Nuclear Spring

by Td Barnes

  One of the farmers from Beatty asked, “What about us farmers and ranchers? I imagine an enemy will need our farming and ranching skills to feed them.”

  “Another good point,” Bradley replied. He weighed the thought in his mind for a moment. “That is a damn good point. Say, six months from now, we have crops growing outside the mountain, livestock grazing, and you intended to capture this facility. If you saw it occupied by the military, what would you do?”

  “Neutralize the military without damaging the contents of the facility or infrastructure.”

  “And, if you saw the facility occupied by a group of farmers?”

  “I would round up the farmers to control them for feeding my troops.”

  “We are all wearing military duds. How would they know the difference between civilians and military?” While posed as a question, he made it sound like a suggestion.

  Callahan grasped Bradley’s thoughts. “Does this mean we are going shopping at Sheplers at Sam’s Town?” he asked, referring to a western clothing store at Sam’s Town Hotel and Casino on Boulder Highway in Las Vegas.

  “You tell me, Captain. Do you prefer someone ambushing or rounding up your people? While I have you on the hook, do you think that this accounts for the reconnaissance plane flying the area?”

  “I prefer that we talk about Sheplers Western Wear,” he said laughing. Turning serious, he said, “It requires refueling, which they can do at Nellis AFB or just about any abandoned airport. In any case, I will lay odds the planes being American out of the boneyard at AMARG. The 309th Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Group takes care of more than 4,400 aircraft, which makes it the largest aircraft storage and preservation facility in the world. The question is who is controlling them?

  Bradley mused, “That might account for the lack of communication in that case. Like us, they are not giving away their presence. It was by chance that we picked up their transmission.”

  Thinking their situation through with his people helped him realize and focus on both the cause of the lack of communication and the solution to the problem. He stopped his pacing and took the stance of an instructor facing his class.

  He said in an enlightening tone, “You know—our planes and ships located overseas and escaping the EMP will have taken up at a port or base for resupply or to wait out world events of which they are not certain. Most likely, they do not know what has occurred and are staying put until they know. With the United States out of business, they will be reliant upon their host country for their existence. It has been four years. Both line-of-sight exposure and residual radiation most likely degraded satellite performance after the EMP attack. During the communications blackout, they gave up on communicating with us.”

  Callahan asked, “Doesn’t the US military have a contingency for an EMP event?”

  Bradley laughed. “What military? Years ago, at DIA, we and NSA arranged for China to steal the missile guidance circuitry that they used in their weapons. They did not realize our planting a chip design that contained a digital write hole where we could control the missile. That is how we or I should say the Israelis, controlled the missiles Iran launched at Israel. Well, guess who sold our government, our military electronic components. Yes, good old China. They sold us the circuitry along with just about everything else. At the same time, it was gaining full spectrum dominance and placing the EMP devices in orbit; China ensured the United States and other developed countries becoming vulnerable to an EMP attack. They accomplished this given our dependence on extensive transportation networks and other electricity-driven infrastructures. As they say, WGACA, what goes around comes around. Some days you are the dog and others you are the fireplug.”

  Bradley realized that as he suspected, no one possessed the answers he needed. “Gentlemen, you all know the problem—now we have to get the answers. I think some of the answers might lie at Area 51. I propose we pay a visit to see if we can find what we need.”

  While the others drifted out of the Command Center, meteorologist Charley Mitchell hung back to speak to Bradley in private.

  Mitchell, a soft-spoken, 31-year-old single man earned selection for shelter inside the mountain for his specialized service. No one inside the mountain knew of his being a United States Air Force Special Operations Weather Officer with the Air Force Special Operations Command (AFSOC) at the CIA’s secret Yucca Lake PRV operation. Special operations weathermen, such as he, ranked among the most trained personnel in the US military. Inside the mountain, he never expanded upon his occupation because of the secrecy of where he worked when chosen for the mountain.

  During the entire four years inside the mountain, Meteorologist Charles “Charlie” Mitchell officially met only once when Bradley sought input concerning the nuclear winter, which, of course, Mitchell, cooped up inside a mountain, lacked a clue.

  Charley did not look or act like one envisioned a meteorologist, most known as being on television before the EMP—NBC’s Al Roper, or Dr. Greg Forbes with the Weather Channel. His demeanor more matched that of Oklahoma’s KFOR Mike Morgan or KWTV’s Gary England. “We, we meaning our operations at Yucca Lake and there at the Ranch, did not rely on the WS, weather service. What all WS offers is thermometers, barometer atmospheric pressure readings, a hygrometer for humidity, anemometers, which I think you call whirligigs, and rain gauges. Throw in a Present Weather/Precipitation Identification Sensor to identify falling precipitation, a hydrometer for measuring drop size distribution, transmissometer for measuring visibility, and ceilometer for measuring cloud ceiling, and you have what one can determine by walking outside to look.

  Bradley laughed, his sour mood long past. Commanding something that he could not control made him grouchy, whereas conquering challenges such as this made him happy. It never dawned on him that the problems of his much-criticized nerd world brought out a streak of a nerd about him that he never knew about, and would never own up to. Nonetheless, the dominating streak of leadership traits always kicked in, and it did so now.

