by Franks, JK
Trish was watching for visible clues, signs to see if someone were nervous or lying. “How do you mean?”
“Just that we are about to be pulling out. Soon as we get the rest of the vaccines ready, I am transferring back to the AG permanently. The Bataan and its crew will be gone, and we will be heading to Costa Rica. Besides, you don’t even know if there was a crime, even Kaylie thinks she just ran away.”
Trish relaxed a little, the sharp little researcher seemed on the up and up, and…he had a point. “DJ, I’m doing this because it was important to Scott. He asked me to. Besides, some of these Navy guys will undoubtedly be joining us when we leave, right?”
A slightly chastised DJ nodded, “Yeah, I know a lot have already asked to. In time, the rest of the fleet may even wind up there. At least until the pandemic dies out.”
“So, do we want a possible murderer on board our little cruise ship? My daughter is over there, your girlfriend, all of our friends and family will be on-board. A killer with the ability to hide in plain sight scares the hell out of me. I need to know for sure before we cast off that that isn’t the case.”
Warburgh called from the open hatch for her to join him. DJ looked at Tahir, “She’s good.”
“Yeah, very thorough. You might want to be nice to her. I have a feeling she might wind up being your mother-in-law.”
The expression on DJ’s face went from confusion to a goofy grin, “Wait…no, her and Mr. Bobby?”
Tahir nodded, “Yep.”
Warburgh led Trish up the corridor to the small meeting room. “Lt. Garret is rounding them up now.” Twenty-three sailors had taken shore leave the day Diana disappeared. They were going to interview each of them to see who might have last seen the girl. “I still think this is a waste of time.”
She knew he did, but to his credit, he was just as thorough chasing down her leads as he was his own. Trish looked over the list and called the first man in. This man, a Carson Layfield, happened to be a woman. Her close-cropped hair and stern expression left no doubt she had gone to great lengths to downplay her gender on a ship full of males. She wouldn’t fit any of the likely profiles, and Trish would need to toss out about half of her listed questions, but she walked with her back to the interview room anyway.
This was the routine for the next eleven hours. Other than having lunch brought in and a few bathroom breaks, it was monotonous and uninformative. The only thing she really got out of it was how much these people missed their families and how much they enjoyed going over to the AG. She read back through all her notes on the way back to shore. Warburgh was housed on the Bataan and Tahir had gotten bored and came back earlier, so her thoughts were her own. Something a few of the sailors mentioned had triggered a thought. Three of them said they came to shore on a boat with someone from the quartermaster’s office. Most likely on their way to trade for food at the farm. The Bataan was the farmers’ biggest customer. They had assumed the report was about a sailor on leave, but what about someone who regularly came over as part of their duties? At the farm, the person could have even had contact with Diana, or at least seen her.
She read the eyewitness report once more. “Unknown time shortly after the evening meal. Saw two people heading to marina docks where the Navy transports come and go. Both figures appeared to be smaller, but one seemed to be assisting or possibly forcing the other along. A female voice was heard.”
The report was from an older woman sitting on her stateroom balcony that night. It would have easily been fifty yards away and literally everyone these days was thin. No one had put much thought into the report originally. Probably because there was so little to go on. It could have just as easily been nothing. A boyfriend and girlfriend out for a walk. A sailor who had gotten a bit too much drink getting an assist by a shipmate. Still,…she tapped the pencil absently back and forth like a metronome. There was something there. She would have to talk with Warburgh and expand it to other of the ship's personnel. That would be a fun conversation.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Near Memphis, Tennessee
“What?” Skybox asked.
Scott put the encrypted radio back in the pack and had a confused look. “According to Tahir, the designs call for them to use an SMR as a power source.” This had been Scott’s question as he looked at the meager intel on the Thunder Ridge facility. All those people, all these defense systems. Scott wanted to know where they were getting all the power to run it.
“Okay, Einstein, what’s an SMR?”
“Oh,” Scott said absently. “Small Modular Reactor.”
“Wait…what?” Rollins said coming fully alert. “Those fucks have a nuclear reactor buried down there? Shouldn’t this have been in some of the pre-mission briefings or something?”
Skybox was familiar with nuclear power generation but had never heard the term SMR. “So, is this something like a submarine might have?”
The US Navy had extensive use with nuclear-powered vessels going back to the early 1960s. In fact, every sub and supercarrier built since 1975 was nuclear powered. “No, Sky, those wouldn’t work here, they are called naval reactors, and while the size would be fine, they are really designed to work at sea, and the power output here would be insufficient.” Scott rubbed the bridge of his nose and continued.
“For a long time now, researchers have been trying to make nuclear reactors more efficient and safer. It is absolutely one of the most efficient ways to generate electricity there is. The problems are the inherent dangers involved, the enormous cost and well… a very bad public image. Not to mention the not so little issue of disposing of spent fuel rods. The SMR takes away most of these problems. The smaller size means less cost, less infrastructure, and they could be located in a lot more places. In theory, each city might have one, just like a wastewater treatment plant. Some of the designs I’ve seen are crazy small, like the size of a station wagon. Most of them are radically safer than traditional plants in the simple fact that they cannot melt down. The rods are only exposed if they are generating power. Shut off the power, and the rods are cooled down. Some do this with salts…well, sodium instead of water. Ingenious designs, really.”
