“How the hell did that happen?” Horn muttered.
“I guess command thinks since we don’t have issues with tunneling Variants we’re safer than other outposts.”
“Yeah, but those bats might be worse,” Horn said. “Plus, we got sleeper cells wreaking havoc inside our borders. Tunneling Variants aren’t the only damn issue we should be worried about!”
“All I know is that I’m staying put until command says otherwise,” Niven replied.
“How about you two?” Ruckley asked. “What’s your next move?”
“We’re going to bury our friends on Peaks Island and then return to command,” Beckham said.
“We’ll see if we can get you some extra support,” Horn said.
“The Iron Hogs are grateful for whatever we can get,” Niven said. “I’ll get a bird ready for you after you’re finished with the burial.”
“Sir, permission to accompany them to Peaks Island,” Ruckley said.
Niven paused, seeming to think on it.
“It won’t take long, sir,” Ruckley said. “They’ll need some help. And besides, it’s the least we can do.”
“Approved, Sergeant, but make it fast, okay?” Niven said.
“Yes, sir,” Ruckley said.
“Thank you,” Beckham said.
“I’ll meet you in the staging area,” Ruckley said. “Give me ten minutes.”
“I’m very sorry about your friends,” Niven said.
“Me too,” Beckham said. He walked away with Horn while Ruckley made a call over to the morgue requesting Bo and Donna’s bodies be prepared for their arrival.
“You want to call Kate about Bo and Donna?” Horn asked.
“I don’t want to give her the bad news until I can do it in person. Besides, she’s got so much on her plate already, and Niven already informed SOCOM last night we’re okay.”
“Good point…” Horn wagged his head. “Man, Tasha is going to be a wreck when she hears about Timothy. I promised her I would…”
Beckham put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
On their walk to the staging area between Woodbury Campus Center and Masterton Hall, a line of military transport trucks passed by. The beds were filled with equipment and soldiers. Many of them looked no older than Timothy had been.
The staging area, too, was a flurry of activity between stacks of shipping containers. Militia and soldiers listened to orders from their leads. People in civilian clothing lined up, too, joining the call to arms after witnessing yesterday’s events.
“Jesus, that kid looks like he’s ten,” Beckham said nodding toward one.
The cost of the war was never more evident. While he and Horn had saved Tasha and Jenny from the fighting, Bo had lost his life and Timothy had almost certainly lost his against the collaborators and Variants. Now kids younger than eighteen were joining up to fight.
That was something Ringgold had fought so hard against. And now they had no other choice as those men and women of fighting age perished in the Variants’ attack.
Ruckley showed up with a truck a few minutes later. Two body bags were in the bed, along with shovels.
They took the truck to the shoreline where a speedboat was tethered to a dock. Four soldiers standing guard ran over to help them unload the body bags and joined them in the boat.
The ride to Peaks Island was quiet. Horn and Beckham watched the horizon in a trance. They had both dreamed of returning home, but doing so like this was more nightmare than dream.
The island loomed ahead of them, and Ruckley looked back from the wheel.
“Which way?” she called out over the motor.
Horn pointed toward the shoreline where they had all lived. The boat curved over the water, thumping against the waves.
Beckham’s heart accelerated with the engine when he saw his home.
Or at least what was left of it.
Charred skeletal boards and a brick foundation were all that remained.
Beckham grabbed handholds on the gunwale as he climbed toward the bow for a better view. The boat passed houses on the shore, none of which had been hit. The only destroyed home was the one Beckham had shared with his family. He was too upset to consider the implications.
“Damn, boss,” Horn said.
“Is that your house, Captain?” Ruckley asked as they pulled up to the dock.
“It is… was my house,” Beckham said.
The four soldier escorts jumped out and tied the boat off on the dock’s pilings. Then they got the body bags out and hauled them to the shore with Horn and Beckham.
“Where to?” one of the soldiers asked.
“This way,” Beckham said, leading them to the tree where a stone marked Apollo’s grave and the grave of his female companion. The branches creaked in the breeze, saved, thankfully, from the flames.
“Here is good,” Beckham said.
Ruckley instructed the four soldiers to start digging with her while Beckham trudged over to look at the remains of his house.
“I’m so sorry, man,” Horn said.
Beckham stopped just outside where the back door had been. A metal picture frame had melted on the remains of a metal bedside table, the picture erased into ash.
They walked around the crumbled side of the house together to the front when Horn suddenly halted.
“FUCK!” Horn yelled.
The soldiers all came running, shovels discarded, and rifles shouldered.
“What? What’s wrong?” Ruckley said.
Horn stared across the street at the remains of the house where he had raised Tasha and Jenny for the past eight years.
For a moment no one said anything, but realization hit Beckham when he scanned the rest of the road. The other houses on the block were spared from the explosions and flames.
“This isn’t a coincidence,” Ruckley said.
“We were targeted,” Beckham said.
Beckham thought back to the collaborator in Boston that knew his name, and then the attack on the lab that nearly killed Kate.
There was no doubt in his mind now.
