by Kenny Soward
“I understand.”
“Just fix the SATCOM terminal, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jake replied, keeping his head up even though it wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
“Can you step outside and send Corporal Riley in? I’ll have him find our communication officer, Specialist Murray, and they’ll escort you back to the SATCOM terminal so you can get started.”
“Thanks again, Captain Sanchez. I appreciate the opportunity.”
Chapter 13
Jake, Providence, Rhode Island | 12:13 a.m., Friday
The SATCOM terminal was a green reflector dish about four feet in diameter with two thin bars that held out a smaller sub reflector, stretching upward into the night sky. The entire array sat atop a rotation and mounting mechanism that could be affixed to the back of a Humvee or placed on top of a tank. Connection wires hung from the side of the device, each of them capped against the weather.
Jake, Corporal Riley, and Specialist Murray lifted the tarp covering the terminal, raised it on poles, and tied down the edges to stakes so it would not blow away in the gusting wind. Then they rolled in some work lights and a generator and positioned the lights so that the entire space lit up in a bright bluish illumination that reflected off the tarp.
Marcy, Ashley, and the kids were sleeping in the tent almost thirty yards away, and Jake thought they must be sleeping soundly, not worried about more storms or X-Gang hunting them down.
Standing there with his hands on his hips, Jake surveyed the damage to the SATCOM terminal. Burn marks and bullet holes scored the housing of the equipment, and there were some marks on the outside of the dish itself, although Jake didn’t think they were particularly damaging.
Specialist Murray was a woman in her thirties with brown hair and a quiet demeanor, although she wasn’t bashful when it came to talking about communications devices.
“What happened to it?” Jake asked her.
“Raider hit a Humvee patrol on the outskirts of Boston,” she said, squatting down and running her hand over the housing. “The swivel mechanism was busted, and the wiring shredded. I repaired the wiring, so I think it needs a whole new central core.”
“If you’ve got a wiring kit, I’d like to redo that part to start with.”
The communications officer gave Jake a doubtful look, and he quickly added, “Hey, I don’t doubt you did a good job, but the wiring is key here. You know how these parts work. If the wires are not shielded properly, or there’s even a minor fluctuation, it won’t work.”
“If you guys have got this,” Corporal Riley said, “I’ll get back to patrolling.”
“We’ve got it,” Murray replied as she fished around in her equipment bag for some rewiring tools.
Riley nodded to both of them and stepped beneath the edge of the tarp, calling back over his shoulder. “We’ll be close by if you need us.”
“Great,” Jake said. “Let’s hope for a peaceful evening.”
They’d placed the entire SATCOM terminal on a long table for easier access to the sensitive electronics, and Jake and Specialist Murray squatted down and began loosening the screws around the housing. After lifting the heavy steel cover away, they placed it aside, and Jake watched as Murray pulled out the cable groups and explained to him what they did.
While Jake had a good idea of these things already, it was helpful to have Murray go over some of the electronic components in this upgraded model. After nodding attentively to her words, Jake began to separate the wires and replace them, and the storm began to slip away as his technical mind went to work.
For Jake, it was a call back to another time in his life, when he’d done this kind of work every day, wiring entire buildings and smaller, more delicate equipment for clients who dealt with cutting-edge technology. While it could be tedious, there was a small part of him that enjoyed this type of work immensely.
Where he couldn’t reach, Murray’s smaller hands could, and together they diced and spliced wires, replacing some sections with new pieces from a spool of wire Murray had brought with her. Soon, their hands worked together of their own volition, seamlessly replacing most of the guts of the SATCOM terminal.
“You’re really good at this.” Murray sounded impressed.
“I used to do this in a past life,” Jake said with an absent grin.
“What do you do now?”
“I develop applications for cutting-edge businesses. Although, I bet now there will be a huge market for these kinds of wiring skills.”
“You’ve got that right,” Murray agreed. “We’re all going back to basics with at least seven major cities up and down the East Coast destroyed.”
Jake absorbed her words in silence, content to keep his mind focused on the internal workings of the SATCOM terminal. Three hours later, his back and shoulders stiff, Jake stood on creaky knees and stepped away from the equipment.
“I think that will do it for the wiring.” He wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead and allowed Murray to fully inspect his work.
“Let me check the connections.” Murray retrieved a testing device from her bag and detached two electronic testing prongs from the body of the box. Then she reached into the terminal housing and began touching the ends to some of the connection terminals, making satisfied grunts as she ran through the testing routine. Jake inspected his handiwork from afar where he’d bundled the cabling and ran it neatly into several clips on the inside of the housing. It was a clean, neat job.
“Basic connectivity test passed.” Murray went back to her equipment sack and pulled out a small computer, bringing it over and placing it on a tray at the base of the SATCOM terminal. She grabbed some of the loose wires, removed their plastic covers, and plugged them into special jacks on her laptop. “Now for the diagnostics. This is where it failed before.”
