Collapse Series (Book 9): State of Allegiance

by Summer Lane

  Quiet falls over the room as my words sink in. My heart is thundering in my ribs, the revelation of my own words shining like a burning beacon of hope. We have something the enemy does not. We have an advantage that they have not even considered.

  This could mean something. This could mean victory, somehow.

  “Commander Hart, you are absolutely correct,” Admiral Boyd says. “And that, in fact, brings me to the intel that I wanted to share with you, and the offer I’d like to make.”

  He sits down at the head of the table and opens three different envelopes. All are filled with photographs and classified documents.

  “When the Collapse first happened,” Admiral Boyd begins, “I was here, on the Roberta, with my strike fleet. We were on maneuvers. And then the grid went down. Our military was decimated. The world went to hell. I made a decision: we disappeared, and thank God for it. Many of the naval stations are now gone, and so many in our military are dead. By disappearing, we have preserved the lives of not only our men but our ships. We can help fight Omega this way, by working covertly with the militias. With people like you.

  “At that time,” he continues, “the President of the United States and his entire Cabinet were killed in Washington, D.C. when Omega launched their nuclear attack on the East Coast. The Pentagon no longer exists, as I’m sure you’ve assumed since day one. My fleet and I were completely on our own. However, the nature of our maneuvers was not entirely harmless.”

  He rubs his jaw and looks away.

  “I believe that the Roberta and this entire fleet were purposely sent to sea at the precise time that we were in order to preserve us,” he says gravely. “I believe the Navy knew what was coming, so they sent us to sea to protect us from the attack. And in doing so, they also secretly deployed submarines with us. We were unknowingly protecting nuclear weapons from Omega.”

  Something clicks.

  “You’re telling me that the Navy knew that Omega was about to attack,” I say. “So they started sending ships out so they could save them from the invading forces?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why not warn the rest of the country?”

  Admiral Boyd shakes his head, answering, “There is so much we don’t understand about Omega. I personally believe the attack was imminent and unavoidable, and that our leaders believed it would be worse to warn the country than to let it happen suddenly. The panic would have been worse. They knew it was coming but could tell no one. So, instead, they secretly prepared us to fight back.”

  “Where are those nuclear weapons now?” Chris asks.

  “That is the most interesting part,” Boyd replies, raising a finger. He shoves a piece of paper toward Chris, a map of an island. “Years ago, there was an operation called Project Spire. Supposedly a hidden, underground nuclear silo, built for the specific purpose of hiding nuclear weapons if the world was ever to fall into a world war again. The few nuclear weapons that I had onboard the subs are spread across the Pacific. However, I knew only a little about Spire, but I had heard rumors. They said we could find the base hidden in the Pacific Rim. I sent a team to search for it—but all went MIA.”

  I look at the map of the island. The shape is familiar, and then I make the connection.

  “Hawaii?” I state, incredulous. “Someone hid a nuke cache on Hawaii?”

  “And why not? Pearl Harbor was once an incredible naval stronghold for us.”

  “In case you didn’t notice, Pearl Harbor got blown up during World War Two.”

  “And rebuilt,” he points out. “The United States Pacific Fleet HQ is housed in Oahu, Commander. However, we lost contact with them after the Collapse.”

  “So, what’s the point here, Admiral?” Uriah asks, frowning.

  “I sent another man onto the island—the Big Island,” Boyd goes on. “Lieutenant Mike Randall. I dropped him in on the Hilo side of the island. He was meant to do recon, find the location of the base—if it existed—and report on its location. However, he, too, has gone MIA.”

  “You want us to go in and find the nukes.” I realize, tapping my finger on the table. “Why don’t you just send someone else to do it?”

  “Because I need someone I can really trust,” Boyd admits. “And because word has gotten around that the Freedom Fighters and the Angels of Death have a talent for getting into places and never being seen.”

  “Getting in, yes,” I joke, “but the shooting usually gives us away.”

