"Shh," Dukes said, holding up his hand. They hadn't been talking. He put the same hand up to the radio earpiece plugged into his left ear. "She's broadcasting again," he whispered. He was so engrossed with listening, that he took his foot off of the accelerator, put the truck in neutral, and let it glide to a stop along the dirt road.
Clark nodded in acknowledgment that he too heard the transmission. He had the same radio setup plugged into his right ear. He recognized the Chinese language. Harper had told them that there were two Chinese soldiers, but she couldn't remember much more in detail after they killed Cam.
***
Penny held the transmit button and leaned forward. She was starting to get concerned that the radio she had wouldn’t transmit far enough for her father to hear. The shortest-range radio they owned would transmit twenty-five miles with a clear line of sight; but the hills, high-tension power lines and the south Alabama pine trees didn’t make for a clear line of sight. She was pretty sure that the radio she had was one of the 25-mile range units. She had been studying the electronics on the dash, and especially the military grade radio between the driver and passenger seat, but except for the engine, everything else on the vehicle was powered down. She let her eyes pivot to the back, where she tried to catch Lucy’s eye. She thought she remembered Lucy say something about handling the onboard electronics during their escape from Atlanta.
They had seen a helicopter fly nearby about thirty minutes earlier, but by some crazy coincidence, they had pulled under the trees so that Joseph could relieve himself. The chopper never came back for a second pass. Now, they were back on the trail following the power lines. She knew that the next road mark that she could use to alert her father was coming up. It would also be the last reference point that she would be familiar with. After the river she would be as good as lost; which was something that she didn’t want to divulge.
"Why did you not warn me about this?" Joseph asked, his voice thick with accusation as he turned to look at Penny.
Penny suppressed a small smile as the sight of the river filled the windshield. She knew that there was no bridge around, and the river was not passable by 4x4, at least at this location.
"Can I drive through it?" Joseph came to a stop about a quarter mile from the river. They were perched on a hill, with the option to turn onto another firebreak road. "Don't make me threaten to kill the girl in back. Answer the question!”
Penny looked back at Lucy, she looked at Penny; the fear had drained from her earlier persona.
"Well?" Joseph asked, his voice reflecting his agitated demeanor.
"Tell him," Jack said, softly from the back. Under no circumstances would someone threaten his sister. He was biding his time, and waiting for his moment to impact the situation. He knew Penny was, too. But for the moment, the only thing that he thought she should do was to tell the guy where which way to go.
Weed leaned around looking out all of the windows and then said something to Joseph through the speaker system. Joseph responded in the affirmative and turned back to Penny.
"We are sitting in the open. Is that what you want? If anyone spots us, I will kill the girl in the back. Do you understand? I hope so," he didn't give her a chance to answer. "Now, which way do I go to cross the river?"
Penny breathed in deeply and spoke as clearly as she could. "Turn right, follow this road to the river. There is a place called Heard's Ford, where you can drive across. Are we still going to Birmingham?"
***
Clark and Dukes looked over at each other. They had heard Penny’s transmission loud and clear. Dukes, put the truck back into gear and pressed the accelerator, spinning the tires of the 4x4 on the compacted red clay.
CHAPTER 14
Senior Airman Nina Perez stood outside of the glass-enclosed office of the Admiral of the United States Navy. As one of the seven officers that make up the Joint Chief of Staff, Admiral Faulk was seen as ‘old school’ by most that worked at the JCS. He believed in hard work, patriotism and that the military was the hammer that enforced the Country’s policies. For a man of his stature, he was surprisingly non-political, which endeared him to those that served at the JCS.
As a testament to his beliefs, Faulk had been on duty since the attack happened, taking all of his meals at his desk, and catching catnaps in an executive living quarters, attached to his office. His commitment to serve the country was deep and sincere. Nina appreciated the Admiral’s leadership, and did her best to emulate his actions. So, having to enter his office and explain how the Chinese had hacked her communications with Clark’s team, made her feel like a failure. She drew in a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Enter,” a stern voice rang from inside of the office.
Perez pushed through the glass door, letting it close behind her. She took the few steps to the front of Faulk’s desk, and pulled to perfect attention. “Senior Airman Perez, reporting as ordered, Sir.”
Faulk let her stand there for a few seconds before responding. If this had been an average day, under average conditions, and if they were not at war, he would have already ripped her up and down for letting someone hack her systems. But, this was not an average day, and the country was in great peril. He needed superior operatives like the Airman, at work, not in trouble.
“At ease,” Admiral Faulk commanded, before setting his pen down, and looking up at her.
Perez stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes fixed at a point on the wall behind the Admiral, and her legs at parade rest. She was ready to take the lashing, but not prepared to answer the questions.
“Tell me what happened,” he ordered, his tone level.
“Sir,” Perez started, walking her commander through her procedures and protocols that had occurred during Specialist Clark’s escape from Atlanta. She ended her summary with the last transmissions she had managed and a list of those associated with the interrogation of the Chinese soldier.
