Dark Zero: The Chronicles of Lieutenant Novak

by G. P. Moss

  "On leaving the car, Sir, we hurried to Captain Browne's aid - at first, I only saw the two vehicles, stopped on the highway but as I approached from behind the walled inlet entrance, I saw the Captain lying on the ground. Colonel Kim was approaching, his arm outstretched, holding a gun in his right hand. I believe he'd already shot Captain Browne as we arrived. On seeing us, he started firing at Lieutenant Christianson, who managed to eliminate the Colonel. As I was running to help the Captain, Ha-Yun was trying to pull him to safety - that's when the wave hit. I saw it coming but couldn't reach them in time."

  I bow my head in remembrance before quickly realising why I'm here - this is the time and place for facts, not emotions.

  "Lieutenant Christianson and I were just lucky, Sir - the wave was already breaking up but had enough direction and power to remove the ground where Harry, Ha-Yun and her son were attempting to return to the Landcruiser."

  "Thank you, Alex." The Colonel stands, signalling the debrief is over.

  "There's a week of leave for you, starting immediately. I'd rather you had more but we're preparing in case the increased seismic activity reaches a point where people panic. There are wells everywhere - the boffins are talking of a chain reaction if the drilling doesn't stop. Anyway, go and see Alice, you deserve some time off."

  "Thank you, Sir. In a couple of days, I'll go with Lieutenant Christianson to see Aveline, see if she needs anything and answer any questions. She'll know by then, of course, Sir."

  "Strength in numbers, eh? She's already been told, Alex. Lieutenant-Colonel Stewart and Chaplain Hardy saw her this morning. Terribly sad, heavily pregnant, too."

  I have Harry's tags in my pocket and that's where they're staying until I see Aveline - whether they'll be a comfort or just a reminder of the dangerous career her husband chose, remains to be seen. Saluting smartly, I leave the office and head to the airfield barrack room to sort my kit, freshen up, and wait for Johnny.

  Taking a charger from my locker, I sit close to the whitewashed stone wall to leave a message for Alice. She'll be teaching but will be able to retrieve my loving words later. Alice knows I'm on my way home but as usual, with debriefs and other duties, she never knows exactly when. My message lets her know I'll be back by this evening.

  I'm polishing my black, toe capped shoes to a high wax gloss as Johnny returns to join me in the barracks. As he unpacks his kit, we both stop as a rumbling tremor shifts our focus to the ground. It's over in a few seconds but we never had them here before - okay, we've had tiny ones, at night usually and hardly noticeable but this is different. This is real.

  I pray it's a one-off occurrence and the earth will settle now the drillers have been told to hold off. They won't all stop - the corporate arrogance of some will continue until there's nothing left to drill, nothing left to heat.

  If it persists, I know that Special Forces teams will be sent in to shut them down, forcibly. Trouble is, there's the whole globe to cover - this hydraulic fracturing and geothermal drilling is highly profitable. Idiots - they can't spend when there's nothing left and money has no value.

  We focus on our tasks - we're eating into our leave and we're still on the base. Johnny heads for a quick shower as I pack the last of my kit.

  We'll go to Eastsea by train - I once made the mistake of driving home straight after I'd touched down from a long flight. On that last occasion, I fell asleep at the wheel, just for a second or two but it was enough for me to clip the car in front and put mine and other lives in danger.

  Good old China Railway Group. After decades of terrible rail services, the eastern experts have come in and transformed reliability and punctuality, while keeping costs down. Everyone's happy - even the unions, begrudgingly. If they can get me home to Alice in super-fast time, they’re welcome to run our services, anytime.

  As Johnny zips his holdall and checks his locker a final time, I check my appearance in the large, elongated mirror on the back wall. Pressed khaki chinos, a sky-blue Ralph Lauren shirt and a navy linen blazer turn the rough, battle-worn soldier into something much more presentable for the trip home. The thick black hair could do with a trim but I’m clean shaven and smell of a little cologne. The only way now you could tell I’m a military officer is the glaring shine from my solid shoes - the last, hypnotic buffing giving an almost translucent coating to the toe caps. I’ve missed Alice. A lot.

