Officer Of The Watch: Blackout Volume 1

by D W McAliley

  The two crashed together, and Eric felt tears streaming hot down his cheeks as he buried his face in his father's shoulder, and wept.

  Ch. 40

  Breaking Bread

  Eric squeezed the handle on the spray nozzle and watched as clear cold water from the deep well next to the farmhouse slowly filled the five gallon bucket. As the water rose past the half-way mark, it lifted the green beans inside with it. When the water and the beans were about two inches from the top, Eric stopped the flow. He washed the beans by pushing them down into the water and swirling handfuls at the time. The leaves and stems from the bean bushes rose to the top, and Eric picked them out. After the beans were washed and clean, he transferred them to an empty bucket. The dirty water was emptied into the massive ancient azalea bushes that bordered the tall pine trees in the back yard. Eventually, it would filter down through the sandy soil to the groundwater table, and would likely wind up back in the well before long, recycled and ready for reuse.

  Imogene, Christina, Jen, and Meg were all sitting in a rough semi-circle beneath the shade of a massive oak in the back yard, snapping green beans and talking together as if they'd known each other their entire lives. Tom's children ran and played a game of freeze tag in the vineyard with Nanny's old black lab, Princess, trying desperately to join the game.

  Granddaddy sat on the concrete steps of the back porch bouncing baby Samantha on his knee and laughing as she giggled at him. He had been smitten with the small child as soon as he saw her. He bounced her, tickled her, and even pretended to bite off her little toes one at a time while Sam giggled and laughed the entire time.

  It was all so peaceful and perfect that it seemed almost surreal to Eric. Sheltered in the tight ring of trees that bordered the yard and fields, the family homestead could have been on a different planet from the violence and destruction Eric had seen in and around Charlotte, just a few hours’ drive south and west. A dense column of black smoke rose to west, however, in the direction of Bennett, the nearest town. That smoke served as a reminder of reality outside of the farm, and every once in a while the ladies underneath the tree would drift to silence and turn to stare at it.

  In all, the family farm consisted of the main homestead with the house, four barns, an old chicken coop, a vineyard, and a field that made up about sixty acres total. Another three hundred acres of forests and fields connected to the original homestead provided the income for the farm through corn, soybeans, and tobacco. The land was situated along Cutler's Run, a river that at times seemed little more than a glorified creek. Eventually, Cutler's Run fed into the Neuse River and on into the Pamlico Sound. Eric wondered how difficult it would be to reach the coast following the streams and rivers instead of the paved roads and highways. Rivers had once served as the main transportation network for the whole of humanity, but that had been literally ages ago.

  Eric was jolted out of his thoughts as his father set down two more buckets of green beans to be washed. Chris followed behind him with two buckets of plump, red tomatoes. The two had spent the last few hours carrying buckets of produce up from the "small" garden that Nanny and Granddaddy planted every year in the fields just past the old pack house. For most families, the garden would have been massive, covering nearly three square acres in all. They grew sweet corn, tomatoes, beans, peas, turnips, peppers, potatoes, and onions. Frozen and canned vegetables from the garden fed the family year-round, and any extra produce that they didn't need fed the other families up and down The Run. Nanny and Granddaddy were famous for calling people to come pick truckloads of vegetables once their own canning and freezing was done for the year.

  "Take care of people when you can," Granddaddy would say, "and they'll take care of you when you can't."

  Eric was about to start washing the next bucket of beans, but Joe reached down and stopped him. "Come with us for a minute, Eric," Joe said. "We need to talk."

  Eric nodded and stood. He carried the freshly cleaned bucket of beans to the ladies snapping beans under the tree and then followed his father and Chris out to the trucks. Bill and Tom had the hood of the Bronco up, and they were checking seals and fluid levels, making sure the vehicle was ready to drive if they needed it. Corporal Henderson was doing the same for the massive Humvee. They all stopped what they were doing as Joe and the others approached.

