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

by Knight, Stephen

  Andrews found it difficult to dwell on the emotions he felt when watching the feed. He had known the world before the Sixty-Minute War as a child and had only that viewpoint into history. Though he’d been alive and had ventured out into society, it was taken away before he could become substantially attached to it. He well understood that millions of people had perished, and most had died in great agony over a protracted amount of time—only the lucky died in the thermobaric fireballs created by nuclear detonation. Over the following two years, there came a great, tragic die-off as food stocks failed, radioactive fallout spread, and old diseases reemerged. As Andrews spent those years sleeping in a warm bed and going to school and enjoying hot meals, an untold number of his peers were dying from starvation or thirst or the ravages of uncontained cancer that ate them down to the bone. Many of those people had been in the Bay Area, but Andrews had no real connection to the misery, aside from a dull pang of regret and loss.

  He cast his eyes toward Mulligan as surreptitiously as he could. Despite his blank expression and the appearance that his body was frozen, his eyes were alive with emotion. Though he’d just said the destruction was nothing new to him, Andrews knew that was a lie. Even a man as intrinsically robust as Mulligan had to feel something every time he saw the utter devastation left behind in the wake of the Sixty-Minute War. Once you peeled away the experience and training of a Special Forces operator, you would still find a man who could only mourn the loss of an entire civilization. Andrews knew it was wrong to feel pity for the sergeant major, but that was the only thing that came to him in that moment.

  It must be like dying again and again.

  As if sensing his gaze, Mulligan looked over at Andrews. Embarrassed by having been caught looking so openly, Andrews nodded and returned his attention to the display. The drone slowed as it approached the reconnaissance zone then hovered at approximately one thousand feet over the objective.

  “On target,” Leona said.

  Andrews regarded the display. The drone was hovering over a field of absolute destruction, save for the occasional patch of twisted greenery that was starting to take hold. Despite the radiation and the incendiary effects of two nuclear weapons, nature had begun reasserting itself. Even through cracked concrete that had been nearly melted from the extreme temperatures, tufts of sparse, hardy wheat grass could be seen. Just the same, there was no chance he’d be able to determine which building the general wanted them to reconnoiter from this view alone. Everything had been reduced to rubble.

  “Lee, can you drop in the map layover?” he asked.

  Leona typed some commands on the keyboard before her, and an instant later, a street map was superimposed over the drone imagery. Sure enough, the little aircraft was hovering right over the corner of Jones and Chestnut Streets. The target address was—should have been—right below the eight-rotored remote-controlled copter.

  Andrews glanced over at Mulligan. “Doesn’t look like there’s any chance of survival here, Sarmajor.”

  “Agreed. I’m wondering if we can get a pan of the area, however, just to make sure we’re not missing anything.”

  “On it.” Leona instructed the drone to slowly spin on its axis, panning the wide-area camera around. Using infrared, millimeter wave radar, and simple visual optics, the machine transmitted everything it saw—which was nothing more than the decayed carcass of a once-great American city.

  Andrews had Leona fly the drone up and down the block then conduct a quick sector search and try to peer through the wreckage of the target and its immediate surroundings using the aircraft’s millimeter wave radar array. The radar was designed to illustrate terrain and other features in darkness, but it was powerful enough to penetrate the first layer of strata, rendering it, in effect, invisible. Just the same, the mounds of debris were too thick to see very much.

  “You’re not going to find any human remains that way, Mike.” Laird leaned against the padded bulkhead that separated the second and third compartments. The pressure door was closed, as Slattery, KC, and Kelly were on their rest cycle.

  “I guess not.” Andrews looked back at Mulligan. “What do you think, Sarmajor? We good to go here?”

  Mulligan nodded. “We’ve done what we were asked to do, Captain. I’d say make copies of the data and secure it then recall the drone.”