  “If you can locate the weapons—and find Randall, if he’s still alive,” Boyd reiterates, “then I will pull my fleet into Hawaii, and we will turn the island into a naval stronghold. But I need to know that the weapons are there, and if there are any hostiles on the island that might make our arrival difficult.”

  “If I were you, Admiral,” I say, “I’d go ahead and assume that the island is hostile, given the fact that every man you’ve sent in has gone MIA.”

  “Your sarcasm is not amusing, Commander Hart,” Boyd responds. “However, you are not incorrect. I essentially am asking you to do recon on the Hilo side of the island. Whatever lies on that island is dangerous. We are aware of a small presence on the island—possibly a local militia group or a refugee camp. We have had limited contact with them via the radio. We have not approached them because of the possibility that they could be Omega. I need a small team to go in—a team that will not be detected by anyone.”

  “Where would we start looking?” Chris asks.

  “Specifically, there is a tropical garden, a nature preserve, on the east side of the island,” Boyd replies. “It’s where Randall was initially sent in. Go there first. See if you can find him. He would be in Hilo. I’ll provide you with maps and coordinates.”

  I look around the room, at Father Kareem sitting silently at the end of the table.

  I already know that everyone here is willing to do this, but I’m not done yet.

  “We’ll do it,” I say. “But only on one condition.”

  Boyd raises his eyebrow.

  “When we get those nukes,” I say, “we use them for leverage, and we let Omega know about it. We don’t keep it a secret. We will let them know that we hold the power to counterstrike every attack they make on us.”

  Admiral Boyd says nothing for a long while.

  Then, “That was the plan all along, Commander Hart.”

  In that case, I’m all in.

  Chapter Five

  Night. I stand on the deck of the U.S.S. Roberta, the icy wind slicing over the flat expanse and rustling my jacket. I rest my hands on the railing and look down, down, down into the dark sea below. We are moving closer to the Hawaiian Islands with every hour, the fleet spread out around us like a shield.

  The ship rises and falls with the waves, and I am surprised how much I can feel the swells on such a massive vessel. There is some activity on deck, and I watch seamen scurry across the open area. One of them holds what looks like two glow sticks—for lack of a more technical term—and slowly guides an aircraft that is landing onboard.

  Manny solemnly joins me at the railing.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Fine and dandy, my girl,” he answers.

  “Arlene is going to pull through.”

  “They had her hooked up to a breathing machine when I left.” He looks at me. “Life support, you know. The final measures.”

  “They’re keeping her stable,” I counter.

  “They’re keeping her alive.” He hangs his head. “Artificially alive.”

  I put my arm around Manny and lean my head against his chest.

  “You don’t have to come with us,” I tell him. “You can go back, be with her.”

  “No. I’m in this fight. She would want it this way.”

  “You don’t have to be a martyr,” I whisper. “You can sit this one out.”

  A single silver tear slips down Manny’s cheek.

  “It’s not my nature to sit things out, my girl,” he replies. “It’s just not my nature.”

>   This war keeps taking so much from us, in so many different ways.

  Sometimes it’s not a gun that fires the kill shot, I think. It’s the heart.

  ***

  We get ready for the mission.

  We will go in by air, and we have no idea what we will find when we arrive.

  Chris and I plan to go in on the dry side of the Big Island—landing in the abandoned Kona International Airport. Admiral Boyd alluded to a survival camp on the island, but he has no real knowledge of whether or not they are friendly. These days, I just don’t want to take any chances. So, we will go in locked and loaded, ready for a firefight if that’s the case.

  “Is Manny going to be okay?” Vera asks me the morning of our departure. “He’s out of it.”

  “He’ll be fine.” I say the words, but I’m not so sure.

  How much would it take to break Manny?

  Elle bursts into our bunk room, flushed red, Bravo tensely crouched behind her.

  “Manny is coming with us,” she says. “Commander Young told him he could go back to be with Aunt Arlene, but he refuses. He’s coming with us to the island.”

  “That’s his choice,” I tell Elle. “Manny is a strong person. You have to trust his judgment.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Let him do this. He doesn’t know how to deal with it any other way.”