  Chapter Eleven

  The newspaper stand at the station kiosk displays a warning shout of 'Earthquakes Rock The Land!' I wouldn't go that far but then I've only just returned.

  Looking around the crowded platform, the incessant chatter suggests an exciting, if worrying, change in the daily life of the passengers who, ordinarily, will see the same, dormant views, every time they travel this route. Now they're on edge, the journey times appearing faster as they bet and guess and predict the next tremor. I pray there won't be any more.

  "Been practicing your balance?" Johnny jokes as he reads the kiosk's placard.

  He appears to be more relaxed now he's off base, looking smart in black wool trousers and a thick, grey, Harris Tweed jacket, the white cotton shirt having hung patiently in his locker, awaiting his return these past months. Black Bally loafers remove the last traces of his military status - with hair grown unchecked for a while, only his identity card will reveal his true occupation. A part of it.

  We could be anyone, just the way we like it.

  The sleek express train, its royal blue and deep gold livery giving it a look of supreme confidence, crawls to a stop, stretching the whole length of the long platform. We find our section - our travel warrants having earlier been slickly exchanged at the ticket office for reservations in the 'quiet coach', always the choice of crowded minds such as ours.

  *

  We've travelled for an hour when the carriage is covered in a blanket of darkness. Not-so-quiet curses replace the previous peace, before small, overhead spot lamps illuminate the coach as I peer through the thick glass - the only view is my own, frowning reflection.

  I don't remember a tunnel this long on this route.

  Two or three minutes must have passed before I notice the electric train's speed decreasing as I realise this is no tunnel - the mid-afternoon sunlight has been completely stripped away.

  An announcement, thick with unexpected northern dialect, blasts through the bemused and somewhat fearful air to tell us not to worry. The voice is steady, trained to restore calm if the unexpected happens.

  "Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention please."

  All cursing ceases.

  "We are stopping due to an imminent severe weather warning. All trains on the network have received the same instructions. As soon as we have the all clear, we will be on our way again. Thank you for travelling with CRG."

  It's not funny but I look at Johnny across the table to see his lip curling too, repressing a smile at the last few words of the conductor.

  I survey the carriage, noticing everyone's searching for answers through the wall of black. As I turn back, a hammering sound startles me for a second as rain batters the windows, driven by powerful winds that seem to rock the coach on its axles.

  The lights don't even flicker - it feels safe inside the steel and polycarbonate shell, so long as it decides to stay on the rails. I check myself for even contemplating the drama the press wish us to indulge in - it's just a freak storm which will soon be over. As I lean back to rest my head while this takes its course, forked lightning fractures the darkness in a vicious display of power.

  Johnny raises his eyebrows - we'll kid ourselves it's naturally weird weather but I think we both know, as a species, we've pushed too far, too quickly, in the wrong way and all the wrong places.

  The crashing sound of the wind and rain stops as abruptly as it began, the lightning as the final act in a choreographed show of intensity. The sunlight shoves its way through, parting the blackness like an exuberant opening of unsightly curtains. I shield my eyes as I feel the carriage occu
pants hold a collective breath - the storm was short lived but it felt much longer. After a few silenced minutes, this is no longer the 'quiet coach'.

  There's no announcement this time, just the initial jolt as the couplings catch up with the rhythm of the leading engine, followed by a smooth acceleration as our journey continues.

  I want to say, 'well that was fun' but the melancholy look has returned to Johnny's face so I keep my mouth shut. I should call Alice, to leave another message but there's no signal available. We were only standing idle for around fifteen minutes so we're not going to be too late - I notice, however, that the train is travelling slower than its usual express speed. Rather than frustrating me, it provides a little comfort to think CRG aren't foregoing safety in their pursuit of punctuality.