A bout of nervousness gripped Jake as he watched the comms officer peck away on the keyboard. If the SATCOM terminal still didn’t work, it would drastically reduce the amount of leverage Jake had in getting Captain Sanchez to let him go. Jake had no doubt he could eventually escape the camp on his own, although he would rather do it with the captain’s blessing and a new set of wheels beneath him. In addition to that, it seemed important to try and help his fellow countrymen in any way he could. If that meant helping them get another communications device online, then he’d do it gladly.
Something beeped on Murray’s laptop, then she sat back and grinned, looking up at Jake. “Well, I can’t believe it, but it works. I must have missed something, and you found it. Good work.”
“Thanks,” Jake said, feeling proud having praise heaped on him by the military communications officer. “I’ve just had a lot of practice. It’s a lot like riding a bike.”
Murray’s laptop made a squelching, failure sound, and Murry turned back to the screen to see what the problem was. The edges of her lips turned down into a frown. “Still won’t swivel.” She hit a few more keys on her keyboard and the big dish moved up and down. “We have vertical movement.”
“Let me check.” Jake leaned down into the terminal’s chassis and began feeling around down below the motor where there must be a track and turning gear. He jerked his hand back with a curse when he pricked his finger on something sharp. “Ow. That smarts.”
“What was it?”
“I think some shrapnel tore through the chassis and left some exit and entry holes. I cut myself on a torn edge. Is there a way to get to the motor and gear chamber?”
“There is, but I think the motor is burned out,” Murray replied. When she saw Jake waiting patiently for further instructions, she handed him a screwdriver. “Around back, there’s another panel.”
“Got it.” Jake took the screwdriver, went around to the backside of the SATCOM terminal, and saw what she was talking about. He quickly unscrewed the panel and set it aside. Then he grabbed a small flashlight they’d used to repair the wiring, turned it on, and directed the light down into the motor
section.
Jake peered around, looking through the complex mechanisms that allowed the SATCOM terminal to accomplish the simple function of swiveling left and right. Everything looked okay to Jake, although his eyes were drawn to the area where the shrapnel had torn through the side wall and exited through the top. The damage had to be near the entry point.
Reaching inside and feeling around with his fingers, Jake found where the array swiveled on a platter, the edges of the platter cut into the shape of gears. He brought his hand back toward him and felt for the motor cylinder that should be turning the assembly around.
“Move it left,” Jake said.
Murray clicked something on her keyboard, and Jake felt the inside of the machine vibrate ever so quietly. He raised his fingers and hissed again when the spinning motor buzzed against the tips of his fingers.
“Something’s wedged against the base of the motor,” he said, “and the motor has been pushed away from the platter. That’s why the thing won’t spin.”
Jake felt around some more and found the piece he thought didn’t fit. It was about as big as the end of his thumb, wedged in tight. It must have struck with some force, because he couldn’t pry it loose no matter how hard he tried. Not giving up, he grabbed the screwdriver, wedged the tip where he thought it would give him the best leverage, and snapped it hard. The piece flew free and bounced around inside the chassis. Jake felt around until he found it, and he plucked it out and tossed it over to Murray.
She held it up between her thumb and forefinger and inspected it up close. “Definitely a bullet.”
Reaching back inside, Jake forced the motor piece back into place as hard as he could so that the gear teeth would connect solidly. “Okay, give it a try now.”
Murray clicked her keyboard, and the SATCOM dish swiveled to the left and then back to the right again.
“Bravo,” Murray exclaimed, giving Jake an admiring nod.
Jake smiled with satisfaction and then cocked his head as the gear teeth skipped a couple times. “I think if you have someone get that motor assembly straightened out, it will work perfectly.”
“We can definitely do that. Good work, Mister Walton.”
“And for your help, Specialist Murray. We make a pretty good—”
Faint snaps like the sounds of fireworks going off met Jake’s ears, and he looked up as a hole suddenly appeared in the blue tarp that had been fluttering in the wind. Jake stared at it for a second as realization dawned on him. He and Murray shared a look before the two of them dove to the ground beneath a hail of incoming fire.
Chapter 14
Jake, Providence Rhode, Island | 4:13 a.m., Friday
The sharp zip of bullets flew through the tarp and ricocheted off the big dish as Jake and Murray hid behind the SATCOM terminal they’d just repaired. For a moment, all Jake could think of was all the time they’d likely wasted fixing the equipment only to have it shot to pieces by some idiot. And then his mind put things into proper perspective, and he started asking the right questions.
“The terrorists?” Jake absently lifted his rain poncho to get out his Ruger, but the weapon wasn’t there, and he clenched his fist in frustration.
Murray had already taken her pistol out and held it up, ducking every time a bullet whizzed by. “Yep. They usually attack one side of the camp as a distraction before mounting a bigger assault on the other side. We can’t take any chances. We have to hold here.”
Small-arms fire continued to pepper the area, and Jake grew quickly frustrated that he couldn’t see anyone approaching due to the tarp’s cover. He ducked down close to the ground to peer beneath it, although he could only see the tall wavy grass of the field. The broken-down machinery on their side of the camp was blocked by a section of the tarp that flapped loosely near the ground.
There were shouts Jake recognized as patrol soldiers nearby, and a flurry of boots ran past their position. Jake presumed they would take cover behind the broken-down machinery and start firing. Right on cue, the sounds of returning machine gun fire ripped through the early morning drizzle, much to Jake’s relief.
