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

by Knight, Stephen

  “We will,” Andrews said.

  “They might not like that. Especially the folks at Ironside. They’re not just preppers, they’re hard-core survivalist types. They’ll shoot your drone down if they see it,” Amanda said.

  “We’ll fly it around five thousand feet above ground,” Leona told her. “They won’t hear it, and they won’t see it. And we’ll do the recon at night.”

  “Sneaky,” Amanda said. “I like that. Mind sharing the information you collect?”

  Mulligan stopped moving things around in the freezer. He turned toward her. “Why are you interested in knowing what we find out about settlements you already know exist?”

  Amanda looked at him, her face blank. “What do you think our interest is?”

  “Potentially hostile,” Mulligan said evenly.

  “You’re potentially correct,” Amanda responded. “Obviously, if they were forming an alliance to move against Sherwood, we’d really want to know that.”

  “Understandable,” Mulligan said.

  “But even if that’s not the case, we’d still like to know more about them. How many of them are left, how they’re getting along, how they’re organized. Things like that,” Amanda added.

  “Why do you distrust them so much?” Leona asked. “They’re your neighbors.”

  “They’ve raided us in the past. We’ve killed some of them, they’ve killed some of us. We’re not really on direct speaking terms. They’re our competitors,” Amanda said.

  Mulligan crossed his arms. “That certainly sounds a bit feudal.”

  Amanda stared up at him. “We’re pretty much living in the bronze age here, mister. What did you expect?”

  Mulligan thought about that for a moment. “Fair enough.”

  “We’ll share our intel with Stan and Eldon,” Andrews said, “but only after we’re certain you’re not going to use it to undermine our efforts. As in, charging out and taking everything they have.”

  “My father’s in charge of Sherwood, and he’s not the type to do anything like that,” Amanda said. “His body’s here in the present, but his mind is still in the past a lot of the time.”

  “And what about Master Guns?” Mulligan asked.

  Amanda gave him her vague smile. “A lot of people here in Sherwood think Sean and I got mixed up at birth, color aside. Sean’s more like my father, and I’m a lot more like Sean’s.”

  Mulligan shrugged. “I still haven’t bought his whole ‘aw shucks’ attitude. I know Master Guns is a hard-charger, and if something were to go down, he’d be the one calling the shots. But I wouldn’t discount your father growing a backbone mighty quick if things were going in a direction he didn’t like.”

  “You would be right about that. Like I said, he’s only time-tripping some of the time. Dad’s not dumb, and he’s proven himself. But he wouldn’t order a movement against either Ironside or Beulah without any real cause—if that was the case, we wouldn’t be talking about them, they’d have been wiped out.”

  “When was the last time you had any meaningful contact with either settlement?” Andrews asked.

  “We council once every year, in August before the winter starts to set in. We rotate between the settlements. This year, we’d meet in Ironside. Nothing really happens—we just update each other on what we’re up to, and discuss things of common interest.”

  “Is that so?”

  Amanda shrugged. “We don’t tell them everything, and they don’t tell us everything. We’re in competition for the same resources. My dad must’ve told you this stuff already.”

  “Mostly.” Andrews looked up at the map. “So you say Beulah’s the first—”

  Buchek’s voice erupted from the speaker in the overhead, making Andrews look up with a start. “Team from Harmony, this is Buchek. We need to talk right away.”

  “What’s that about?” Mulligan said. “I mean, I hope it’s not important—I just settled on the chicken after all.” He held a frosty package in one big hand.

  “Well, let’s find out.” Andrews slid out from the dinette and moved past Mulligan. He walked to the command intel station and slipped on the headset there. “Stan, it’s Andrews. What’s up?”

  Buchek’s voice came over both the headset earphone and the overhead speakers. “We have people from Beulah coming in. Not fully up to speed on what’s going on, but it sounds like it’s something pretty dramatic. You and your sergeant major might want to come out for a look-see.”

  Mulligan groaned and tossed the package of chicken back into the freezer. “See, if you people had let me have a burrito, I’d be going out there well fed.”

