by Dave Lund
“Gonzo, drop the dome and get back into this truck. Jones, fall into the second position. NODs on, keep the lights off. If they’re PLA tangos and headed north, we need to catch them before they get to the base.”
Buildings appeared out of the desert, awash in the green-and-black glow of the night optic devices as the team quickly drove by. Jones was the only one who hadn’t had a lot of experience with the NODs until the MSOT found him and Simmons holed up in an aircraft hangar, a mechanic not having a high need for using them even if every Marine was a rifleman.
The lead M-ATV’s remote turret, controlled again by Gonzo, swept back and forth as they passed buildings and facilities in the secret weapons test area, but the turret always faced toward the front. In the rear M-ATV’s remote turret, Snow kept rear watch at the controls. The Marines were in combat patrol mode, although Gonzo secretly wished for a Rip-It to make it feel like old times.
CHAPTER 10
PLA Scout Position, Groom Lake, NV
April 8, Year 1
The reconnaissance team had noted the vehicle in their report a few hours prior, but after the lights were turned off, they didn’t see any movement from it again. The four PLA special forces soldiers quietly debated the purpose of being next to the fuel tanks. They would not be safe for any sort of fighting position, although they could be used for a security watch point. The grainy green-and-black world magnified large through the spotting scope didn’t have the resolution they needed to see what anyone was doing or how many people were there. Although there had only been a single vehicle, it appeared to be military in nature.
Guard Shack, Groom Lake, NV
“Look, mano, the sign says to stop and dial the number, so we’ll stop and dial the number.”
“Why should we waste our time with that?”
Amanda answered before Chivo could, “They could have a security patrol or guards.”
“She’s right.”
Bexar conceded defeat on the issue. They all climbed out of the truck and stretched their legs while Chivo dialed the number and made contact with the facility.
“OK, the instructions are to follow this road down the mountain and around the dry lake bed. After reaching the south end of the lake bed, we turn left and drive onto the flightline and into the northeasternmost hangar.”
“Couldn’t we just drive across the lake bed?”
“I don’t know, buddy, but when a secure facility tells you to enter a certain way, you enter a certain way. You don’t know what they’ve got in place.”
Bexar took his spot behind the steering wheel again with Chivo riding in the front passenger’s seat coaching him on how to navigate the poorly maintained gravel road up the mountain; they were surprised to find that near the guard shack and beyond the fence line the road was nicely paved.
“Who in the world did they get to build a secret paved road into what is arguably the most famous top-secret base in the world?”
“My people, mano.”
“Jesus, that’s kind of racist.”
“Yeah, probably him too.”
Both of them laughed while Amanda staring at them with a bit of bemused curiosity. When they had met at the SSC, Bexar was banged up and fairly reserved. This was a different man than before, they both were, and they had obviously been through some tough times together.
Mercury Highway
Aymond watched the craters pass as the convoy ripped through the desert as quickly as they dared. Gonzo and the forward-looking infrared display of the remote turret was their first line of defense through the darkness. Aymond threw out what they’d learned of the invading force from San Diego and their contact with them in Yuma. If they really were chasing a blacked-out enemy patrol and they did have NODs, then he had to assume they would have FLIR capabilities as well. If that was the case, then all they had on their side was surprise. Aymond hoped that would be enough, but hoped even more that Jones had been mistaken.
Wall Tent
After the long ordeal of erecting the tent, from concept to finish, Jessie was exhausted, and she hadn’t even done any of the hard work. After the strong winds and sandstorms they had experienced before on the surface, Jessie made sure Jason and Erin hammered a stake into every available loop and that each of the guy-lines were staked and taut. The last thing she needed now was for her tent to take flight and blow away into the desert.
Erin and Jason were tired but sort of wired; two cases of MREs, a five-gallon plastic jug of water, and two cases of 5.56 joined the single case of 50-caliber rounds for Erin’s rifle inside the tent. All the prepper provisions, the cast-iron cookware, and the rest remained in the FJ. This was all a hunch on Jessie’s part—one she hoped would prove to be untrue. The eastern sky was beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn; Erin convinced Jessie and Jason to wait for dawn. Jessie sat against one of the FJ’s wheels, slowly eating one of the MREs. She found it odd, but the MRE was sort of tasty compared to the food they had been eating from the mess hall. She gave the kitchen crew credit for stretching rations and cooking every day, but the improvising apparently gave way to some blandness. Or Jessie was tired and hungry, which was a winning combination to make a bad meal into the best meal of the day.
Erin sat next to Jason a little further down the hill, in front of the tanks, both of them eating an MRE each for breakfast.
He’s a little old for her. She’s only fifteen, and he’s four years older than she is...so is Bexar, Bexar’s four years older than me.
Tamping down her suppressed high school teacher instincts, Jessie realized that the law prohibiting a relationship between the two of them no longer existed and, in a few years, as they grew older, the difference in age wouldn’t have even batted an eye before the end of the world.
Jessie felt a slight mixture of hope and sadness for Erin; the pickings were sort of slim after the dead started shambling around, but humanity always finds a way. Throughout the known history of civilization, no matter what plague or event befell the weary, they always found a way. Noah had his ark.
