Earthfall (Book 2): Earthfall 2 [The Mission Continues]

by Knight, Stephen

  Andrews considered all of what Mulligan had said. “You know, I was actually asking your opinion of their capabilities after small-unit training.”

  “I know. What I’m explaining here is that all this tells me what I have to work with and informs me how I set about my training. What? You think I’m only interested in how straight my little hooahs shoot? Cut me some slack, kid. I’m a complicated man, but unlike John Shaft, even my woman doesn’t understand me.”

  “What? Who’s John Shaft?”

  Mulligan groaned. “Oh my God, do I have some things to show you. But don’t worry—John Shaft isn’t my willy’s nickname.”

  Andrews laughed, but was cut short as the SCEV swayed suddenly while traversing a particularly rough patch of terrain. His hand hovered over the control column as he readied to take over from the autopilot if necessary. But the rig did what it was supposed to, and it slowed and tracked left, hunting for smoother ground.

  “Yeah, sometimes millimeter wave radar is better than the Mark One Eyeball,” Mulligan said. “It looked good to me, and trust me, I was absolutely looking.”

  “Slacker,” Andrews said.

  “Stop distracting me with this idle chatter, Andrews.”

  “You serious?”

  “No, son. I’m not serious. I’ve been all up in my feelings for a decade, so it’s good to have a little fireside chat, even if the only firelight is coming from flat-screen displays.”

  Andrews stirred uneasily in the left seat. “This making you uncomfortable?”

  “Not at all, Captain. Is it uncomfortable for you?”

  Andrews considered that while scanning the instruments. “I’m not sure. It’s not like you’ve been ... well, really accessible most of my life.”

  “I know. I’m realizing the cost of that now. It’s been a trip. I’d like to apologize.”

  Andrews did a double take. “Apologize?”

  “I’m the command sergeant major—I’m supposed to be accessible. But I spent a decade crying in my cups over what I lost. That’s hardly the way a man of my rank is supposed to comport himself. I look back on it now, and I’m embarrassed by it.”

  “Well ... don’t be. Seriously, Mulligan. You’re like one of our lifelines to the past. We need you and all the Old Guard. We have to remember who we were.”

  Mulligan stared at Andrews. “Why do you say that?”

  Andrews scanned the instruments again, though he didn’t need to. Mulligan’s gaze had a penetrating quality that made him uncomfortable, as if the older man could peer right through him and see every fault and defect in his soul—disconcerting, to say the least.

  “Look. I mean it. We don’t have much of a connection with what we were before. We need you guys to show us how we’re supposed to be.”

  Mulligan chortled, then the chortle blossomed to a full-on laugh. “You want to be like us, Andrews? The dudes who blew up the world? The CHiPs generation?” The older man shook his head and went back to looking out the viewport. “Boy, you don’t need to be like us. You need to be better, more caring, more aggressive—more everything. If you’re looking to us as role models, forget it. Fuck that. Be better. Be more.”

  Andrews looked at Mulligan fully. “Gosh. That was some speech, Sarmajor.”

  “Yeah, well, I get like this when I haven’t had a cigar. Don’t worry, though”—Mulligan returned to scanning the rig’s route—“I’ve substituted tequila for smoking. I stole a bottle out of Benchley’s personal stash, and let me tell you, it’s so good that I actually almost like people again.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The voyage across the nation’s two major mountain regions was generally uneventful. The route had been so thoroughly refined and so relatively heavily traveled at that point, even overland, one could see where SCEVs had come and gone, though that didn’t make the journey any less treacherous. The environment was still lethal to unprotected humans, and though life managed to eke out an extremely modest existence, no one would be jubilant to discover that some new, sparse shrubs had started to take root in the rocky scrub.