  Elle sighs.

  Love is a two-edged sword—a weapon to be used for or against you, I think.

  We retreat to our tasks again in silence. I pack and repack my gear, checking my rifle and the rest of my weapons. I am dressed in all black, a tank top with dark combat pants and boots. The humidity on the island is going to be a jarring climate change from the freezing temperatures of Alaska. I have prepared for this by dressing lightly.

  When we are all packed and ready to go, we leave the barracks and find Em, then head to the flight deck, where a Black Hawk helicopter is waiting for us. We are about 200 miles out from the Big Island. Admiral Boyd doesn’t want to get any closer than that before we do some recon and check it out first.

  On deck, Chris is standing with Devin and Father Kareem. The Mad Monk presses his hand against Chris’s forehead, making a strange motion with his hand and lifting his eyes to heaven. When he is done, he nods and turns to me.

  “Commander Hart,” he says. “May God protect you, and may He be your sword.”

  “Right,” I reply, unsure how I should respond. “Thank you.”

  He bows his head and continues. Uriah is the last to arrive. We want our recon team to be as small and tight as possible, and for that reason, only Chris, Devin, Elle, Uriah, Vera, Em, and myself will be going in.

  Manny bursts on deck from the lower levels, dressed in uncharacteristically dark clothes, a rifle cradled in his arms.

  “Don’t leave without me,” he exclaims dramatically. “I’m here in all my glory.”

  A smile flickers on the edges of Chris’s lips.

  “Don’t be late again,” Chris says, but there is amusement in his voice.

  Manny heads to the chopper and gets comfortable in the cockpit, just as Admiral Boyd appears on deck.

  “I wish you all luck,” he says solemnly. “I’ll give you one week to locate the weapons. If we don’t hear from you by then, I’ll send a chopper to the RV point that we discussed, the Honokaa city center. If you’re not there at 0800 on the seventh day, I’ll assume you’re dead. Until then, don’t use the radio unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chris says.

  “And Commander?” Admiral Boyd lowers his voice. “We received a transmission from the island this morning.”

  I narrow my gaze.

  “And you didn’t think to tell us right away?” I snap.

  Chris holds a hand up, and I close my mouth.

  “It was an emergency transmission,” Admiral Boyd continues. “You can expect company when you arrive on the island. A man claiming to be a general on the island is asking for help. We didn’t promise him anything—as far as we know, he could be hostile.”

  “A general?” I echo. “Sounds like militia.”

  “Quite possibly,” Admiral Boyd deflects. “As you can see, the game has already changed.”

  I say nothing. Good mission protocol is to roll with the punches—but this is one punch I’m not crazy about. We’ve gone from pulling off recon on a deserted island to pulling off recon on an island infested by a possible militia that may or may not be friendly.

  Great.

  “Good luck,” Admiral Boyd says again.

  And then we are off, and I’m sitting in a Black Hawk with my rifle between my knees, while Uriah looks at me and whispers, “You and I both know this isn’t going to be as easy as Boyd says.”

  He’s right. Of course he is.

  Here we go.

  Chapter Six

  The Big Island, Hawaii—Operation Pacific

  I look down through the blanket of fluffy white clouds, tapping my finger on my knee as the chopper hits a small pocket of turbulence. In the distance, I can see the rise of a mountain breaking through the clouds. It’s green and sloping, soft against the harsh blue of the sky.

  “There she blows,” Chris says, crackling over the earpiece, his words barely audible above the din of the Black Hawk.

  “What island is that?” I ask.

  “Hawaii—the Big Island.” He points to my left. “You can see the other islands right down there—the small one is Maui, and in the distance, you can see Oahu.”

  “Is there still a military base on Oahu?” I say. “Pearl Harbor, right?”

  “Boyd said they’d lost contact with Oahu, remember?” Chris replies, shaking his head. “I hope we’re not walking into a bigger problem down there.”

  I smile a little.