Admiral Faulk nodded several times, and on two occasions scribed something on a legal pad. “Now, tell me how you think they hacked our communications?” Faulk knew from his own intelligence briefings that there were still forces at work to undermining the country. Former Senator Payne had not acted alone in his treason against the United States; he had help that had managed to infiltrate the Government at high levels. The Director of the CIA had delivered this new bit of intelligence personally. The new intelligence was causing Faulk to look at everyone through a new lens of suspicion. But, he had a hard time looking at Airman Perez through just such a filter.
“Sir, you asked how they hacked our communications, and honestly, Sir, I have been asking myself the same question from the point we found out.”
“Does that mean that you don’t have an answer,” he interrupted her and leaned back in his chair to observer her body language.
“Sir, you’re correct, I don’t have any one answer, but I do have theories.”
“And?”
“Sir, as of yet, I have not had the opportunity to run them to ground, Sir,”
“I’ll take best guess for now?”
“Sir, quite simply, the age and design of the hardware on the vehicle were probably where the leak started. Couple that with the EMP to our equipment and the exposure to high radiation that the vehicle experienced, and all it took was the enemy catching a piece of a transmission, isolating the encryption, and they were in. Sir.”
Faulk nodded. “Sounds like a logical guess, Airman.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Again, Faulk jotted down a note, and looked up from his desk at her. She was one of his best analysts, a fierce competitor and sharper than most. “When was the last time you slept, Airman?”
Perez was almost caught off guard by the simple question. “Ahh, Sir, I got about thirty minutes at twenty-three hundred, Sir.”
Faulk looked at his analog watch, he didn’t trust anything digital anymore. “So, that was roughly fourteen hours ago,” he said, not expecting her to correct his math.
“And before that?”
“Sir, I don’t recall.”
He nodded, expecting nothing less. She looked like shit, as did most of the staff at the JCS; most of whom had been on duty since the beginning. He knew he needed to pace his troops, or they would wear themselves out, which would lead to more breaches and accidents. “I want you to go home, sleep in your own bed, and report back in six hours, I need you back on deck.”
A thousand thoughts and questions ran through her head as she listened to the order. What about the hacking? Was it a leak? Is there a mole? Did she screw up? Did Clark screw up?
“Sir, thank you Sir. I’ll shut down the communications with Specialist Clark, file my report, and…”
“I’ll have Shepard do that, I want you to get some rest. This is a war, and wars are run like marathons; I need you geared for the long haul. You can vet out your ideas when you get back, besides, I have some new intelligence about the Russians, and their potential involvement in all of this,” he said, waving his pen through the air like an admiral with a magical wand. “Your father was Russian, and you speak the language fluently, yes?”
That question was out of context for the conversation, but it was one she had answered dozens of times while she maneuvered to get an assignment at the JCS. Her mother was from Venezuela, and her father was an executive with the Russian State Energy Department. He had met her in Venezuela while finding new energy ventures for the Father Land. That is, before he decided to defect to the United States with his young Latin bride.
“Yes, Sir, that's correct.”
“Okay, good, I need you frosty and ready to deal with the next intelligence briefing seven hours from now. The CIA apparently found a hard link between Senator Payne and Russia.”
She looked puzzled, and he did his best to answer the look.
“I know, so why is he in bed with the Chinese if he had a hard link to the Russians? That’s my question, too.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, her mind filling with new ideas and suspicions.
“You and Shepard are taking point on that intel and how it impacts our operations at JCS. Now, dismissed.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Perez said, pulling to attention before pivoting and exiting the office. She had been ordered home to get some rest, but that new bit of information about a Russian twist was going to make it hard to sleep.
“Hey, how did it go?” Perez stopped just short of her desk at hearing the question. She turned around to face Lieutenant Shepard.
“Ah, Sir…”
“Nina! For God’s sake! We’ve been through hell together, I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. Call me by my name, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, S…okay, Brad.” It sounded awkward. “It went better than I thought it would go,” she answered, the question about Russian intel occupying her thoughts.
“That’s good, right?”
“I think so. He’s ordered me home to get some rest, says he needs me sharp to deal with some new intel about the Russians.”
“The Russians? That doesn’t make sense. Besides, I just learned that in eight hours, the Marines are landing at New Orleans.”
“New Orleans? What about Birmingham?”
“That’s coming later, this apparently just sprung up. It’s a small fleet that was running maneuvers with the Brazilians, and they have been steaming back at breakneck speed to reengage at home.
“Okay,” she nodded. Things had been changing every minute since the attack. She briefly looked at her screen, noting that Clark had the Presidential Humvee on the move again, at least according to the GPS tracker. She thought it odd that he was moving so deep in Alabama, but he was under the Georgia Guard’s command now. “Did you see Clark’s moving again?” Her curiosity got the better of her. “And they don't have any of their onboard systems on. That’s weird.”