  The rig was scheduled to arrive at phase line Delta Two Seven at 0450, which was a little more than two hours before Andrews’s scheduled duty time. Just the same, he made it a point to be up and awake for the transition to the new course. The run was big, not as charged with immediacy as the last one he had commanded but perhaps larger in scope—not a matter of life and death for Harmony Base but in the grand scheme of things, something substantially larger. If Andrews and the others were able to find signs of continued human existence—he didn’t dare hope to find an actual settlement—then that would alter the tempo of operations for years. For that reason alone, he was willing to scuttle a little rack time and ensure the course change went smoothly.

  Just the same, when Laird woke him up, it was as hard as hell to pry his eyes open.

  “Up, dude,” Laird said simply. He kept his voice pitched low. Other people were sleeping in the compartment, and Laird himself was scheduled to turn in. “You said you wanted to see this, so get your ass up and check it out.”

  Andrews rubbed his eyes. “We good on time?”

  “Like a Swiss fucking watch, bro. Tick, tick, tick.”

  “Ladies, maybe you could retire to the latrine to have this conversation.” Mulligan lay in the bunk across from Andrews.

  “Oh, did I wake you, Sarmajor?” Laird asked.

  “You must be kidding if you think your rank is going to save you here, sir,” Mulligan said.

  “I know, I know. You’re missing out on all that beauty sleep. Well, look, don’t worry—sooner or later, we’ll figure out cryogenic suspension, and we’ll let you sleep like a corpse for a couple of decades or so. When you wake up, you’ll be younger than me. Great trade-off, right?”

  “Captain, I assure you that you’ll pay for this.”

  Laird laughed and clapped Andrews on the shoulder. “Catch you later, chief.” He headed for the small latrine at the rear of the compartment.

  Andrews swung his legs out of the bunk and looked across the small aisle. He couldn’t see Mulligan in the darkness.

  “Sorry, Sarmajor.” He spoke softly, as Slattery was sleeping above Mulligan.

  Mulligan didn’t respond.

  Andrews pulled on his socks, then his uniform trousers and blouse, and finally his boots. He quickly laced them up in the darkness then headed for the exit as Laird emerged from the latrine. They shot each other a thumbs-up, and as Laird climbed into the bunk over the one Andrews had been sleeping in, Andrews pushed into the rig’s second compartment. The setup was pretty much like the salon of a motor home, with a tiny galley kitchen facing a dinette embraced by storage lockers for personal gear and supplies. KC was seated at the dinette, winding down from her tour running the rig with Leona acting as copilot. She looked up at him from her meager dinner and smiled dimly. She had the rig’s engineering feed displayed on the flat screen facing the wraparound dinette, and Andrews glanced at it. Everything looked good—engine torque, transmission temperature, fuel flow, lubrication and hydraulic pump pressure, and battery charge all normal.

  “Morning,” KC said.

  “What’s up, Kace?” Andrews motioned toward the monitor. “You don’t think Cobar can view this stuff up front? Isn’t he a crew chief too?”

  KC sniffed. “Yeah, but not on this rig, sir.”

  Andrews grabbed a padded bar mounted to the overhead as the SCEV swayed over the terrain. He looked down at her for a moment. “You cool? How you liking the field time?”

  “It’s a lot of work staying awake,” she said. “All I do is look at displays. I guess it’s good that there’s nothing to fix, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Totally.”

  “Tough to sleep,” she lamented.

  “I know. These things weren’t really built for sleeping comfort, especially when they’re in transit. You’ll get used to it. Tried taking some of those melatonin gummies? I popped two of those every time before I racked out. They
help a bit.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I do. Doesn’t really work that well, but I’ll be fine.” She gave him a weak smile.

  Andrews glanced at the clock right next to him. If it was right, they were within five minutes of intercepting their new course. “Feeling nauseous?”

  “At the beginning, I was,” she admitted. “But it’s gone now.”

  “I hope you took something for it. We have all sorts of meds for that stuff. It was covered in your basic rig training.”

  “I did. It worked. But I don’t like taking meds, you know?”

