Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Thunder held him at bay. "Let me give you a few more examples before I try to explain. On July 10 a group of armed soldiers attempted to forcibly break quarantine. A grenade was used to stop them. Three were killed, five more injured, including the CO. With the commanding officer out of commission, our friend General Harold Borman took charge. Major Borman had been serving as a liaison between the DOD and The Tall Company. In any case, it didn’t get any better. The next day Borman had to initiate a weapons lockdown as these mental influences caused what he called ‘great distress’ among the soldiers and personnel on site."

  "You keep saying ‘influences,’" Thom said. "It sounds as if you mean some sort of hysteria or madness."

  "No. I’m talking about influences. Mental influences. Mental control. As if something from inside the containment zone coerced these people to take action they otherwise wouldn’t have."

  Liz glanced at her wristwatch, then said, "I never had my morning cup of coffee, and a soda just isn't doing it for me. How about we take a walk and grab one?"

  Thom did not really want a cup of coffee, but he did have the urge to get out and move around. The more they sat in that office reading from the files the more it felt like ghost stories around a campfire.

  "Sounds good to me."

  Lieutenant Colonel Thunder walked around her desk, opened the office door, and led him into the hall. She then pulled the door shut with plenty of force and after pausing to be sure the latch caught, the two strolled in the direction of the elevators.

  She changed subjects for a moment, asking, "So your team comes from across the spectrum, is that right?"

  "I'm a Marine myself," Gant answered. "So you can imagine how happy I was when I joined a task force that operated under army rules and regulations. Why, I had to learn a whole new vocabulary."

  "A real step down for you, I'll bet," the army officer quipped.

  "When I realized I had no choice, I got used to it. You know the drill."

  They reached the elevator that offered transport between the surface level and sublevel one only. Liz used her key card to summon the car.

  "The rest of your men?"

  "From all over," Gant answered. "Rangers, Delta, we even occasionally get some CIA paramilitary types, not to mention a lot of civilians from contractors or other government agencies. My tactical detachment is really just a small part of the bigger whole, but we are the ones out on the front lines."

  She asked, "How do you manage to make it all work? That is, the different backgrounds, the different services."

  "We threw out the book," he answered with a smile, considering that that part of his assignment had been the most enjoyable. "We have made up a lot of our own rules. As long as we get the job done, no one seems to care. But if push comes to shove we follow the army's handbook."

  The elevator opened and they stepped on. A moment later they exited on the first floor and made their way to the lobby, passing the lone soldier on guard duty.

  Along the way she said, "So with all your team has dealt with, I'm surprised it's taken this long for you to end up here."

  "I must admit to a little confusion on that matter," he answered as he remembered seeing General Friez arguing on the phone right before giving Thom orders to come to Red Rock. "I have the distinct feeling that there are some Pentagon politics at work."

  "That would be nothing new, I suppose."

  "Makes me wonder who else has had a crack at this place," he prompted.

  "According to the files, eventually they brought in a psychological warfare expert to evaluate the situation. He stuck around for a couple of days, interviewed people, analyzed the place, and so forth."

  "Sort of like what you’re doing here all over again, right?" Gant asked.

  "Yes, I guess."

  "And what did this shrink have to say?"

  "Interestingly enough, he suggested there was some sort of intelligent mental telepathy coming from inside the quarantine section."

  "Mental telepathy? I find it hard to believe that our government would give in so quickly to such a far-out idea. I’m surprised they didn’t blame it on work-related stress, a lack of oxygen in the sublevels, or something like that."

  They walked through a set of double doors and into the small cafeteria or chow hall, as the soldiers called it. With a black-and-white checkerboard floor and rows of rectangular collapsible tables with attached plastic round stools, the place reminded Gant of his grade school cafeteria. Glass sneeze guards protected a serving line in front of an open archway leading to the kitchen. A handful of soldiers ate and laughed in a corner, and a military cook stood behind the line reading a magazine. The place smelled like overcooked corn with a slight hint of stewed cabbage, although he doubted anything like that would be on the menu.

  She replied, "They didn’t bring in some IRS agent to handle that investigation. Thom, I’ve worked with a lot of programs with PsyOps. You would be … you would be surprised at what the brass likes to tinker around with."

  She let that sink in as they moved to a counter where a coffee machine idled. They each filled a cup with dark black liquid. As they worked to season their java with cream and sugar, Thom spied Roberts walking into the hall. The soldier with the boyish face marched straight for one of the vending machines.

  Thom watched in near-disbelief as Roberts pounded coin after coin into the machine, receiving one Twinkie after another in return. The kid practically emptied the machine and left with an armful of the treats.

  "Let's sit over there," Liz said, leading him to a remote table on the far end of the room.

  "So the Defense Department messes around with mental telepathy and ESP stuff? I suppose you are right; I should not be surprised."

  "If you find that a little crazy, wait until you hear what came next."

  She glanced around to ensure no one lurked within earshot and then went on, "Get this: they called in a medium to try and contact whatever intelligence was in the quarantine zone. I read the reports—she was some hippie-chick a few years out of college who had made a reputation for herself helping the Philadelphia police and the FBI track down missing kids, buried bodies, stuff like that."

