Reckoning

A Pale Horse

The hours seemed like days in the back of the 130. The perpetual turbulence made it seem like she was riding a bucking bronco. Not only was the jarring constant, but the back end also swayed to the sides as the aircraft rode the choppy air. The smell was atrocious, and it became too much for several of the soldiers. Although she threw the cat litter concoction on the messes and cleaned it up as best as she could, the stench still threatened to gag her, the sweet smell of the scented kitty litter seeming to actually make it worse.

It’s like Old Spice mixed with vomit, she had thought as yet another jarring crunch threatened to grind her hips into her shoulders. The sinking of the sun brought some calm to the turbulence.

That was hours ago and, since then, Jack had jumped out into the night. Riding in the cockpit since his exit, there had only been one update from Jack, relayed through Robert, saying that he was at the fence and proceeding. Since then, silence. For the past couple of hours, there has only been the droning of the engines as they turned in circles to the north.

Lynn knew it would take time for Jack to get inside, but her worry increased with each repetition of their flight pattern. Her bottom lip was sore from constantly gnawing on it. Several times, she had to restrain herself from asking Robert to call for an update. Each time, she stopped herself thinking that it might interfere with what Jack was doing. Any disruption could cause him to falter at a critical point. Instead, she just resumed her pacing and bit into her already sore lip.

“Lynn,” Robert calls but she is lost in her thoughts.

“Lynn,” he shouts, this time the call penetrating her consciousness.

She turns to Robert who is looking at her from under his helmet. “He’s inside. We’re going in.”

Relief floods through her. The moment is short-lived though as she knows their part is coming up, along with the fact that Jack is inside without any support.

“How long until we’re on the ground?” Lynn asks.

“Twenty minutes,” Robert replies.

Lynn gives a nod and heads into the back to inform the teams. With the news, the passive sitting that they’ve been doing for hours becomes an explosion of silent activity as they rise and begin gathering their gear. Straps are removed from the tied-down piles, packs are searched through and donned, weapons and mags are checked. Satisfied that they’ll be ready upon arrival, Lynn dons her own gear and heads back into the cockpit.

Robert and Craig are talking with each other and setting up for the approach as she reenters. Robert turns and lets her know that Jack didn’t find any mines on his way through but left a brown cord centered on a safe route. She listens as he describes the fence and pole number to enter through. He mentions that it doesn’t look like the response teams are wearing armor vests so center mass shot will be effective.

“Oh, and he said he left a key under the mat,” Robert says, finishing.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Lynn asks, searching for the relevance.

“I have no idea,” Robert says, and turns back to flying.

A few minutes pass with the deck tilting periodically under her feet. Outside, there is only darkness which, now that she knows they will be descending, makes her anxious. From her vantage point, it looks like they are flying into an abyss and she expects a mountainside to suddenly appear out of the dark. The moment and image passes quickly.

In the darkened cockpit, illuminated only by dim red light and the faint glow from the instruments, Lynn looks to Robert and notices he isn’t wearing NVGs. She never really thought about it before with the frenzy of activity, but she now knows that he must have gained the same night vision capabilities as Jack. The aircraft banks again and levels.

“Sis, you better get strapped in,” Craig states.

“Yeah, this could be a little bumpy,” Robert chimes in without turning.

Lynn places a hand on Robert’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze and does the same to Bri. Resting her hand on Craig’s shoulder, he turns and gives her a smile, which Lynn returns. Craig then turns back to the front, moving his hand to the gear handle and pushes it down.

Lynn retreats to the cargo compartment and sits on one of the red nylon seats. The roar of the engines change pitch as Robert alters the throttles to keep them on airspeed and glide path. She holds up her hand with her fingers extended.

“Five minutes,” she calls.

The shout is passed down the line of soldiers gripping their carbines between their knees.

With the yell, there’s a collective sigh. The hours of drilling holes in the air is nearing an end. Ahead, there is a coming fight. It’s not an ‘if they meet the enemy’, it’s a definite. They are going to wage battle against those that struck at them. In their minds, though, there is no glorious song being played; there is no warm feeling of justice being served. There is, perhaps, a thought of their fallen comrades, but not the feeling that they are going forth to avenge them. Inside each is tension and anxiety about the upcoming action. Each one is lost in their own thoughts—none of them the same. Some have loved ones on their minds, those that are with them or that they’ve lost, some worry about getting shot, while others think about the people around them; their buddies or comrades. No heroic speeches are made. None are needed. They know what has to be done.

The jolt takes them all by surprise. The aircraft rocks back and forth. They are down. Lynn hears the engines reverse their thrust and is thrown against her straps. Before the aircraft comes to a complete stop, the rear ramp begins to lower. Red light dimly illuminates the interior, only bright enough to keep everyone from running into walls.

