Nuclear Spring

by Td Barnes

  He saw Sammie and Bradley enter the medical alcove and opened the door to his module of health to welcome them in. He shook his father’s hand and hugged his sister before making room for them to sit in the medical module intended for a future space colony. The clinic was spotless; everything stashed in its proper compartment. Like all medical clinics, it smelled of alcohol and an assortment of antiseptics.

  He looked at his sister and hugged her again, hugging her as only two sharing sorrows can do. No words were necessary. He released her and held her at arm’s length. “Congratulations, Sis, on your successful mission.”

  “Thank you, Brother. I just made captain,” she added.

  “Well, congratulations on that as well,” he said, turning his attention to his father.

  “How are you holding up, son?” Bradley whispered tenderly.

  “It is rough, but I’m managing to work through it. You?” He addressed both with the latter.

  Sammie answered for the two of them. “Taking care of the evil bastards dulled the pain. It is the lulls that allow the pain to return.”

  “Same here. I almost welcome sick call because it occupies my mind.”

  Jer signaled to Sammie for her to hold back when she and Bradley stood up to leave. He waited until Bradley stepped out of hearing range. “Dad is not sleeping in his quarters. Try to keep him occupied.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Brother.”

  Sammie accompanied her father back to the War Room where she excused herself from securing the Grizzly vehicle inside the portal until finishing the construction at the south portal. Ray joined her where, with the assistance of the off-duty guard detail, they covered it with a tarp to secure it from view by the residents of the mountain. Now everyone knew of its existence. However, its purpose and function remained top-secret.

  Bradley entered the War Room with his hand on heart gesture still in place. He glanced first at the outside radiation count, then the external camera monitor, and then the big screen, where he saw Mitchell busy on his computer. He walked into the radio compartment where found his favorite radio operator, SP5 Dawson on duty with her son playing in the corner and her newborn lying on the counter of the communications console. The nerd cyber-warfare equipment remained untouched and unattended.

  “Sir, about thirty minutes ago, we a squelch break with someone blowing into a microphone as though seeing it was working. There has been nothing since.”

  Bradley pulled a chair to the console and sat down beside Dawson. “Same frequency as before?”

  “No, sir. It was on our tactical frequency used by the Army.”

  He frowned. “This suggests our having some new players,” he said.

  “It appears that way, sir.”

  Bradley looked down at his leg, feeling the little hands of Dawson’s child wanting in his lap.

  “How’s my little warrior?” he said as he picked the boy up and situated him in his lap where he could see the radio dials. Dawson’s son was one of the first named after Bradley inside the mountain.

  Bradley could tell that it pleased her that he paid attention to her little Tom. “What are you feeding this kid,” he asked. “He is growing like a weed.”

  “I weaned him and he now eats MREs like the rest of us. But this little guy goes through tittie milk like there is no tomorrow.” It would not have surprised him to see her pull out a breast and start feeding the child.

  It sometimes amused Bradley how confinement in the tunnel all these years removed many of the old prudish, social and privacy taboos of the past such as nursing a child in public. Hanging a blanket or tarp offered little in the way of privacy or for being useful for concealing intimacy. Everyone now considered someone is saying whoops as being an apology and thought nothing of an accidental intrusion into their privacy.

  Surprisingly, over the years few incidents occurred inside the mountain involving domestic issues, of a sexual nature. The leadership contributed this to the elevation of the female’s role to being primary to reproduce to repopulate. Military protocol, mandatory personal hygiene requirements, and placing responsibility on the males, and bringing back Southern chivalry put the female gender on an imaginary pedestal of honor and protection. The children are virtually growing up together as a family established bonds much like that of brothers and sisters. Everyone was family.

  Playing on the tunnel’s paging system was Rescue of Dances with Wolves by John Barry. Dawson noticed Bradley listening to the music. “I love the music by John Barry played in that movie. I wonder what happened to the lieutenant and the captive white woman.” She wished that she not said it when she saw his eyes tear up thinking of Stacey. “Sir, I am so sorry. I was not thinking.”