  Liz took a sip of coffee, considered, and then managed a much longer drink. Thom waited for her to continue. To him the coffee was more a prop than anything else. He drank it, sure, but out of habit, not desire.

  For her part, Liz appeared to struggle with finding the right words and so drank as a stalling tactic. Finally she mustered some resolve and told him, "She came to the base and they took her to the vault door. She spent a few minutes there, then claimed that she could get nothing—no reaction whatsoever. But she requested permission to spend a night on base and they granted her that." Thunder hesitated.

  "What is it? What happened?"

  She breathed deeply, then plunged on, "The reports are somewhat sketchy and vague. There’s a certain amount of propriety that goes into report writing, you know that. Well our very own Harold Borman was doing all the writing and it seems as if he didn’t want to be too crude about the whole matter, but—"

  "Getting shy on me, Colonel? What happened?"

  "At first they thought she was just some sort of nympho. Borman caught an entire squad lined up outside her guest quarters waiting their turn. He went ballistic and chased them off. Apparently she came on to Borman, who nearly had her thrown out in the middle of the night. Instead he confined her to quarters. When they came to get her in the morning they found she had broken out. They followed the trail of exhausted soldiers and eventually they found her …"

  She took a long drink and swallowed hard.

  "Eventually they found her alone in the armory, naked and bleeding—bleeding bad. But she was still going at it—crying while she … crying while she was mutilating herself with a KA-BAR knife. Sexually mutilating herself."

  They sat silent while he absorbed the gruesome story. Liz’s hand holding the coffee cup trembled.

  He stated the obvious:
"Something got in her head."

  "Yes. Up until then these influences had just attempted to break quarantine. But in this case they got downright malicious."

  "What happened next?"

  "We’ll have to go back to my office for the rest of the specifics, but I do know this: I don't think the general gave me all the files. Most of the reports have a sort of rhythm in how they are dated, even the mundane ones. If I were to arrange them like a time line, there'd be at least one folder for every month since the initial incident. Not necessarily gruesome stuff, but at least routine follow-ups, maintenance reports, VIP logs, that type of thing. But I've noticed there are stretches without any information whatsoever. For instance, there were almost daily reports from the containment initiation through July, but then nothing from August."

  "You think Borman is holding back on you?"

  "That girl—the medium—came on site in late July of '92. The next group of records starts in November, when all the science research teams were transferred out of Red Rock. There is also reference to what must have been a construction project of some sort, down on the lower levels. I don't know what. At that point Borman had been promoted to colonel."

  "Talk about rising fast through the ranks," Gant said.

  She lightened a little. A smile peeked from the corners of her lips, then was hidden by one last long drink of coffee.

  Thom still didn't understand the base, but he began to understand Lieutenant Colonel Liz Thunder. He realized that she was here, on this assignment, all on her own. She did not know the men of the base, and she was as much in the dark about the why and how of the place as he was. She was also very unsure about something, probably her ability to get a handle on things here.

  In short, it seemed to him that she was reaching out for a friend. No, wait, friend would be too strong a word. More like an ally or confidant. Thom had come to know that in the world of black ops, weird science, and the occasional extraterrestrial it paid to have at least one person you could count on. For him, that person was Twiste. Campion too, in a sense, but in more of a "get the mission done" way.

  It seemed that Colonel Thunder was alone in the Hell Hole, and given the nature of the place, it appeared she desired a lifeline of some kind.

  She said, "I know that Borman had to shoot and kill his second in command as the guy tried to break into the quarantine zone. That incident was followed by a three-month inquiry into the happenings at the base by a special congressional committee. I know that in early 1993 he suggested a plan to put a plane on standby armed with a tactical nuke as a final containment measure."

  Gant nearly gasped. "Excuse me? What did you say?"

  "His proposal was denied, but if he had had his way there would be a jet fighter sitting on alert with a tac-nuke under its wing with our name on it if the base failed to check in at predetermined intervals."

  "Sweet Jesus, are you serious? What the hell is going on here?"

  "I don’t know, but you could ask the two visiting scientists who in 1997 made a dash to open the vault door without showing any signs of influence beforehand. Then in 2000 something started banging on the inside of the door, but the knocks did not conform to any prearranged signals, so that door stayed shut nice and tight as per General Borman."

  Gant said, "So at some point this changed from trying to figure out what happened in that lab into not letting that door get opened. Sounds to me like someone has a theory about what is down there and they want it to stay down there."

  "About twelve years ago, control of the base was handed over to the Energy Department, at least as far as the paperwork goes. I doubt anyone from Energy has ever been here. Hell, they probably don't even know it exists."

  Gant said, "Probably had something to do with the budget. The same way we're an opposing force as far as the books are concerned."

  "The stories just keep going on and on. Oh yes, I almost forgot, there were seismic readings in ’93 that indicated the operation of underground generators and equipment; then there was the time in 1998 when a squad of soldiers tried to open the door. Borman ended that one by activating nerve gas inside the vestibule, killing four guys, including two who were trying to stop the others."

  "He’s got ice in his veins, doesn’t he?" Gant said.

