Nuclear Spring

by Td Barnes

  This, however, complicated matters as the secret special projects required restricted access while the functions the Command Center as a CP or command post were open to everyone. This created a situation of mixing guns with administrative duties, so he and Barlow decided to move the Command Center to a public access alcove and make the former Command Center a War Room manned by Special Projects.

  He accepted the responsibility of vetting the War Room personnel for possession of classified information and activities. He included military personnel assigned to the War Room on a TDY basis, which removed them from Barlow’s chain of command that focused on nation rebuilding. Current military staff and Major Callahan remained under Barlow’s command, leaving Bradley’s War Room for security and intelligence.

  Bradley prided his personnel possessing abundant ideas—his always managing to surround himself with personnel having a ferocious capacity for hard work, and a streak of stubbornness when it came to going with the flow.

  When he stepped into his engineering mode, he accepted ex parte opinions and dismissed military rank protocol that prohibited the fulfilling of scientific curiosity and engineering talents., he enjoyed a productive exchange of ideas with subordinates who learned to recognize the invisible line distinguishing a challenging debate from military insubordination.

  His staff enjoyed the reputation of being mavericks in his likeness when it came to working on the ragged edge of knowledge, technology, and experience. The four chosen for radio operations possessed these qualities. Bradley requested SP5 Dawson as his administrative assistant. He wanted someone already with four years of controlling him from himself as the Sergeant Major used to do.

  With it crowded, but for security purposes, Bradley chose the radio room for Project Nerd. He situated Charley Mitchell’s weather equipment in the central part of the War Room where his desk once sat and moved his desk to where the XO’ desk used to be.

  Dr. Hains entered the Command Center in time to hear Bradley talking to someone in the radio room. He entered and found Bradley with his feet propped up on a console, his ever-present coffee mug in hand, and visiting with SP5 Charlene Dawson at the radios.

  “Hi, Doc. Grab a chair. Sparks and I are exchanging war stories.

  “Colonel Bradley is telling me about oblique surveillance.”

  “Now, that is something that I want to hear. I always felt the Carnivore, and Echelon programs helped spark a surge in electronic privacy awareness.” He rolled a desk chair closer and sat down to join in the conversation.

  She asked, “Hungry, Doctor Hains?” She split in half and extended to Hains half of a HOOAH bar, an energy candy bar that came with their MREs.

  “Thanks.” He took a bite and leaned back before commenting on the subject.

  “You are right. A decade later, the media discovered PRISM, which catalyzed renewed concern about the activities of our intelligence agencies. Were you part of that, Colonel?”

  Bradley flashed him a look and chuckled. “Guilty as charged, Doctor.”

  Hains failed to hide his surprise at Bradley’s answer. “Colonel, I spent four years with you in the tunnel, and not once did I ever have a chat with you. Only since you organized our cyber-warfare group did I know of your past in DIA.”

  “Need-to-know, doctor. No one a need-to-know.”

  Hains laughed. “And, all this time I thought you were just an Army colonel.”

  Bradley chuckled. “And, all this time I assumed you are one of the Ph.D.’s who couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”

  “Tushay,” Hains laughed.

  Sparks, showing a bit of physical discomfort because of her pregnancy, laughed the loudest, thinking back to the number of times her boss said this about the VIPs under his care. She motioned her 2-year old son to approach and wiped his nose before sending him back to play with Sarge. Sarge, not in the mood to play, nonetheless tolerated the boy.

  Bradley put his feet down and leaned forward to turn the squelch knob on the radio in front of him until he broke squelch. Tuning the sound out, he returned to his relaxed position.

  He saw Sparks smile to herself at what he had just done. “Habit, Sparks. Think of all the years that you and the others spent on the mics seeking any radio that would answer. Now we don’t dare make a sound for fear of who might hear us.”