  “Roger that, Stan. We’re coming out.” Andrews put down the headset and looked at Mulligan. “Okay, let’s man up again.” To Leona: “You and KC stay here and keep an eye on things.”

  Leona regarded the two men for a moment. “All right,” she said.

  Andrews was a little vexed by her attitude. “I’m sorry, do you have a problem with that, Lee?”

  “Actually, yes. Why don’t we let Buchek’s people find out what’s going on before any of us go outside?” she asked.

  “Whoa, someone’s starting to think tactically,” Mulligan said as he opened his locker and pulled out his headset, helmet, and body armor.

  “We were asked to attend,” Andrews said. “Seems like it might be a little rude to suddenly refuse to come out and participate, wouldn’t it?” He looked at Amanda. “You should probably come out with us as well.”

  “Damn straight,” she said. “You guys mind if I leave now?”

  “Sit there until we’re ready to disembark. We’ll go as a group,” Mulligan said, glancing over at Andrews for confirmation. Andrews nodded his acceptance of the guidance, then turned and walked the few steps to the cockpit. He leaned in and looked out the view ports. People were definitely moving around out there in the fading light of day, and he saw a lot of firearms. Something was going on, but no one was giving the SCEV any extra special attention. It had been parked pretty much in the same spot for weeks, so the novelty of its presence had worn off.

  “Orders?” KC asked from the left seat.

  “Yeah ... strap in and go through the pre-start checklists with Leona. No need to change our status to active defense or anything, but get ready to light the fires if something happens. Uh, we’ll be on”—he held up four fingers—“at setting three.” Without saying anything that could be of any use if overheard, he had just told the crew chief he and Mulligan would be listening on tactical channel four with the encryption setting set to three. No one in Sherwood would be able to intercept their communications.

  “Roger, got it,” KC said as she pulled on the harness straps and buckled up.

  By the time Andrews had turned back to the second compartment, Mulligan was already manned up and ready to disembark. He adjusted his ruck’s straps and the hang of his rifle, then stepped back so Andrews could have enough room to get himself squared away. The command sergeant major had to bow his head slightly. He stood six inches over six feet in height, and the compartment’s headroom was only six feet eight inches. If he stood up straight, his helmet would be scraping against the overhead. Andrews opened the locker and grabbed his own gear. He wasn’t as fast to slip it on as Mulligan had, but in a couple of minutes he was squared away. Mulligan stood in front of Amanda and tapped one of his earphones. Andrews held up four fingers, then three. Mulligan nodded.

  “All right, let’s jump out,” Andrews said. “Amanda, you’ll go through with us. It’ll be tight, but we can all make it without getting too intimate.”

  “Okay. If you say so.” Amanda slowly slid out from behind the dinette table, eyes on Leona who still stood watch over her nearby. She raised her hands. “They’re in plain sight,” she said.

  “Yes, I see them clearly,” Leona said.

  Mulligan made a small rawr noise in his throat as he opened the inner airlock door and stepped into the chamber beyond. Andrews hung back and nodded Amanda to precede h
im, which she did. He followed and sealed the door behind him. As it closed, he caught a glimpse of Leona moving forward to the cockpit.

  “Commo check Andrews,” he said, speaking into his boom microphone.

  “Read you,” KC replied immediately. There was a quick leading beep when she opened the channel, and a corresponding sound when she closed it. Only Harmony’s radios had the transmission tones; communications with anyone else would be completely in the clear.

  Mulligan shot him a thumbs-up, indicating he’d heard him over his earphones. “Commo check Mulligan.”

  “Read you,” KC repeated.

  Andrews nodded to Mulligan, indicating he’d heard him as well. “Go ahead and pop it, Sarmajor.”

  Mulligan opened the outer airlock door and it opened, the lower portion forming its customary ramp to the ground outside. Mulligan preceded the group and immediately stepped off to the right as soon as his boots hit the deck. To the casual observer, it was pretty much Mulligan’s standard exit. He executed the same procedure pretty much every time, switching it up every so often by moving to the left. But this time he had his rifle tucked in a little tighter, and his head was on a swivel. People passing by looked over at him, of course, but none reacted if they noticed he seemed a little more alert.