  Thunder was on a roll, but her tone remained light—almost joking—despite the fact that her eyes belied a trauma suffered by having read so many tales of horror.

  "Oh, now, don’t blame Borman, because by that time he had been promoted to brigadier-general and was building a reputation as a security guru. Along the way a couple of maintenance workers were influenced into getting themselves shot."

  "Just beautiful."

  "I doubt the men on the entry teams who disappeared would think it was beautiful. Then again, we just don't know what to think. Hell, maybe it's some kind of paradise down there and all those guys just didn't want to come back."

  He smiled a grim smile. "I guess I will find out, since my team is next in line."

  "I understand you're still waiting on someone?"

  "Yes," Gant answered. "Captain Brandon Twiste. He is what passes for our science officer. He is a doctor—a physician—and I think sometimes he tries to be my conscience. For some reason they sent him to The Tall Company facility in Moreno Valley, back home in California. Something about training, although I am not sure of much else."

  "Tall was in on the original experiment. If we could get in touch with someone who knows anything about this Briggs guy it might help."

  "Good luck on that, Colonel. Like I said, Twiste is training at The Tall Company Sciences facility at Moreno Valley. Borman ordered it. You start snooping around out there and you'll probably want to hide on the other side of that containment door if the general gets word of it. I don't get the impression that Borman is big on his subordinates showing initiative."

  "Leave that to me, Major. Tall is a large organization and they are in tight with the military. I'll see what I can dig up."

  Gant took a quick swig and then said, "Don't get me wrong, I wish you luck. A little info might help me extend my life span. Speaking of which, in all those files you dug through, did you find any info on what the Briggs experiment was about?"

  "Only a little," she said. "Like I already told you, Briggs was digging around at the subatomic level. It was all subatomic particle research. Again, I'll do some snooping. General Borman is fairly anal about record keeping and we know Tall files everything away for future reference or, more likely, future billing purposes."

  "That’s great," he said and tapped his wristwatch. "But the clock is ticking."

  9

  Campion leaned over the table and closely examined the map. Gant watched with despair—his position looked no better at Red Rock than it had back at Darwin.

  Major Gant and Captain Campion had been playing the same World War II board game for more than a month. The map covered the European theater of the war, stretching from southern England to the Ural mountain range in Russia, from Norway to the battlefields of North Africa. Armies consisted of markers or counters depicting the types of units involved and their strength, each color-coded to reflex Axis, Western Allies, or Russian allegiance. Dice rolls based on odds decided combat results, while rules covered supply and initiative, making for a rather complex game, and that meant long, well-considered turns.

  The board had sat in the recreation room at Darwin for several weeks. Prior to the Everglades excursion, Archangel had enjoyed a nice stretch of free time that allowed the two men to devote a fair amount of brain power to the battle.

  When news came of their transfer, the Captain took pictures of the board and, after arriving at Red Rock earlier in the day, had spent over an hour painstakingly replicating the situation.

  Gant knew Campion to be trustworthy, so every piece would be in its proper place, but that was not a good thing for the major, who commanded the Western Allies as well as the Russians.

  Or rather, he commanded what was left
of them.

  Staying true to history, Campion's Wehrmacht had conquered Poland, France, the low countries, and Norway with ease, isolating the United Kingdom, although he eschewed history's Battle of Britain in order to keep the Luftwaffe at full strength for other endeavors.

  In another contrast with history, Campion managed to use Italian forces to overrun all but a few hexes of North Africa, and had also subjugated the Balkans and Greece.

  Game rules prevented the United States from entering the war for several more turns, leaving the fate of Europe in the hands of the Soviet Union, which Campion had assaulted with success on par with Hitler's real Operation Barbarossa.

  Gant still held Moscow, Leningrad, and Stalingrad—the keys to victory—but his front line forces had been cut to ribbons. Furthermore, the onset of winter—which would produce game rules favorable for the Russian defense—was still several turns away.

  His best remaining armies assembled around Kiev in the south, too far away to protect Moscow. Historically Hitler had diverted his panzers to destroy just such a large gathering of Soviet forces, but it appeared Campion seemed intent on avoiding that mistake, ignoring the threat to his southern flank in favor of the prize that seemed only a turn or two away.

  Finally, after nearly an hour of studying his counters, Campion made one last move, sliding an infantry division away from the Leningrad front to the rear of a gathering spearhead of German panzers poised to strike at the Russian capital.

  While Gant saw a tiny little cardboard marker sporting the NATO symbol for infantry move, he knew Campion envisioned the march of jackboots raising clouds of dust as they crossed Byelorussia.

  They were not the only two in the rec room. Pearson sat in a corner next to an empty and ancient cigarette machine, wearing his black cap backwards, playing on a handheld gaming system. Based on the sound of a roaring engine and the way the soldier turned the game like a steering wheel, Gant guessed it was a racing simulation.

  Sal Galati leaned over a small pool table with a stick while Jupiter Wells propped himself against the wall, chalking his own. Sal struck the cue and it hit one ball that ricocheted off a bumper, tapped another ball, and sent a third into the corner pocket.