by John Ringo
* * *
There wasn’t.
They’d kept up a steady pace, walking through the strange arctic twilight and into the “dawn” as the sun began, once again, to ascend into the sky. As they approached the base at God’s Thumb, though, it was apparent that the probes had been there before them.
The region around the base was flat as a pancake so the control tower was normally visible from at least ten miles away. However, nothing of the base was apparent until they got into the last kilometer.
“Holy shit,” Jones said. The approach brought them in close to the massive runways that had been the original reason for the base’s existence.
Used as far back as WWII for antisubmarine patrols, the facility had been heavily upgraded during the Cold War to support long-range bombers. The runways were designed to launch loaded B-52s on their way to gut the Soviet Union, thus they were very long and made of very thick concrete.
They were now… long, plowed-looking sections of dirt and crumbled concrete.
“They pull the rebar out of the concrete,” Shane said, balancing his end of the pole. There had been long carry-poles in the Humvees. On the way to the ambush it hadn’t been worth carrying them, in Shane’s opinion. But once the Humvees were trashed they’d picked them out of the debris. The long poles could be run through the handles on the catch-bags so the soldiers detailed to carry them didn’t have to use their hands the whole time.
And Rank Hath No Privileges when there was over three hundred pounds of probes and parts to carry sixty kilometers.
“What are we going to do, sir?” Jones asked as they continued to follow the edge of Runway Road. The road itself had been torn to bits.
“Get down to the main base,” Shane said, gesturing tiredly at the cluster of buildings. “Find something to spell out ‘Come Get Us!’ Then leave it up to Roger and the rest of the guys to figure out how.”
The specialist nodded and continued to trudge forward. They hadn’t been able to carry all that much ammo with them — it had been a trade-off between time, ammo and probe bits. Shane had edged towards time and probe bits over ammo, so if they had to fight the probes off again they wouldn’t have all that much of a chance. Of course, the old man knew that, too. So mentioning it would be pointless.
As they approached the main base, which was connected to a small port by road, it was apparent that it was, essentially, rubble. Not a single building was standing and all of the concrete roads had been torn up. Some of the roads, those with asphalt surfaces, were intact.
“Jesus,” Mahoney said as Shane stopped, raised a closed fist and lowered the burden to the ground.
“Well, they don’t rape or burn,” Letorres said, drifting over to pick up a piece of paper that was blowing by in the incessant wind. “There’s that.”
“But they sure as hell do loot and pillage,” Sergeant Gregory said, nodding. “Anything useful?”
“Training schedule,” Letorres said, flicking the paper to blow towards the ocean. “About as useless as it comes.”
“Top, see if you can find anything to improve sheltering,” Shane said, rubbing his shoulder. “Get out some perimeter. Mahoney, set up your boxes. I want at least thirty percent personnel up at all times; these things don’t care about day and night.”
“Gregory,” Cady said. “Take Jones and Letorres and do a survey for any shelter that’s still standing. Just a couple of walls will do. Angle down towards the port. The rest of you, get the gear in a huddle and put in a perimeter. Nelms, center up again, potato guns out and carbines in. Let’s get it moving, people.”
* * *
“Nothing, nada, zilch,” Jones said an hour later. The three soldiers had moved southward through the base, looking for anything that could be used for shelter. But the vast majority of the buildings had been concrete from which the rebar had been pulled. They weren’t even sure where on the base they were; the road signs were gone and most of the roads had been dug up for metal.
“We need to get heading back,” Gregory said, looking at the sun. Despite trying, the Huntsville team hadn’t been able to come up with any really good nonmetallic watches.
“I could use some rest,” Letorres said, shaking his head. “I could swear that bit of rubble just moved,” he added, pointing to a section of what had probably been wall.
“Me, too,” Jones said, drifting sideways and then taking a knee to target the pile of broken concrete.
Gregory spun slowly in place, taking in the sky and ground, then turned back to the pile.