“Let’s move,” Lynn yells, seeing the ramp fall past the level position.

Soldiers rise and head down the ramp. Outside, the roar of the engines idling fills the night air, making it difficult to be heard. It’s completely dark outside but all of the soldiers have their NVGs on. Lynn directs the teams to the side of the aircraft, making sure to stay away from the huge props which are generating gale force winds to the rear.

Once to the side of the aircraft, after verifying that everyone is present, she gives a wave to Craig who is looking out of one of the cockpit windows, wearing his own set of NVGs. Knowing she has his attention, she gives a clear thumbs-up. He nods and the rear ramp begins closing. The big engines begin revving up. Everyone on the ground turns their back to the aircraft and kneels as the 130 starts turning away from them.

Lynn feels the wind and dirt swirl around her. After it passes, she turns to see the 130 facing in the opposite direction, lit only by the green glow of her goggles. The roar of the engines increase and the behemoth begins rolling across the lumpy dirt field, picking up speed quickly. It vanishes beyond her sight but she can hear the engines roaring, straining to gain enough airspeed for the 130 to lift off the ground. The noise of the engines seems to go on forever and there’s a moment of worry that the aircraft won’t get aloft. Then, the roar changes pitch and she knows that it’s safely airborne. The sound slowly fades until there is only the quiet of the night and the noise of shifting soldiers. They’re on the ground and ready to begin the next phase of the plan.

Lynn quietly and quickly organizes the teams. She hasn’t heard from Jack since the last relay from Robert but she has to go on the assumption that everything is still on plan. They landed not far from the bunker so they won’t have to travel as far as Jack did. Lynn sets a line of march with two teams in the lead to the left and right with Lynn and Black Team behind. The others follow in spaced intervals.

Before long, they reach a position directly west of the correct pole but far enough out that the cameras won’t be able to see them. Over the radio, she clicks twice to initiate communication and let Jack know that a message is following. Hearing his replying clicks, she then clicks the pre-briefed number of times to signal that they are close to the fence. A minute later, she hears the signal letting them that it’s okay to proceed. Again, she feels a measure of relief that Jack is okay.

Lynn has the two front teams spread out to find the cord Jack left to indicate the safe passage. The brown cord on the ground will be hard to find, especially with night vision, so Lynn has them proceed slowly.

Of course, if I know Jack, he’ll have hidden it as well, Lynn thinks as they start slowly forward.

A soldier from Blue Team stops, bends down, and holds up his arm. He signals to Horace who, in turn, signals Lynn. Hidden within the grass stubble is a thin cord snaking its way across the ground toward the fence. If they hadn’t been carefully looking for the line, they would have missed it. Lynn traces it with her eyes and is unable to see any evidence of Jack’s passage. Bending closer, she makes out scuff marks along the dirt only after parting the grass. Shaking her head, she gathers the team leaders and tells them to follow the cord in single file.

Reaching the fence without incident, Lynn sees where Jack cut it. The teams are through quickly and race across the intervening space to the exit building. It’s completely quiet except for the swish of grass against pant legs. Reaching the structure, the teams fan out forming a perimeter.

Lynn peeks around the corner to the front and immediately sees what Jack meant by leaving a key under the mat. Looped on the door handle is an ID card. Taking the card, she places it against the screen above the keypad next to the door. A light turns green and she hears the click of the door unlocking.

She takes a quick peek inside to ensure that the way is clear. “Everyone, inside and quickly.”

Horace leads her team inside, taking the forefront. Lynn feels the tension emanating from each soldier as they pass. On the heels of Blue Team, she leads her own inside. She watches as Horace checks around the first corner of the stairs and moves on. At the bottom of the steps, they begin moving down a hall. It’s not wide enough for the teams to spread out so they move in a single column, each soldier staggered on opposite walls. They move at a crouch quickly down the corridor, Horace and another, on the opposite wall, lead with their M-4s trained on the security door at the end.

From here, anyone they meet will be taken down quickly. There won’t be any call to surrender. They are still extremely vulnerable in the enclosed space and it wouldn’t take much to hold them up. A couple of people sighting around corners could wipe out all of the teams in a short period of time. Having only a couple in front, it will be difficult to achieve fire superiority. With these thoughts in mind, Lynn hustles behind Horace and moves her team to the door.

Swiping the card, it releases and, with Horace ready, she swings it open. Horace darts inside ready to deliver fire should she see anyone on the other side. There’s only a corridor that stretches past her line of sight, illuminated by widely separated lights hanging from the ceiling.

