Without warning

by John Birmingham

  ‘You’re now looking at imaging taken from Montgomery, Memphis and St Louis as the first bird made its way up to KC

  The screens reformatted into a series of windows, all showing bleak, grey landscapes that reminded Musso of photographs of old industrial towns, where soggy ash and acid rain permanently blanketed the landscape, leaching the colour from everything. A couple of low grunts and a curse or two were evidence that some capacity to be surprised remained in his audience.

  ‘This nuclear-winter effect has been replicated across the continental US, although not uniformly. As you might expect, the concentrations of airborne pollutants are most dense at the source, and data from our weather satellites indicates that a significantly thick tail measuring about a hundred and fifty to two hundred miles extends east from each of the largest cities to have burned. In some areas of the country, in certain parts of the Rockies and on the West Coast well to the north and south of the LA Basin, the concentration of particulates is not yet at critical levels. Because of a low-pressure system sitting off the coast this last week, Seattle did suffer some contamination from the mega-fires that burnt out Portland and Spokane, but that system moved east and dragged a good deal of the plume with it.’

  The scratch on his head was bleeding again, forcing Musso to reach for another tissue with which to dab it. He patted down his pockets, unable to find one, until Colonel Pileggi passed him a Kleenex from a handbag down by her feet.

  ‘Thanks, Susan. Feels like I’m bleeding out here.’

  ‘Don’t worry, General. Chicks dig scars.’

  A strained chuckle ran through the tightly packed group and eased just a little of the utter hopelessness that had begun to take hold. Musso turned back to the briefing with at least some sense of purpose.

  ‘Okay. Average temperatures under the particulate cloud are up to twenty degrees cooler than average, although again, that varies from one locale to another. The variations are much more pronounced inland than by the sea, and proximity to a major source has an effect too.’

  ‘That solves Gore’s global-warming problem,’ Major Clarence snorted.

  ‘Quiet on deck!’ Lieutenant Colonel Stavros shouted.

  Musso ignored the distraction and brought up satellite coverage of the Eurasian landmass.

  ‘The plume has moved across Europe and is within two days of reaching the eastern seaboard of China. It is largely contained within the northern hemisphere between thirty and sixty degrees latitude. The climatic effects are less severe than on the North American continent, but they remain significant, and I’m told they’ll probably deteriorate for another two to three weeks, before stabilising for six to twelve months.’

  ‘There’s a lot of wriggle room in those figures, General,’ said Pileggi, as she looked up from scribbling in her notebook.

  ‘Enough of a margin to mean the difference between a lot of people living and dying,’ he agreed. ‘I’ve been on at PACOM to tighten them up, but that’s as good as they’ll commit to for now. You know what scientists are like,’ he added, shaking his head. The spectre of Professor Griffiths still haunted the briefing room.

  The display returned to top-down street scenes in Miami and KC. Not a living thing moved anywhere in either city.

  ‘The weather data is important to us because it directly affects our mission: the evacuation of all US citizens who want it, to a secure location, as yet to be determined.’ Musso turned to Pileggi while he dabbed at his cut again. ‘Your airfield is going to be vital in that effort to move from the Pacific to the Atlantic, Colonel, especially if we evacuate to Australia, New Zealand or our allies in Asia.’

  ‘I understand, sir. If I may – what about defence assets?’ Pileggi asked. ‘Castro is gone, but Chavez isn’t. I do not have any air cover to speak of outside of our allies in the region, and their air power isn’t quite up to dealing with Hugo if he gets froggy. Plus, we’re going to need to secure the Canal.’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Musso. ‘I’ve been on to PACOM about that too. Pearl’s promising whatever they can spare, but at the moment, that’s nothing.’

  The colonel persisted anyway. ‘If they’re serious about the refugee problem they need to find that brigade to secure the Canal,’ she said. ‘My staff have planned our side of any evacuation based on being able to ship people through Panama. If the government collapses – which is a pretty good bet – that canal is going to stop working. These locks are a century old and require ground crew to run them. At some very narrow points, the ships are actually pulled by tugs. All of these locations are extremely vulnerable to attack.’

  Musso threw up his hands. ‘I know all about it, Colonel. But at the moment, it’s a tenth-order issue for them. I’ll see what I can do to change that. We need to plan for the worst, though.’

  ‘There are some contingency plans, but they are almost uniformly awful,’ Pileggi went on. ‘Some ships could try to head to Nicaragua and cross there. Most of Nicaragua can be crossed by travelling upriver to a point where the trip overland to the Pacific side is maybe eight to ten miles. The navy could pick up folks on the other side, but it would require heavy combat power on the ground to secure any transit, especially if Nicaragua goes under. Alternately, a convoy could sail around the tip of South America. But that route is vulnerable to Chavez and his navy. I also imagine there will be a significant rise in piracy throughout those waters should there be a breakdown in state control. Another option is to disembark any civilians on the Atlantic side of the Canal Zone, where our own forces could establish a defensive position of sorts. Those civilians would then be escorted overland to the Pacific side or to a useable airfield. Another nightmare.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Ritchie,’ said Musso.