“Slow advance,” the staff sergeant said. “Jones, keep it covered. Letorres right and rear, I’ll take left and rear.”
The three spread out in a rough triangle and approached the rubbled wall, which was about seventy meters away.
When they were about fifty meters from the pile or rubble, Jones raised a closed fist, then stopped and took a knee.
“What?” Gregory asked, keeping security left and to the rear.
“Shit,” Jones said after a moment. He stood up and let his weapon drop on its sling, cupping his hands around his mouth. “HEY!”
The rubble seemed to shift slightly and then Gregory realized that it was a gray suit of ghillie cloth.
“What the fuck are you guys doing over there?” the soldier under the ghillie cloth asked, raising up to take a knee. Except for wearing a mottled gray digi-cam uniform he was outfitted in essentially the same manner as the capture team. “You were supposed to be approaching from the east!”
Gregory realized that in their perambulations they’d gotten over to the west side of the base and, apparently, snuck up on someone that was looking for them.
“We’re setting up camp over on the east side by the runways,” Gregory said, waving in that direction.
“Why?” the soldier asked, waving over his shoulder, then stepping down off the rubble. “Don’t you want to go home?”
* * *
“Lieutenant Cragar, Alpha Platoon, SEAL Team One, sir,” the SEAL officer said, saluting Shane.
“Good to see you, Lieutenant,” Shane said, wearily returning the salute. “And, especially, additional bodies to carry all this crap. Don’t get any metal around the red-marked bag; it’s got a live one in it.”
The SEAL platoon had been set up near the port, with OPs out to watch for Shane’s team. As it turned out, the teams had been less than two hundred meters apart and in the cratered landscape of the former base they had missed each other entirely.
Cragar, though, had picked up the whole platoon and moved it to the recon team’s site when the SEAL sentry had brought in Gregory and his team.
“Holy shit,” the SEAL said, shaking his head. “Good work, sir!”
“It was an accident,” Shane admitted. “We got bounced on the way back. They got the Humvees, we got a live one. I call that a win.”
“No shit,” Cragar said, his eyes wide. “You won?”
“Beat the crap out of them, sir,” Cady said, his face split in a broad grin.
“We can do it,” Shane said, quietly. “We’ve proved that. The question is, can we do it enough.”
“Well, we’ve got transport out to the sub, sir,” Cragar said, waving his platoon forward to help carry the probe samples. “It’s going to be a bit rough. And you’ll want to put these on,” he added, holding out a plastic packet.
“What’s this?” Shane asked, looking at the pack. “Scopolamine?”
“As I said, sir, it’s going to be a bit rough,” Cragar said, grinning.
* * *
“Just climb in,” the SEAL said to Cady, gesturing at the ocean kayak. It was colored in gray-blue digi-cam that made it almost disappear into the lapping water. The kayak had been drawn up on a pebbled shore but beyond the small cove the waves were crashing in foaming white water. “Keep your weight down or you’re going in the drink and you really don’t want to go swimming, even in the suit.”
The team had been hastily stuffed into immersion suits as soon as th
ey got to the beach and now were boarding the kayaks as the SEALs loaded their samples and equipment.
“I don’t care for water, much,” Cady said, clambering cautiously over the bow. “I’m too solid to swim good. My massive, godlike penis drags me down.”
“Got it,” the SEAL said, grinning. He hung onto the side of the kayak and made his way into the waist-deep water by the side of the small boat. “Slide your legs, and your godlike dick if it will fit, into that opening,” the SEAL said, gesturing to the front seat.
Cady managed to get into the opening although it was a tight fit. The SEAL pulled up something that looked vaguely like a cross between a poncho and a harness and hooked it over the sergeant major’s shoulders.
“Cinch that buckle in if you would, Sergeant Major,” the SEAL said, gesturing at an unbuckled clasp. “Not too tight, but it’s what’s going to keep you from getting soaked.”