  “I miss her so much,” he choked out with a sob. He hyperventilated a moment to gain his composure. She reached to take her son, but he waved her away and started playing with him as though that might wash away his moment of sorrow. The moment passed, and he placed the child back on the floor and stood up. “I need to check on Sergeant Stratton,” he said a bit too in his attempt to act back in command of his emotions. He realized it and placed his hand on Dawson’s shoulder. “Thank you, Dawson.”

  “Anytime, sir,” she said just as gently. “I’ll page you if we get any more action on the airwaves.

  On his way out, Bradley observed Mitchell still engrossed in ciphering the weather data. He suspected there been a change but waited until Mitchell was ready to tell him.

  Bradley did not need telling of the return of nuclear winter. He knew it would happen soon. He walked out of the War Room not realizing that he substituted his grief with concerns for his people inside the mountain at that moment. The passing nuclear spring not been kind to them and now they were skipping summer to plunge back into the miseries of winter. “What would this do to their morale?”

  He found Sergeant Stratton sitting up with his family and three of his military buddies beside his bed. They were all laughing about something when Bradley walked in with Sarge at his heels.

  “Carry on.” He said, walking through them to Stratton’s side. “How are they treating you, Sarge? If these scoundrels are giving you a bad time I can call the MPs.”

  “You need to call the MPs for us, not him,” Stratton’s wife laughed. The laughter of the others supported her comment. “Make that a shrink,” she added.

  Bradley shook her shoulder gently as he prepared to leave. “I’m sure you can handle him.” He turned to his poodle. “Come on, Sarge.”

  “Thank you for coming, sir,” Stratton called to him as he walked towards the exit. Bradley turned and looked back as he walked out. Inside, those that he just left looked at one another; each feeling embarrassed to be caught laughing by the colonel who must be feeling so much grief. Like someone flipping a switch, their mood changed and they too left, feeling the emptiness of their colonel.

  Bradley felt uplifted a bit by the visit. If anything, it confirmed in his mind that he must prepare his people for what was to come. He headed for the Command Center near a mile inside the tunnel where he hoped to find Colonel Barlow and the Sergeant Major.

  Both Colonel Barlow and SMG Marshall jumped to their feet when he walked in. “As you were,” he said. “You guys don’t need to do that protocol bit when we are alone,” he said.

  Neither said anything and sat down as he sat down at the end of the conference table.

  “Do you have a moment?” He asked.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “It is just a matter of a few days before we become socked in again. I am concerned with the morale of the mountain when that happens. They have experienced a taste of the outside, and it will be tough for them to adapt back to being moles in a mountain.”

  “We have been discussing this,” Barlow replied. “We think that we need to slip the people back into their old routines as-as feasible, which means going back on a 24-hour three-shift schedule.” While she spoke, Marshall handed Bradley a cup of coffee poured from a thermal carafe. Bradley
thanked him with a nod and took a sip.

  “I agree. My intuitions say we need to be doing something more this go around. A few minutes ago, we a squelch break on the radio, which means we have some Jihadist worms about now wondering why they have not heard from their advance party in Las Vegas. I also suspect our meteorologist is at any time going to ruin our day with some bad news on the weather.”

  Neither of them responded, so Bradley took a sip of his coffee and continued with his thoughts. “I expect we will come out of this winter siege having a shortage of food and supplies, plus engaging in a full-scale war for our survival. We have no choice but take off the kid gloves and come out swinging.”

  Barlow leaned back in her chair and said. “Tom, the Sergeant Major, and I are on the same page as you on this. Sharing our concerns, we have also discussed preparedness and something more in our scope of responsibility—that being deadbeats. We feel secure, and that includes more discontents like Carlos among us who might sell us out to be your turf, but those not carrying their weight are our responsibility.”