  “Sir, I’ll never forget our talking to Omaha and the others with them giving us a moment by moment countdown on arrival of the bombs headed their way. I think the worse part involved the guys pinned down in the Mesa at Area 12 on the National Nevada Security Site. I cannot imagine living in a tunnel for two years with nothing but MREs and water stored for 20 years. I wonder how many survived besides us.

  “I’m sure that some did. Perhaps the guys are maintaining radio silence for the same reason that we are.”

  Bradley paused in thought. “Sparks, maybe that tells us something. The United States may be under invasion, and we don’t even know it.”

  The three of them mulled the thought in silence for a moment while digesting the implications. Out of habit, Bradley glanced at the outside radiation count displayed on a digital readout mounted on the wall.

  “Doctor, I am bringing Sparks up to speed on our now seeking satellite traffic in addition to the radios. I explained oblique surveillance to Sparks and that now as the focus of Project Nerd. You can explain it better than I can.”

  “I’ll try. We’re hoping to find some satellites in use for communication, but to keep it simple, we are starting with seeking Internet networks that might have survived the EMP. To locate satellites connected to the Internet, we are looking for email providers, search engines, social networks, and telecoms, places where information accumulates on its own.”

  Sparks frowned. “Doctor Hains, are you saying that there is still an Internet?” By the tone of her voice, she felt dubious about this being the case.

  Bradley, early in his intelligence career would have thought the same. He chuckled reassuringly and answered before the doctor could reply. “The more techno-advanced nations proved to be more vulnerable to the EMP attack. It took out the Internet here, but the Internet is like a condom machine in the Vatican. It is amazingly redundant.”

  “But, not quite the same kind of redundancy,” Hains said, joining in Bradley’s naughty humor. “Nonetheless, it is redundant. If a network link goes down, the packets route through other links. It is a self-healing network, meaning that the EMP must knock out multiple intercontinental network links to cause severe disruption. Furthermore, it has plenty of redundant channels that are most likely still functioning. We first find them and then figure how to hack them for the information we need to learn our adversaries’ intentions.”

  Hains could tell that Sparks remained confused. “Do you know the difference between the Internet and the Wide World Web?”

  “Are they not the same?”

  “No. The Internet started after the Soviets launched the Sputnik satellite. President Eisenhower began the Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA) to increase US technological advancements. The Internet began in 1969 by connecting two computers on the first ARPANET network. Hypertext transfer protocol, HTTP developed in 1990 is the backbone of the World Wide Web. The Internet is the physical connection, but the World Wide Web is what gets you tapped in. The Internet and the World Wide Web are firmly intertwined, but not synonymous., the Internet is a network of networks, and the World Wide Web is the system we use to access it.

  Bradley noted Hain’s nerds proceeding to the entrance of the guard station. He stood to indicate the chat being over and headed to the back of the radio alcove where Hain’s team set up their computers, servers, and specialized equipment to seek an operating satellite.

  Their section of the alcove already mimicked the symmetry of Bradley’s work area here, and when at DIA. Technical books, schematics, handwritten notes, and drawings lay strewed on any conceivable surface area. Electronic chassis, circuit boards, and connecting cables identified this
being work in process.

  The nerd team plunged into their work while Hains updated Bradley on their progress towards locating mirror servers and establishing the hierarchical map of DNS.

  Bradley walked around the room, looking at the various equipment and activities while listening to Hains. “I see you are sniffing for satellite Internet. That is good. Your best bet will be geosynchronous satellites aimed at Europe, Africa, and South America using cryptography. I do not think the EMP could have jammed the stationary communications satellites operating at an altitude of 36,000 kilometers. Most of them have anti-jamming technologies like frequency hopping and DSSS (Direct Sequence Spread Spectrum) on the sending and receiving end.

  Bradley wanted to roll up his sleeves and join in the search for an operational satellite but resisted the impulse that he knew would disrupt the work in process. He said, “Let me know when you have something.”

  Doctor sensed the colonel stepping out of his engineering mode and becoming a colonel again. “Yes, sir.”