  "Okay," Joe said softly, despite them being well out of earshot from anyone else, "here's the plan. There's a list of names that Chris and I took off a guy in Norfolk. It seems that whoever is running that city now had this list of names and was going around rounding up as many of them as possible. These weren't police, either, and I didn't see any warrants when they were trying to scare Chris's wife into letting them inside."

  "Snatch and grabs," Bill said, shaking his head. "Cartel guys would do that down in south Texas. They'd find someone they thought had money, tail 'em for a while, then snatch 'em up and demand a ransom from the family."

  "Yeah," Joe said. "I don't think these guys were after a pay day. My name is on that list, and so are Tom's and Chris's. We each know guys that are on that list too, and we left them there, knowing someone was coming for them. That doesn't sit too well with me, and I mean to do something about it."

  Eric shifted uneasily, but didn't say anything. Joe reached out and put a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed. It was a gesture Eric knew well, and it meant his dad was about to deliver some unpleasant news.

  "Tom and I are going back," Joe said after a long moment of silence. "We're going to see if we can get to any of those guys and get them out of the city, or at the least find out where they're being held. We've got to do something," Joe said, his voice suddenly intense with emotion. "We can't just leave them behind like that."

  "Okay," Chris said, "when do we leave?"

  Joe just shook his head. "You aren't coming, Chris."

  "Now wait just a damned minute," Chris began, his face turning red.

  Joe raised one hand and cut him off. "We need you here, Chris. Our families, all of them, are going to need someone that can help them if they get sick or hurt. Now, I know you say you're not a doctor, but I saw how you handled that little boy's broken arm yesterday. You're a heck of a lot closer to a doctor than anyone else here, and that means you stay, okay? Please?"

  Chris opened his mouth to protest, but after a moment he closed it and left unsaid whatever arguments he had ready. Finally, Chris nodded, though he didn't look happy about it.

  "What about me?" Henderson asked, wiping grease from his hands with a faded old denim rag. "I'm sure not a doctor. The only thing I know how to be is a Marine, and there ain't anyone around here to fight."

  Joe took a deep breath and replied, "Henderson, this isn't going to be a walk in the park. We're going into a city that's probably in chaos by now with an objective that will probably piss off some well-armed and highly trained operators. I'm not going to lie to you, there's a chance we won't make it back."

  Henderson nodded. "No offense, sir," he said hesitantly, "but that's true of pretty much every mission for a Marine."

  Joe chuckled. "Fair enough. So it's me, Tom, and Henderson, then. We'll leave late this evening. Even sticking to the back roads and surface streets, we can be in Suffolk in about ten hours. That'll put us getting there right around sunrise."

  Just then the back door opened and Nanny stepped out on the porch wiping her hands on a flour stained apron. "You young'uns come on!" she called. "Dinner's ready!"

  "What did Mom have to say about this?" Eric asked as the other men started for the small house.

  Joe snorted a short chuckled. "I'll let you know when I tell her," he replied.

  Eric shook his head. "You know she's gonna flip out, right?"

  Joe nodded. "Yeah, I know. But you let me worry about that. Listen, I know you don't really understand this right now, but you will one day."

  Eric shook his head and glanced to the west where the column of smoke still rose against the slowly sinking sun. "No," he
said softly, "I understand fine. I just don't like it is all."

  Inside, the house was warm and smelled like good, home-cooked food. The small kitchen table was packed with serving dishes and pots full to near overflowing. Two bowls were heaped with pieces of crispy fried chicken, and there were three pans of biscuits. A six quart pot of green beans sat next to a huge mixing bowl of mashed potatoes and a Pyrex dish of baked yams. On the four-burner stove was a large cast iron skillet with thick brown gravy and a smaller pot of field peas.

  Granddaddy had finally handed baby Sam back to her mother, and he stood next to Nanny in front of the stove.

  "It ain't fancy," Granddaddy said, addressing the whole group, "but there's plenty of it, so eat up. If we could all bow our heads, I'll say grace."

