by Lundy, W. J.
She turned away from the lot and led them to a back door. The glass was broken but still hung in place. James moved up first, with Duke close by his side. He knelt by the door and pulled. Feeling it give, he let it open just enough for Duke to press his nose against it. The dog scratched at the door, ready to enter. James stood and drew the door back the rest of the way. Powering on a flashlight, he patrolled in with Duke leading the way.
Jacob pushed the door open as far as it would go and slid a nearby brick into place, blocking it from closing behind him. He followed James inside, entering a small sally port—a bit of an airlock with an electronic lock on the far door and a red call button on the wall by the door. On the right was a small booth, separated from the rest of the entrance with a bulletproof window. Looking through the moisture-covered glass, they could see the booth was empty. James crossed the space to a large steel door, and pushed down on the handle. To their surprise, the door clicked open, the electronic lock disabled. James pushed ahead with Duke close at his feet, the dog excitedly moving into the dark, musty space.
Jacob followed as they stepped into a wide hallway that opened to an even wider room filled with desks. They were moving in from the rear of the space, the desks and counters oriented to face away from them. At the front was a reception desk and the double door they had seen from outside. Now, Jacob saw the inside destruction firsthand. Bodies lay in the lobby, killed in whatever last standoff must have occurred here. Duke moved into the room lit only by the light pouring in through the lobby glass. The dog paced through the space, sniffing at objects on the floor. Several men were handcuffed to a counter, piles of brass and police batons at their feet. The bodies were badly beaten and contorted.
“They cuffed themselves so they couldn’t be dragged off by the bastards,” James said, standing over the uniformed men.
A stairway with a sign pointing to dispatch was over the stairs. Rogers moved up behind them with Eve shadowing him. He pointed to the stairs and James led the way. The second floor, a large loft with more cubes, was clear. It was apparent people had lived in the space. Cots and sleeping bags covered the space between the cubes. There were also stacks of military meals ready to eat and cases of water, which told them the space was overrun or—optimistically—evacuated without time for the defenders to take their essential supplies with them.
At the end of the room was a long counter filled with computer monitors. Rogers edged around it and found the building’s radio base station. He looked it over and nodded. “High power. This should do. James, I saw a generator house out back. If you can get that running, we can try to get a hit on comms.”
“On it,” James said, leaving the room with Duke.
Eve watched James leave. She sighed and slumped her shoulders. “I’ll go cover him.”
Jacob wandered through the space, looking at the desks; some were covered with police reports, others with personal belongings—spare clothes, parts of police officer uniforms. Jacob continued through to the far end of the room. He saw an area broken off from the others, divided by colorful blankets and rugs. Children’s toys and books were on the floor. “They must have brought their families with them,” Jacob said.
“What’s that?” Rogers shouted from the back.
Jacob turned away and moved back to the radio console. “They had kids in here. Families stayed here; there are children’s things in the back.”
Rogers nodded as he opened his pack and removed small toolkits divided into nylon cases. He laid them out in front of him for easy access. “I would. Wouldn’t you if you had family and knew you couldn't abandon your post? Why not bring them here? They probably thought it was the safest place for them at the time.” Rogers looked down and shook his head, pushing away a dark thought. “We can’t fault them for trying.”
Jacob walked to a window overlooking the city below him. He reflected on Laura and Katy safe back at the base. “Do you have family?” Jacob asked over his shoulder.
Rogers stopped what he was doing and looked up at him. “What, like a wife? Kids and all of that good stuff? Or you mean a mom and dad?”
“Yeah, like a wife,” Jacob said.
“No, I was never married.”
“Girlfriend then?”
Rogers laughed. “Yeah, lots of ’em.”
Jacob turned away from the window and proceeded to the cases of MREs. Pulling back a cardboard flap from an already opened box, he dug through the contents until he found a sealed beef ravioli. Jacob moved to an empty cube and plopped into an office chair, tearing open the brown plastic package. “So why no wife then?” he asked.