  After the initial rush to compare notes on the latest unexpected drama to befall us, the coach has naturally reverted to its respectfully subdued state. I'm glad - the rampant post-storm chatter was giving me a headache. A ding dong sound alerts passengers to a further announcement - at least this one's expected.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving at Eastsea - please ensure you have all your belongings and mind the step when leaving the train. Thank you for travelling with CRG."

  We grab our holdalls, and head towards the exit doors - a queue has already formed, impatiently waiting for a longed-for escape and the chance to tell friends and family of their brush with catastrophe.

  I take a long, deep breath, eager to inhale the sea air of my home town and to feel the soft, warm embrace of Alice.

  I don’t feel or taste the usual hit of home as my feet touch the platform – there’s a heaviness that I can’t place and it’s the first time I’ve felt it here – usually I’m excited to return to the place I love. I attempt to shake it off as I concentrate on my first job, separating myself from the throng to leave a message for my wife.

  “I’m back love – I’ll dump my bag then meet you from work. Love You!” I say to the silent phone, hoping my voice portrayed only my affection and none of the worries building momentum at the back of my mind.

  Chapter Twelve

  I say goodbye for now to Johnny - he always politely refuses an invite to stay at ours. He won't be bored, sampling the delights of the great seafront bars - many of the locals know him from previous visits so he'll never be without company. Away from base, he's truly 'one of the lads' - I hope he can spend a few hours distracting himself from the tough journey tomorrow.

  As the taxi turns the corner into our quiet cul-de-sac, the tight knot in my stomach starts to unravel as I see our modest but beautiful, semi-detached house. We're at the back of Eastsea, away from the liveliness of the ancient terraced streets but close enough for the crisp, sea breezes and the many amazing beach walks we enjoy so much. I take a deep breath, willing myself to taste the familiar salt in the air - it's returning, as my earlier anxiety dissolves with my happiness at returning home.

  Alice has kept the front lawn and flower borders immaculate - her love for the garden and nature in general is part of her perfect persona - the complete love of my life and the woman I've pledged myself to for the last five years. I'm more than lucky - she accepts my duty to our country as a part of me. Everything else is for her.

  Punching in the alarm code inside our porch, my heart flutters for the briefest of moments as the correct beep allows me entry - Alice is at work but her subtle presence is everywhere. A delicate perfume of warm amber and light citrus, her favourite, guides me straight upstairs to our bedroom where I leave my bag in the corner.

  The slightest turn of my head reveals a thick, cream envelope on the bed. 'Alex' is written across the front in bottled blue ink from her Waterman fountain pen, her favourite gift from me.

  A single sheet of matching, watermarked paper sits inside. Unfolding the letter, Alice's copperplate handwriting gently drifts to the right, in the perfect flow of a practiced hand. My smile matches my transformed, uplifted mood as I read her words.

  ‘My dearest man, my Alex. Just a note to remind you of how much I have missed

  your smile, your touch, your everything.

  I am so excited to see you, I fear I will be like a child on Christmas Eve!

  Yours, always,

  Alice’

  Placing the single page carefully inside the envelope, I transfer it to the plastic-lined inside pocket of my holdall - these treasured notes have kept me from the door of despair on many occasions.

  I glance at my watch - she'll be home from her school soon. It's only a fifteen-minute drive from here so I decide to unpack now - I don't want to waste a single minute on anything mundane once Alice returns.

  As I transfer the last of my laundry to the washer, I hear our BMW 3 series as it turns the final corner - it's an extravagant car but I wanted her journeys to be as safe and reliable as possible on roads where not everyone has the same thoughts for the wellbeing of others.

  I want her to be safe.

  I stand there, grinning like an idiot as Alice drops her bag on the hallway carpet and runs to my open arms – luckily, she still has hold of the laptop which I take, placing it on the kitchen worktop. Burying her head in my chest, I stroke her long, chestnut hair, its rich, sweet honeysuckle aroma tickling my senses as I breath her in.

  "I was worried, what with the earth tremors. Was it the same where you were?" she asks, her crystal-blue eyes shining in the slowly dimming light.

