by Brian Parker
FORT BLISS MAIN CANTONEMENT AREA
FEBRUARY 14TH
“What do you mean, ‘They’ve gone offline’?” Major General Neel Bhagat asked, pounding his open hand on the table in front of him.
“It’s what the S-6 told me this morning, sir,” the general’s aide, Lieutenant MacArthur replied. The commander was receiving his morning briefing from the Division Operations Officer and asked a seemingly offhanded comment about the platoon he sent north to bring in Lieutenant Murphy. “Get the Six in here right now. I want an update on that traitor.”
Bhagat ground his teeth at the term “traitor” as the operations officer discussed the division’s actions from the previous evening. He’d labeled Murphy as such, but in reality, it was him. He was the traitor to his nation. Maybe not in the classical sense, but the secrets he kept would certainly have him behind bars if it ever went to a military tribunal, which he was working hard to ensure that it wouldn’t.
A lifetime of being treated as a second class citizen was the fuel that had sparked a friendship with a brilliant young biomedical engineer student named Aarav Sanjay. The two of them crossed paths when Neel was just a lieutenant stationed at Fort Benning, Georgia. Both being of Indian decent, they’d hit it off extremely well and formed a small cricket league in the backwards South that had continued up until the infection spread.
Over the years, their friendship had strengthened as Bhagat was promoted, more for the Army’s equal opportunity program than for his stellar performance over deserving peers. The policy, meant to highlight the Army’s strength through diversity, only made him angrier at how people of color were treated in America. He should have retired as a lieutenant colonel, not given a brigade command and then advanced to the general officer ranks.
He discussed his feelings openly with Aarav, both having similar life experiences. Whereas Neel knew that he was promoted beyond his abilities because of the color of his skin, Sanjay was held back because of his. Sure, he found semi-fame as a reoccurring guest on GNN anytime they needed a scientist to comment on biomedical matters, but it was not enough to quell the desire to truly make an impact and change the systematic suppression of minorities, here in the States and worldwide.
Aarav was literally brilliant and had begun to seek alternative means to further his research since he was limited in the US by policies, regulations, and of course, by religion. He was able to make contacts with some extremely influential people and began working with them. Bhagat never fully knew what his friend was working on, but he suspected that at some point Aarav was radicalized. Not in the religious sense, but in the sense that he no longer had any qualms with human experimentation. The perceived political pressure of being a close, personal friend of someone like that had been enough to cause Neel to sever ties with one of his closest friends since he’d become an adult.
That had been almost four years ago.
Neel was truly surprised when Sanjay arrived at Fort Bliss that fateful day in early April last year. He’d been evacuated to the desert safe haven from the CDC in Atlanta where he’d been working on a cure. That day was when Neel Bhagat’s world fell out from underneath him.
In a private office call, he learned of Sanjay’s dealings with an organization made up of Iranian and North Korean terrorists. His former friend told him that he’d initially worked with them because they gave him access to experiment without limitations, asking him for relatively benign results at first that became increasingly more directive, demanding certain outcomes. The terrorists had kidnapped Sanjay’s family, which was a terrible revelation in itself, but what the scientist told him next still haunted him to this day. Aarav Sanjay created the disease that ravaged most of the world.
Sanjay was confident that if he could continue his work, he could find a cure or a vaccine, so against his better judgement, Neel had given him the use of an entire floor of the Beaumont Medical Center on post. Then the man was killed in some bizarre gunfight and he’d thought it nothing more than a tragic coincidence until he received the report from the platoon leader who’d responded to the hospital and helped to clean up the mess. That was the first time his path crossed with Lieutenant Jacob Murphy.
Sanjay had been experimenting on patients. The logs that Murphy’s men collected and turned over to Bhagat personally showed that the doctor hadn’t been trying to find a cure, he’d been actively trying to infect people who were immune, to make the vector stronger. He’d been duped completely by the man he once called his friend. Even so, Neel covered up his work, sealing off the medical center with all of its secrets inside.
Then, months later, as life in the besieged base settled into routine, Murphy had been the one to test the concept of raiding food warehouses within helicopter distance. Bhagat had even given the little shit a division coin.
Murphy appeared on his radar for a third time right about when the general received rock-solid intelligence of foreign invaders operating out west and sketchy reports of more in the Florida area. He was stymied as to what he could do. On the one hand, he commanded the largest remaining military force as far as he knew. On the other, they were trapped behind the walls of Fort Bliss hundreds of miles from anywhere even remotely strategically important for an invading military force. Telling his soldiers that the infected they fought against on a daily basis were not the real threat would have been pointless, so he sat on the information. In the meantime, the president had ordered him to reduce the refugee population to give them a few more months of food until the government could come up with options to fight the invaders. Neel saw an opportunity to start the uprising by punishing Murphy for dereliction of duty. It was a simple matter to blame the uprisings on the lieutenant’s big mouth. It would have killed two birds with one stone, eliminating the lieutenant who knew about the hospital logs and reducing the number of mouths to feed.
But that had backfired. Now, Bhagat had a personal vendetta against the kid because he’d outsmarted him and escaped. To add insult to injury, there were freaking foreign troops operating freely on US soil and he could do nothing about it cooped up behind these walls.