  Andrews nodded. “I feel the same way. But you need to take whatever’s going to keep you mission ready.” He tapped the coffee maker next to the convection microwave. “Like this—caffeine is the drink of the day out in the field.”

  “I drink tea,” KC said.

  Andrews smiled down at her. “That’ll change. Trust me.”

  “Why are you up, sir?”

  “Kace, you can call me Mike. I’m cool with it. Everyone on the rig calls me Mike except for Mulligan.”

  “What does he call you?”

  “Sir, mostly, though he does change it up with things like ‘sonny’ and ‘hey, asshole.’”

  KC laughed. “Do you call him by his first name?”

  “I have.”

  “Should I?”

  “Ah, maybe not. I kind of think that Mulligan isn’t really one for familiarity with the enlisted ranks that work for him, you know?”

  “He kind of freaks me out a bit,” KC said. “He’s ... I don’t know. I can’t really explain it. Sorry, sir. Am I talking too much? I’m not good at that kind of thing.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  KC looked down at her dinner—macaroni and cheese. “Knowing when I talk too much.”

  “Kace? It’s fine. You’re totally good. I told you before. You’re among friends here. Trust me. If people think you blab on and on, they’ll tell you. Don’t let it hurt your feelings. Just adjust as much as you can. Any issues with anyone, you come to me. Understand that? No matter who it is, you let me know. You’re my partner here. I need you to keep this vehicle operational.”

  “I will.”

  “How’s crewing a shift with Eklund? Everything cool there?”

  KC shifted a bit. “It’s fine, sir.”

  Andrews glanced at the clock again. It was about time to capture the new course. “Kace? If there’s a problem, you should tell me about it.”

  KC shook her head and gave him one of her faint smiles. When she smiled, Andrews thought she went from being just passable to outright pretty. He knew she would be mortified if he mentioned it to her, aside from the fact that it would be a fairly substantial personnel issue for a commanding officer to say such a thing to a subordinate, especially one as junior as KC Winters. But one thing that had changed for Andrews after the San Jose run was that he paid more attention to the people who worked for him. Life was hard, and they might not last.

  “She’s fine, sir. She seems pissy all the time, but I can deal. We all have women problems, you know?” She seemed to reconsider that. “Well. Those of us that are women.”

  Andrews laughed. “I can pair you with Jordello if you like, but it’s going to mean a big schedule change for the rest of the crew. But you’re my number-one ally here, so if it’s better for you, I’ll do it.”

  “No, sir. No waves here.”

  “Kace?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “When the noun ‘sir’ comes up in your vocabulary, replace it with ‘Mike’ for the next few weeks, all right?”

  KC squirmed again, and Andrews was reminded of Mulligan’s assessment of her. It seemed to him that the big sergeant major’s analysis had been spot on: KC Winters just wasn’t comfortable with people, because she had problems expressing her true feelings without feeling naked and exposed.

  “Hey, Kace, listen ... if it’s a problem for you, we can do it by the book,” he said quickly, trying to fill in the void. “If you want to call me sir, I’m cool with that.”

  KC looked up, and her smile was radiant despite the embarrassment she must have felt. “I’ll try to do what you tell me to do, Mike,” she said.

  “Not telling you to do anything here, Crew Chief. Whatever makes it easier for you, I’m good with. All right?”

  “All right.” She paused. “Thank you. I don’t, you know, really get to know people very easily.”

  Andrews put a hand on her shoulder. “Girl, you keep doing what you’re doing, okay? Just keep your head in the game. Trust me—I’ve been on a run where a rig shit the bed, and I don’t want to go through that again!”

  “I know, when the transmission failed, right? Don’t worry. I’m on that stuff all the time. I promise!”

  Todd Spencer had been on those same items during his tenure as crew chief of SCEV Four and was still caught flat-footed. When the fickle finger of fate pointed in your direction, you were severely fucked, no matter what.