“Someone in Portland is compromised,” Beckham said. “And this was a message.”
“Why not just shoot us?” Horn growled. “Least then I could see the slimy fuck’s face and fight back.”
Beckham grabbed his rifle, a chill running up his spine. The other soldiers raised their weapons again, slowly turning.
“It’s not safe here,” Ruckley said.
“Fuck this, I’m going to skin the little prick alive,” Horn said. “Or pricks. Hell, I’ll take on an entire fucking ARMY!”
“Calm down,” Beckham said.
Horn kicked a burned board.
“This is our goddamn home, boss,” he said. “They killed our friends, destroyed our houses. They’re after our whole damn country. I want to find the motherfuckers and kill them all.”
Ruckley spat on the ground. “You’re welcome to stay here and help me find them.”
Beckham tried to bite back his own fury. Revenge could wait. There were more important matters at hand.
“First we bury our friends so they can rest in peace,” he said.
***
Hours ago Fischer had left El Paso, Texas. He and his men had left Sergeant Sharp behind with Lieutenant Riggs to guard the seismic detection trucks. Sharp would then oversee the deployment of a seismic detection truck near Outpost Galveston. But what they needed now was a way to deploy this technology across the Allied States.
Cornelius had requested Fischer to come to Outpost Manchester in New Hampshire to focus on a new mission implementing seismic detection defenses.
Fischer wasn’t sure yet how they were going to do it with limited manpower, and the equipment they had scrounged up wasn’t enough for more than a few outposts. The trucks were already being deployed, but simply couldn’t cover the ground they needed to adequately defend the Allied States.
Apparently, Cornelius had something else in mind for Manchester.
/> The town had once been a mill town bisected by the Merrimack River and later evolved into a center for high-tech startups and niche businesses. The place appeared to Fischer as if it was on the next stage of its life, currently occupied and defended by a combination of General Cornelius’ army and the Allied States’ military.
At Cornelius’ behest, Fischer had gone with Chase and Tran to an office building overlooking the Merrimack for a meeting and call with the president. He entered a conference room with his two guards.
“Mr. Fischer, it’s good to see you again.” General Cornelius said. He was polite but he remained seated behind a long mahogany table, a laptop resting in front of him. Not rising was a reminder who was in charge here.
Four officers wearing the Orca badge and blue armband of his private army also remained seated in brown leather chairs. Three empty fabric-covered chairs stood nearby, looking out of place. Fischer shook hands with Cornelius across the table and then took a seat with Tran and Chase.
“You all outperformed my expectations in El Paso,” Cornelius said. “We’ll deploy this strategy across the Allied States as soon as possible. Hopefully this will buy us the time to destroy the brains of the Variant network. But unfortunately we are running out of time.”
“Some outposts have already ran out,” Fischer said. “I heard we lost eight last night.”
“Actually, ten,” Cornelius said.
Tran and Chase exchanged a look but Fischer remained stern-faced. The losses were hard to stomach, but he couldn’t let himself dwell on them. They had to focus on preventing further damage.
“Our enemies unleashed a new weapon,” Cornelius added. “Somehow, they rigged bats with explosives and set the damn things loose on Outpost Portland.”
“Good God,” Fischer said, unable to contain himself.
“We thought by moving to places like Manchester we would be safe from the tunneling Variants, but the bats have added another threat into the mix,” Cornelius said. “Fortunately, we have a secret weapon of our own.”
Fischer leaned forward, curious.
“SOCOM is helping organize the evacuation and defense of strategic bases around the Allied States, and we’ve been asked to help with Manchester’s defenses,” Cornelius said. “This city was once the site of advanced biotechnological research. It will make a perfect research space for Dr. Lovato and her team.”
“Research space for what, exactly?”
“As we speak, teams are working to capture a mastermind and bring it here for the scientists to study.”
Chase laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
Cornelius didn’t laugh.
“Wait, you’re really not joking?” Chase asked.
“Not at all,” said the general. “They have the beast surrounded right now.”
Fischer stroked his mustache nervously. Then realized what he was doing and stopped. “What in the Sam Hill are they thinking bringing one of those creatures here?”
“The scientists think it will allow us to tap into the Variant communications network. Needless to say, we have reason to believe the Variants are going to want it back. It’s up to us to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
Cornelius rotated his wrist to check his watch.
“It’s about time to call President Ringgold.” He turned to one of the officers next to him, who in turn used a satellite phone.
“What I’ve been investigating will provide us unparalleled defenses in Manchester and the rest of the country,” Cornelius said. “Better than the trucks you used in El Paso.”
Fischer was anxious to hear what that might be when a voice came over the phone’s speaker.
“President Ringgold here.”
“Madam President, this is General Cornelius. I have S.M. Fischer with me in Manchester.”
“Hello, gentleman, I’m with Vice President Lemke, General Souza and Lieutenant Festa.”
“Before I begin, I just want to express my sympathy for everyone and everything we lost last night,” Cornelius said.
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Thank you, and frankly, we’re running out of time to save everyone else,” Ringgold said.