“So, why are we just hearing about these?” Rollins asked, his interest growing.
Scott shrugged, “Development has been slow, there are tons of bureaucratic hurdles with any tech involving nuclear energy. A few systems have been in testing out in South Dakota but never heard if they got approval or funding to continue. Apparently, though, some did.”
“Ok, they have a small nuclear reactor, how does that help us?” Skybox asked.
“Well, the SMR design still would generate intense heat, employ dangerous materials including a highly reactive sodium coolant and generate some nuclear waste. This means a dedicated team to handle it and, most likely, a place to dispose of the spent fuel nearby.”
“In other words, they are going to be terrified of the damn thing.”
Scott nodded at Sky, “Exactly, it is still atomic energy, and to most people, that is about the same as saying ‘evil magic’. It will be isolated away from the population down there and have its own access to the surface to move spent fuel and to vent in case of emergency.”
Skybox smiled, “Now we are talking.”
“Look Scott, the first few days, who knows where I’ll be? They may even keep me in quarantine. They know I have been exposed to the virus, and they won’t have Dr. Colton’s assurances that I am not a carrier.” Skybox saw him wince at his fiancée’s name. “Just saying, man, don’t expect to hear anything from me for a while, probably a week at the earliest. I will have to earn their trust and gain some privileges to walk around freely. Something went on in there, something between two of my people. I am going to have to sort that out before I can go look for her, understand?”
They had already been through most of this, and Scott nodded, “I still want to go in with you, I need to see for myself.”
“You can’t, mate – they would kill us bot
h before we got close,” Skybox said.
Scott nodded reluctantly, “Yeah, I got it, man, you may be walking into a trap yourself. Just be careful and let me know if you see her.”
Skybox pulled on the gray camo shirt and checked his watch, “Okay, I’m going to drive on up as far as they indicated was safe, then go in on foot. I’ll radio back the exact location as soon as I know it. You get on the radio with Tahir and work out the details.” He nodded back to the group of elite soldiers relaxing in the hotel lobby. “Use them, Scott. They are exceptional at what they do, and we both know this is bigger than just us or even Gia. They need to plant that beacon for the airdrop. We just have to get your girl and any other innocents out of the way first.”
Scott looked at his friend. The man was risking so much for him. He was unsure if he would ever even see him again. Losing one more friend, one more person seemed like more than he could bear. He was already walling his emotions off to the possibility. “Skybox…” he searched for the right words and failed. Skybox just stuck out a fist.
“Hooah,” the soldier said with a light fist bump. Scott smiled and watched as Sky climbed into the truck, the statue-like silhouette of Ghost sitting on the other side, the only other occupant. “We can do this, Scott—be the warrior!”
As the Suburban drove out of sight, Solo bumped his leg. The dog was as anxious to get some action as any of them. The calm, relaxed attitude of the Spec Ops soldiers had an undercurrent of energy that Scott was unable to identify. Inherently, he knew this was not like fighting beside his friends at the AG. Yes, these men could undoubtedly shoot and fight with the best of ‘em, but each had other skills as well. Some of those he was aware of, and others were still a mystery. Still, what chance did he, Solo and the four men really have to get into or bring down something like the Thunder Ridge facility?
Skybox had decided to take his friend, Tommy, along as he was confident in his ability to detect and evade the defensive traps. Scott was still not sure how he communicated with his friend, nor how Tommy could function with so much damage to his brain, but after seeing him in action—he got it. Like Solo, there were just some weapons you didn’t want to go into battle without. Sky wouldn’t be able to get Tommy into the facility immediately but hoped to have him in close for support when needed.
Tahir’s voice came through the radio clear and strong, “So, those guys are the redshirts?” Scott looked around the room at Rollins, Owens, Krychek and Nez.
“No, AlphaCat, pretty sure that would be me.” If anyone was likely to get killed on this op, he damn sure wasn’t betting on it being any of them. “Do you have access?”
“Partially, but the system has layers upon layers of security. Not just the obvious, you know, because of the SMR, but the base security itself is incredible. I don’t know, dude.”
“Look you ugly, falafel loving fuck, we have to get this. You don’t need access to everything, just the alarms.”
His friend’s smile was heard through the words. “Just seems like an elite bunch like you guys would want to avoid alarms…not set them off. And when I say elite…I am of course talking about everyone but you, BikerBoi.”
“Too bad you can’t see my hand right now. Just keep working on it, asshat, ok? We don’t have much time.”
“Of course,” came the reply. “By the way, my friend, nice to hear you again. Thought you had slipped over the edge. Left the rez, you know?”
