The Search For Home

by C A Bird

  “Come in,” The president yelled.

  Sergeant Armbruster entered the room and stood ramrod straight in front of the desk. “Mr. President. There is a radio message for you, sir. Colonel Packer would like to talk to you at 1100 hours, our time. I’m to let him know, sir.”

  “Of course, Sergeant. Let him know to call at that time. I haven’t even eaten yet, thanks to those incompetent guards.”

  The sergeant pivoted on his heel and slipped out of the room.

  “Come on, Mr. President, let’s get some breakfast.”

  ***

  Mark leaned on the railing of the upper deck, of Platform Harvest, looking out at the sea and the massive submarine. The sea swelled in rolling waves but there were no whitecaps to disturb the tranquility.

  He was still amazed that the sub existed at all, let alone that it had all but two of its nuclear-armed, Trident missiles left. Footsteps on the staircase brought him around.

  “Good Morning, Mark. I thought I might find you up here, after I found your bunk empty. The ocean is so beautiful isn’t it?”

  “Good Morning. Yes, I could gaze at it for hours. I used to have a great view of it from my front porch in Newport. It’s now the ‘hotspot’ of the west. Where are you from?”

  The captain raised his baseball cap, smoothed his hand backward over his thinning hair and reseated the cap on his head. “Originally from Madison, Wisconsin, but we moved to the Outer Banks of North Carolina when I was a kid. It wasn’t too far from the Naval Base at Norfolk and I fell in love with the Navy. My family was all there.”

  “I’m sorry. This damned war cost us all so much.”

  They stood a while looking out at the ocean. Dombrowski was the first to break the silence. “I’m worried, Mark. I haven’t spoken to my officers about this, but I need to discuss it with someone.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think Colonel Packer may have an agenda. He was thrilled to see us when we first docked at the platform, but he’s been strange lately. I’m sure he’s very relieved we took care of the Chinese threat. Otherwise they would have landed squarely on his shoulders.”

  “Yeah, I heard the president say they’d been talking.”

  “He’s the Commanding Officer of the base but we are equal rank, and I am top dog in my little area of the world. He has no reason to order me around. I’m concerned that there’s something going on. The Louisiana is not on Vandenberg property.”

  “What can he do? You can take your submarine and leave.”

  “He knows I’m loyal to the president and this country. I would like to know what he has up his sleeve.”

  “And I’d like to know the stability of the region before I take my family back to New Mexico. It’s great to know the Chinese threat has ended, but we’d be looking over our shoulder all the time if we thought the government was going to be after us.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to the president and find out what’s going on. Let’s get breakfast and we’ll head to the base. We can talk to Colonel Packer and then set up a call.”

  Mark took one more look at the sea, and then followed the captain below.

  35

  The desert-camo, military carrier sped down the road paralleling the airport runway two miles north of the Vandenberg Command Center. The Air Force technicians had set up communications in the control tower that rivaled those of the mega-antenna at the platform. The signals were better and more stable every day. Colonel Packer and his aid, Major Whittinghall, climbed out of the carrier and mounted the steps to the tower.

  They entered the glass-enclosed space at the top and crossed to the communications equipment that covered a desk on the runway side of the tower. “How’s the signal, Airman? Better than yesterday, I hope. I hate it when I have to ask the president to repeat himself.”

  “Yessir. It seems much better.” The airman looked like a teenager with sandy hair and a bad case of acne.

  “Well, get him on the horn.”

  Packer walked over to the tower window looking out on the airfield. Their recon plane was just landing for refueling. It was worth the gas to get an idea of where survivors were living, and where the radiation made it impossible. In a few weeks, long before they ran short of fuel, he would know where to begin his campaign to conquer the state.

  Lompoc would fall first.

  Once the new recruits were trained and armed it was a foregone conclusion. With hundreds of farm workers, their food supply would be assured, and they could begin to recruit much larger groups of men. They should hit five hundred in two months.

  The only problem he could see was this new guy, Mark Teller. Packer wasn’t sure of his influence on Dombrowski. He was sure the sub captain was loyal, but he wondered what would happen if the president ordered action that the captain was uncomfortable with.

  “Sir, the president is on the line.”

  He hurried to the microphone. “Mr. President. Good to talk to you, sir.”

  “And to you, Colonel Packer. First things first. I have drafted an order to promote you to Brigadier General, as befits your status of Commander of Vandenberg Air Force Base.”

  Packer stood a little taller. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “You deserve it Colonel… sorry… General. Once California is wrapped up, Major General will be the next step. Your aid? Major Whittington, I believe?”

  “Major Whittinghall, sir.”

  “Yes, he is promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. We are currently designing currency and coins, and as soon as we can get airline service across the country, you will begin to be paid for your services. General Ladner is now the Armed Forces Chief of Staff and you will report directly to him, as will the commanding officers of the divisions here and in the South. Captain Dombrowski will report to you until the Navy has a larger presence.”