The air is dry yet chilled as they move quickly down the hall, figures darting in and out of the light, fading into the gloom between the pools of brightness, the sound of many boots shuffling on the dusty concrete floor, heartbeats racing.

Horace holds up near a corner at the end of the long tunnel and waves Lynn forward. Peeking around, Lynn spots a door with ‘Security’ placarded across the top. Over the door, only because she is looking for it, she notes Jack’s handiwork on the camera.

Sending a series of clicks, she signals Jack that they are at the security room door. Lynn sees a shadow through the window and the sound of the door unlocking. Directing Horace to station her team at the adjacent corner, and making sure their backside is covered, she takes her team and enters the security room.

She immediately takes in the scene and is taken aback by guards sitting in chairs at the console. Looking closer, she sees that they have long since left this life, becoming quickly obvious by their slouched positions and blood stains on their collars and shoulders. Another body lies partially stripped of its clothing in a corner. And, standing near the wall by the door, is Jack.

“Took ya long enough,” he says.

“What happened? Did you get bored?” Lynn asks, smiling.

“One can only play so much solitaire,” he states, waving an arm to one of the computer terminals on a table. Sure enough, there is a half completed game on the screen.

“Jack, you didn’t really…” Lynn questions, to which Jack shrugs and turns to the monitor banks filling one wall.

“We’ve been pretty lucky so far, but we don’t have a lot of time. I’d rather initiate things on our own terms than be discovered and have to fight our way through. Here,” Jack says, pointing to one of the monitors, “this is the reaction team. They’ll need to be taken out first before we move into positions in the equipment bay.”

On the monitor, Lynn sees a group of six soldiers that are playing cards around a large table. She notes that their carbines, M-4s, are slung on the backs of their chairs. The soldiers themselves are clad in multicam fatigues and wearing vests. The edges of bunks can be clearly seen in the foreground of the video. Jack then directs her attention to a diagram outlining the general room structure of the facility with room numbers annotated.

“We’re here and they’re in this room here,” Jack says, pointing to a room not far from their present location.

“That’s just down the outside hallway,” Lynn says.

“Yeah, and it needs to be done quickly and quietly.”

Lynn continues to look at the diagram, etching it into her memory.

“There are some other differences on this plan than on the diagram Harold showed us. They’re minor differences, but ones we need to be aware of,” Jack says.

“We can go over them when I return,” Lynn states.

“You’re going?” Jack asks.

“Of course. You don’t think you’re the only one who can handle things, do you?”

“No, but I thought—”

“We’ll cover the next step when I get back,” Lynn says. “I’ll be taking Black Team with me. The other teams are in the hall with Horace covering toward the equipment bay.”

“They’re exposed out there.”

“That’s why I need to get going. I’ll see you in a sec,” Lynn says, gathering Black Team to point out the monitor and room diagram.

“I guess I’ll just sit here and finish my game then.”

Lynn knows Jack has no intention of finishing the game, if he ever really played it to begin with. More than likely, it was already on the screen when he entered. Although, if that’s the case, why isn’t she seeing a screen saver. Lynn shrugs and gives Jack a smile before turning back to brief her team.

In the hall, Lynn places a hand on Horace’s shoulder and leans in to whisper her intention of taking Black Team down the hall that exits a short distance away.

“You’re in charge until we return. Keep this hall clear. I’ll give a short whistle before we reenter the hallway which you’ll return if it’s clear,” Lynn says.

“Will do,” Horace replies. “We’ll be here if you need.”

There hasn’t really been much talk of rank for a while except for everyone calling Jack ‘sir’.

We’re going to have to work that out when we get back, Lynn thinks, rising with the rest of her team.

Creeping against the wall, Lynn edges toward the opening just ahead. The silence is almost enough to hear, if there was such a thing, and the tension seems to press the walls inward. Step by step, with her M-4 aiming unwaveringly at a point in front of the opening, Lynn closes in. Ahead, the main corridor leads to a security door that then enters into the large equipment bay.

That’s for a later time, she thinks, nearing the intersection.

Kneeling, she peeks around the corner. Florescent fixtures light a hallway with doors branching off to the left and right down its length. It’s the door at the end that she focuses on. Behind it, six soldiers are wasting their time with a game of cards, trying to chase the boredom of their watch away.

Briskly rounding the corner, she quickly moves down the hall, checking each door as she passes. Two of the nearer ones are easily identified as bathrooms by the placards. Her teammates behind check the others finding that they are storage rooms. Lynn keeps her focus on the doorway ahead. If it opens, she and her team will charge forth. It will be uglier but they can’t risk a firefight, especially an extended one. They are still vulnerable from the hallway behind.