  “What’s up, Scott?” one of them said, raising a hand.

  “Only my cholesterol,” Mulligan replied. “What’s this we heard about Beulah?”

  “Didn’t know it was Beulah, but I heard we got some people coming in.”

  Amanda pushed out ahead of Andrews, and he followed her closely. He stepped off to the left and scanned his area of responsibility. Amanda bent over and picked up her backpack and swung into it, then reached down and grabbed her pistol.

  “Clear,” he announced over the radio.

  “Airlock cycling.” It was Leona. “We’re reading lots of movement over the radar. People are heading toward us. Fifty, sixty or so. Lots of hard returns, tracking one that’s coming back as a big-bore weapon. Probably one of those Gustafs Stan mentioned. I’ve already tagged it as a follow, and it’s been dropped into the fire control system.” This meant the millimeter wave radar would track the individual carrying the presumed weapon, altering power as necessary to try and peer through structures and other obscurations in an attempt to maintain acquisition. It also meant that if the rig went hot, it would be the first target serviced by one of the miniguns. Andrews and Mulligan had two code words they would transmit if the situation suddenly deteriorated on the ground. “Crikey” would cause Leona and KC to fire up the SCEV and go active defense in a ten-meter circle around the vehicle. “Bolt” would result in the SCEV powering up and going weapons free as it left the area at best possible speed in an attempt to avoid direct attack. While there was some chance Andrews and Mulligan could reboard the rig under the first scenario, there was no chance of recovery in the second. Leona was to take the SCEV and run it hard, putting as many miles between it and Sherwood as possible until it was safe to come to a halt and take inventory of the situation.

  Andrews reached for the radio clipped to his harness and pressed the push-to-talk button. That would default the system to the frequency reserved for communication with the people of Sherwood. “Stan, this is Andrews. We’re clear of the rig. Where are you?”

  “Heading your way now with Sean and some other guys in the truck,” Buchek responded a moment later.

  Andrews heard the moan of an approaching diesel engine. “Roger, I think I hear you.”

  “Mike ... this doesn’t look good,” Buchek said. “I’ve had a quick conversation with, uh, our guests. We really need to discuss some things with you.”

  Andrews wanted to turn and look at Mulligan, but he suddenly didn’t want to take his eyes off Amanda. She wore her radio on her belt, and she had a small wireless earpiece in her ear. She doubtless heard what her father had just said, though if it had any impact she wasn’t allowing it to show. She merely adjusted the fit of her belt and reached for her rifle. Andrews’s armor would stop an AR round, but his unprotected face wouldn’t offer much resistance to a 5.56-millimeter bullet.

  “Vehicle, six hundred meters out, twenty mile per hour closure. Bracketed,” Leona said. The truck had been designated as a target as well. “Still following the first return. Setting up to our rear, a hundred fifty meters out. Hardened cover, looks like a firing site. Rear minis are online and ready to slew and fire. We’ll skip the azimuth checks.”

  Andrews knew what she was talking about. He and Mulligan had already seen the firing sites. They were sandbagged revetments hidden behind foliage. They’d last maybe two or three seconds under minigun fire before failing. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mulligan slowly making his way toward the rear of the rig. As he walked, he slowly raised his rifle until the barrel was pointed upward. It was an odd stance, but Andrews knew what he was up to. If things went tits up, he intended to pop a grenade right into the revetment.

  Despite all this activity, Andrews wasn’t unduly concerned. This was all procedure. He and Mulligan would provide dismounted security for the rig if things got hot, because once the miniguns opened up, chances were pretty good most of the folks around them would either be quickly killed or would be too busy burying their noses in the dirt. Andrews already knew he would kill Amanda immediately, then move to the front of the rig and start a defensive engagement against any opponents who might be looking to continue the fight.

  We come in peace, he thought to himself, until we don’t.