“Works for me,” Cady said, sliding the straps out so they’d fit around his chest and then hooking up.
“These things are stable as hell,” the SEAL said as he pushed the kayak into the water. He slid along the side, using lines that were laced there for the purpose, until he got to the rear. Then he slid over the side and into his own compartment, hooking up and picking up his paddle. As soon as they were out from the beach he spun the kayak in a circle and made his way into the cove where several of the other kayaks were assembling.
“Why kayaks?” Cady asked. “I thought you guys used Zodiacs. And do you want me to help paddle?” He’d noticed that there was one lashed by his seat.
“I can handle it,” the SEAL said. “You’re pretty solid but this takes a certain set of muscle groups and it’d probably kick your ass after a while. And the reason we’re using these instead of Zods is that the sub is about ten miles out. Paddling a Zod for ten miles is a bitch and a half. This isn’t easy, but it’s a fuck of a lot better than paddling a Zod. Especially in this shit.”
The kayaks had assembled about fifty meters offshore and about the same from the opening to the cove. As soon as the last kayak was with the group, Lieutenant Cragar waved to the south and they headed for the opening.
“This is pretty rough, huh?” Cady asked as the kayak swooped up and down on the waves in the cove.
“Light chop,” the SEAL said. “Now, out there, we’ve got seven to ten foot waves. There’s a storm coming in from the southeast, which is why they’re running so high. It’s gonna be interesting getting out to the sub. We surfed most of the way in.”
“There wasn’t anybody at the base,” Cady said as they cleared the cove and the first real wave hit them. The nose of the boat pitched up until it was pointed at the sky and the kayak rolled slightly to the side. Then it headed for the trough like a rocket, the bow digging into the oncoming wave and covering the front of the kayak in green and white water. Then they headed back up the next wall of water. “Jesus!”
“Think of it as a free roller coaster ride!” the SEAL yelled against the stronger wind that was blowing in the open ocean. “Once we get out a bit it will get less choppy! We might even be able to use the sail!”
“Sail?”
“Hey, you want me to have to paddle the whole way?”
Through the maelstrom of water Cady saw a spout and at first thought it might be a whale. But when two more came up he realized it was something else.
“Is somebody throwing grenades?” he yelled.
“Right,” the SEAL called back. “Signaling the boat mission accomplished. We’ll head out to sea a ways and then signal them in. It’ll take a few hours. You just sit back and relax.”
The kayak was still pitching around like a live thing, but the SEALs seemed to have things in hand. And he wasn’t getting seasick, which was a blessing. He never seemed to get air-sick, but the one time he’d been in a boat deep-sea fishing with a retired buddy, he’d gotten sick as a dog despite the pills he took. Whatever that patch was they’d put on him, it seemed to work.
Not for Jones, though. He saw the specialist was bent over puking up his guts.
The seat in the kayak was pretty comfortable and there was enough room for his feet. It was also warming up from his body-heat. Since the water was going to be around freezing, it must have been insulated somehow. It was nice and comfy except for the constant up and down, side-to-side motion.
It had been a long damned mission. The sergeant major crossed his arms in front of him, bent his head and went to sleep.
* * *
“We’re here!”
Cady lifted his head and rubbed his eyes to get some of the encrusted salt off. Sure enough, there was a submarine on the surface with people up on the conning tower.
“We sure there are no probes around?” Cady asked.
“No,” the SEAL admitted. “But we better hope they ain’t.”
The sub was big. Vast even. And the sides were rounded and looked very slippery. Then there was the fact that the waves were washing over the side.
“How the hell are we going to…” Cady said, then shook his head again as the rear portion of the sub seemed to bulge upwards. In a moment two vast clam-shell doors had opened up and big cranes were lifting into the air.
“They’d been working on this before the probes got here,” the SEAL said. “It’s an Ohio Class converted for covert ops. They changed the design a little for the new missions, but not much.”
