest without disrobing. There was a sensation of my back and shoulders expanding that comes whenever I put down a heavy burden I’ve carried a long time.
I grabbed a chair and carried it outside, well away from the command building. I put it down in an open patch of the prison yard and took a seat. The world past the wall was visible only through the breach Miller had created the previous evening. The bodies of dead ghouls littered the ground nearby, most of them in pieces. They had scratched and clawed at the rubble blocking their way in until it tumbled down enough they could scale the sides, but by then, the fighting was over and the troops turned their attention to the undead. It looked as if they had used explosives to knock the ghouls down, then finished them off with small arms. The area was clear for the moment, but there would be more. There were always more.
The forest beyond the breach stood out in brilliant shades of green against the dull gray half-light of the coming rain. Lightning lashed down some distance away, followed several seconds later by a powerful crack of thunder that made the earth beneath me tremble. The wind picked up from the south, shaking trees and moving the long grass like the surface of a storm-tossed ocean. I stayed where I was, unmoved and unmoving.
I thought about the wildfires that chased me and my family out of the Houston area during the Outbreak, and how nice some rain would have been back then. I thought of my father putting his hand against my cheek and breathing out his last words. I thought about Sophia pulling shrapnel out of me and stitching the wounds left behind. I thought about the nights we had spent huddled together in our little shipping container, the warmth of each other’s touch the only comfort we had in the sad ruin of an even sadder world. I thought about how I fell apart after I lost her, the drinking, the self-destructiveness, and later, the vengeance I brought to the men who killed my father. When I was done thinking about these things, I thought about my father warning me not to become exactly what I was—a man controlled by other men in positions of power who wanted to use me as a weapon.
The cold statistics announced over the radio every Saturday rev
olved in my head like refuse picked up by the wind. Less than three percent of the world’s population had survived the Outbreak, leaving billions of people dead or turned into abominations that desecrated the sanctity of life and made a mocking sacrilege of the peace offered by death. I wondered if there really was an afterlife. If there was, I wondered if there was a wait to get in. Perhaps the beings tasked with processing dead souls had not foreseen the catastrophe in the world below, and were just as overwhelmed as the rest of us. If so, considering the staggering number of people who had died, the distance between life and death must be a storm of ghosts so powerful as to shake the foundations of heaven and hell and everything between.
I looked at the sky, and the clouds scudding overhead, and felt the wind tugging at me and bringing with it the scent of moisture on the air. Soon, the sky darkened until it was almost black and the world beneath was cast in deep shadow. Several fat droplets hit the ground nearby, a few more making wet slapping sounds as they splatted against my clothes and landed on my head. Still I sat, and did not move. The rain picked up and began falling harder and harder until it was a torrent so strong I could barely see a few inches beyond my own face. I heard Gabe yelling at me from the command building, but it was a faint sound and easy to ignore. Rather than seek shelter, I closed my eyes and let the storm wash over me. It was cold, and it hurt, but I did not mind.
Inside, all was quiet.
FORTY-SIX
There was a week of mandatory quarantine. After that, it took four days, a Humvee, a Blackhawk, a Chinook, a C-130, and a horse-drawn cart to bring me back to the barracks at Peterson Army Air Base where my room waited for me.
Gabe and Tyrel traveled with me until we arrived back in town. The three of us spoke little on the journey to Colorado, each of us wrestling with our own thoughts. When we departed the C-130, we walked together across the tarmac carrying our personal equipment and weapons. At the terminal was the usual collection of Franken-vehicles and carts drawn by horses and oxen waiting to charge fares to soldiers exiting planes. I said a brief goodbye to my two friends, promised to meet them for drinks a week hence, and caught a ride back to the barracks where an empty room waited for me.
It was stuffy, so I left the front door open and threw the window as wide as it would go. The civilian contractors who cleaned the rooms had visited, as evidenced by the lack of dust. I put my gear away and sat down on the bed and stared out at the living city in the distance.
“Now what?” I said aloud.
The room had no answer.
*****
There was not much for me to do.
I reported to the headquarters building at 0800 the next morning in a neatly pressed uniform with my captain’s bars proudly displayed. It occurred to me on the walk over that being frequently saluted was kind of a pain. The lackadaisical salutes officer’s usually returned to enlisted troops suddenly made sense. It gets old pretty quick.
I was greeted by a second lieutenant assigned to General Jacobs’ staff. He gave me a brown envelope with something small and weighty in it, and a sealed message from General Jacobs. Then he left the room without a word. I sat down and opened the message first. It read:
CLASSIFIED
TO: Captain Caleb Hicks
RE: Instructions upon return to Peterson AAB
--DESTROY AFTER READING--
Captain Hicks,
First, let me commend you for your bravery and exemplary performance. You were an integral part of your mission’s success. By now, you have undoubtedly figured out who recommended you for duty as a federal emissary (hereafter FE). Let me assure you, I am firmly convinced that his faith in you was not misplaced. Now that I have been fully briefed on the role you played in your mission’s success, I will see to it you are awarded another Bronze Star to add to your collection.