  “I am listening,” Bradley said. He held up his cup. “Have any more of that coffee, Sergeant Major?”

  “Sure.”

  Barlow continued. “I think we all know our responsibilities towards preparedness. We have been preparing for four years and needed to do a bit of touch up. I should not have used the descriptive name deadbeats.” She paused again to compute how she wanted to argue this issue.

  “We have increased our number of military personnel from 45 to 56. Some of these came from the ranks of our dependents and some of the various agency VIPs. All the people evacuated from Beatty have jobs. That leaves the VIPs given us to protect and for the preservation of their knowledge and skills. Some of the VIPs have assumed important responsibilities, but a large number of our people have experience, but no job. Some of these will never again function in their old jobs. These include one from the CIA, three mechanical engineers from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, 18 from DOE that includes three nuclear scientists, 23 from the Homeland Security Agency, 12 from DOD, three from Starquest Aerospace, two from Wackenhut Security, and 12 from DRI, Desert Research Institute.”

  Bradley nodded his head in acceptance of her numbers. “I hear you, Jane, but what do we do with them. Didn’t we have this conversation about last month? We have enough cooks, and for maintenance, we have four electricians and two carpenters. In medical, we have six doctors, my favorite shrink, an optometrist, veterinarian, a dentist, six nurses, two pharmacists, three chaplains, and four teachers.” Bradley’s reference to his favorite shrink came from a temporary mental breakdown of the psychiatrist, Doctor Bruno de Reamy early on after the EMP. He referred to the doctor as a Doctor Phil at the time.

  “We touched on this subject, but I don’t see where we did anything about it. I realize we are venturing onto the new ice, but we can no longer afford to sweep it under the rug. We know the government chose everyone for protection with a purpose in mind. If you think about it, the government chose all of us for a mission. Some of us they selected to ensure the survival of the others. The others, the government, decided to preserve technology and knowledge for the future.”

  “This is a fair assessment,” Bradley said. Like Barlow, he generated every thought before sharing it for digestion by the others.

  Barlow continued, “Preparedness. I think we are doing that. That leaves the future. It is our joint responsibility to replace everyone in this mountain with someone qualified to carry on. Even though some of our people no longer have an occupation, we must pass on their knowledge for the future.”

  This reminded Bradley of Stacey and his earlier conversation with Sally at the animal farm. I think I told you about Stacey and my conversation with Sally after one of our rides. I agree with her assessment. There is no place in this mountain for prima donnas. I see no reason why the engineers and such cannot work with the farmers and ranchers as well as teach our youth. I am happy that you thought of that. How are you going to tell them,” he asked?

  “Shirker. Are you saying that you don’t want a repeat of when Donald Trump beat out Crooked Hillary in the presidential race?”

  Bradley chuckled. You’re talking about the colleges creating healing spaces for the students to shelter from discombobulating thoughts and to receive spiritual balm for the trauma of microaggressions

  Both Barlow and Marshall recognized Bradley escaping his slump and slipping into his leadership role. They were right; he was back in command of his thoughts. He changed from addressing her by her first name to her rank.

  “Colonel, I suggest we drop the survivor bit. We survived, and we fulfilled that phase of our military responsibility. End of story. Many of our guest attendees are professional first responders, security, and such. It is not the military’s job to nurse them after saving their ass. It is time for them to step up to the plate. These are Americans and not some illiteracy society or village of foreign indigents. Outside the mountain, it is the military’s job to protect them, and that is it. Out there, they can govern themselves. We are not doing our people a service cuddling them from this point on.”

  Barlow reflected her concurrence by commenting, “You noted how everyone went back to the uniforms after the attack on the southern portal. I propose we put the civilians back in civilian clothes except for when they are performing conventional military activities. I also propose each civilian attend one military class each week to keep them proficient in that area. They will wear the uniform during that class. On the other hand, I think our military should have some civilian event where they dress as civilians to stress that our being military is a necessity and not a cause. I’ll consult with our professional teachers to outline an academic schedule for professionals to pass on their knowledge. When they are not teaching or attending another’s classes, they will have assigned duties like everyone else.”