Is this our own ark? It’s the damned Fort Apache amongst the native undead is what it is, but my John Wayne isn’t here yet.
Light flashed to the north, the shockwave of an explosion blasting across Jessie and her motley duo of armed teenagers. Jessie stood, looking at the rising fireball. Erin sprinted toward her, climbed on top of the FJ and ripped open her rifle case. Jason stood still, awestruck by the sight.
In the MRAP
“What the fuck was that?”
“You and things blowing the fuck up, mano. Fuck it, go across the lake bed, go now, go!”
Bexar slowed and turned the wheel left, bouncing over uncut desert toward the edge of the lake bed. Reaching the hard surface, he pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor, the turbocharged diesel roaring in response.
Chivo flipped on the communications radio mounted in the MRAP. The electronic display illuminated dimly and he began punching in commands to the keypad on the front. Bexar only glanced at him, a crashed C-130 passing by their window bringing his attention forward. Racing toward the rising fireball, the quickened adrenaline heartbeat of racing to a robbery in progress or a man with a gun call felt like home, those associations being pushed out over the last few months. Bexar’s eyes narrowed; taking a deep breath, he was a man racing to a battle.
MSOT Convoy
“Holy shit, Chief!”
Aymond nodded. Apparently Jones was correct, and they were running behind. The nimble M-ATVs were already racing as fast as they could; the closer they got to the fireball, the closer to the battle, the more careful they would have to be, but until then the trucks kept along at their governed speed, bouncing along the paved road now winding around the mountains. The internal debate about the radar truck in the convoy was one that would have to be decided quickly. If they cached it, they might lose it. There weren�
�t exactly a lot of hiding spots out in the open. If they charged into battle with it, the valuable truck might be a combat loss. It wasn’t armored, and Jones could be KIA as well.
Aymond pressed the transmit button on the handheld team radio he wore. “Jones, in the next two klicks, find a spot to stash the radar truck, get on board with the trail unit, advise when back en route.”
“Roger, Master Guns.”
“Roger, Chief.”
Aymond turned to Kirk. “What do you think, high ground or flank?”
“Flank, Chief.”
“North or south?”
“That fireball is north of the road, so I say south.”
Aymond nodded. “Do it.”
In the MRAP
“Who the fuck was that on the radio?”
Chivo smiled. “I don’t know, but they weren’t fucking speaking Mandarin!”
Amanda unlatched the roof hatch and began to climb up to the turret.
Chivo yelled over the noise, “Lampton, get your ass back in here!”
Amanda looked down at Chivo, who now spoke with a calm, firm voice, “Madam President, why don’t you climb down and take my spot. We have friendlies on the net. Bexar drives, you talk on the radio, and I man the turret.”
It wasn’t a request. Amanda climbed down, Chivo already climbing into the back of the truck yelled forward before climbing into the turret, “Bexar, tell her what you want to say. We’re playing this one fast and loose. I don’t know ... fuck, treat it like a bad cop situation or some shit. Good luck, mano!”
If they had been wearing proper combat gear, they could have plugged in their headsets, but they lacked proper in-vehicle communication.
Bexar glanced at Amanda. “Say what I say: ‘Who are you, and what’s your twenty...location?’”
Amanda held the handset and keyed the radio: “Friendly forces, what is your position?”
After some back and forth on the radio, Amanda turned to Bexar. “They’re Marines!”
“Yeah, I can hear the radio, too, but now what?”
Amanda returned to the radio. After another series of transmissions, she lowered the handset. The Marines knew they were on the lakebed, and they wanted the MRAP to charge straight for the fire.
MSOT Convoy
Aymond frowned. Fucking civilians charging into battle, going to have to save their asses...
The entire team wore the MBITR radios and had heard the radio transmissions; there was a mix of emotions amongst the team in response to the radio traffic. Kirk keyed on the net. “Chief, we’re about a klick behind you, over.”
“Get out on the lakebed, intercept, and assist the civilians to the north; we’re taking the south, over.”
“Roger.”
Still frowning, Aymond press-checked his rifle, slapped the assist a couple of times to make sure the bolt was all the way forward, and spoke over his shoulder, “Talk to me, Gonzo.”
“Shit, Chief, can’t see shit with the FLIR, except the fire. Can’t see anymore because of the buildings.”
Kirk slammed on the brakes, the tires chirping on the tarmac as he turned sharply to race in between what looked like barracks, across the flightline, and into the desert. Gonzo swung the turret as they bounced past the buildings. He yelled, “Got two APCs, about a dozen tangos piling in. Holy shit! Someone just dropped one of the tangos.”
“The civilians?”
“No, I see them, looks like an MRAP; they’re about a klick and a half out and coming fast.”
Aymond keyed the radio. “Two mounted patrols, a dozen combatants visible and bugging out.”
The Tanks
Jessie stood on the roof rack. The last time she had done that was the first day she’d met Sarah and Erin. This time she wasn’t on the wrong end of Erin’s steady aim. Erin had climbed on top of the easternmost tank and lay prone with her rifle. Jason climbed the ladder with the green can of 50-caliber ammunition for her rifle; apparently she thought she would need it.
