by Franks, JK
“Could it be a weapon?”
Tahir shrugged.
“But you have the location of the comms?” Scott asked.
“Yes, yes, just as I expected, she is here,” he pulled up a topo map on the laptop.
“Mount Weather, Virginia? Why does that sound familiar?”
“It is a well-known presidential bunker. Supposedly, it is large enough to house most of the legislature and their families as well.”
“But it is in an infected zone. Why?”
“I don’t know, maybe they have the treatment, or more likely, they are so isolated, so self-contained that they can simply wait for the epidemic to burn itself out.“
“Thanks, man, good work. See if you can figure out what that satellite does and let Garret know the bunker location.”
The team from the AG departed for the Bataan early the next morning. They would have a few days of mission prep before heading off to the respective staging areas. Jack had reported in that he’d made contact with the locals a few days earlier, no issues. He was slowly working his way over to get eyes on the storage facility. Todd had seemed distracted but wrapped Scott and Bartos in a bear hug while DeVonte and Angel kissed like it would be the last time ever.
Later, Bartos sat with Scott inside the top deck lounge enjoying the seascape vista. “Something felt different about this one, didn’t it?”
Scott nodded. “It used to be just about us. Our little group here, it’s grown so much bigger, and the stakes for failure just keep growing right along with it.”
“I know…what if the Preacher is right, and this is the end times for us…for the country. The people we get on this ship may be all that’s left of America when it’s all over. Would that be enough…you know, to keep the species alive?”
Scott shrugged, “I don’t know, dude. Maybe. We have good people, but it would be nice to have some more skills and stuff. If the numbers Tahir found are accurate, even at ten percent survival, there should still be about 300,000 people alive just in this country.”
“But we’re a country at war, trying our best to thin that number even more. Add to that the pandemic sweeping south and west….”
Scott knew what Bartos meant and acknowledged that, most likely, in a few more months, very few survivors would be left. He reached over and patted the leg Bartos had propped up in an adjacent chair. “Knee’s still bothering you, isn’t it?”
The little Cajun gave a reluctant nod.
“Got a question for you. Think it might be strong enough to stand beside me at the wedding?”
Bartos looked surprised, “What are you asking, man?”
“He wants you to be his best man, you goofy bastard,” Bobby said entering the room.
“Really?” Bartos looked positively giddy. “Why me? I never been no best man before. Why not your brother?”
“Oh, I already did it once – that one didn’t take. He’s looking for someone else to blame for this one,” Bobby said sitting down.
“Shit, yeah, man. I mean, yeah, it’d…uh, be an honor.”
“Shit, yeah is what I wanted to hear. Thanks, Bartos…oh, and Solo, too, if you are ok sharing the stage.”
“Yeah, sure, sure. He’ll be on his best behavior.”
“He’s not the one we’re worried about.”
“Why me, though?”
“You’re one of my best friends, man, and…all the others already had plans,” Scott said with a smile.
Bobby leaned forward, “He’s not kidding, Todd is doing the ceremony, and Gia has asked Jack to walk her down the aisle.”
Bartos’ smile lost none of its brilliance, “Hey, still fucking works for me! Can’t wait!”
Chapter Sixty-Two
The exuberance of the girl's voice startled him so much he nearly dropped the cup in his hands.
“Mister Scott!” Tiny arms reached out and latched around his neck.
“Sylvia?” He barely recognized the girl he had helped pull from the woods a few weeks earlier. She had been in the medical bay the last time he checked on her. “You are looking much better.”
She glanced down a bit embarrassed. “Thank you, for everything.”
He noticed her eyes glistening and pulled her closer into a quick hug. “It’s ok, glad I was there.” He realized he had barely heard the girl talk when they first met and wondered again how close they had been to the end.
She nodded, then buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. He stroked the back of her head and allowed her the time she needed. The healing would not be quick for her or her mother, but she seemed to be making good progress. “Where’s your mom?” he asked several minutes later.
Instead of answering, she took him by the hand and led him to one of the small alcoves around the ship. A lone figure was sitting, looking east at the rising sun. “Hi, Trish.” Her daughter was still clinging to Scott as if she was never going to let go.
“Hi…” She was clenching the arms of the chair, but she visibly relaxed as recognition dawned. “Mr. Montgomery…sorry, my mind was elsewhere.” She stood and hugged him just as tightly as her daughter had.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked. Trish motioned to one of the chairs beside her as she, too, sat back down. “I apologize,” he began. She looked confused until he smiled. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a lot of time to check in on you guys. My niece was keeping me posted while you were recovering.”
“Kaylie was wonderful, Scott. Everyone has been, in fact. I can’t believe a place like this still exists. You even have electricity.”
Her expression was hard for him to read, but there was definitely gratitude. He grinned, “That was a recent development and a very positive one.” Sylvia saw Jacob nearby and took off after him. The boy smiled as she approached, and they both ran off to play.
“She is making friends fast,” Trish said, smiling.
“Kids are resilient, she will be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
She made eye contact with him before responding, “Why’s that?”