Scott thought of a response, then decided on honesty. “Hanging on by fingertips, man, just barely keeping my shit together.”
Chapter Eighty-Three
Gulf of Mexico, Mississippi Coast
Fleet Commander Garret looked thoughtfully at his son. He had his mother’s eyes …and her stubbornness if he was being honest. The bittersweet thought of the woman neither of them would ever see again flitted through his head. The lieutenant had grown close to the people of Harris Springs. It was easy to see why. They were very endearing. In so many ways, they represented the best of America. Industrious and hard-working, they were constantly rebuilding their community. Not just to recapture some of what was lost but simply to make things better for themselves and others. From reports he’d read from other military leaders around the country, what they had accomplished here was unique. Despite his personal failures, he thought of the AG and its occupants with a sense of pride. He’d helped get them started, and they had, for the most part, thrived here.
“Dad, we have to do this. You know it is the right thing.”
The older Garret nodded, “I do know, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I’m not sure there is any Army out there anymore to work with. None of us have any fuel for the jets or choppers. What can we even hope for?”
“We can protect them. They are putting out an evacuation call for America. Anyone on that Patriot Network that can get here is invited to leave with them on the ship.”
The Commander nodded, but that just made them a bigger target. “What if they drop another of those space weapons, or worse…a nuclear strike? We would all be gone.” The two of them were talking strategy, but at its heart, it was more personal. The commander knew his son was falling for a young woman on the AG. He’d met her once and very much saw the attraction.
“You took out the president. Isn’t she the only one who could attack?”
His father shook his head, “We took out the presidential bunker, no way to know if we got her. May just have pissed the bitch off even more. Also…” he paused while he swirled the last bit of scotch in the tumbler and swallowed it in a single gulp, “I believe Mr. Montgomery and the Praetor commander are going after the real problem.”
“Memphis?”
“Yes, the protectorate there almost certainly is where the real command authority is. No one is safe until that base is taken out.”
The lieutenant voiced a disagreement, “Scott just went to find the doc. What can a handful of guys and a dog do?”
His father smiled, “You might be surprised. If they can pinpoint the C&C, we can take it out. But we will have to get them some help. Son, we need to put out our own Patriot’s call. Find as many outposts, garrisons and ground commanders as you can. Let them know we have diesel fuel, ammo and supplies if they will join us. Get General Daly involved as well. We protect access to Harris Springs for the incoming evacuees, and we make one last stand for America here,” he jabbed a finger at the map. “Rally point for that is Memphis.”
Those who answered the call began the move toward Memphis. From newly minted commanders filling in for fallen leaders to battle-weary veterans. The organized military had effectively ceased to exist over the previous two years, but the warrior spirit still thrived in many who were still valiantly holding the line. The 3rd Marine Battalion from Camp Legume fresh off of battling the infected headed west. The 1st and 3rd Army Stryker Squadrons from Fort Hood joined remnants of the 6th Squadron Calvary out of Colorado. None of the outfits were full strength, in fact, most were a small percentage of their normal combat size, but still, they came.
As promised, the Navy staged refueling tanker trucks at key points along the way. The hodgepodge of military hardware was mind-boggling. From old school buses full of infantry to M1-A1 battle tanks. The soldiers all looked tired and haggard. These were the men who had stayed at their post instead of going AWOL to check on family and friends. They had been underfed and forgotten by the country they served. Still, each had a fire in his eyes for a fight they thought might never come.
Marine Major General Daly had assumed command of all ground forces and was maintaining a small squad of older aircraft for close-in ground support. Commander Garret tracked the responses and troop movements, much of which were coming in via the amateur Patriot’s Network. The president may have cut off the bases from direct contact, but she’d not been able to silence them completely. “How is it looking, Lieutenant?”
The younger Garret looked up from the maps covering the chart table and smiled. “They are coming. We have hundreds of
units from nearly every branch heading toward Memphis. Troop numbers will still be low. We estimate around 10,000 men in total. Some additional air support would really be welcome, but what they have, they basically dragged out of mothballs.“ Row upon row of fighter jets and attack copters lined the hangars of the Bataan as well as hundreds of other bases around the country. All useless without modern aviation fuel to fly.
“Let’s just hope the enemy is in the same shape on that point.”
“Sir?” a petty officer manning a comms station called out. “A couple of the units near Chattanooga are running into large groups of infected. They want to know if they should engage.”
The commander looked at the maps, the known regions where infected were present was shaded. Many seemed to be heading straight for the coastal regions. Something…something….he was overlooking something important. “Negative! Do not engage. Give the order and someone bring me our lead science guy, DJ, and get his friend, the little Pakistani fellow. Get him over here from the AG.”
“Aye-aye,” a junior officer said as he turned to make the call.
DJ looked nervous and out of place in the war room. Gia had always handled the command briefings. This was his first time even seeing the highly secure area. Tahir sat beside him, and they faced several Navy officers including both Garrets.
“Gentlemen,” the commander began. “You have some idea of what is going on out there, right?” Both of them nodded.