  “Colonel, at Area 51 I have a complete weather retrieval system. We required our weather data because of what we flew and where we flew. We did not want any nosy US National Weather Service dude asking why we needed data on weather conditions in the Pacific Rim or over Russia. I also have a global computer model that runs the same variance analysis as that run by the NWS before the EMP. It is filters and data converters that turn garbled gobbledygook into something that makes sense.”

  Humor showed on Bradley’s scarred face. “Charley, you don’t know my background. Garbled gobbledygook is my second language.”

  “Colonel, to answer some of your stated concerns, we need to know where the jet stream is, where it has been, and where it is going next. More, we need to know this about the radiation fallout. How extensive has it been, is now, and will be in the future. We both know that we will re-enter the nuclear winter in which case we need to know when, for how long, and how bad it will be. We must know how long before this window of good weather slams shut on us. Predicting a blizzard is like a woman having sex. She never knows how long it will last or how many inches she will get.”

  Bradley laughed at the one-liner and then said. “We needed this yesterday, and you better be right. You will be going to Area 51 with Captain Callahan on a recon mission.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ####

  Two days later-South Portal

  The cheers of the soldier’s ring through the tunnel. “Listen to that bitch roar,” one of them yelled. The V8 engine of the HMMWV, High-Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle roaring to life brought the sound of an automobile engine last heard four years, ago.

  Preparing the vehicle for use proven to be the easy part. Between it and the portal lay the accumulation of four years of human and animal existence that required clearing out of the way. The residents all pitched in to remove makeshift corrals and move most of the livestock to the corrals outside the portal. These were corrals constructed as holding pens when t
hey first arrived at the mountain. Some of the younger animals experiencing their first time to see the outdoors appeared timid at first but were soon frolicking in the sunlight.

  The engine roar and the soldiers’ cheering spooked the livestock not moved to the outdoor pens. Some of them panicked, requiring farmers, ranchers, and residents working off punishment for various infractions of the rules of the mountain to drop what they were doing to calm them.

  Captain Callahan climbed into the right seat, joining his driver and two sharpshooters sitting in the back seat, all noting how the rumbling of the engine sounded louder being in the confines of the tunnel. Each of them saluted Colonel Bradley, who was watching the driver maneuver the light, mobile, diesel-powered, four-wheel-drive vehicle past him and through the tunnel towards the south portal exit.

  After being parked in storage for four years, having a vehicle roar to life created a significant event for those inside the mountain. Even more significant, this represented the first vehicular recon outside since the bombs.

  Once clear of the portal, the vehicle passed the external infrastructure brought to the mountain 20 years earlier during the boring of the tunnel. Hitting the paved Lathrop Wells Road, the driver raced towards Lathrop Wells where they entered Highway 95 to Beatty.

  The recon did not expect to meet anyone living, but with it safe to be outdoors, the colony residents needed to know the condition of their town. Some of the former residents of Beatty wanted to join the recon, but Bradley refused to allow it for fear of what they might see.

  At the road junction, the recon turned north, sparing them having to travel through the small settlement of Lathrop Wells, which, from a distance, looked like a war zone of burned out buildings and wrecked vehicles.

  Twenty-five minutes later, the recon saw their first stranded vehicles and bleached bones of their occupants. The number of automobiles and caresses increased the closer they came to the town.

  Like Lathrop Wells, the town of Beatty resembled a bomb-ravaged town in a war zone. Homes, the school, and many of the businesses stood as burned out hulls with broken windows and doors smashed in of any buildings still standing. Thousands of vehicles sat where they stopped when they could go no further for lack of gasoline and in many cases, parts to make repairs to vehicles old enough to be classics. Bleached bones of humans and animals alike lay everywhere. They saw no sign of life, not even insects.

  Twenty minutes after arriving in the town, Captain Callahan seen enough and ordered the driver to return to the mountain where the recon found the livestock placed back inside the mountain, but now leaving room for their vehicle just inside the entrance. His only comment about the recon was thankfulness for sparing the former residents seeing what remained of their town.

  Meanwhile, at the motor pool alcove, the military continued restoring the entire fleet of vehicles for duty. The smell of diesel exhaust spread throughout the tunnel., it lacked the deadly carbon monoxide of gasoline engines.

  The following day, Captain Callahan embarked on a second recon, this time to the infamous Area 51 and with three vehicles instead of one. Captain Callahan, his driver, and the same two sharpshooters on the Beatty recon occupied the first vehicle. Two sharpshooters likewise accompanied each of the other vehicles along with a driver, and Ivan Jensen, Ph.D., a nuclear scientist in one. James Hains, Ph.D., a member of a former Homeland Security cyber-warfare unit rode in the other. Again, Colonel Bradley saw to the recon team's departure, saluting each of them as they passed while wishing he could accompany them.

  This mission was Bradley’s first direct relationship with either of the two intellectuals. Jensen, a 36-year old, overweight man of German descent possessed a great sense of humor. The younger residents showing interest in becoming engineers liked him. Hains, a slender, six foot one man, balding forehead, lacked popularity because of his bashfulness.