He looked out the ship's windows and breathed deeply. “Trish, everyone here has been through hell. Some, like you… much more so than others. We didn’t get to this point without going through all that. What you went through becomes a part of you, in some cases, it takes over. The pain, the anger, the hurt….the scars.”
She nodded silently.
“Sylvia needs her mom again, you are all she has now.”
“I just keep thinking….” she sucked in a deep breath. “What I was so close to doing, you know, to her…to us.”
He nodded, “It probably wasn’t the first time you considered it, was it? Just ending the pain, the suffering.”
“No…not at all.” She lowered her head and in a small voice struggled to admit the truth. ”Many other times in fact.”
“But you never did. You chose life, as hard as it was to keep going…you always chose life. Suffering meant surviving. Remember that, Trish.” The kids came back into view chasing one another in a game of tag. “You gave her life.”
Trish placed a hand on his arm and they sat like that for a long moment wordlessly. Her expression brightened, and she nodded.
“I have something to tell you now and a few things to ask. How much have you learned this past month about what all is going on out in the world?” Scott asked.
“I’ve heard a lot of things, most seem outlandish, though.”
Scott shook his head, “Probably not outlandish enough.” He proceeded to catch Trish up on almost two years’ worth of news.
The woman had gone pale, and it was several minutes before she spoke. “I wondered what all the activity was about.”
“We do have a lot going on,” he admitted.
“So, the ship is leaving for South America, and you are asking if we want to come along?”
He nodded, “That is the big question, yes. Some of that depends on us getting enough fuel, but either way, we will have to leave, probably in just the next couple of mon
ths.”
She didn’t hesitate, “Yes...! Yes, of course. There is nothing for us out there.”
He hesitantly mentioned the obvious, “Your husband, Sylvia’s dad?”
“He’s gone, been gone. To be honest, the marriage was not ideal, we had talked of separating before…you know, the blackout. I’m sure he didn’t make it. He was not a fighter, not a survivor. My daughter stopped even mentioning him about a year ago. I know it hurts her, but I think it feels better to think of him as dead instead of him abandoning us…or worse, working with the president’s security people. What did you call them?”
“NSF”
“Yeah, what a horrible group that must be. No, we will go with you, if you let us, that is.”
“Good,” he responded. “Now, I need a favor.”
Her face instantly began to frown as if she knew there would be a price to pay for all this generosity.
“Calm down,” he said with a smile, his hands in a placating gesture. “The one thing about the AG is that everyone works. You said you were in law enforcement?”
She nodded, relieved. “Yes, I was a lead investigator.”
“Great, I would like to ask you to resume that role. You see, we have a bit of a mystery on our hands.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Hackberry, Louisiana
Jack approached the edge of the clearing cautiously. From the small pack, he removed a pair of optics Skybox had provided. Unlike the night vision optics they had used previously, these also added an overlay for IR, something Sky had called shortwave infrared. The ability to magnify ambient light as well as see heat signatures effectively canceled out any advantage the darkness might offer an enemy. The picture was so clear, he could easily read signs and even see expressions on the faces of the enemy troops. Sky had also coached him, at length, about using it too often or getting too close to the enemy with it. If he was captured with this kind of gear, no one would believe he was just a simple merchant.
This was the fourth night he had ventured out to look at the massive compound. He looked over the framework of pipes and scaffolding going up to various tanks above ground and down into underground storage caverns as well. He’d already reported in the troop strengths, fixed gun emplacements and what looked to be a command outpost. Something he’d seen earlier wasn’t adding up, though. He came out tonight determined to satisfy his curiosity.
The night was quiet, right up until DeVonte bumped into him. “Oh, sorry, Preacher. Didn’t see ya there.”
Jack wasn’t sure what part of covert the kid failed to understand, but he felt better about him here than on the front line of the coming assault. Todd was somewhere behind him as well. His friend since childhood was still a bit deaf from the battle up at the farm, but this time, they all planned to stay away from the action. Their job on this op was to make contact with the locals, do a bit of trading and then provide surveillance on the facility. They checked in with the other parts of the team regularly.
Something was wrong, though, very wrong. “Hey, how far back is Todd?” Jack whispered. Todd eased up beside him a few minutes later. Jack cupped a hand over the man's ear and whispered as loudly as he dared. Todd shook his head up and down in acknowledgment. He then looked through his own similarly equipped enhanced SWIR binoculars, sweeping them back and forth until he locked onto the spot Jack had mentioned.
Earlier, aerial reconnaissance had indicated numerous weapons emplacements in and around the facility, including some flat panels that Skybox said were bad news. While there seemed to be troops around the weapon emplacements, using the SWIR failed to pick up any heat signatures. They could clearly see soldiers standing nearby, but they weren’t moving. “They’re fakes. Mannequins or something,” Todd whispered a bit too loudly, his hearing not registering the increased volume. Most of the fixed guns themselves didn’t seem to actually be what they seemed either. Too low to the ground and too solid.
“Take a look at the tents in the compound,” Jack whispered.