  Packer was thrilled with the revelation that Dombrowski would report to him, but worried about Richard’s reaction. “Mr. President, we may have a slight problem here. I am sure of Captain Dombrowski’s loyalty, but this Mark Teller who showed up here yesterday may cause some problems. He didn’t seem on board with your plans for rebuilding the country. I understand that you knew him before the war?”

  “Yes, he was on the Civilian Advisory Board. He’s only in his thirties, but he was the CEO of a billion-dollar, aerospace company. He’s extremely capable and would have been a great addition to my staff. But you may be right. His politics might not be in line with what we need. Keep an eye on him and send him back to where he crawled out from as soon as possible.”

  “I will do that, Mr. President.”

  “I have a new mission for Captain Dombrowski and will be talking to him later. I will inform him of your promotion and his place in the chain-of-command.”

  “Captain Dombrowski is not going to like reporting to an Air Force officer.”

  “He will follow my orders, and I will assure him of a re-organization when the Army, Navy and Air Force numbers are greater. We are recruiting as quickly as we can and I will expect you to increase your numbers in the west.”

  “Yes sir. How much leeway do I have to draft civilians?”

  “You have my complete backing and, since we are in a state of Martial Law, the law clearly allows you to do so.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. We will increase our efforts immediately.”

  “Excellent. And we will keep the details of these conversations to ourselves. Am I clear?”

  “Completely, sir.”

  ***

  Neatly coiled ropes and pulleys covered the dock, with fuel barrels stacked three high, thirty feet away from where the dock connected to the concrete walkway. The boat drifted in, past the boat house built at the end, and the second boat that was tied off next to the building. A seaman jumped onto the dock and pulled the boat alongside. Another seaman swung the gate open to allow the captain, Commander Crane, Mark and two ensigns to proceed beyond the supply house to the waiting jeep. The ensigns held back as the two off
icers and Mark climbed into the jeep. Sand dunes covered with coastal scrub, rose north and south of the dock and created a narrow defile leading up to, and crossing, Coast Road. They headed inland toward the Command Center.

  Captain Dombrowski was looking for answers.

  The Command Center was two miles inland and in five minutes the vehicle pulled up in front of the two-story, concrete and glass building. The sun was almost overhead as the captain and commander returned the salutes of the airmen standing guard at the door, and entered the building.

  “Hello, Captain Dombrowski. I’ll tell the General you’re here. Please have a seat, sir.” The staff sergeant turned and disappeared into the hallway.

  Mark looked over at Richard, who looked back with his eyebrows almost disappearing up into his ball cap. Walking over to the captain, he bent his head toward him and whispered, “General?” The captain just shrugged his shoulders.

  They remained standing, and finally took chairs only after waiting for several minutes without the sergeant returning. Mark was getting impatient, and he could see Dombrowski was fidgeting and clearly losing his patience, as well.

  Mark stood up and walked over to one of the walls of photographs, walking slowly, his hands behind his back, as he examined each picture in turn. He recognized one of the men in one photo, standing next to a large civilian rocket. Mark had met Burt Rutan on several occasions. When he and his companions had passed through Mojave and seen the spaceport, Mark had seen a sign for Rutan’s company, Scaled Composites, and wondered what had happened to the aviation pioneer.

  The photograph of the former Commanding Officer of the base was missing and had been replaced with one of a stern looking General Packer.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dombrowski come to his feet and turn to wave Mark over. It had been almost fifteen minutes. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” the captain said. They started for the door when the staff sergeant entered the room and started toward them, his heels clicking on the tile floor.

  “Captain Dombrowski, General Packer would like to apologize, but he’s tied up at the moment. He asked me to tell you that the president would like to talk to you at your Communications Center at 1700 our time. He and Colonel Whittinghall will come out to the platform for an early dinner before the call.”

  “We’ll expect him then,” The captain said brusquely.

  They left the building and climbed into the jeep. Richard was looking around the compound as if he were assessing an enemy installation, noting the number and location of the airmen. Mark glanced up and saw someone at one of the windows. The glare from the sun kept him from being able to see clearly but he thought it looked like General Packer… and he was smiling.

  Crane noticed the captain’s heightened awareness. “What are you thinking, sir?” Crane asked him.

  “I’m thinking this place may not be as friendly as it used to be and we need to get our boys back to the boat.”

  “Two squads are with some of the airmen at the Base Exchange Warehouse. They’re getting supplies.”

  “Let’s get back and I’ll send someone after them.”

  They had climbed back into the jeep with the airman driver, and were quiet the rest of the way to the docks. Once they had arrived at the dock, and were beyond the hearing of the driver, Richard issued instructions to the ensigns who had been waiting for them to return. The men jumped to attention as the captain approached, clearly not expecting them back so soon.

  “Ensign Udall, once you’ve dropped us off at the platform, I need you to go to the sub and tell Mr. Finney to be ready to leave, in case we need to make a hasty exit. Tell him there have been some developments and I will brief him this afternoon.”

  They spent the next thirty minutes getting back to the platform, the sea tossing the boat about as the whitecaps began to kick up in the early afternoon. A pod of dolphins escorted them back to the platform, speeding alongside and leaping out of the water. It lifted Mark’s spirits in spite of his sense of impending doom.