Rogers took a deep breath and sat in a chair behind the computer screens, searching for the right words. “I don’t know… the travel, I guess. Maybe because I never wanted to give it a chance, always running off to someplace else before things got too serious.”
Jacob held up a pouch of toasted corn kernels. Rogers nodded and Jacob tossed them over. “So you were one of those guys, huh? A girl in every port,” Jacob said.
“I guess. Hell, even if they were willing to take a chance on me, I would become a big enough asshole until I scared them off. Yeah, I’m one of those guys.” Rogers laughed. “Guess I should be thankful, not having that extra weight to carry right now. I couldn’t imagine having a wife or even a kid right now.” Rogers stopped, seeing Jacob’s expression change.
“Sorry, bro. I didn’t mean nothing by it,” Rogers said.
Jacob shook it off. “It’s fine.”
Suddenly the lights flicked on, dimming low then coming on bright. Computers located in the office cubes clicked and buzzed, beeping as they booted up, as did the communications console. Rogers pressed buttons and raised an eyebrow. “It’s coming online,” he said.
Chapter Fifty
Rogers pulled cables tight, yanking them through tiny holes in the back of the countertop. He lifted large, flat-panel monitors, sliding them back and dropping them to the floor. He dragged out a long power strip, tugging cables away from a black radio console before dropping a tangled bundle of wires to the floor. Rogers slid his hand around the countertop, removing bits of equipment, and then reached under a cabinet. He knelt down then rose, holding a second radio console and set it on top of the first, routing wires through both devices and plugging everything into a long black power strip that snaked back to an outlet.
“Everything okay?” Jacob asked.
“This system was designed to run on an uninterrupted power supply—a kind of battery backup. It looks like it died when the generator came on and off line. I would probably find that the UPS is fried if I pulled it apart. Doesn’t help that it was all plugged into these computers—probably a dispatch application of some type. I don’t have time to figure that out. I’m rerouting things so it will pull its juice directly from the generator, and run it old school through a mic and speaker.”
With another flip of a switch, the console power came to life with a whirring of fans. The radio speakers let out several rapid beeps. A light lit on the main console then several windows with blinking lights and gauges popped to life. Rogers smiled and lifted the hand mic just as James and Eve entered the room.
“The genny just needed diesel. Did you get the radios to work?” James asked.
Rogers turned his head sideways, looking down. “If it does, this may be our ticket out of here. I don’t have the frequencies so we'll be talking in the open. I hope someone is listening in the clear.” He pressed the transmit button, pausing before he said, “Bravo Two Six, Bravo Two Six. This is Bravo Two One, over. Bravo Two Six, Bravo Two Six. This is Bravo Two One, over.” Rogers let his hand drop from the transmit button, listening to the sounds of static.
He tuned the radio dial, trying again. “Bravo Two Six, Bravo Two Six. This is Bravo Two One, over… Any station. This is Bravo Two One.” Rogers tuned the dial again. “Any station, this is Bravo Two One. Dammit, somebody answer me!” he shouted and backed away from the microphone.
Eve paced
slowly across the room. “You just got it working; it might take a little while.”
Rogers looked up at her then turned away, walking to an open window.
“Bravo Two One, this is aerial recon flight Alpha Zulu, send your traffic, over.” The radio buzzed, coming alive through loud speakers mounted on the wall behind them.
Rogers froze in place before his brain registered the contact. He lunged forward and ran back to the microphone, nearly tripping. He grabbed it in his hand and pressed the transmit button. “Alpha Zulu, this is Bravo Two One, requesting assistance.”
“Understood, wait one, over.”
“Who are they?” Jacob asked, rushing to stand near the console.
Rogers looked up from the microphone, reaching for his bag. He pulled out a pen, paper, and a small binder with laminated pages before looking up at Jacob. “At this point, does it matter? It’s anyone and they have an aircraft.”
Jacob started to speak again, but before he got a chance, the radio squawked and Rogers put up a hand.
