The Big One

by Harrison Arnston

  The planning had gone well. Better than expected, actually. Frank Leach had chosen well in those he’d sought out.

  Now, as he sat rigidly in one of the jeeps, dressed in the uniform of an Army major, he hoped he hadn’t forgotten anything. If he had, it would all be for naught. A wild, desperate gamble would result in nothing but more trouble for Ted and those who’d chosen to join him.

  For almost an hour, he sat there, staring into the night, running everything through his mind over and over again. He could feel his heart pounding with excitement.

  Suddenly, he saw lights in the distance, many lights, boring holes through the darkness. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat and then he looked at his watch. The lights were coming from the west. It had to be the school buses, right on time, as they came charging down the highway on their way to the Mercury entrance.

  It was indeed the buses, their yellow bodies shaking and rattling as they hurtled past his position, the engines whining at full song.

  Even though they were right on time, it still startled him. It was a signal that the operation was under way. No more planning. No turning back. They were now fully committed.

  It was time.

  The UCLA students had been briefed, briefed again and supplied with costumes that made them look like overgrown Halloween revelers. They all wore white robes and white luminescent death masks as they poured from the scores of buses and took up their positions at the main Mercury entrance. They formed into thirty groups, each with a large banner that proclaimed, “No More Tests!” As they moved toward the entrance, they broke out in chants that bespoke a similar sentiment. Their sheer numbers seemed daunting.

  Almost sixteen hundred of them.

  “No more tests! No more tests!” they screamed, as they moved quickly toward the entrance to the site. Facing them, the small group of security personnel tensed, fearing the worst.

  The protest was not unexpected. Several anonymous tips had been received during the past twenty-four hours. But its size was an astonishment. All of the tips had mentioned a group of some one hundred protesters, not sixteen hundred. Enough troops had been assigned to handle one or two hundred, but no more. There were, after all, hundreds of miles of perimeter to protect.

  In the main security headquarters some six miles away, alarms sounded and the call went out for additional soldiers to move into position. The troops at the gate were simply not enough to handle another in a series of demonstrations that had plagued the site over the years.

  This demonstration was, by far, the largest protest seen in years. And the protesters, instead of pressing their obvious advantage, seemed to be waiting for something, satisfied to mill about the entrance and chant their slogans.

  Within a few minutes, the additional troops were in position, their uniforms laden down with riot gear, tear gas canisters at the ready. Still, the confrontation was relatively peaceful, the students continuing to stay by the gate and string themselves out along the fence, chanting and singing and waving their signs. No attempt was made to breach the fence or the entrance.

  To the captain in charge of the troops, the scene seemed very strange.

  First, it was almost two in the morning. Pitch dark. Usually, these protests were held in midafternoon, to enable the television people who always accompanied such demonstrations an opportunity to get their pictures in plenty of time for the evening news broadcasts. But this … in the middle of the night … As a result of the timing, there were very few television crews covering the event.

  Second, despite the chanting and the singing, the students seemed almost subdued. The protest seemed passionless, undramatic.

  And third … the sheer numbers of them. So many students at this particular moment. Why now? With the newly signed agreement that severely restricted underground nuclear testing, the site was less of a contentious issue than it had ever been.

  The captain raised a bullhorn to his lips and yelled, “All of you are to disperse immediately! This is federal government property! Disperse immediately or you will be arrested!”

  The students stayed in position and continued to sing. But several miles from Mercury, five other groups moved into position. These groups were not composed of students. Two of the groups were made up of Vietnam vets. The other three consisted of independent insurance investigators. All five groups had been armed with real and fake weapons. They all wore Army fatigues and full battle gear.

  One of the groups was led by Ted Kowalczyk. He was seated in the lead jeep, one of eight that sat on the side of the road in the moonlight on a clear, warm night in the desert. He was wearing the uniform of an American Army major, preparing to go into battle once again.

  It brought back a flood of memories, few of them pleasant.

  He looked at his watch as he waited impatiently.

  And then, after what seemed like an eternity, part two of the assault was under way.

  The students started first.

  En masse, they started pushing at the fence, trying to bring it down. Hundreds of them stormed the entrance, to be beaten back with clubs and rifle butts. The air was quickly filled with the stink of tear gas.

  It continued like that for almost a minute. And then, three miles west of the Mercury entrance, the sky was filled with the sight of exploding balls of orange flame. Seconds later, the sound of thunderous explosions reached the ears of those at the entrance. The staccato sound of smaller exploding shells mixed with the deep, booming sound of what appeared to be extremely large high explosives. It looked and sounded like an invasion.

  The students were as astonished as the soldiers protecting the entrance. They stood where they were, staring into the emblazoned sky and asked each other questions as to what it all meant. The captain in charge of the troops got busy on a radio asking for further instructions. He was told to stay with the students. At the same time, another alarm was sounded and more troops were rushed to yet another location as the bombs continued to detonate unabated.

  Thirty seconds later, almost four miles away from the student protest, and in the opposite direction, still another series of explosions could be seen … and heard.