  “No big deal,” I say. “We’ve been through plenty of those. It wouldn’t be our first rodeo.”

  “No,” he replies. “Not exactly my idea of a good time, though.”

  I study his face, and I can’t help but think: But this IS your idea of a good time. This is what you trained for all your life. You live and breathe this world—this fight. It is as much a part of you as it is a part of me.

  The thought is gone as quickly as it blinks through my head. I look to Uriah, sitting quietly near the adjacent window. He senses my eyes on him and he glances up, his stormy gaze unflinchingly landing on mine. For a moment I don’t move. I see the heartbreak. I see it on Uriah’s face every time I take Chris’s hand.

  Uriah loves me, and I am afraid that he always will. Not because I am beautiful or the epitome of feminine perfection. Get real. This is a war. But he will love me because we will forever be bound together by our experiences in this battle for survival, this final global struggle to harness and preserve freedom.

  We slowly drop in altitude, plunging into the cotton-candy clouds, wisps of white fluff flying by the window. I look down and see the ocean, close enough to watch the whitecaps dancing along the surface of the open sea.

  “Beautiful,” I whisper.

  And then I see the island. Suddenly we are close to it, a massive stretch of greenery spread in every direction, the clouds that we were just sailing above crowning the peak of the largest volcano on the island—Mauna Kea. I see miles of coal-black volcanic rock along the coastline, contrasting with the brilliant, transparent turquoise of the ocean. It’s a dazzling view, unlike anything I have ever seen in California or Alaska.

  As the chopper tilts and turns one final time, I see the airport through the side window. It’s a series of runways zigzagging through the volcanic rock, perched on the cliffs of the sea. Other than the airport, I see no signs of life on the highway running perpendicular to the airport. No cars, no people.

  Wait. There on the tarmac, a small group of people. Looks like militia.

  Friendly? I pray so.

  I take a deep breath as the chopper slowly lowers until we touch down on the tarmac with a gentle bump.

  �
�Land ho!” Manny hollers, turning from the cockpit, plopping down beside me. “Had you worried, no doubt!”

  “I always worry when you fly,” I shoot back.

  I look at a cluster of brown buildings on the edge of the airport. The terminal? It’s very small, and I find it hard to believe that this island—once one of the premier vacation destinations in the world—had such a tiny terminal.

  Yet it seems to be so. I exhale and stand up, shouldering my rifle.

  “Let’s see what’s out there,” I say.

  Chris nods, stands, and then Uriah, Vera, Manny, Elle, and Bravo are on their feet. Em Davis is waiting by the door, and she looks lost without her dog. Her face is tight, nervous. Devin is the last to stand, and he seems strangely tense.

  Outside, a small group of dark-skinned men with long, black hair is waiting. They are armed, wearing bulletproof vests over short-sleeved green uniforms.

  “Hawaiian militia,” Em whispers.

  I nod, and Chris and I take the first steps outside into the sunshine.

  This is the moment of truth: friend or foe?

  The first thing I notice is the humidity. It’s heavy and hot, and I can feel it weighing on my curly red hair, and making the palms of my hands sticky. I take a deep breath and follow Chris.

  A breeze ruffles my hair—but it is not a cold, chilling one. It’s warm and light, refreshing against the humidity of the island. A man with black hair pulled into a ponytail steps forward. He is just barely taller than I am but broad-chested and muscular. He is very handsome, actually, and I notice the thick bands of tribal tattoos on his biceps and around his neck.

  “Greetings,” he says, his voice accented. “Welcome to Hawaii. I am General Hanale, the leader of the militia here on the Big Island. We spotted your Black Hawk off the coast and have been hopeful that you are with the United States Military.”

  He salutes Chris, and Chris returns the gesture, as do I.

  “Thank you,” Chris replies. “I’m Commander Chris Young; this is Commander Cassidy Hart; Lieutenants Manny Costas, Devin May, Uriah True, Vera Wright; Commander Em Davis; and Sergeant Elle and her K-9, Bravo.”