  ***

  Though the replenishment facility was only 157 miles northeast of San Francisco, the trip took longer than anticipated as the rig had to go overland because the roadways they’d hoped to use were poor. At one point, Andrews had to fjord a small river, but the millimeter wave radar returns indicated the bed was more or less solid, so the SCEV didn’t get stuck. Just the same, it was a bit nerve-wracking to actually push the rig into the slowly moving water. While it had been developed with such activities in mind, Andrews had never done it outside of training. Even with Mulligan sitting beside him, the maneuver filled him with anxiety.

  “Piece of cake,” Mulligan said. “We might have to do that more often the farther north we go. Seems like there’s more rainfall here than in our usual sector, so bodies of water might be a more regular occurrence.”

  Andrews paged through one of the display menus until he got to the science section, and he opened up one of the tabs. The SCEV had dutifully collected water specimens through its sumps, and the analysis was that it was still saturated with radiation that only mounted as the rig stirred up the mud. The water contained other pollutants as well, probably toxic runoff from disintegrating buildings and other industrial waste.

  “Well, according to the analysis, we probably shouldn’t stop to drink any,” he said, looking back out the viewports as he nudged the SCEV up a gentle incline. The rig swayed as it crushed rock and soil beneath its big tires.

  They finally made their way to the supply point, a bunker-like affair buried in a hillside sitting on land that had formerly been owned by the federal government. Surrounded by scrub and a field of irregular, overgrown hardy grass, the site looked undisturbed and no worse for wear over the passage of time. Andrews rolled right up to the heavy vault door and brought the rig to a halt. The SOP was for Laird and his team to suit up, enter the facility, and conduct a site inspection to ensure it was still capable of supporting them before Andrews and the remaining crew took off in SCEV Four.

  “All right, let’s go into conservation mode for fuel,” Andrews said as he set the parking brake. “Let’s spool down number two and leave one in idle. Idle checklist, please.”

  “On it.” Mulligan pulled the checklist from the side pocket to his right, opened the book, and flipped through to the proper laminated page.

  While he read the procedures aloud, Andrews followed through by enacting the steps required to bring the SCEV into the desired configuration. To a layman, it might have seemed repetitive and tedious, and though both were true, following the processes allowed for the two men to ensure the rig was configured properly for the circumstances at hand. By the end of the brief checklist, the number-two engine had been shut down and caged, winding down to silence. Engine one was dialed back to idle. The variable-speed turbine blades flattened in pitch, and the engine’s tone flattened from a whine to a low growl.

  “Kace, can you confirm the settings, please?” Andrews asked.

  “One is captured at idle, two is stopped and caged,” KC replied from the engineering station on the other side of the padded bulkhead.

  “Okay, do me a fave and head aft to roust Laird and his team,” Andrews said. “No need to wake everybody. Just get Laird up, and he’ll take care of the rest.”

  “On it,” she said, and Andrews heard her unbuckling her harness.

  Mulligan replaced the checklist binder in its pocket then reached for the radios on the center console. “All right. Let’s see if we can talk with this place.”

  “Rog, and while you do that, I’ll go ahead and pull together the EVA profile. Cool?”

  “Cool beans all the way, sir,” Mulligan said.

&nb
sp; As Mulligan initiated the process that would allow them to bring the supply site to life and make it accessible to Laird’s team, Andrews began taking an initial environmental survey of the conditions outside the rig. Though the team would be suited up in full gear for the short walk to the supply site, procedure determined that everything from temperature to radiation count be collected and communicated to the ground team before they left the rig. The temperature outside was surprisingly cold—only forty-four degrees, a good ten degrees cooler than the historical median. Humidity was correspondingly low, but the Sievert count was elevated to 1.1. Even with protection, the ground team would need to enter the supply site fairly quickly to confirm it was operational and capable of supporting them for the next month or two. While the chances of the radiation count being anything substantial inside the site were minimal, if they were elevated and couldn’t be reduced to a habitable level, then Laird’s team would have to return to SCEV Four. For this reason, the rig would remain on station until the following day. By that time, Laird, Kelly, Cobar, and Slattery would know if it wasn’t safe to remain.