  Bradley left the radio room and stepped back into the War Room wishing to assist Mitchell as needed in setting up his equipment. This was going to be the most challenging system to interface inside the mountain of them all because of it requiring what Bradley referred to as twirling whirligigs outside the mountain. Finding nothing to do here to help, he headed to the CP.

  Walking down the tunnel gave him time to think. His mind became so deep in thought that he walked through a group of Guinea hens feeding off scraps given them by some children. “Sorry, kids,” he said when he realized what he did.

  He thought, “This not knowing what was going on in the rest of the world is driving me nuts.” “What am I missing? Should we be preparing for another attack on the mountain? How do we prepare for an assault?”

  He headed for the Command Post with these questions on his mind.

  Caught off guard by the colonel marching unexpectedly into the CP, the first sergeant, and another NCO sprang to attention.

  Bradley barked, sounding like a harsh whisper, “Where is Major Callahan?”

  “He is at the clinic, sir. Specialist Johnson checked in with a broken hand, and the colonel went to check on him.”

  “Thank you, Top,” Bradley replied. He whirled around and marched out the door.

  He entered the clinic where he showed surprise at seeing both Callahan and Stacey in the waiting room. “Major,” he said with a nod of his head to acknowledge him. He turned to Stacey. “I thought you were out with the cattle. How is Specialist Johnson doing?

  She smiled. “Johnnie boy is doing fine.” “She looked at Bradley with a raised eyebrow to question the purpose of his visit.

  Major Callahan being in the clinic and not with the detail preparing to enter Las Vegas surprised him. “Got a minute, Major?”

  “Something wrong, sir?” Callahan asked once they stepped outside the clinic.

  “No, nothing other than a lack of confidence in my nerds being able to locate ET. This not knowing what is lurking over the hill drives me nuts.”

  “It does me as well. I just hope we do not find out with our shopping expedition. I wish I could go.”

  “I know the feeling, Lane. There are days when I would love to be a sergeant again so I could continue the boondoggles such as this.”

  “You are a Mustang?” Callahan asked in surprise.

  “Yep. I thought you knew. I attended OCS at Benning. I was an E-5 before that. Have you selected who is going on your expedition?”

  “Yes, sir. I am sending two JLTVs and eight men. One will have a gun turret. I anticipate finding usable trucks at Nellis or at the National Guard armory to haul back any booty.”

  Bradley glanced at the clear sky display on the monitor screen. “Radiation level and the weather appear to be holding,” he said. Caution them to keep an eye out for radiation hot spots and a change in the weather. If they leave early, they should be back by nightfall.”

  “Yes, sir. They are going into some areas where I’ve cautioned them about zombies,” Callahan said, the latter in a joking manner. “The recon will depart tomorrow at 0400 hours, sir if you want to see them off.”

  “The zombie comment might not be a joke,” Bradley said. “I expect there may be survivors, and if so, they will be worse than a zombie to have survived.”

  “They know, sir.”

  Bradley realized that he was a pain in the ass and that it was all about his lack of intelligence for who was snooping on the region. “Were they a target?” He drifted back to the War Room where he paused to take in his people acting excited about something good that happened. The indication of something good dumped his bad mood.

  “Colonel, we’ve intercepted an analog facsimile. I suspect it is a weather satellite. We are waiting for Mitchell to return and tell us what it is and how we can use it.”

  “Outstanding, Doctor Hains, outstanding everyone,” Bradley whispered. “Let me see what you have.”

  He confirmed them having received an extraterrestrial signal and not one generated on the planet. After that, he sat looking at the monitoring oscilloscope while waiting for the arrival of the meteorologist while Hains and the others resumed working on their projects.

  Afterwards, Mitchell walked in to find Hains and Bradley waiting for him. Hains led him to the computer screen receiving the signal where Hain’s technician moved aside for them to see the screen. “We are receiving this from the high orbit. It is a continuous analog facsimile. Because it is continuous, we suspect it is GPS or weather.”

  Charley became visually excited at the steady signal displayed on the computer monitor. “What are you using to receive this? How did you locate it?