  "It's everywhere, it seems. I've a week off then on standby at base in case the drillers don't behave. They're small movements for now - the weather was weird for a while this afternoon though."

  "I will work tomorrow but I have leave that is owed - they already said I can take it. I cannot wait to spend some time together."

  I'm so grateful for this lady - I don't want anything to spoil my homecoming but I need to tell her the dreadful news.

  "Darling, I need to visit Aveline tomorrow. Harry's been killed. I'll be back by the evening - I'm travelling up with Johnny. We were the last people to see him alive."

  The joyful look on Alice's face immediately turns to sorrow - she doesn't speak, just holds me tighter.

  "She's already been told - Lieutenant-Colonel Stewart was there this morning."

  "Poor Aveline," says Alice. "She is due to give birth, as well."

  "I have his tags, it's all there is but she should have them. A huge wave hit, love. I looked afterwards, but there was nothing there - the earth just disappeared, along with him. It was luck that saved Johnny and me. Anyway, I'm sorry, you don't need to hear this and I'm safe and well."

  I smile down but Alice shudders and just grips me again – her long, delicate fingers dig into my skin but I don't complain. I've given her too much detail.

  After a long, clinging minute, she eventually smiles, kissing my lips, her slim frame changing from the tight embrace to a softer attachment. Tasting the moisture from a shed tear, I resolve to improve the mood that I dampened with my news.

  "Let's eat in tonight - I'll cook," I say.

  "No, you can choose some fabulous music and I'll do steak and chips - it's already planned," she replies, looking happier now. "It's always planned, just in case you turn up unexpectedly." Winking, Alice is trying as hard as me to put the horrid events to the side, at least for this evening.

  *

  As we enjoy the wonderful meal, listening to the mystical voice of Enya, I look through the backroom window at the dark sky outside and silently pray that like this evening, the usual patterns of night and day will continue without fear of the unexpected and unexplained.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I turn to my bedside table, nearest the window. My watch says two-forty a.m. and I just felt the earth move. Alice turned a couple of times but she's still asleep. The tremor woke me but I don't know how long it lasted - could have only been a few seconds, could have been longer. I want to get up, look across the town to see how many bedroom lights have come on - a good indication of how strong i
t was. I won't get up - Alice will be disturbed and I don't want this conversation - not until I return from the valley.

  Raising my head, I can see three houses with lights on, directly across the street. I didn't dream it. Most of our neighbours are much older and aren't prone to be wandering around at night so I know there's been a ground shift. Rolling over to my left, I gently put my arm around my wife - she reflectively leans into me but doesn't wake.

  Whatever happened, it's likely to have been minor. There's still electricity and the router booster, sitting on the far corner of the windowsill, continues to show an uninterrupted green glow - so there's WiFi too.

  Removing my arm from Alice, I lay on my back, concentrating on my breathing the way the meditation sessions taught me. My chest is wound tight, causing breaths to come too quickly, intensifying the anxiety - it's a rare occurrence but I've had to learn to eliminate it - in my job it could literally mean the difference between life and... let's not even go there.

  As my breaths adopt a regular, comfortable pattern, the restored peace shatters in an instant as sudden, driving rain and hail batters the bedroom window, bouncing off the glass like a manic snare drummer, waking Alice with the intensity of noise that's now joined by a howling wind.

  "It made me jump," she says, resting her head on my chest.

  "Don't worry, love, it's just a storm."

  I hope that's all it is, that the two events aren't connected.

  "J'entends ton coeur," she whispers. "I can hear your heart."

  "Your French is beautiful - spoken like a native."

  "Just for you, my gallant Legionnaire," she says, her voice ethereal in its softness.

  "Wrong unit but I'll take it - I always thought their uniforms were better, ma cheri."

  The soft words bring comfort to us both as Alice drifts back to sleep, despite the incessant roar of the wind as it shoves its enormous power behind the rain. At least the hailstones have disappeared, the frozen rain always an unwelcome addition to a storm - its noise and ferocity bringing reminders of a sore head, after being caught outside without a hat.