  Andrews compiled the report and sent it to one of the displays on the science station so Laird and the others could review it. As he was doing that, Mulligan established a data link with the supply site. The physical manifestation of this was the LED lights over the large bifold door coming on. They all shone as brightly as they had when they were installed, albeit through a sheen of accumulated dust.

  “How’s it look?” Andrews asked, peering at the output presented on the center display.

  Mulligan had opened a window there for the report presentation. So far, everything looked green. The supply site hadn’t lost pressure, and the environmental mix was at a steady oxygen-nitrogen mix that had a pressure gradient slightly higher than what was outside its confines. That had been done intentionally, to prevent any particulate matter or other contaminant from entering the subterranean structure. The CO2 scrubbers had been inoperative for years as there were no components inside the structure to give off that particular gas, but they popped online for thirty seconds as part of the site-activation process before shutting off again. The heaters snapped on, and the site’s small geothermal power plant began ramping up, using heat from almost twelve hundred feet beneath the installation to transform water into steam that powered two small turbines. Those turbines would charge electromagnetic brushes that would provide electricity to the hardened bunker. More data flowed across the screen as soon as it was transmitted across the radio link. Water capacity, oxygen capacity, current battery charges—all of it was revealed.

  “Looks pretty good here,” Mulligan said, scrolling through the list. “Hmm, some water loss. Might be a leak somewhere. Still plenty for what we’ll need, but Cobar will need to check around and see what’s up.”

  Andrews looked at the list, leaning to his right in his seat. “Did the sump pumps come on?”

  “Nope. I don’t think the loss was that dramatic, Captain. Probably only a small leak, and over the years, the fluid level dropped. I’m sure it’s in the sump somewhere, but we’ll have Cobar check it out.”

  Andrews smiled. “You don’t dig him, do you?”

  Mulligan shrugged. “He’s competent enough. I’m not saying he should check this stuff out to punish him, but because he’s a pretty good engineer. Slattery, now, there’s a different story. Glad he’s crewing with Laird and not us.”

  “Maybe he needs more training.”

  “Maybe he was just born stupid and fucking lazy. There’s a shirker in every unit, Captain. Slattery’s one of those.”

  Someone stirred in the back, and Andrews loosened his harness enough to be able to look around the bulkhead. KC slid back into her wing seat as Laird emerged from the sleeping compartment and made his way forward.

  “Rise and shine, sweet cheeks,” Andrews said to him.

  “Shut up before I gouge out your eyes,” Laird replied with a smile. He crouched in the doorway and leaned forward, gazing out the viewports at the supply site buried in the hillside. “Well, I hope it’s prettier on the inside.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Mulligan said. “Looks like there’s been a leak in the water system, enough to lose”—he consulted the display and scrolled through the readout—“about two hundred gallons.”

  “Okay. So either it just started and we’re all going to get very wet, or it happened a while ago. Is that all you have?”

  “Only anomaly we see right now,” Andrews said. “Everything else seems good—atmosphere, power, pressure, etcetera.”

  Laird looked at the display for a while then shrugged. “I guess the only thing to do is get inside and check it out.”

  “Agreed,” Andrews said, but he cut his eyes over at Mulligan. He began to mentally berate himself—the decision was ultimately his, not the sergeant major’s—but he saw Laird turn toward the senior NCO as well.

  Mulligan looked back at the two of them with an irritated expression. “Girls, get it together,” he rumbled. “Captain Laird, why are you still here? Maximum occupancy of a Self-Contained Exploration Vehicle’s cockpit is two personnel.”