Shepard looked at her screen with only slight curiosity. “I guess so, I haven’t really been keeping track of them since the interrogation.”
Perez reached over, palmed her mouse and clicked the link closed before turning back to Shepard. She would shut the system down when she returned. “Anyway, back to the Russian thing, I’m just extrapolating, but I think Admiral Faulk might think we have Russian’s who have infiltrated and feeding intel to the Chinese? Just a hunch,” she padded her statement.
Shepard looked up at the ceiling like he was processing that bit of information. “The way we got our asses handed to us, it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re working together. What does he want you to do? Is it because you speak Russian?”
“Probably; I’m not really sure. He just confirmed my fluency and that my father was truly Russian.” She looked around at the others serving in the JCS staff. They all looked as worn as she did. Every few hours Admiral Faulk would send one or two of them home to get rest, as very few alternates had shown up to replace the standard crew after the EMP attack.
She had thought several times about how lucky she was that she was on duty when the attack happened. She could have been in a plane, or driving at highway speed; both meaning certain death after the EMP. In one flash, America had lost countless heroes in the most un-heroic fashion.
“It’s curious that he brought your father into it, don’t you think?” Shepard asked, as he watched Nina pick up a small handbag, which she insisted on many occasions that it was not her purse.
“Yeah, Brad, it kind of is, but the fact of the matter is that I haven’t seen my father in almost ten years, so,” she said, shrugging, and then slinging the single strap canvas bag over her shoulder.
“Lieutenant Shepard,” a lower ranking Airman said, approaching them from the side.
“Yes?”
“Admiral Faulk requires you to report to his office.”
Shepard nodded. "I'm on my way," he said, acknowledging that he understood the order, and then turned back to Perez.
“I’ll see you in six hours,” she said, with raised eyebrows.
“Get some sleep.”
“Way ahead of you.”
CHAPTER 15
Tasha didn’t have time to worry about the exploding sounds from miles away, or the column of black smoke lifting into the sky; she had a life to save. Her immediate priority was stopping David’s leg from bleeding, and that involved finding something clean to put on the wound.
Although they had a good first aid kit, this was a kind of wound that she had never seen before; a massive chunk of the man’s leg was missing. She tucked the Bronco’s first aid kit under arm, even though they had used most of the gauze trying to save the boy at the Wal-Mart parking lot. That event had only been five or six days ago, but it felt like the time between that event and this one had taken dozens of dog years to traverse.
Tasha ran back to the Bronco to scrounge for anything else that could help. Among the many weapons and green military cans of ammunition, she found what she needed; a can of blood clotting spray and a field surgical kit. In the few steps it took to get back to David, she tried to clear her head; she needed to think through the problem.
She looked at the bleeding man, and then suddenly had an idea. She dumped the supplies next to David on the picnic table and paused long enough to touch his hand; he was cool to the touch. The wadded shirt that they were using to stop the bleeding was saturated and dripped blood. She then looked at Jeff, the former priest and deputy sheriff, lying dead in the shadow of his wounded church. She took off at a run to vet her idea and search the church.
Tasha entered the damaged church, careful to avoid broken boards with nails sticking up; her destination was the women’s restroom. On the wall was the typical metal dispenser of feminine hygiene products. With too much aggression, she yanked the entire box off the wall, sending an assortment of tampons and pads sprawling across the floor.
“Damn!” She yelled, as she picked up as many of the pads and tampons as she could hold.
A minute passed before she made it back to the picnic table. Once there she donned the gloves from the first aid
kit and frantically ripped open the pink and yellow feminine hygiene packages.
“How are you doing, Mr. David?” she asked between rips. The question was more a diversion. She had read that she should try to keep a person thinking about something else if you suspect they are going into shock. A pool of blood had formed in the dirt under the picnic table; a steady drip from the sodden shirt added a new amount every few seconds. He was well underway to shock.
David rolled his head towards Tasha; she didn’t look up from her task. “Can you get Jack and Lucy for me?” he asked.
That question stopped Tasha cold. She looked at David, but he wasn’t looking at her; his eyes were unfocused. She thought quickly on her feet. “I just called them, they’ll be here shortly.”
David didn’t answer, but his eyes seemed to focus on her for an instant. Tasha touched David’s face with the back of her hand. His skin was cool to the touch, and he was starting to have problems breathing. She looked at his face, and could see that his lips were not rosy red, but more of a bluish purple. A fear gripped Tasha at that moment like none she had ever experienced. It was a dark and lonely fear; as if she had just felt the coldness of death brush past her. She looked at the dead man on the ground, and then back to David. Her hands trembled, and a wave of goosebumps rippled over her skin.
“No,” she whispered, and looked up at the swaying branches of the oak tree. He had trusted her, and she was letting him down. No, she was letting him die.
“Concentrate, Tasha!” she scolded herself and tore another pad open. With twenty packages open, she tried to push David onto his side so that she could work. His body was lethargic and heavy, but reluctantly, he seemed to help her roll him to his side.
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