He sneered, and then realized the room had gone silent. “Is everything alright, sir?” the operations officer asked.
“It’s fine,” he muttered. “Go ahead.”
“Yes, sir. The third brigade…”
It was all the same to Bhagat. A unit killed a shitload of infected on the perimeter. The infected continually walked into the engagement area like they were completely oblivious of their impending demise. Then, their bodies were burned to ash by the engineers. Whoop dee fucking doo, he thought. It was the Vietnam body count all over again. He wanted answers about Kansas.
A harried-looking Hispanic officer burst into the room after a quick knock. It was the Division Signal Officer. “Ah, sir. I’m sorry I’m late,” Major Calamante said.
“It’s okay, Juan. You weren’t invited.” He waited until the major sat down before asking him about the operation in Kansas. “Lieutenant MacArthur said that you told him Colonel Albrecht’s platoon in Kansas is off the radar. I want an update.”
“Well, ah, sir…” Major Calamante began. Bhagat hated the whiney little son of a bitch, but with zero potential for replacement, he was stuck with him. He had an annoying way of pausing while he spoke that drove the general crazy. He was probably part of the so-called “No Captain Left Behind” program that promoted captains to major at a rate of 99 percent, regardless of ability, a few years back. All it did was dilute the talent pool, but the previous Global War on Terror had necessitated the promotions. “We tracked them via BFT to the last known location of Lieutenant Murphy’s Stryker. Umm, they were onsite for about six hours. We, ah, we did not receive any communications from them.”
“Wait,” Bhagat growled. “When was this?”
“Yesterday morning, sir.”
“Why wasn’t I informed that they’d reached the objective?”
“Sir, I didn’t know. This is the first I’m hear
ing about the deep fight,” Colonel Tovey, the operations officer, replied.
Imbecile, Bhagat thought. While he felt that he’d been promoted beyond his abilities to the general officer rank, he sure as shit knew he could have done a better job than most of his current staff officers. He turned back to the signal officer, “Did you try to call them?”
“Yes, sir. Umm, my NCOIC did attempt to reach them, but didn’t have any luck.”
“Are they out of range?” Neel asked. “I thought satellite comms negated that.”
“Ah… It’s supposed to, sir. Umm, there must have been an issue with their radios, or umm, they could be jammed.”
“Or they turned them off,” the operations officer grumbled.
Neel shot him a withering look. “Continue.”
“Ahh, okay. They left the farm after mid-day, then, umm, went northeast toward Kansas.”
“All of them or just a few vehicles?”
“All five of the Strykers that are still operational went together.” The signal officer paused, waiting for the general’s follow-up question. When it didn’t come, he said, “Umm, they headed toward a small regional airport in Liberal, Kansas, but stopped about half a mile away.”
“Liberal? What kind of stupid name for a town is that?” The operations officer forced a laugh.
Major Calamante cleared his throat, pushing ahead to finish his update. “They were positioned outside the airport for around four hours. Then they went back to the highway and then drove in circles all over the side streets, often doubling back for no apparent reason—”
“Either navigating around blocked routes or they were trying to lose a mob of infected,” Bhagat stated. It probably appeared confusing to the signal officer, but their actions were easy to envision for him, a lifelong Infantry officer.
A lightbulb illuminated behind the major’s eyes. “Ahh. That makes sense, sir. Umm, after they evaded pursuit for about twenty or thirty minutes, their BFTs went offline and, umm, we haven’t been able to reestablish comms with them.”
“So, they’re missing, just like Lieutenant Murphy?”
“Ah, yes, sir.”
“Goddammit,” Bhagat said, smacking the table with an open palm. “Is it a problem with our tracking system? Or—” He stopped, the idea settling into his stomach. “If a vehicle is destroyed, does the BFT continue to transmit?”
“Ah, well, umm, it depends, sir,” Major Calamante replied. “If there is power to the system, it would, umm, transmit for a few hours. Umm, but if everything was completely destroyed in a catastrophic event, then, umm, it’s possible that it would shut down.”
Bhagat glanced at the operations officer. “Those UN jets could have accidentally engaged them.”
“Accidentally, sir?” Colonel Tovey asked.
“Accidentally,” Neel stated emphatically. “The president has authorized the UN to operate on US soil, so we will continue to allow them freedom of movement.” He paused. “Not that we can do anything about it if they stay away from our immediate area.”
“Umm, yes, sir,” the major interjected. “If all five of them were hit with one large bomb that catastrophically destroyed their power source, then umm, yes. It could destroy all the BFTs.”
“When will there be a satellite overhead to look at where they stopped transmitting?” Bhagat asked, pushing the problem of the UN troops to the side until he had time to figure out what to do about them.
“Ah… There should be one overhead in, ah, within the next two days. I don’t have the scheduled flight path with me, sir.”
For the thousandth time, Bhagat cursed that they didn’t have tasking authority to reallocate the remaining satellites. The Air Force up at Cheyenne Mountain still ran the show with satellite employment and they made sure to keep a close watch on the intact Air Force bases, the Army had to analyze whatever feeds came from them.