  Hains looked shrewdly at Mitchell. “We have different tradecraft,” he said mysteriously to indicate his as being a covert trade. “We found it. If it is weather, can you skin it?”

  “Now you are in my tradecraft, Doctor,” Mitchell jabbed back. “I need the coordinates of the source.”

  Bradley listened, staying out of their petty establishing their turf. Seeing a stalemate, he addressed Doctor Hinds, but in dealing with the entire team. “Doctor, provide Charley what he needs to run with this and get everyone back on target. I want to know some who and what.”

  He turned to face Mitchell. “Charley, this is your project. Keep me informed of everything—I mean everything—good, bad, or indifferent. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir. I hope to be operational tomorrow.”

  ####

  Chapter 3-Recon to Las Vegas

  Bradley stood aside, watching while Major

  Callahan and SFC Dan Stratton, the squad leader, checked the combat-equipped recon team for dosimeters, film badges, first aid kits, weapons, food, water, and radio in each vehicle for use in an extreme emergency. The early morning preparations brought back memories of Iraq and Afghanistan, where he once served as a line officer.

  Bradley glanced up at the stars still visible in the waning minutes before sunrise. Though the surveilling plane had not reappeared since Callahan’s initial recon on Groom Lake, he nonetheless felt a premonition of it and much more than a plane to come swooping into Emigrant Valley at any time.

  Bradley heard the footsteps behind him followed by the voice.

  “Sir, may we have a word with the boys? It will be difficult for them to return to their home after all these years and what has happened.”

  Bradley turned in surprise to see all the clergy of the mountain. “, Father. Thanks to all of you for coming. I am sure the men will appreciate it. You are right on about it being a difficult time for them, so please keep it upbeat if you can. They may need you more when they return.”

  The three members of the clergy thanked him and approached Major Callahan to seek his permission as well. Bradley watched while the recon squad talked with the representative of their faith, recalling the time inside the mountain when he reminded the clergy that they no longer competed to establish a following—that they all represent the same
God. The clergy each shook hands with each member of the squad regardless of faith and departed.

  “Night vision only, troops. No headlights,” the squad leader called back to the second vehicle. “Move ‘em out. It will be sunup in a few.”

  The two vehicles disappeared into the darkness, taking the back road towards Lathrop Wells. They made rapid time, the squad reaching the Lee Canyon cutoff of Highway 95 with the sun breaking into sight on the eastern horizon. Along this stretch of deserted highway, the only reason for an abandoned vehicle was likely something mechanical or electrical. They saw a few cars, pickups, and trucks on the side of the road with hoods raised from when the EMP caused the vehicle to lose ignition. The timing of the EMP attack occurred at a time of there being few travelers on the road.

  The men spoke the entire trip—their minds dredging up memories of before the EMP. Moments later, they crested the valley rim where the beautiful neon lights and sweeping laser beams of Las Vegas once beckoned its visitors arriving from the north. “Pull over,” the squad leader ordered his driver.

  The two vehicles stopped in the middle of the road and the occupants dismounted, each uncasing his binoculars. Eight sets of eyes scanned the vast valley of long extinguished neon lights and laser beams, each looking first at the area of their former residence, relatives in some cases, and their previous work location. From their vantage point, the city looked as they remembered before the EMP except for the streets.

  “My God! Look at the Las Vegas Spaghetti Bowl,” one of the soldiers gasped, using the colloquial name for the freeway interchange. of highways out of Las Vegas. The interchange connected Interstate 15, US Route 95, and Interstate 515, a multiplex of US-93 and US 95 as Martin Luther King Blvd, near downtown. “It is a parking lot of stalled vehicles. There is no way one can get through that mess.”

  “Look at Las Vegas Wash,” another one said after zooming in on a thin plume of smoke ascending from the wetlands brush along the 12-mile-long spring-fed channel feeding into Lake Las Vegas and eventually into Lake Mead. “Campfire,” he announced.