  The security forces began to suspect that they were now under a full-scale attack. More alarms were sent out and panicky requests were made for additional assistance from civilian police and military bases within a fifty-mile radius of the site, including Las Vegas. The request was for every available man to assist in what seemed like a massive terrorist invasion of the testing site. That was exactly the word that was used.

  Terrorist!

  Radio signals were sent to Washington as well as the Strategic Air Command Headquarters at Omaha, Nebraska. The security people at the nuclear site were not taking any chances.

  Thirty seconds later, at still another location, the sky lit up with more explosions and the sound of small-arms fire.

  And … Ted Kowalczyk, his face blackened with charcoal dust, frantically led his group of twenty-five men as they used wire-cutters to breach a section of fence some two miles west of Mercury. That done, they drove their jeeps through the hole and across the sands until they reached the main road leading to the compound. They were now inside the site, one mile behind the main entrance.

  Gate number two was manned by less than ten soldiers. Frightened, confused soldiers — but alert and aware.

  Ted’s driver brought the jeep to a screeching halt at the barrier and Ted leaped from the jeep. The soldiers saluted. One of them, a corporal, barked, “Sir!”

  “You got a problem here, soldier?”

  The corporal pointed to the sky and said, “Can’t you see it, sir? We’re under attack!”

  “I see that, son. That’s why we’re here. Who do we report to?”

  “Captain Lewis is in charge of security. He’s at the main gate. You should have talked to him.”

  “We did, soldier. He told us to come in here. Didn’t he advise you?”

  “No, sir. I better talk to him …”

&nb
sp; “No need. We’ll stay here. They may attack this entrance soon enough.”

  Even as he spoke, the men in his group were moving toward the entrance, automatic weapons in their hands. The corporal, now quite confused, said, “I’ll contact the captain and …”

  Before he could use his portable radio, the hapless corporal and the rest of his men were looking down the barrels of twenty-five automatic weapons.

  “OK,” Ted shouted to his men, “tie them up and stash them in the guard-house. Ten of you take their places. The rest of you follow me.”

  Five remaining jeeps roared down the narrow road leading to the last gate and the building that housed, it was hoped, Tommy Wilson and Vance Gifford. Ted held on to the windshield as the vehicle bounced down the road, overrunning its headlights. In the air above them, to the left and right, booming explosions continued to split the air while orange, red and yellow displays lit up the sky. Ted allowed himself a little smile. Over a hundred men were hard at work, making it look, for all the world, like the site was being attacked by thousands.

  Aside from his group, the others were constantly on the move, leaving behind them bombs and skyrockets timed to explode at precise times, while still more devices had been thrown over the fence, their timers set for even longer periods of time, assuring massive confusion.

  It seemed to be working.

  The jeeps raced through the night.

  Ted’s group reached the main compound gate in three minutes, the convoy of jeeps coming to a stop in a cloud of dust. Several soldiers and civilians were standing by the gate while other civilians milled about the buildings, watching the pyrotechnics in the sky and wondering what was going on. Ted leaped out of his vehicle and, gesturing with his arms, said, “It’s a full-scale terrorist attack. We’ve got to get the civilians out of here!”

  One of the soldiers leveled his rifle and said, “Identify yourself!”

  Before another word was spoken, the prong from one of the stun-guns imbedded itself in the soldier’s arm and he was immobilized by a low-amp jolt of some twenty-five thousand volts. The other soldiers met the same fate. Quickly, the civilians outside the buildings were subdued and bound.

  At last, Ted’s men were inside the compound. They circled the buildings while still in the vehicles. Through a bullhorn, Ted yelled, “Everyone, run for your lives! The site is under attack. Terrorists! Run for your lives! Head for the rear gate. There are troops there to take you away!”

  Like lemmings, the few engineers, accountants, and other civilians still in the buildings poured out of the structures and began running toward a little-used rear gate to the compound, located a half-mile to the north. Not one of them thought to stand fast and ask some questions.

  Ted and his men then headed their jeeps toward the main target, some one thousand yards to the east.

  When they reached it, there were just a few soldiers standing outside, surprised looks on their faces. Ted yelled, “The place is under attack! We’ve got to get the civilians out of here!”

  As the soldiers began shouting questions, the stun-guns did their work and within seconds, all resistance was at an end. With his heart pounding unmercifully, Ted raced inside the building, his men in tow, and started searching the rooms. To his relief, there were no more troops inside. The building seemed deserted. With the aid of some of his people, he raced through the open rooms, then headed down the long hallway, opening doors to accessible rooms and pounding on doors to those that were locked.

  Nothing.

  The locks were shot away and the rooms inspected.

  Still nothing.

  And so far … no sign of Tommy or Vance Gifford.

  He continued down the long hallway, his spirits sagging, until he came to the very end.

  There were two doors left, on opposite sides of the hall, both locked. His heart seemed to stand still as his anxiety level increased. If these rooms were unoccupied, this entire effort would have been in vain. He’d picked this building because it had been recommended as the most likely one. Had they been misled? Or had Tommy and Gifford been moved? If this wasn’t the building, there was no way they would get another chance.