  Laird barked a laugh before backing out of the cramped chamber. “Good copy on that, Sarmajor.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The ground team emerged in pairs, with Laird and Cobar going first. They suited up in full environmental gear and exited the SCEV’s small airlock, descending the brief ladder to the ground outside. The air outside was definitely chilly, and Laird could feel the brittle cold even through his suit. A sizeable breeze clocked in at fourteen miles an hour, gusting up to twenty-one. The ground had a small layer of frost that had been protected by the overcast day. The site was slightly elevated, and its gray doors faced them. One was a large bifold blast door that would serve as a vehicle exit. Laird and Cobar would ignore that one for the moment and focus on the personnel airlock door to the right. Andrews and Mulligan had already pinged the supply site, which had allowed Laird and his team several minutes to pore over the data the site had transmitted over the secure radio link. Aside from the missing water and the possible leak somewhere in the system, everything else came back as normal. According to the data, the supply site was capable of supporting life, which was good enough for Laird to want to trek the short distance to the airlock.

  Their boots crunching through the light mantle of frost that covered the hardy grass growing around the site, Laird led Cobar to the airlock door. It already hung slightly ajar, thanks to Mulligan keying in the opening code over the secure link, so all Laird had to do was pull it open. Despite its still well-lubricated hinges, the door was thick, and therefore, it initially resisted his effort to pull it open. But slowly, the vault-like entrance swung open, and the lights came on in the airlock beyond. Cobar preceded him inside, and Laird pulled the door closed behind him as he followed. It locked with a firm clunk! and the indicator on the flat-panel display mounted on the far wall told him the seal was perfect.

  “Four, this is Laird. Radio check,” he said over his mask’s transceiver.

  “Good comms out here, Jim.” Andrews’s response was immediate.

  “Great. Airlock is sealed, and the chamber looks secure. Cobar and I will start the decon process now then enter the site for our initial inspection. What’s the interior temperature? Over.”

  “Ah, temp is still climbing. Coming back as sixty-two degrees Fahrenheit right now, but should be in the high sixties in just a few minutes. Heaters are definitely on. Initial temp was forty-nine. Over.”

  “Fantastic.” Laird turned to where Cobar stood beside the flat-screen panel. “Okay, let’s break out our rubber duckies and get on with it.”

  The two men scrubbed down their suits with a mixture of bleach and soap, paying special attention to any folds or details where radioactive debris might have gotten caught during the transfer to the supply site. The suits were reusable, so after the pair had gone through the decontamination process, they would transfer the suits to the
sterilization closet, located behind another vault door in the side of the main airlock. It was a four-hour process, but if all went as planned, Laird didn’t expect to need them soon. If an emergency arose and they needed to evacuate the site, he and Cobar could break out fresh units from the stores inside.

  Once they were cleaned off and the radiation count in the airlock had returned to a normal background elevation, they used flexible hoses to spray off the floor and flush any lingering contaminants down the drains. The two men then examined each other, looking for anything that might pose a contamination hazard to them as they suited down. Visual inspections revealed nothing out of the ordinary

  “Four, decon complete. We’re ready to suit down,” Laird said.

  “Go for it. Reading sixty-seven degrees in the airlock, sixty-five in the site itself,” Andrews replied. “It might be a little cool, but you’ll be able to handle it.”

  “Rog.” Laird gave Cobar a thumbs-up.

  The two men began the suit-removal process. Overgarments came off first then the respiration assemblies on their backs. The suits were a closed system based on the venerable Racal suit that had served virologists so well over the previous several decades. Laird and Cobar disconnected the supply lines to their masks and relied on the HEPA filtration units to protect them from any stray particles that might be circulating inside the airlock. They then stripped off the coverings that encased their duty boots and began removing the suits themselves. One of the last steps was disconnecting the gloves. Once those were free, Laird and Cobar were able to shrug out of the main body of their suits. They stood in the airlock, wearing only their duty uniforms, and each man checked the other’s radiation dosimeter to ensure there had been no inadvertent contamination during the unsuiting process. Both were green.