Todd shifted his hands to surveil the presumed NSF encampment. Several human shapes came into view. Some walking a perimeter patrol, others sitting, talking, possibly eating. It took him a moment to figure out what was troubling the preacher. The whole scene looked fake…no, not fake—staged. “Not enough people,” he said.
Jack nodded, “Take a look at the tents. Use IR.”
Todd thumbed to the setting for active infrared. In most of the tents there were multiple heat signatures, but on closer inspection…it was somehow off. The heat that every human radiates naturally will vary from one to another. Many factors, including layers of clothes, the angle they are turned, even a person’s size or shape will affect it. At this range, they should also be able to see some movement within the tents. Soldiers in sleeping bags or on cots tended to move a lot trying to get comfortable. What Todd saw was a very nearly identical IR image from each of the tents. They were consistent and unmoving. Some sort of heat pack in them to fool the thermals, he thought.
Jack patted him, and they backtracked down the embankment and back into the deep foliage where DeVonte was. “It’s a ruse, Jack,” Todd said. “They are trying to fool us. They don’t have as many troops or weapons here as they want us to believe. It’s a Ghost Army.”
DeVonte looked confused, so Todd filled him in. “To fool the Germans in World War Two, Great Britain went to elaborate lengths to stage fake troops and even entire Army units, including inflatable tanks, as if staging for battle. They even dropped dummies with parachutes over enemy territory to confuse them.”
“What good would that do?” DeVonte asked. “Fake soldiers can’t fight.”
Jack answered, “It was to get them to look one place instead of where they should have been looking.” He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and looked out into the night. “It’s a trap; I feel it.”
Todd nodded, “We have to call it into Sky. Hopefully, he can advise.”
Skybox relayed the report from Jack to mission command, from there the Navy, Army and Spec Ops teams were notified. As expected, the reaction was about what he predicted, “Gather more intel.” No one seemed to care if it was a trap, as long as the target was still sitting out there for the taking. So far, he’d had little respect for anything the NSF had done; they were amateurs. Even with the addition of foreign soldiers, their effectiveness was laughable. That didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous, though, especially with civilians out here like his friends.
“Lieutenant, what is our window on this?”
Skybox and the younger Garret were leading one of the advance teams currently positioned on the western edge of the storage facility. The oily water of the port lapped against the derelict freighter they were using at the moment. The lieutenant looked up from the papers and shook his head, “Not our call, Commander. Army is running the show. Everyone is ordered to hurry up and sit on their thumbs until go-time. Military expediency and all that.”
“I want to go in now, ahead of the attack. I need to see for myself what we are up against.”
“Sir?” he said looking up at Skybox.
“I think our friends are onto something. This was my plan, and even from the start, it all seemed a bit too convenient. It being a trap is a very real possibility. If we lose here, we may be out of options.”
The Navy man didn’t disagree. “Do you think your people are involved?”
Skybox knew he meant Praetor soldiers like himself, and Archangel, he thought. “To counter superior force strength, use misdirection and unconventional tactics—it is right out of our playbook.”
“So, what are you going to do, Sky, go down and talk nice to them? Just ask them to let us have the fuel?”
Garret walked around the dull gray chart table to look directly into the Praetor commander’s eyes. “You volunteered to help with the planning and execution of this mission. I vouched for you to everyone, and now you’re bailing on us? Your part of this plan may be the most critical.”
“I can me
et my team when they jump in, and sorry…but your command is just as out of touch as most others.” Skybox put a hand lightly on the lieutenant’s shoulder. “We need to save this op, we need to protect those guys out there on the sharp end of the stick, Garret. And…” he paused briefly, then grinned, “I’m not asking.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Willet had read through the sealed emergency orders and eventually agreed to transfer command authority to the Praetor commander on site. He’d been vaguely aware of the protocol but always assumed it would be an external transfer. Never had he guessed that his trusted major was one of the elite commandos. Colonel Willett had been initially incredulous, and in fact, he could have refused to turn over command to the man. Truthfully, he was glad to have a functioning command channel back in place. No longer required to act covertly, Kitma rightly assumed other members of the Guard were also now stepping into command roles within their active units.
“Why didn’t your people act sooner?” Willet asked.
The African shook his head. “I dunno, I’m not senior leadership. Dey make da call.” He thought about it and added, “Sir, we also serve our leaders unless that leadership is unjust or harmful to da republic. It would seem Guard command finally reached dat rather obvious conclusion.”
Willett was a man of high energy and found himself pacing the floor. He hadn’t expected to lose his command today nor to be called on to go into all-out war against the government forces. Kitma motioned for him to sit, “Please, sir.” The Army colonel sat.
Kitma looked at the man until they made eye contact before speaking. “I have great respect for you, Colonel. You stepped up and led when it was needed. You’ve made tough choices and excellent decisions. I would have veery happily continued following your leadership as long as needed. Like you, doh, I have mah orders, too. I do not want you to step aside, in fact, we want you to command an even larger force.” Willett’s frown began to soften, and he leaned forward, now genuinely interested in what the man had to say.