  There was no avoiding it. Over a hundred civilian craft lay at anchor down in the bay, most of them carrying US nationals who’d gravitated to the nearest and most obvious symbol of American power still in existence in this part of the world. Just feeding them and supplying enough fresh water each day was a Herculean challenge. They couldn’t stay. But getting them there was a non-trivial problem too. From Musso’s perspective, maintaining control of the Panama Canal was still a number-one priority for the United States. At least in the short term. He was responsible for the transport and protection of any American refugees who requested it, and that meant putting most of them through Panama. Where they went after that was a matter for diplomatic negotiations underway in Pearl.

  * * * *

  PACOM HQ, PEARL HARBOR, HAWAII

  ‘It’s the low season for tourism, so we have plenty of spare beds, but nobody’s figured out how it would work – who’d pay, what arrangements we might need over the longer course, and whether you’d be looking at permanent resettlement and residency or eventual citizenship. But Canberra has authorised me to assure you that we’ll take as many as you can send.’

  Admiral Ritchie thanked the Australian Ambassador – the new ambassador, of course. The previous one had disappeared in Washington. His colleague from New Zealand added that her government would likewise accommodate as many ‘displaced US citizens’ as possible. New Zealand’s diplomat preferred not to use the term ‘refugee’ and had twisted herself into linguistic knots once or twice trying to avoid it.

  Ritchie placed a tick in a small hand-drawn box next to the letters ‘A/NZ’. He looked over to the Japanese Consul-General, seated near the window giving onto a pleasant view of the small garden outside his office. A riot of colour framed the small, dark-suited man, a pink and orange spray of flowering bougainvillea.

  ‘Mr Ude?’

  ‘My government is more than happy for you to initially house as many of your countrymen and women as you can within your military facilities on our soil. And with the suspension of the academic year, there are a number of temporary rooms available on some college campuses

  Ritchie couldn’t help but notice the heavy qualifications in that statement, and he could feel the ‘but’ coming somewhere in the next few seconds.
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br />   ‘However,’ Mr Ude continued, ‘you will appreciate that accommodation is severely limited on the home islands, and cultural factors mean that resettling many of your citizens within our borders is likely to be so difficult as to be… unfeasible.’

  Ritchie stamped down on his annoyance and cut to the point. ‘But you’ll take them in, for now, if we bring them?’

  Ude nodded, seemingly thankful for having something to offer. ‘Yes. Within such limits as are to be confirmed by my government.’

  Ritchie placed a tick in the box next to ‘Japan’ but then placed a small question mark after it and wrote Limits. A similar notation sat next to ‘France’, which maintained a number of colonial outposts in the Pacific, all of them well served by tourist infrastructure. In fact, a small forest of question marks surrounded the tick he’d placed next to France. His direct negotiations with the authorities in Noumea and the decolonised French territory of Vanuatu had initially gone well, but they had since referred all of his enquiries to Paris, and getting any kind of timely or useful response from Chirac or de Villepin was becoming nigh on impossible. Still, with firm commitments to help from Australia, New Zealand, Brazil and Chile, in addition to all of the larger independent island states such as Fiji, Ritchie could begin to stitch together a patchwork of temporary refuge for most of the five million souls in the American diaspora. He had about a quarter-of-a-million berths he could call on throughout the rest of the region, but Ude was right: countries like Japan and Korea weren’t swimming in spare room, and many Westerners simply would not cope with the culture shock of being dropped in there even under the best of circumstances.

  Ritchie twice tapped the ballpoint of his pen on the notepaper, as if sealing the deal, and leaned back from the conference table around which sat a dozen civilians, most of them foreigners. The only American not wearing a uniform was the lawyer, Jed Culver, sitting in for Governor Lingle’s office. His blue pinstriped suit was every bit as crisp as the day they’d met at the state capitol, and Ritchie could only wonder where the man was getting it cleaned. He surely couldn’t have brought more than one suit on vacation, could he?

  Culver’s presence, although much appreciated for the way he could smoothly negotiate a passage through the most impenetrable thicket of bullshit, only served to remind Ritchie that very little had been done to settle the issue of executive authority. Indeed, given the mess in Seattle, it was only getting worse. General Blackstone was cracking heads there, but Ritchie was beginning to wonder whether he was stomping down a little too hard. He’d virtually cut the state off from the outside world, save for aid shipments and chartered flights for foreign nationals. And under any other circumstances you’d have to describe some of his measures as a touch excessive. But Ritchie had no time to go meddling in Blackstone’s command. Stopping that nuthatch city from imploding was probably beyond the abilities of any normal man. Mad Jack was welcome to the job.

  Ritchie turned to the lawyer now, formally introducing him to the meeting. ‘Mr Culver, who’s here as a representative of the Governor, the highest civilian authority we have at the moment, has a number of issues he needs to work through with you, ladies and gentlemen, regarding humanitarian aid and any possible resettlement scheduling.’

  ‘Thank you, Admiral,’ said Culver, smiling at the group.