  Granddaddy reached up and pulled off the faded camouflage hat he'd been wearing and bowed his head. Around the small kitchen table, heads bowed and hats came off. When all was quiet again, Granddaddy cleared his throat and said the prayer.

  "Lord, we thank you for the food we are about to receive. We give thanks for this and the many other blessings you have given us, Lord. We are especially thankful for the safe return of family and for the arrival of new friends. Lord, we ask your sheltering protection on all those outside these walls as well as those within, as these are troubled times we face. Lord, we pray for wisdom, understanding, healing, and peace. But, above all, in this as in all things, we pray Thy will be done. In your name we pray, Amen."

  In the silence that followed the prayer, Eric's mother opened her eyes and leveled a hard glare and a long-nailed finger at his father.

  "And if you think for one second," she said, her voice hard and dangerous, "that I'm going to let you go right after I get you back here safe and sound, you got another thing comin, buddy!"

  The only sound was the painful groan that came from deep in Joe's throat.

  Ch. 41

  Unscheduled Maintenance

  Terry Price sat at his desk, keying commands into a code editor. Four thick reference texts were open across his desk, and there was a stack of note cards scattered face down on the printer stand behind him. He had been keeping odd hours lately and found himself working more and sleeping less as he neared the end of his task. It seemed that the closer the objective came, the more difficult it was to stop reaching for it long enough to get a few hours of rest.

  There was a sudden knock at his office door, and Terry froze immediately. He went through a quick mental check of the people it possibly could and probably would be, and then he tapped a quick series of commands into his operating window that saved all open data and temporarily locked and encrypted the entire system. The command began running immediately and a status bar leapt onto the display, steadily running through a list of files. His code input system wasn’t like most computers. It could execute commands with lightning speed. The small laptop had a staggering 100GB of RAM stacked on four motherboards with BUS networked multi-thread processors and a relatively small 30GB solid-state memory core.

  You'd never be able to watch a DVD on the small tablet he was using now, but it was one of his most powerful tools. He tapped another series of commands into the main operating system, and it began the process of factoring an enormously large fractal algorithm, displaying the graphed results as a screen saver of ever evolving geometric patterns. He would lose two hours as the solution process could not be interrupted by any commands, and he would have to wait for it to complete, but in the meantime the system would be utterly secure against any attacks.

  "Come in," Terry called.

  The door opened and one of his senior team leaders stepped inside the room. Terry recognized the man immediately as Marcus Attledge, an ambitious but principled manager. He was dependable and got jobs done quickly and thoroughly. Right now, though, his eyes were wide and his face a little pale.

  "Sir," Marcus said as he came towards the desk, "the Chief Administrator of FEMA is on his way."

  Terry nodded his head slowly, his face an unreadable mask. "Well, Mr. Attledge, this facility is a key element in the nation's disaster response. I suppose a visit from the Chief Administrator is to be expected. When will he arrive?"

  "Sir, he's landing now," Marcus said. "The senior officer in the Tower radioed me to announce that the Chief Administrator's pilot had just radioed for clearance to land his helicopter. All of the authentication codes checked out, so he had to give clearance."

  Terry didn't curse, but he wanted to.

  "Very well," he said after a moment, "tell Security that he is to be shown directly to my office. You come inside and wait. Leave the door open, but keep your mouth shut unless I tell you otherwise, got it?"

  Marcus blinked and opened his mouth as if to say something, but Terry merely arched an eyebrow, so he closed it. He swallowed hard and stepped over to the side of the office. Terry closed all of the reference books but left them on the table. He set his Colt pistol on top of them, the safety on and the barrel directed at the concrete wall to his left. Marcus took one look at the pistol, swallowed hard, and looked like he wished he were elsewhere. Terry didn't blame him; in fact, he wished the same thing.

  Terry sat in his custom-made executive's chair and stared at the ceiling. He idly twisted the thick, heavy Academy ring on his left ring finger. He'd never married, other than the vows he took with the Navy, and so he wore the only wedding ring he had. The style in '72 had been simple and elegant with a sky blue stone set in the antiqued gold. Whenever he was deep in thought, he would twist that ring as his mind worked. At the moment he was running through possible reactions and scenarios for how this meeting would proceed.