  “Let’s head over to the road a bit,” Andrews said, nodding to the cracked asphalt road a few dozen yards away. That would put them in the active defense radius, but he and Mulligan were excluded so the chances of them being cut down by the SCEV were significantly reduced. Just the same, it took a bit of courage to expose oneself to the possibility of receiving high rates of even friendly fire—one wrong move, and Andrews might find himself cut to ribbons by blundering into an active stream.

  Amanda shrugged and led the way. Andrews followed, and Mulligan paced them from a few feet back. The big five-ton truck slowly rumbled up the road, creaking as it bounced and swayed on its old suspension. There were several people in the back. Andrews recognized some, by sight if not by name. There were three people he didn’t recognize at all. They stared at the SCEV with wide eyes. As the truck approached, an argument seemed to break out in the truck’s bed. It became physical quickly, with two men struggling with people from Sherwood. One of them was Sean, and he quickly suppressed one man while the other took a little more doing. Three men piled on him and pinned him to the bed of the truck. That left the third newcomer, a young woman with a buzzcut and dark, red-rimmed eyes, to stand at the truck’s rail. She stared at the SCEV with an expression of abject horror, ignoring the fracas behind her. Her mouth formed an O as she seemed to scream soundlessly and wilted away from the rail, collapsing to the truck’s bed as the large vehicle ground to a halt.

  “Okay, this is kind of fucked up,” Mulligan said. His voice was pitched low, and Andrews only heard it over the radio.

  “Nothing unusual about that—I’d be more alarmed if things weren’t fucked up,” Leona replied over the secure channel.

  Buchek catapulted out of the truck’s cab and ran to its open tail. The vehicle had no tailgate, and he climbed up on its battered bumper. Andrews saw that he wasn’t carrying his M1, but the new H&K rifle Andrews had sent back with Amanda as part of his initial gift package.

  “Knock that shit off!” he bellowed. “I told you we’d get this straightened out, but you guys have to get yourselves under control! Sean, get ’em out of there!”

  The people from Sherwood dragged the newcomers out of the truck. Rifles were raised, and Andrews watched as the man Trumbull lifted a twelve-gauge shotgun and held it on one of the men as he half fell, half climbed down from the truck. One of his eyes was swollen and red, and blood flecked his lips. Droplets glistened on his faded denim shirt in the fading light. His long red hair
was pulled back in a messy ponytail.

  “That’s it, nice and easy,” Trumbull said, and his tone was less than comforting.

  “Just fucking shoot me and get it over with,” the man said. His voice was tight and pinched.

  “No one’s shooting anyone!” Buchek shouted. “No one needs to get messed up here, but everyone has to calm down!” As he spoke, he motioned Amanda over and pointed at the woman who was slowly, timidly making her way to the back of the truck. Amanda looked at Andrews and Mulligan, then slowly moved toward the vehicle. Andrews followed while motioning for Mulligan to hang back.

  “Stan, what’s happening here?” Andrews asked.

  “Not entirely sure, but it’s not much good,” Buchek said.

  “You know what happened!” the woman in the truck screamed. Her voice was a high-pitched shriek, so loud and powerful and laced with pain that the people around her looked at her with wide eyes.

  Andrews shook his head. “I don’t know anything,” he said.

  “Hey, come down.” Amanda held out her hand to the woman. “Whatever happened in Beulah, it’s not happening here.”

  The woman pointed at the SCEV. “Are you kidding? It’s right there!” she screamed hysterically.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am, listen to me!” Andrews stepped toward the truck, and the woman seemed to see him for the first time. When she took in his uniform and his gear, she backpedaled. Amanda jumped up and grabbed her wrist, pulling the woman toward her.

  “Oh my God, it was you!” the woman shouted, looking at Buchek.

  “What was me?” Buchek shouted back. “You’re not making sense!”

  “Everybody shut the fuck up!” Andrews shouted. He climbed into the truck and faced the woman for a moment, then pointed at the rig. “Ma’am, have you seen one of those vehicles?”

  “Him,” the woman said weakly. She seemed to be on the verge of passing out, but she managed to point at Mulligan. Mulligan looked back at her oddly.