One of the kayaks had paddled up to the side and the cranes let down lines that were hooked up to hard points on the front and rear of the kayak. Then the whole thing, kayak, people and gear, was lifted into the air and over the side of the sub to disappear behind the doors.
There were two cranes in operation and before long it was Cady’s turn. He grabbed the swinging line and got the hook attached to the eyelet on the front of the kayak then held on as it was lifted into the air. The kayak was swung over the doors and then hung suspended for a moment over a huge cavernlike hold that must have been three stories deep.
“This is the old missile compartment,” the SEAL said as they were lowered into the hold. “Go ahead and unstrap; we’re going to unass as soon as we hit the bottom.”
Cady got the straps and poncholike arrangement off and as soon as the kayak settled into a cradle he climbed out. Some SEALs and sailors grasped the lines on either side of the kayak and lifted it off the cradle. The lines from the crane started retracting upwards to pick up another boat.
Cady grabbed one of the handholds and helped the group carry the kayak to a rack, setting it on the third tier. Then he and the SEAL opened up the cargo compartment and he retrieved his pack and minigun.
“Nice rig,” the SEAL said, nodding at the weapon. “You’ll want to clear it in here. The armory is on the forward bulkhead. We’re bunked forward, I suppose I’ll see you around.”
Cady wasn’t too sure which way was forward at this point, but he saw the CO in conversation with a Navy guy with captain’s bars. That made him a lieutenant in the Navy and since he was in khakis he must be from the ship.
“The next one is the live one,” the CO was saying as he approached. “How are you going to handle it?”
“I’m not sure,” the lieutenant said, shaking his head. “We’ll leave it suspended away from metal and in view. But if it goes live once we’re underway, we’re going to have to take it out. And fast. If that thing eats a hole in the pressure hull or, hell, some of the pipes, we’ll sink for sure.”
“We can destroy it easy enough,” Shane said. “We’ll just leave someone on watch at all times with orders to destroy it if it so much as moves.”
“Hook a mine up by it, sir,” Cady suggested. “That way if it goes back to pulling metal, it’ll pull that. Hopefully. And that will take it out.”
“And someone on watch,” the lieutenant said.
“Agreed,” the major replied. “But not my people; we’ve been on continuous ops for the last few days. The SEALs aren’t much better.”
“We just happen to have a s
pare platoon,” the lieutenant said, grinning. “I think they’ve got a new mission.”
“Great.” Shane nodding tiredly. “In that case, let’s get my people cleaned up and bunked down. How soon are we going to reach the States?”
“About forty hours,” the lieutenant said. “We’re going into Portsmouth.”
“Wake me up when we get there.”
* * *
“Hail the conquering hero,” General Riggs said, putting a hand on Major Gries’s shoulder as he stepped up behind him.
“You know, sir, if this was a science fiction movie, there’d be all sorts of cool readouts and blinking lights and stuff,” Shane said, shaking his head and waving at the window.
“Sorry, Major, this is as cool as we could make it,” the general replied, smiling.
The room beyond the window looked like a cross between a very messy toy-maker’s cottage and a metal octopus convention. Wires ran everywhere, tools were scattered at apparent random and there wasn’t a cool readout in sight. Well, one. There was a plasma fusion screen with some sort of complicated control screen up. But the rest were mostly monochrome monitors that looked like somebody had raided a museum.
All of this stuff was concentrated on the bits of probe scattered around the room. The “live” one was being kept under careful observation in an underground bunker wired with command and automatically detonating mines. It was still radiating in the RF spectrum but as deep as it was there was no way that radio was getting out. Since being brought off the sub it had been surrounded by Faraday cages to prevent communication. Assuming it didn’t have a secondary “magic” communications system, the probes shouldn’t know where it was located. Whether they would care was another question.
Work on the “live” one could wait. For that matter they weren’t even messing with the “whole” one that Cady had knocked out. The engineers and scientists gathered in the clean room were having a hard enough time with the bits that Shane had brought back.