“Bravo Two One, this is Alpha Zulu. I’m going to set up to relay your traffic to command, prepare to receive instructions, over.”
“Thank you for your help, Alpha Zulu.”
“Bravo Two One, this is Meaford Control; can you authenticate, over.”
Rogers flipped to the back of his notebook, looking for date time codes. He ran his finger down the page, stopped, and jumped back on the radio. “Meaford Control. We are Bravo Two One, I authenticate… break… echo whiskey two two one niner… Over.”
There was long pause on the radio before the signal returned. “Welcome back to the net, Bravo Two One; Bravo Two Six is on the dial.” Another long pause and a less formal voice broke onto the network. From the expression on Rogers’ and James’ faces, they knew the operator’s voice.
“Hell, boys, we thought you were all lost.”
“No way; we are definitely here, Bravo Two Six. We are Mike Charlie and request extraction, over.”
“You have the package?”
“Roger that, we used some and it has proven highly effective. We’ve taken losses, request immediate extraction.”
“You used it? What is your current SITREP, enemy activity?”
“We are in the clear, the package chased them all off. Haven’t seen one since the sun came up. I have one WIA, two KIA.”
“Get me your location, boys, and I’ll have a bird in the air. We need to secure that site.”
Rogers looked up from the radio and at a large county map on the wall behind him. “Eve, quick, where can we put in a helicopter?”
Eve ran to the map and pointed to a large golf course. It was between the lake and the cabin, still close enough that they hoped it would be in the effective area of the dioxin.
“Sir, we are at: Sixteen, Tango, Fox, Quebec, eight, six, five, four, four, one, over.”
“Good copy, Bravo Two One. So it really works. Your call couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“Yeah, it works; it put the Deltas on their backs just as advertised.”
“Stay safe and keep your ears on, boys. We are spinning up QRF and will be at your location in… One twenty mikes; be ready to receive a ground team and be ready for extraction. Bravo Two Six, out.”
Eve looked at them. “What does that mean?” she asked.
James picked her up and spun her around, causing Duke to bark excitedly. “It means we are out of here!”
An hour later, they were standing at the green of the ninth hole of the Lake View Country Club. The fairways were overgrown, but the putting green remained flat. Rogers moved to the center, removed the pin from the hole, and tossed it off to the side. He had the handheld radio in his hand with the long-range antenna fully extended; he watched the eastern sky, searching for an incoming aircraft. James and Duke were near the end of the course. James had a pry bar in his hand, molesting a soda machine and bashing at the metal cabinet.
“Will they have room for all of us?” Eve asked.
Rogers took his eye from the sky and looked at her just as James approached with his arms crossed. He stopped at the edge of the green and dropped several cans of soda. He smiled, showing his teeth through the matted beard, and tossed Cokes to his friends. Rogers caught a can two handed and popped the top, the brown liquid exploding over the top of the can. Rogers grinned and brought it to his lips, slurping madly, trying to catch the escaping liquid.
When he lowered the can, he looked back at Eve. “I think you should reconsider. If the dioxin holds them back, you have it better here than you will in the refugee camps.”
“Are they really that bad?” Eve asked with determination on her face.
James double fisted cans of soda and swaggered to the center of the green, plopping on his rear, leaning back against this pack. He retrieved a small plastic bowl from his pocket and poured a can of soda into it, laughing as Duke lapped it up.
“Bro, I don’t think that’s good for him,” Jacob said, walking closer.
James laughed again. “Relax, it’s diet.” He leaned back, taking a sip from his own can. He turned and looked at Eve. “The camps? They are that bad, sweetheart. I would take living underground any day over what you'll find in those lawless places. Hell, look at Jacob over there. He picked living with us over the camps.”
Eve turned back at Jacob. “Really?”
Jacob shrugged before moving away and finding his own place to sit on the green.