He pressed his thin lips together. “Get me the info as soon as we’re done here.” Turning to the operations officer, he said, “I need some operating space outside the walls. The flow of infected has slowed significantly over the winter, so I want patrols going out into the city and the desert beyond. We need to begin expanding our perimeter.”
Colonel Tovey blanched. “Sir, is that the best move, given the situation?”
“Do you mean the infected situation or the UN troops?”
“Both, sir,” he replied.
“It’s a smart move, Dave,” Bhagat stated. “That uprising gave us a little breathing room with our capacity, but there are ten different FEMA camps set up in and around the city—probably with truckloads of food and supplies still sitting there. The reduction of infected in the area should allow us some breathing room. But more importantly, our intel about the UN troops is spotty, almost non-existent.”
He paused and cleared his throat. “We know that the bulk of the forces are made up of North Korean troops, but there are reports that the Iranians have also volunteered to supply troops to the UN effort.”
“Goddammit,” someone at the end of the table muttered. He thought it was his intelligence officer.
“Problem, Mike?” Bhagat asked the Division Intelligence Officer, Major Michael Craig.
“Sir, that information was classified as TS and you’re the only one who’s been read on to the operations.”
“Then read everyone on,” the general ordered. “It’s time we started trying to be proactive around here instead of being stuck in the defensive. Dave briefs me every day that the infected are thinning out due to the distances they have to travel across the desert to get to us, and now we have information that a third country—one that has wanted all of us dead for a few decades, by the way—has joined the UN relief effort. It’s time the IC stops all this compartmentalized read-on bullshit and we begin making preparations to save all of our asses,” he said, using the acronym for the collective Intelligence Community.
Someone cleared their throat and Bhagat turned to see his aide swallow noticeably. “Sir…”
“What is it, Freddy?”
“Colonel Albrecht called on the sat phone the day they were at the objective.”
“He did?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, I should have said something before.”
“What did he say?”
“That they were at the objective and preparing to move up to the house. They saw several fast-movers overhead—non-US jets. I… I told him about the North Korean and Iranian UN troops, sir.”
“Mother fucker!” the intelligence officer cursed. “Why don’t we just tell the goddamned refugees while we’re at it?”
“Can it, Mike,” Bhagat barked, telling the intelligence officer to be quiet. “You weren’t authorized to disclose that information, Lieutenant MacArthur.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It just slipped out. You were on the phone with the president and Colonel Albrecht called with a real-time threat. That’s why I told him to lay low and avoid the jets.”
“Did you tell him to disconnect his Blue Force Trackers so the enemy couldn’t track him through SIGINT?” Mike Craig asked.
“No, of course not, sir” Freddy Mac said. “I only told them about the threat and that they needed to keep a low profile until Division could sort things out about the UN troops. Then, I forgot about the call since so much else had happened,” he added.
Yeah, right, Bhagat thought. His aide hadn’t forgotten about the call, he’d been thinking about it the entire time. It just so happened that now was the perfect time to come clean and say it slipped his mind.
“Alright,” Neel said. “Do you have any more information that you might have forgotten, Lieutenant MacArthur?”
“No, sir,” the young officer replied, staring intently at the table in front of him.
“Okay. So what is our next step?” the general asked. “We are going to begin pushing the perimeter a little each day to give us some breathing room and maybe earn us some much-needed supplies, and we’re going to engage the IC to see what we can find
out about the North Koreans and the Iranians,” he said, pointing toward the intelligence officer. “And, we’re going to keep searching for Lieutenant Murphy. What am I missing?”
“Um, sir, one more thing.”
He looked up at the signal officer. “Yes?”
“Sir, the, um, the enemy may be actively jamming our signals—that may be why we couldn’t get radio comms with Colonel Albrecht’s team.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“Well, ah, I could send out the Division EW teams, sir. They could attempt to counter the enemy jamming, but I’m not sure what it will do if the BFTs were turned off by the colonel and his men or if they were destroyed.”
“Do it. Send your men wherever they need to go and let’s reestablish comms with that element.”
“Okay, sir.”
“Good. What else?”
He waited for his pared down staff to answer. When no one did, he pushed back from the table and stood. “Okay, everyone has their marching orders. Let’s get to work.”
16
* * *
NEAR LIBERAL, KANSAS
FEBRUARY 17TH
Sidney cupped her breast and shook it slightly as the crying baby refused to suckle. “Come on, Lincoln. Eat,” she pleaded. He refused her milk and she was worried about him.
A soft knock on her door made her look up. “Who is it?” she asked, elevating her voice to be heard over the baby’s cries and the low growl emanating from Rick James’ throat.
“Carmen. Can I come in?”
“Yeah, of course. Come in,” she called over her son’s cries.
“Still not taking to the breast?” Carmen asked. She wore a robe, secured at the waist with a long belt that boasted a holstered pistol on her hip.
Sidney shook her head. “No. Ever since he took a bottle that first time, it’s like he’s done with the boob.”
Carmen chuckled softly and closed the door. “My son was the same way. He never took to breastfeeding and would only drink from a bottle.” She gestured toward the small stack of formula in the corner. “Good thing Jake was able to get all that formula, huh?”