  ‘But if you’ll excuse me,’ Ritchie added, ‘I’m not needed for the next part of this meeting, and I do have an important video-conference. Please, stay seated…’ He waved the Japanese Consul-General back down into his chair and withdrew as Culver thanked the diplomats for their countries’ help so far.

  An aide was waiting for him at the door and ushered Ritchie down the hallway to a temporary communications room he’d ordered set up a few days earlier. Running hither and yon across the scattered PACOM campus was a frustrating timewaster and he had moved quickly to consolidate his most important functions right here in the old white stone colonial building where he’d been quartered before the Disappearance.

  ‘Generals Musso and Franks are on line, Admiral. But I’m afraid the secure link to Brussels is out, so we can’t get General Jones in conference,’ explained his aide, a navy commander called Oakshott. ‘Also, I’m still having trouble getting Fort Lewis on line.’

  ‘Well, keep on it. I know we’ve got links dropping out everywhere but this system was supposed to survive a first strike. So I don’t see why it should be so goddamn flaky now.’

  ‘No, sir. We’re on it, but it’s not just the links, Admiral.’ Oakshott handed him a sealed envelope with a red stamp and marked, Top Secret - Echelon. Your Eyes Only.

  ‘What the hell now?’ grumbled Ritchie as they turned into the comms facility, which had quickly been christened ‘the Radio Shack’ by the lower ranks. ‘Just excuse me for one moment, Commander. If you’ll apologise to the generals for the delay.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Ritchie took himself off into a small alcove attached to the main communications office, shutting a soundproof door behind him. The space was cramped, not much bigger than a closet, which indeed it had once been. He tore open the brown envelope and read the few lines of text, cursing under his breath as the import of the message became clear. ‘That’s all we fucking need.’

  He crumpled the communiquй before regaining control of his temper, smoothing out the paper, and placing it back in the envelope. Then he hurried out of the alcove and over to the bank of monitors where he could see video images of Musso and Franks.

  ‘Commander, safe-hand this back to my office, would you, and wait for me there. I’ll reply when I’m done with the conference.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Ritchie settled himself into a chair in front of the big flat screen, nodding at Musso and Franks. There were only four sysops in the small room, all of them cleared to the level of Top Secret Absolute. One of them handed him a headset, which he fitted himself before speaking.

  ‘Please excuse the delay, gentlemen. Unavoidable, I’m afraid.’

  On screen, both men nodded. They were all dealing with the unavoidable on a daily basis.

  Ritchie continued. ‘First point. This secure channel may not be secure. I’ll explain by encrypted path later, but assume it’s been compromised for now.’

  He noted the immediate reaction of the two officers. They didn’t go into a flap, but there was a noticeable stiffening of the sinews.

  ‘Okay. We still have business to do. I’ve just come from a meeting with some of our regional allies and partners, and we now have firmed-up commitments from them to absorb any refugee flows. Some firmer than others, of course, but we can proceed with Operation Uplift.’

  Musso’s relief was palpable. He appeared to exhale a long, pent-up breath.

  ‘General Musso, I’ll send you a schedule of receiving ports in an hour. If you could get back to me soonest with a concept for getting any US nationals who want to go, out of the SOUTHCOM area, I’ll start organising transport assets for you.’

  Musso thanked him and appeared to scratch out a note to himself.

  ‘General Franks, Uplift doesn’t concern you as much in the immediate future, but it will when you’ve disengaged from the current operation. With a mind to my precaution about communications security, you want to update me with your latest?’

  The commander of the Coalition forces in the Gulf looked as though he was chewing on nettleweed. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, obviously choosing what he could say over a possibly compromised channel. ‘I have multiple situations evolving and deteriorating, Jim. Operation Katie is reaching the limits of its effectiveness. I have the Kuwaiti Government screaming at my liaison not to pull out of the theatre and citing line and verse of our treaty obligations. The Saudis and our other allies are doing the same.’

  Marvellous, Ritchie thought. Just marvellous.

  ‘The Kuwaiti armed forces are presently engaged along their front in the Wadi al Batin region, to the west of our lines. The British and the Marines are heavily
engaged against an Iranian armoured sweep through al Basra towards their lines.’ Franks ticked those items off a sheaf of paper. ‘We are heavily attriting any force sent against us, regardless of their origin or nationality.’

  Tommy Franks hadn’t said anything that wasn’t being reported by various surviving news networks. He was sticking to the public and the knowable. Ritchie wasn’t surprised.

  The general continued. ‘The Iranians have contested our air supremacy over the theatre. At present, I’ve limited myself to asset defence.’

  Ritchie pursed his lips and grunted an acknowledgement of Franks’s vague allusions to the fact that the Iranian air force and navy were probably doing their best to try to sink every Coalition ship in the Persian Gulf.

  Those Kilo subs of theirs will be a nightmare to find in the Gulf Ritchie thought. He had half a mind to hammer America’s so-called regional allies into sending their air and naval assets out to help hunt down the Iranians, citing the same treaties they were currently being hammered with.