“Wait here,” Murray said, then she crouch-walked over to the edge of the tarp, peered beneath it, and sprinted in the direction of the machinery.
Jake started to turn back to the tents to check on Marcy, Ashley, and the kids, when a soldier cried out in excruciating pain. Jake froze in place for a moment and then turned back toward the soldiers. Following Murray’s lead, he got on his hands and knees and crawled over to the edge of the tarp, bullets occasionally piercing the material over his head, sending a feeling of oppressive dread through his stomach. It seemed counter-intuitive to head toward the gunfire, but he felt obligated to help the soldiers if he could.
He ducked down and lifted part of the flapping tarp, eyes scanning across the ground in the direction of the broken-down machinery. He spotted Murray and two other soldiers interspersed around the stacked equipment, firing across the field in the direction of the barbed wire fence.
The soldier who’d been hit writhed in pain on the ground nearby, grimacing and grasping his right shoulder as his arm hung limp at his side.
Jake crawled from beneath the tarp and half stood, peering over the line of waving grass. Several dark shapes moved through the shadows toward them. Bright spots of firecracker light revealed several gun barrels firing on the machinery position, more so now that there was no one shooting back on the right flank.
If the three remaining soldiers were overwhelmed, the terrorists would have unmitigated access to the camp, and Jake had no doubt they would kill as many people as they could before reinforcements arrived.
Jake sprinted the twenty yards to the fallen soldier, ducking low to avoid a new round of bullets coming his way. He fell to his knees next to the wincing, grunting soldier and looked into his eyes. The man was in intense pain, his teeth clenched together even as he tried to get his pistol out of its holster with his useless hand.
“I’m going to borrow this, buddy,” Jake said, grabbing up the man’s M4 carbine from where it had fallen nearby. Then he rushed over to a trailer with a mini bulldozer resting on its bed. There was a splash of blood on the back edge of the trailer and red drops on the ground, marking the soldier’s previous position. Jake took the same position but backed up a foot behind the thick metal of the mini dozer.
Assuming the weapon was charged, Jake lifted it to his shoulder and targeted the first bright point of light he saw. Shockingly, the shot came from just twenty yards away, the round clanking against the mini dozer’s chassis, causing Jake to cringe. He quickly resumed a firing stance and popped off four return rounds and watched the shadow who’d fired at him collapse into the tall grass.
Jake kept sighting and firing, somewhat hastily, simply trying to give the raiders something to think about and halt their advance. He was vaguely aware of the other soldiers still firing, although his own focus had narrowed to the size of a pinhole. After going through two dozen rounds, Jake’s finger pulled the trigger to the sound of an empty click, indicating he was out of bullets.
Not having a spare magazine, Jake turned back toward the soldier, worried the time it would take him to rifle through the soldier’s pack to get a spare magazine would cost him precious time. On the ground, the wounded soldier stared up at Jake, eyes filled with pain and fury. In his hand, he held up a full magazine, shaking it for Jake to come get it.
Knee-walking to the soldier, Jake fiddled with the magazine release until the empty one shot out. Then he grabbed the full one from the soldier’s hand, pushed it into the loading slot, and jammed it home. He rushed back to the trailer and charged his weapon, hoping the raiders hadn’t gained too much ground.
Jake spotted several shadows at the edge of the camp’s light, seeming to hesitate in their approach. Jake set his jaw and made them pay for their delay by pounding them with lead. Two went down, and another one turned and took flight.
In a sudden rush of movement and sound, several
of the camp’s soldiers rushed past Jake, firing into the darkness as they went. Judging by their hurried movements, they were chasing the retreating enemies into the night. Jake took his finger off the trigger and relaxed his grip, adrenaline still surging through his veins.
He turned back to the fallen soldier to see that a medic had already arrived. Jake placed the man’s rifle on the ground nearby and stood up on slightly shaky legs. Using deadly force against another human being, even if justified, always took a toll on Jake’s body and mind.
Standing near the SATCOM tarp, Jake raised his face to the dark sky and allowed the rain to wash away the feeling of killing, for all the good it would do his soul.
“You okay?”
Jake turned to find Murray standing next to him, her expression calm although something in her eyes seemed shaken.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jake said. “Just a little unexpected surprise.”
“I’ll never really get used to them, although we can usually stave the bastards off,” Murray said with a shake of her head. “Thanks for the help.”
“No problem.”
There was a commotion out in the field that drew their attention. Jake saw two soldiers holding up a struggling, cursing form between them. It might have been one of the shadows Jake had brought down since they had it over near the area he’d been firing into. Without too much care, the soldiers began dragging the form toward the camp, and Jake noticed there were a couple other terrorists being dragged in as well.
The wind had blown part of the tarp off its pole, spilling some of the stark-white work light across the grounds, and the first pair of soldiers brought their captive right past Jake and Murray. It was a woman who appeared to have an indiscernible wound to her abdomen, judging by the blood that soaked her midsection and lap area. The woman snapped her head up as they passed. When she saw Jake, she cursed and spat at him in a language he didn’t recognize.