  “Good,” he said anyway. “You do that, and we’re rigged and ready for sail.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Free of charge.” The rig slowed and turned to the right. Andrews glanced at the clock again—right on schedule, the vehicle was coming about onto its new heading.

  “Excuse me,” he said and pressed forward toward the cockpit. The pressure doors were open, so he crouched down and muscled himself in between the two pilot seats. “Good morning, ladies—are we making our course correction?”

  “Who are you calling a lady?” Cobar asked from the right seat.

  “Me, of course,” Leona said as she nursed the rig through its turn. “You have to forgive the captain. He has double vision.”

  “Lee, did you just make a joke?” Andrews asked, feigning surprise. “Cobar, make sure the cockpit voice recorders are on!”

  “Indicator is green. The moment is commemorated.”

  “So, Mike—why are you up?” Leona asked.

  Though her tone was casual, Andrews knew she thought there was more to it than him popping forward for a chat. Leona was complicated, and in turn, she complicated everything around her. For the first time, the notion that his early arrival and oversight of the course change might not be well received rose in his mind.

  “Momentous occasion,” he said. “Us, making our first run into the Pacific Northwest.”

  “You don’t think I can turn an SCEV onto a new course?”

  “I just wanted to be here when it happened, Lee. It might be an important day.”

  “You keep thinking like this, you’re not going to get a lot of sleep,” she replied. “We’re coming up on the intercept in”—she glanced at the data in the heads-up display—“fourteen seconds. But this isn’t a precision approach. I can make the turn now or in a minute, in case you want to get a selfie or something.”

  Andrews laughed. “I’m good. You guys do what you have to do.”

  “With you looking over our shoulders?” Cobar asked. “I mean, you could at least have used some mouthwash, Captain.”

  “I regret the oversight, Sergeant. It won’t happen again. I swear. By the way, if you rack in my bunk, I farted on the pillows.”

  “Good to know. I fart in your locker.”

  “I thought I caught a whiff of Eau de Cobar on your uniform,” Leona said. “Lord knows I’ve been smelling it every shift.”

  “It’s the beans and rice, maybe,” Cobar said.

  “All right, enough of the biological-emissions talk,” Leona said. “Here we go, Mike. Get ready to experience a moment of history in the making—maybe.”

  “Do it up.” Andrews felt a flutter of excitement in his chest. The revered northwest run, and he was commanding it. He couldn’t believe it. Harmony’s best chance at finding an established settlement after the Sixty-Minute War, and he was actually heading it up. Amazing.

  The darkness outside the viewports was virtually absolute despite the high-wattage LED floodlights that burned a swath far enough to see maybe a hu
ndred yards ahead. Outside of that cone of illumination, everything was inky black. But still, stars shone in the night sky, and a quarter moon was visible, hanging just over the horizon. It tracked to the left as Leona nursed the rig into a gentle turn, its big, knobby tires chewing up the rocky terrain. The rig swayed on its suspension. Dry rock formations and desiccated soil were visible in the lights outside. The pilot and copilot heads-up displays showed even more detail, as they presented a forward-looking infrared picture transmitted back from the pilotage-grade FLIR turret overhead. Just the same, visually, there was no change in experience. Everything was basically the same, aside from the slight bumping caused by the rig’s front four wheels turning to the right. The SCEV continued to lumber along as normal, and had Andrews been asleep in the back, he wouldn’t have even noticed the course change. He checked the moving map display and confirmed the SCEV had come about and captured a new heading. Leona kept the rig moving at a fairly consistent thirty miles per hour, as per the standard procedure. Everything was as it was expected to be—just another rig, cruising across the darkened, post-apocalyptic landscape.

  But the possibility of making a tantalizing discovery lay in wait. Andrews felt in his bones.

  “So we good now, Captain?” Leona asked. “Did I do all right in the turn? Are you sure you don’t want to wake up Scott to critique the procedure?”