Fischer thought he detected Ringgold’s voice shaking slightly. He had once thought that she was a coward running off to a ship, far from land, but he knew she cared deeply for the people of this country.
“I’ll get right to it,” Cornelius said. “Mr. Fischer has proved seismic detection allows us to accurately detect and locate Variant tunneling activities in El Paso. I’ve identified a location with technology even more advanced than what Mr. Fischer used. When I was involved with the Department of Defense, one project I encountered consisted of advanced detection systems for tsunami and earthquake activity.”
General Souza came back on the line. “I vaguely remember that. Wasn’t that one of the DARPA-funded environmental warfare projects near Stanford?”
“Yes, it was called Project Rolling Stone. Researchers at the National Accelerator Laboratories were devising a system to detect seismic aberrations that might lead to a catastrophic environmental event. But that wasn’t the only use they saw fit for this program.”
Fischer raised a brow, intrigued by where this was going.
“North Korea has a long history of attempting to tunnel under the Demilitarized Zone,” Cornelius explained. “South Korea needed something to detect those tunnels before they hit Seoul, and they reached out to us. Hence Project Rolling Stone took on a new goal.”
“Pardon me, but if this project already exists, what did you need the vibroseis equipment for in El Paso?” Fischer asked.
Cornelius gave Fischer a knowing nod.
“The answer is two-fold. First, the technology developed in Project Rolling Stone is still out in California, deep in the heart of Variant-controlled territory. Second, if I was going to even suggest we consider retrieving it, we needed to show that seismic detection and location works.”
“We don’t have nearly enough of those vibroseis trucks for every outpost. How will we guarantee there’s enough of this Project Rolling Stone equipment? And even if we have the equipment, how do we find the people to help run it?” Ringgold asked.
“When I retired, we had enough equipment to deploy all over the DMZ, plus surplus to detect environmental seismic events across the Pacific Northwest,” Cornelius replied.
Fischer was impressed with the idea so far and listened anxiously.
“We can deploy this new technology in Manchester as soon as it arrives with Mr. Fischer’s help, but in the meantime we will deploy the few vibroseis trucks we have at outposts they are needed the most,” Cornelius said. “Then we’ll roll out these Rolling Stone technologies to outposts all around the country.”
“General,” said a new voice. “This is Lieutenant Festa. France has sent us 100 consultants—engineers, soldiers, and more—with experience finding and fighting the monsters that dug through the ground in Europe. I believe that should help with the manpower issue.”
“Then we have the people and enough equipment to cover far more ground than the vibroseis truck setups we used last night,” Cornelius said. “One Seismic Detection System—or SDS—from Project Rolling Stone can cover a radius of approximately 200 to 500 square miles depending on geological factors. In other words, it will be more than enough for the outposts you decide to…”
“To save,” Souza cut in. “We’re abandoning outposts in the Midwest and continuing to pull people back east.”
Festa spoke up again. “That’s great that we might be able to scrounge up this equipment, but our aircraft are at their limits of use right now. What exactly does this SDS stuff look like? Is it hard to transport?”
Cornelius unfolded the laptop in front of him. “I’m sending you schematics of what this is so you know what to expect. Goes without saying, this was a highly classified project beforehand, and I think we need to keep this intel amongst ourselves for the time being.”
Th
e general twisted the laptop enough so that Fischer could get a look at the images on the screen. On it, Fischer saw an array of metal-encased sensors, all of which looked similar to the small coin-sized sensors civil engineers used on bridges to detect stability issues and potential damage from traffic and floods. Each sensor could easily fit in the palm of his hand.
“As you can see, the sensors are quite small. It’s no problem to scatter these around an outpost.” Cornelius opened another image. “This is our signal processing unit.”
A backpack-sized metallic device with a computer screen and an array of antenna came on the screen.
“Remember, these were only meant to be passive detection systems—not active like the equipment we used in El Paso,” Cornelius said. “All they’ve got to do is receive even the most minute of signals from tunneling activity, and you can get an accurate read on any tunnel-making. Like I said, perfect for the DMZ between North and South Korea.”
“That certainly exceeds my expectations if it works how you promised,” Fischer said.
“Me, too,” Ringgold said. “This sounds like something we can’t pass up. Let’s get it done.”
“It’s not that easy,” Cornelius replied.
“Tell me what you need.”
“My troops are made up of mercenaries, retired soldiers, and a lot of brave men and women, but these are not Special Op soldiers, and that’s what I need to help locate the tech before our people can get it out of there.”
Hushed chatter came over the other line.
“Anything could have happened to the SDS equipment since I last heard about it. The facility may have been inadvertently destroyed in the bombing campaigns in the war or marauders may have sacked the National Accelerator Labs,” Cornelius said. “We need a team with the experience of working behind enemy lines.”
“I know of just the one,” Ringgold said. “Unfortunately, they’re busy trying to secure a mastermind.”
“A mission to locate and retrieve this technology is imperative to protect the mastermind while the scientists research it,” Cornelius replied. “This location is one of the hardest to get at, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done if the Variants try.”
Extinction Cycle: Dark Age Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 48