  He kicked one of the doors. “Anyone in there?”

  There was no answer.

  He yelled, “This is Ted Kowalczyk! Tommy or Vance! If you’re in there, say something!”

  For a moment there was nothing. Then he heard a voice that made him want to shout out in pure joy. The voice was coming from just inside the door, and it was Tommy’s.

  “Ted?”

  “Yes! It’s me! Stand back! I’m going to shoot the lock.”

  When he finally kicked the door open, a thoroughly frightened Tommy Wilson was huddled on the bed, his eyes round as saucers, his mouth open, his hands extended as though to ward off a bullet.

  “It’s OK, Tommy,” Ted said. “I’ve come to take you home.”

  Tommy bolted upright, as though he’d been given an electric charge. His eyes searched the blackened face. Even though the tall frame of Ted Kowalczyk was very recognizable, the face was blackened and the uniform made no sense at all.

  “Ted?” he asked, still unsure.

  Ted’s face broke into a big grin. “None other,” he said. “Come on. We’ve got to move. Where’s Gifford?”

  “Across … across the hall. What the hell’s going on? Is all of this your doing?”

  “’Fraid so, pal. Move!”

  They moved across the hall and rescued a stunned Vance Gifford. Then everyone rushed out of the building and into the waiting jeeps.

  The sky was still filled with the sights and sounds of explosions as the jeeps hurtled down the road. Then, thankfully, they were out of the compound, through the hole in the fence, and back on the highway, their jeep alone now, as the other seven vehicles cut away to make good their own escape from this madness.

  Three miles down the road, the motor home lay waiting. They made it without incident. A hiding area had been prepared beneath the queen-sized bed that occupied most of the rear of the vehicle. That was where they would stay until safely back at the RV park.

  As they entered the motor home, Tommy saw Terry and his jaw dropped open in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Later,” she said, as she directed them to the hiding place under the bed. “Everyone has to be quiet now.”

  A breathless Vance Gifford looked at Ted and asked, “Who the hell are you?”

  Ted grinned at him. “I don’t have time to explain. Just crawl under the bed and keep your mouth shut until we get where we’re going. I’ll explain it all to you then.”

  Ted, Tommy, Vance, and Terry crawled beneath the bed.

  Dr. Wickshire put the motor home in gear.

  On the drive back to Las Vegas, they encountered only one roadblock. Two State troopers entered the motor home, gave it a quick, cursory inspection and waved them on.

  Throughout the trip, Ted suppressed the desire to scream out in pure joy. The adrenaline was still surging through his veins. He was so filled with exhilaration he trembled.

  They’d done it!

  Tommy Wilson was alive, breathing, wide-eyed, and lying beside him at this very moment!

  He felt heartened for another reason. When Tommy had first entered the motor home, Ted had carefully watched the expression in Terry’s eyes when she looked at her ex-husband. There was relief, yes. But there wasn’t the special warmth in her eyes that he saw when she looked at Ted. His joy was twofold, so intense he was afraid he’d burst.

  The highways were a madhouse. Police cars, fire trucks, Air Force and Army vehicles, ambulances … all with sirens and horns blaring as they headed in the opposite direction toward the test site. It was chaos.

  At the site itself, the explosions had stopped. The students stood meekly as police and Army personnel took names and addresses.

  As for the whereabouts of the others, it was a mystery.

  Trucks and jeeps had been found abandoned all around the southern perime
ter of the site. Deep holes in the ground gave evidence of tremendous explosions, but the explosions had taken place in the sand and no real damage had been done. The hole in the perimeter fence had been the only other evidence of the actual attack. That, and some door locks that had been shot away.

  Scores of civilian and Army personnel had been found bound and gagged, but no one was seriously injured.

  Except for the students, who seemed as genuinely mystified as everyone else, not a single attacker had been captured. The students, when questioned, were of little help. All they knew, according to their spokespersons, two men and a woman, was that some outfit had wanted to pay them a lot of money to sponsor their next protest. Why not? they’d decided.

  Who were they and what did they want? That was the question that was being asked by everyone. No one seemed to know.

  Except for those members of NADAT. They knew, but refused to divulge anything to anyone.

  An hour later, the motor home was back at the RV park, where an anxious Frank Leach was waiting. As soon as Dr. Wickshire shut off the engine, she gave them the okay and the four crawled from beneath the bed.

  Leach opened the door to the motor home, stormed inside the coach and gave Ted a bear-hug. He was almost beside himself with excitement.

  “These the guys?” he said, as he looked at Tommy and Vance.

  Ted nodded.

  “Jesus Christ! I never would have believed it. God! The whole town is going crazy. They think it’s a war out there. They’ve never seen this much action! Jesus!”

  Ted slapped him on the shoulder. “Did you find Darlene?”

  “Yeah, babe! I brought her over here and told her to wait in the lobby. She’s been on the phone ever since this started, trying to find out what’s going on.”

  “Get her. Now! We’ll meet at the dog walk.”

  “Right!”

  “Ted!”

  It was Tommy, still shaken. “What in the hell is going on?” he asked.