“Jessie, some truck just hauled ass out into the runways!”
“Shit.”
Jessie nearly leapt off the roof. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she started the FJ, left the lights off, and drove toward the rising sun, straight across the desert, to the taxiway. Turning north, she floored the old FJ and drove toward the hangar until she saw movement to her right.
That’s the truck.
It was large and tracer fire streamed out of the weapon mounted on the roof. Big trucks sat near the hangar and looked like something out of a Chuck Norris movie from the eighties. Trusting her instincts, she turned hard right and raced toward the truck driving across the runways.
The Hangar
The PLA special forces saboteur team’s mission was done. The teams came out of the blast door and into what remained of the hangar after their initial attack. Suddenly taking heavy fire, they piled into the armored personnel carriers, turned and drove north as fast as the heavy trucks would accelerate.
In the MRAP
Amanda excitedly repeated what was broadcast on the radio.
Bexar nodded, concentrating on his task. He saw odd-looking armored trucks driving away from the fire. He was going to tell Amanda to ask Chivo what to do, but the big M2 in the turret opened fire, rattling with controlled bursts. Spent shells dinged against the armored roof, some of them falling into the interior of the MRAP.
It took a moment to realize that the sound he heard was enemy fire hitting the windshield. Lights started coming on in the dashboard; glancing down for a moment, Bexar saw one that looked like a tire pressure warning. The others he didn’t have time to think about as the truck pulled hard right.
Amanda held the radio handset and repeated the Marine’s transmission, yelling, “Friendly coming from our right. He said slow down, the run flats will keep us rolling, and turn off all of your lights.”
Shadows of men piling out of the armored trucks still close to the burning hangar danced across the desert floor as muzzle flashes burst from the running men like strobe lights.
Bexar let off the gas and found the button for the lights, turning all of them off. Looking up, he saw a familiar orange streak coming toward the windshield. Out of instinct, he ripped the wheel to the left as something rocketed past him, barely noticing an explosion behind them in the remaining mirror.
The controlled bursts Chivo was using before gave way to long streams of fire. Chivo yelled at Amanda to bring him ammo. To their right, another dark vehicle appeared, which looked vaguely American, but Bexar wasn’t exactly an expert on military vehicles. The tracer fire was beginning to be hard to see, dawn giving new perspective to the world around them, but the truck that pulled alongside his position streamed high-cyclic death from its turret-mounted weapon.
Chivo stopped firing; Bexar stopped the truck and could hear a voice calling to cease fire over the radio. An SUV shot across the runways toward the ruined armored trucks, the bodies, and the shell of a hangar. The doors were gone, the roof was mostly gone, and most of the hangar was simply gone, burnt, ravaged by the fast and heavy battle; a thick concrete hump in the back was all that was left. Bodies lay in ruin around the armored trucks that they had been attacking, which smoked, each of them badly damaged.
Is that...is that Jack’s FJ? I haven’t seen that since The Basin. The bikers had it; we left it there when Chivo’s crew pulled my unconscious ass out of that firefight.
“Jesus, my God! Jessie, what the fuck are you doing?”
Bexar slammed his foot to the floor. The truck, both front tires flat, was slow to respond, but began to pick up speed. The hangar appeared to be about a half mile away, and Jack’s old Toyota FJ was going to beat him there.
The FJ
Jessie slammed on the brakes, sliding to a stop on the tarmac outside the ruined hangar. The two armored trucks of the attacking force sa
t destroyed; men and pieces of men lay on the tarmac near them. As the SUV stopped, Jessie climbed out of the truck, held her rifle and walked briskly into the remaining shell of the hangar. The blast door was damaged and open.
“Shit. Sarah!”
Behind her one of the dead PLA stood, shakily stepping toward the interior of the destroyed hangar.
The Tanks
Erin cursed under her breath and squeezed the trigger. Jason couldn’t hear anything but the loud ringing in his ears; he was worried that he might not be able to hear again after the massive muzzle blasts of the Barrett rifle being shot in rapid succession. Erin rose up, slapped an empty magazine on the tank, and picked up the fresh one. Jason pulled the rounds out of the green ammo can, each over five inches long. Ten rounds were loaded in the magazine and set next to Erin.
After swapping out magazines again, Erin stopped firing and made very small adjustments back and forth, scanning the scene for more threats. She watched as the truck came to a stop next to the FJ, and four men in uniform, battle gear, and thick beards stepped out of the truck. Concerned, Erin watched as they quickly formed up and cleared the ruined trucks they had all been firing at. Each of the Chinese attackers lay dead for good, their heads ruined by Erin’s sharp skills.
Her ears rang loudly too; looking at Jason, she could see him talking but couldn’t hear him. She pointed to her ear and shook her head. Jason pointed to himself, to his ears, and also shook his head. She switched out the magazine on her 50-caliber rifle with the fully loaded mag that Jason handed her, then gave him a kiss before stepping toward the ladder. As she climbed down, a rifle as long as she was tall smoking in her arms, he loaded the second magazine and quickly followed. They quickly walked toward the hangar. She was worried about her mom but trusted Jessie.