“I’ve only been to one, and I hope I never have to go back,” James continued. “Early last month on a recruiting drive, looking for able-bodied men. I had low expectations on the bus ride over. Thinking who would voluntarily sign up for this shit? We go outside the wire every day, and most of the people in the camps fought hard just to reach them. When we rolled through those gates and the bus doors opened, my mind was blown. It’s the kind of squalor that would make a third-world country proud.
“Prostitution, drugs, booze, everything and anything that can be bought is for sale. The gangs run everything inside. Yes, they have peace officers, but for the most part, they stay out of the way. The bus was there for under an hour, and we had sixty volunteers. The ones left in line started rioting after we filled the bus. We had to start a fight just to get away. Yeah, one time was enough for me. Take my friend’s advice; you're better off here.”
Eve looked down at the ground and turned away. The air suddenly echoed with the noise of an approaching helicopter. Rogers’s radio squawked. He nodded and pulled a flare from his vest, popping a tab, then threw the device off to the side of the green. Soon after, a small Kiowa scout helicopter swooped by at high speed. Painted in a non-reflective glass, the bird flew so close that they could see a sniper hanging from the side. It cut a wide arc and circled several times before leaving the area.
James pointed at the horizon. Two small dots slowly built in size and eventually materialized into a pair of large, twin-rotor Chinook helicopters. “We got a pair of Shit Hooks in bound,” James said without getting up.
They approached from the east, flying in column with one slightly back and to the right of the other. They lined up on the fairway of the ninth green, the lead helicopter’s nose rising slightly before it touched down on its wheels. Ramps dropped and rows of soldiers in full battle dress poured out, creating a perimeter.
Jacob jumped to his feet and tossed his empty can in a pile near the others. He slung his rifle and moved closer to Rogers as two officers approached from the lead helicopter. The first was tall and wore a clean uniform. His body armor looked new, out of the box, with no attachments. His only visible weapon was in a green, nylon drop holster over his right thigh.
The second man was in sharp contrast to the first, shorter and broad shouldered. His face bore deep scars; his uniform was soiled, the knees and elbows worn and faded. His armor was frayed and stained, covered with gear: a pair of shooting gloves tucked into a fold, a medical kit, frag grenades, and a cross-draw holster at the center of his chest. In t
he man’s right arm, he carried an M4 carbine with a laser and optic attached.
The men, who had their heads down to avoid the blast from the rotors, marched directly toward them. Jacob turned and saw Eve still standing at the back edge of the green. James was still sprawled on his rucksack, holding Duke next to him.
The man in front stuck a hand out to Rogers. He made a point of pointing to the rank tab on the front of Rogers’s uniform. “Staff Sergeant, I’m Captain Cole, this is Captain Emmitt. Are you in charge?”
Rogers looked back at James, who nodded his unspoken agreement. Rogers turned back to the captain. “Sir, I’ve taken lead.”
Emmitt interjected. “I was hoping to find Lieutenant Jeffrey Marks; is he here?”
Rogers looked down and shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, sir. Our C.O. didn’t make it.”
Emmitt pursed his lips. “I’m sorry to hear that. Marks was a good man.”
An enlisted soldier ran to Cole, delivering a white sheet of paper. Cole read the note enthusiastically and looked back to Rogers. “The Kiowa just reported in. It's amazing. He says the Deltas are grouped but maintaining a nearly perfect one-mile standoff from the lake. You’ll have to brief me on how long it’s been like this, and exactly how you deployed the MX4.”
The helicopters engines shut down, the blades beginning to slow. Jacob watched the soldiers return to the ramp of the Chinook; they were unloading containers of gear. Large green boxes and canvas bags. Rogers stepped closer to Cole. “Sir, I can give you a full brief. I see that you have deployed men and equipment; will you be staying in the area?”
The officer nodded excitedly. “Oh yes, Sergeant, if our results are as promising as the German Army says, we'll be staying here for a long time. The Bundeswehr reports once a pond is killed, the Delta will not return to it. Our Kiowa flew over the lake and surrounding areas. He reported positively that there are definite signs that the water-borne contamination is broken and dispersing.