  He'd had this same reaction as a fighter pilot for the Navy just before a carrier launch. He would sit for a few moments, twisting his ring as he ran through check lists and contingencies in his mind. Then, the steam catapults would kick in, and he was slammed into the back of his seat. The whole thing was over so fast, and he was in the air. Once airborne, the world dropped away, and with it went all distractions. In the sky, Terry was absolutely calm and focused on the mission; it was the waiting to launch that drove him nuts.

  Terry caught the sound of footsteps echoing in the hall outside his office door. He straightened his ring one last time and stood. When the head of FEMA stepped through his door, he wanted them to be on equal footing, and standing as the Chief Administrator entered would have been too much a sign of subordination. As the footsteps grew closer, Terry took a deep breath, and felt the nervousness and uncertainty fall away. He clasped his hands easily in the front within easy reach of the pistol.

  Paul Jefferson, the Chief Administrator of FEMA, stepped into the office without being announced. He wore an expertly tailored charcoal black suit with a pin-striped tie of red and blue. He had perfectly combed black hair and a strong jaw line just shy of a dimpled chin. His eyes took in the office as he walked slowly and confidently toward Terry. He noticed the hand-carved cherry wood desk first and then the two espresso-colored leather chairs facing it. There were no framed oil paintings, or delicate carpets, and the next thing he noticed was the pistol on the desk. There was a momentary frown of his eyebrows, but Marcus drew a deeper reaction when he noticed the man standing against the wall.

  His smile never wavered.

  "Senior Systems Administrator Price," Jefferson said, extending his right hand, "it is good to finally meet you."

  Terry nodded and shook the hand. "Thank you, Chief Administrator," he said, adopting the other's formality.

  The Chief Administrator sat, and so did Terry. "Please, call me Paul," Jefferson said, and now his eyes went to the gun and stayed. "Do you really think that's necessary?" he asked.

  "Mr. Jefferson, if I'm not mistaken," Terry said, "just a few days ago, at least five nuclear weapons were detonated in an attack on the United States. I don't know about you, but that .45 seems hardly enough, in my opinion."

  "Fair enough," the other man's eyes narrowed slightly, but he let the matter drop. "How h
ave operations been proceeding here, Mr. Price?"

  "Very well, Mr. Jefferson," Terry said, "all things considered, of course. Thanks to the report received by DHS, we were able to execute a full system dump and backup before the devices were detonated. Our hardening and shielding were not penetrated in any way, and our power from the solar farm top-side was never even interrupted."

  Jefferson nodded. "It's good to hear some good news, finally," he said, adopting a somber expression. "I understand from some of my own systems engineers, though, that they lost access to the database recently. Is that normal?"

  Terry smiled an easy smile. "Yes sir," He replied instantly. "Simply some unscheduled, but routine, maintenance."

  Jefferson nodded slowly, a thoughtful frown just barely showing on his mouth and his eyebrows. He steepled his fingers as he thought and was silent for a long moment before speaking. "How can something be both unscheduled, and routine, Mr. Price?"

  "Well, this is to address a direct issue with the system itself," Terry said easily, "but it is not a recurring issue, so it won't need to be executed again."

  "I see," Jefferson said carefully. "I'm afraid I need you to interrupt this maintenance. My field directors need access to the information in those databases to perform their duties, Mr. Price. I'm sure your security systems are adequate despite this issue that you are addressing."

  "With all due respect, Mr. Jefferson," Terry said, "I don't take directives from you. This is a Department of Defense facility operated by DOD staff and the military. And while DOD assists and coordinates with your office during emergency response, we don't fall under your chain of command. I am responsible to the DOD and the people, not you. Sir."

  There was a brief moment of stunned, icy silence. Mr. Jefferson's smile was gone now and so were his other carefully crafted expressions. His eyes were hard, and his jaw was set. "I see," he said.