  ***

  When Matthew could tear himself away from the incredible sight of the ocean, he had moved north until he hit the road that led from the docks to the compound he had watched during the night. He quietly slipped across the road and spent an hour making his way to the airfield. The plane returned to the base, landing on the runway and then taxiing to a hangar on the east side of the field, just north of the tower.

  A camouflaged, troop carrier, so old it looked like a Vietnam War leftover, drove up to the tower and two men got out and entered the building. Using his binoculars he saw the men enter the room at the top. Fifteen minutes later they came down, re-entered their vehicle and sped away to the south.

  Brush covered this portion of the base and Matthew was able to find plenty of cover to mask his movements as he headed west for the ocean once again. He couldn’t get enough of the sight of that limitless expanse and the power of the waves crashing to the shore.

  As he approached the beach he saw something to the north and recognized it as some type of rocket. Curiosity overcame him and he detoured north to the rocket, cradled in a massive gantry. He had completely misjudged the size and realized how enormous it was, only when he found it to be twice as far away as he initially thought. It stood on the pad, pointing toward the skies and the worlds beyond.

  A lost hope of mankind.

  Letters on the side, up toward the nose, said, “Space X.” He had heard of her. A private company had developed Space X to take personnel and supplies to the International Space Station, leading to other commercial projects in the future. Private business interests would do what a bankrupt government could no longer accomplish. Now it stood on its pad, poised and ready to, but never again taking off.

  Sadly, he turned and trotted down the coast, making up for the time he lost trying to imagine a return to the world that had hope, and looked to the stars.

  Arriving in the area just north of the docks, he sat on a dune, munching on the sandwich he had stashed in his backpack, and staring out at the ocean. The water crashed on the jagged rocks and swirled in tide pools, and he could see kelp washing back and forth as the water receded. A small breakwater jutted into the surf, redirecting the power of the waves away from the dock area. He would regret having to leave the beach, but he knew his future lay in other areas.

  As he once again approached the area where the docks were hidden behind a wall of sand dunes, he heard an engine in the distance. He quickly made his way through the scrub until he was within twenty yards of the road. A jeep approached from the left, traveling at high speed. As it came over a small bump in the road, Matthew was surprised to see Mark Teller sitting in the back seat along with an Air Force driver and two naval officers. As the car flew by, Matthew could see that Mark didn’t look like he was having a great day. His eyes were narrowed and he was frowning. The jeep disappeared over the edge where the road dropped down to the dock.

  A few minutes later he heard the sound of a motorboat as it pulled away, apparently heading straight out to sea. Through the early afternoon haze, Matthew saw the structures of offshore, oil platforms and knew that one of the rigs must be the boat’s destination. He didn’t think Mark looked like a captive, and the presence of Navy officers led him to believe there must be a ship moored out in the ocean.

  He had no idea it was a fully-functioning, nuclear powered, and nuclear armed submarine.

  ***

  Flies and gnats swarmed around Matthew’s head, as he crawled prone up the dune to his previous hiding spot. It was hot and humid. He slapped at the back of his neck, as a biting insect landed there looking for a meal.

  The atmosphere of the camp had changed ever so slightly. There was an additional guard at the doors leading into the larger building. Men ran across the parade field with a sense of urgency, instead of the leisurely pace of the morning, and a squad of airmen were checking their weapons and adding magazines to the pockets of their camo fatigues. Two trucks pulled into camp from the ea
st, and a dozen Navy men climbed out and were immediately surrounded by armed Air Force personnel. They seemed to be arguing, and an Air Force Master Sergeant pointed toward the west. The Navy Seamen climbed together into one of the trucks and it left for the docks. The other truck drove to the barracks down in front of Matthew and they began to unload supplies, carrying them into the building.

  Something was happening and Matthew thought it somehow had to do with Mark and, quite possibly, with the townspeople of Lompoc.

  He backed down the hill and trotted south to the meeting place with Derek, where he found him, right on time, with Chief’s reins held in his hand.

  “Hi Matthew, How’d it go?”

  “Let’s get back to town and I can brief everyone. I found Mark and he seems fine.”

  He slid the crossbow into the special sheath he’d made for it and the two men, that had spent so much of their time riding together, swung their mounts around and galloped back to Carla and Doug’s place, dismounting on the front lawn and turning the animals over to Mike.

  They entered the house and Matthew sought out Doug, but Lori got to Matthew first.

  “Did you find him? Is he okay?”

  “I saw him in a jeep and he looked okay. He didn’t look like a captive. He and the Navy guys got in a boat and headed out toward the oil rigs. I think the Navy must have a boat out there.”

  “Navy?” Doug said. “We’ve only seen Air Force personnel.”

  “Well, there’s Navy guys too, but it looks like they may be having some kind of a disagreement. An Air Force Sergeant sent the Navy guys packing. The military compound is about two or three miles from the ocean and it looks like they have at least two hundred soldiers, maybe more. I only saw a small portion of the base.”

  “Do you think we’re in any danger?” Doug asked him.

  “I think you might want to get the Council together.”