Upon your return to Peterson AAB, the only requirements I have are that you maintain physical readiness, and use the authority vested in you as an FE to equip yourself as necessary should any further missions present themselves in the near future. You are to report to JSOC headquarters at 0900 daily, including weekends. One of my staff will pass on to you any messages from me or other members of your chain of command. Before leaving base, notify my staff of your intended destination, and keep the satellite phone provided close at hand. Should your battery run low, notify my staff immediately of your location and a charged battery pack will be brought to you. Additionally, you will be relocated to base housing within the week.
As to maintaining combat proficiency, Tyrel Jennings was kind enough to offer an open invitation to the Blackthorn training facility. He may ask you to provide instruction to new recruits from time to time. I encourage you to take advantage of this opportunity and train as much as you deem necessary. If special instruction is needed for any missions you are assigned to in the future, I will have it arranged for you as required.
On a personal note, I made you a few promises, and I intend to keep them. When the young man who gave you this information returns, tell him to inform Colonel Wayland you have arrived. That should set things in motion.
Thank you again, Captain. You have done a great service for your nation.
Respectfully,
Phillip Jacobs
Major General
Joint Special Operations Command
Commander
I opened the second envelope. Inside was the aforementioned satellite phone. I activated it and checked the battery. It was at full charge.
There was a shredder in one corner of the office. I put the letter in it and watched it disappear. A moment later, there was a polite knock at the door.
“Come in,” I said.
The young lieutenant entered. “Do you need anything else from me, sir?”
“Yes. Please inform Colonel Wayland that Captain Caleb Hicks has returned. He’ll know what to do.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“That will be all.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Efficient little fellow, I thought.
*****
On a bright afternoon in early August, Miranda stepped off of a C-130 onto the tarmac of Peterson AAB. I walked toward her at first, then broke into a run. She stopped and waited, her two duffel bags falling to the ground. She was wearing a yellow and white sundress with flowers printed on it, and her smile was every bit as beautiful as I remembered. Her skin had been tanned bronze by the hot summer sun. I picked her up and spun her in the air and breathed in her scent. Holding her made something inside me let go, and after months of living in a cloud of gray, the world regained its color.
Miranda’s musical laughter stopped when I put her down and held her around the waist. Her arms went around my neck and her gorgeous sapphire eyes held me in thrall.
“You look good,” she said.
I wanted to tell her she was the most beautiful thing under the sky, but I couldn’t talk. So I settled for kissing her.
*****
“So how did Eric take it?”
Miranda did another lap around the living room. The house I had moved into was much too large for me alone, and most of it was unfurnished and undecorated. I knew Miranda would not let that stand for long.
“He wasn’t happy, but he was understanding. He told me he was happy for me. Him and Great Hawk and Johnny Green and all the guys from your old squad came to see me off. They told me to say hi.”
“Hi? Is that what they really said?”
“No. They were far more vulgar, but I think that’s what they really meant. Except Derrick Holland. He said he hates you for stealing me away from him, and I think he actually meant it.”
I laughed. “That’s all right. He never hates me for long. Besides, how does he figure I stole you?”
Miranda shrugged. “I think he believed as long as I was there and you weren’t, there was a chance.”
“Was there?”
“Absolutely not. I like Derrick. He’s a ni
ce guy when he’s not being a smartass, so I wasn’t as cold with him as I was with some of the other soldiers. But no one could ever replace you.”
I stood up, walked behind Miranda, and put my arms around her shoulders. She grabbed my forearm and leaned back into me, her head against my chest. I could smell the soap she had used to wash her hair.
“Believe it or not, Derrick’s an optimist. For guys like him, hope springs eternal. Especially as regards pretty girls.”
“He was persistent, I’ll give him that.”
We stood a few moments, a large square of sunshine pouring through the window and highlighting dust motes in the air. The sound of the base was a dim hum in the distance. Miranda cast her gaze around the room and pointed at the wall across from us.
“That’s where we’ll put the sofa,” she said.
“I don’t own a sofa.”
“We’ll have to remedy that.”
“My trade is still back in Hollow Rock.”
“Not for long it isn’t. Great Hawk is on his way out here, and he’s bringing it with him. In the meantime, Eric gave me a letter of credit. You can draw on it from any of his business partners here in the city. He signed as guarantor, so there shouldn’t be any trouble.”
I found the gesture touching. Eric was a hard man to read sometimes, but as they say, actions speak louder than words.
“Be nice to see Great Hawk again.”
“I think he’s looking forward to visiting. As much as he looks forward to anything, that is.”
“He may be placid on the outside, but still waters run deep.”
“So I’ve heard.” There was a smile on Miranda’s face as she turned around and kissed me.
“You’re more talkative than usual,” she said.
“You bring it out of me.”
Her hands drifted down to my shirt and began unbuttoning it. “What else do I bring out of you?”