  Bradley chose to walk the five miles through the tunnel back to his Command Center near the north portal. Sarge entertained him most of the walk by chasing away any cat roaming the tunnel to keep down the rodent population or guinea hens doing the same with insects.

  He stopped at the mess hall area and filled a cup of coffee to take to the Command Center, using a regular Army coffee mug rather than his personalized coffee mug that lay on his desk. Early in their stay inside the mountain, the mess hall personnel, continually having to retrieve coffee cups from the colonel’s office, presented him with his coffee mug that they went out of their way to clean and fill anytime he brought it with him to the mess.

  Bradley was standing before the TO&E chart when Lt. Col. Raymond Schwartz, the S-2, stuck his head in the entrance. “Sir, I have the list of possible regions that we anticipate escaped unscathed from the EMP attack and nuclear winter.”

  Bradley waved him in. “Let’s see what you have.”

  Schwartz rolled a large world map out on Bradley’s desk. Multi-colored stick-on notes covered the map.

  “Sir, we feel there are several regions just like us here that escaped physical damage but endured the destruction of their military assets. We are concentrating only on countries, possessing military capabilities that could be detrimental to us.”

  “Understood. Tell me, Colonel; what you suppose is the status of all the submarines and ships at sea that escaped damage from all of this. We know that the United States and many other navies carriers, battleships, submarines, and such that escaped damage. Why haven’t we heard from any of them?”

  Colonel Schwartz too stared at the chart for a moment before replying. “Regarding contact, I’d say it is because of the atmospheric interference that caused us to lose all communications at first. The ships most likely sought harbor in a port somewhere to replenish their water, food, fuel, and supplies. The question is where they are and what their status is now. Sir, I don’t have a clue.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “Good morning, sirs,” SMG Marshall said as he entered. “I see the recon got underway.” MSGT Barry Marshall replaced MSGT Jack Weston as Sergeant Major after MSGT Jack Weston, formerly with the Nevada National Guard’s 422d Signal Battalion, died after suffering a cerebral hemorrhage, a rupture of an aneurysm. Thus far, the sergeant major was the only death at the mountain. Marshall, a career soldier, slender built, and bald-headed identified Billings, Montana as home.

  “Yes, they did. I only wish I could be the one riding shotgun.”

  “And, me driving or holding a machine gun,” Marshall added.

  “Colonel Schwartz and I are discussing our potential enemies. Look at this board. Do you realize that 15 percent of our female soldiers are in combat positions?”

  “Yes, sir. Obama and Congress allowed women in the fighting.”

  “Well, we are undoing that. I value our women as combat soldiers, but under our circumstances, I appreciate them more like mothers. Prepare a Special Order for my signature stating that henceforth no female capable of bearing children will serve in a combat role. They will maintain their combat skills, but not be needlessly exposed.”

  “Some will squawk—your daughter included.”

  “Ok. Add language to the order that any female past the age of 40 may serve in a combat MOS.”

  “Wimp,” the sergeant said.

  Bradley joked back. “I learned long ago to pick my battles,”

  “Speaking of my daughter—see if you can round her and my son-in-law up. I need to drain their brains. You and the XO should sit in on this,” he said as an afterthought. He put his forefingers together over his mouth as he thought. “Have the S-2 join us as well. This will be a classified meeting. Captain Callahan is on recon. I’ll brief him later.”

  The Sergeant Major stared at Bradley a second in surprise at the thought of there being a classified meeting. Until now, there were no secrets inside the mountain other than privacy matters. “Yes, sir. I’ll post a guard at the entrance to keep everyone out.”

  Bradley’s desk in the Command Center sat near the radio room so he could monitor e
fforts to any communications from the outside world. For the meeting, he moved to Lt. Col. Barlow’s desk so the radio operators could not hear their conversation. Colonels Barlow and Schwartz, the Sergeant Major, his daughter, and Bronson grabbed fold up chairs to form a close semicircle around him.

  “At DIA, I never allowed pen and pencil in a classified meeting, and the same applies now. No one pays attention to a document if we do not stamp it as classified. This session is the highest security classification—call it what you wish.”

  The group nodded concurrence but said nothing.

  “Sergeant Major, what would you do if you knew of a grizzly bear hanging out next door?”

  “I’d stay the hell away.”

  “Why?”

  All heads turned to Marshall awaiting his answer.

  Marshall looked puzzled at the colonel. “Because the damn thing would eat me.”

  Bradley confirmed acceptance of the answer with a single nod of his head. “. Outside the mountain, we will be almost defenseless against a new aggressor. None of you know it except Sammie and Ray, but we have two grizzly bears hidden here inside the mountain. We deployed a recon this morning to scout the area before dispatching a recovery team to bring back additional weapons and needed supplies. In any case, to survive on the outside, we need a deterrent and need it known to anyone thinking of screwing with us. I am code naming this weapon system the Grizzly and classifying its existence because we do not want anyone to know it, hope even if we use it. If our enemies suspect that we have something lethal, they will leave us alone. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Only one problem. If they learn that we are sending the soldiers of Allah to meet their virgins, they may just keep right on coming.”