  ####

  Chapter 8-Return of Winter

  Bradley returned to the War Room with the drive and determination of his old self. He returned salutes and spoke in full command of himself and of those inside the mountain. While walking back to the War Room, he reprocessed his talk with Barlow and Marshall and formulated in his mind a new course of action for the command. Instead of performing the hand over heart gesture when he passed beneath the collage, he rendered a hand salute.

  The change in the colonel did not go unnoticed by Mitchell when Bradley marched in, checked the radiation level, outdoor camera monitor, and the big screen all in one motion as he entered the radio room.

  In the radio room, Dawson detected the change. She pointed towards the digital recorder and said, “You have mail and will need an interpreter.”

  “Arabic, I presume.”

  “Yes, sir. This time it is a two-way conversation.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” He stepped out and called to the duty officer. Bring me, my interpreter.”

  While they waited, another call broke squelch with both parties panicky rattling back and forth in Arabic. Both Dawson and Bradley glanced at the recorder to ensure the recording of the conversation. In the War Room, Mitchell heard the radio and ventured in with a weather chart in hand. He sat down without speaking and waited with Dawson and Bradley for the arrival of the Arabic interpreter.

  “Sit down, son,” Bradley ordered the soldier when he appeared. While Dawson switched the recorder input to another channel, Bradley asked the interpreter how he learned Arabic.

  “My father worked for an oil company in Saudi Arabia. I picked up the language there and continued it for one year in college.”

  He saw Dawson poised to start the recording and prepared to type. Dawson played the tape back in segments to allow him time to enter the conversation on a laptop. When finished, he moved the laptop to the console to Bradley.

  Having heard the playback, they all knew about lengthy pauses existing between the conversations. The transcription on the laptop did not reflect such breaks.


  “Nevada—this is Arizona. We have not received your report. Are you there?”

  “Uh, this is Nevada. Our boss, he is dead.”

  “Dead? How?”

  “We do not know. He stepped below electric lines, and his head exploded. It burned our skin, so we stayed in the dam.”

  “Where are our soldiers?

  “We do not know. They left, and we have not seen since. The electricity blocked us inside the dam. We cannot get out.”

  “How many are you?”

  “Seventeen. Are you coming to help us?”

  “Wait. I must talk to my bosses.” Over five minutes of silence passed on the recording.

  “Hello, Nevada. Stand by; we are coming to help you.”

  Bradley thanked the soldier and dismissed him. “Notice that he referred to soldiers,” Bradley commented to the others while formulating a course of action in his mind.

  “Boss,” Mitchell said. He laid his chart on the console. If you are planning something, make it quick. The jet stream has made its move. It appears to be a whopper.” He pointed to details on his chart. “Note here where it is dipping here in the northwest off the coast of Oregon. This is a reversal from when this part of the jet stream parked over the Arctic. I expect it is bringing the Arctic with it. If I am right, in a week, we will be wearing parkas and hunkering down here inside the mountain.”

  Bradley picked the chart up to look closer at what Mitchell just described. “Shit.” He saw where the timing of this could be right in the sense of making it difficult for the enemy to entrench itself at the dam, but it also meant his people were about to become confined and isolated inside the mountain again.

  “There is more,” Mitchell said. “The timing sucks. With this occurring this late in the year, I do not expect we will have a break before the winter season sets in. There is no way that I can predict how long we will remain pinned inside the mountain.”

  Bradley stood up. “Okay, guys, keep me informed.” He stepped out into the main tunnel and called for the officer of the guard to assemble Colonel Barlow and Major Callahan. On second thought, he also issued orders for his entire staff to gather for a meeting in the Command Center, scheduling it for two hours after he consulted with Barlow and Callahan.