At the door, she stacks next to it with another teammate on the other side. Handing the keycard to a third team member, she signals Jack that they’re ready for entry. They’ll enter with four, the other two maintaining security in the hall. In the control room, she knows that Jack will be setting the monitor to its playback function.

“There are bunks to the left and right of the door. The room past that is open with a large table in the middle. There should be six around that, but stay flexible as they could be moving around. We go in firing. Watch for anyone going for an alarm, they’ll be our priority target. Are you ready?” Lynn whispers.

Hands tighten on their carbines and they shuffle to get into position.

Lynn feels her heart beat thudding against the walls of her chest. Adrenaline courses through her as she and the team wait for Jack’s signal. One of the bathroom doors opens behind her.

A soldier steps into the hallway wiping his hands on his pants. He looks up and his eyes go wide seeing six-armed strangers in the hall. He’s so startled that he takes no action as his mind tries to fathom that what he is seeing is real. The amazement is short-lived however as muted coughs signal rounds being delivered from her two teammates guarding the hall. The soldier rocks backward and slams into the door jamb. As he falls back, his arms jerk with each bullet strike as if he’s on the end of puppet strings. He slides down the frame and slumps to the ground.

“Fuck it, we’re going in,” Lynn states.

The third member of her team lays the ID card Jack delivered against the keypad. With a corresponding loud click of the door unlocking, Lynn’s teammate pulls on the handle. Lynn sweeps into the open doorway, her carbine up and ready.

Six pairs of eyes turn toward her from a table in the middle of the room, their glances more curious to see who has entered their watch room. Their inquisitive looks rapidly change to alarm as they see armed strangers pouring into the room, barrels aimed directly at them.

Lynn observes the change of expressions as she depresses the trigger. Rounds spit out of her suppressor, speeding toward a target on the other side of the table. She sees but barely notes as he crashes backward out of his chair. While continuing into the room, she switches her aim point to another soldier sitting next to him, who is grabbing for a weapon slung on a chair. He too is sent spiraling out of his seat.

Stepping farther into the room as she fires, making room for those sweeping in behind her, Lynn notes the four others fall before they can grab for their weapons. None of them even made it out of their chairs. She scans the rest of the room, paying attention to the bunks, but doesn’t see anyone else. The air is filled with the odor of spent gunpowder with an underlying smell of sweat and blood. Cards, spattered with blood, are scattered across the table. Six bodies lie on the floor amidst overturned chairs. Lynn and another of her team put rounds into the chests of those lying either dead or dying. It’s over in seconds. The first round has been played.

Looking at the bodies, Lynn feels a touch of remorse. These are, after all, just soldiers that were doing their thing before she and her team put an end to them. Lynn retrieves the ID cards from their bodies as they may need them in the next phase of their operation.

With the room clearing of the light smoke, the iron smell of blood, torn bodies, and bowels fills the room. Lynn takes a last look at the bodies to make sure they are, in fact, dead. She then gathers her team and, leaving the room, closes the door behind, shutting off the sight and smell of the devastation.

Lynn leaves the security room on her way to deal with the reaction squad currently whiling away their time playing cards. Looking to the screen, nothing has changed; the soldiers are still around the table. I’ll switch over to a playback function once I hear the signal that Lynn is stacked and ready. That way, if there is an alternate room or the screens are being displayed elsewhere, they won’t be alerted that we’re inside and commencing an attack.

A few minutes later, Lynn signals. I reach up to the playback function on the control panel only to see the monitor go dark. Switching back to the live feed, the video comes online. I try again with the same result. Placing it on the live feed once again, I am about to send someone to inform Lynn when I see her and her team sweep into the room. It’s messy but over quickly. I scan the other monitors to see if there is any response to the quick reaction force being taken down. Nothing on the monitors indicates that anything has changed. The control room people are going about their tasks as if nothing happened and the equipment bay remains empty. It becomes apparent that there isn’t a second security site or monitors being watched. If there was, they could hardly miss what just happened and there would be alarm bells ringing, or at least the phone.

Lynn returns to the security room and informs me that there were, in fact, seven.

“Seven? Really?”

“Yeah, there was apparently one in the bathroom. I don’t know whether he was with the reaction team or not, but there was someone in there who came out at the wrong time,” Lynn relates.

“In the bathroom? For this long? No one has come or gone from the room or showed up on any of the monitors. What the hell was he doing in there for so long?” I ask.

“I don’t really want to know,” Lynn answers.

“No, you’re probably right there. And, it’s not important unless he’ll be missed somewhere. At any rate, let’s cover the differences in the layout. We’ll have to change our plans…but not much,” I say. “And keep in mind that there are some blind spots from the cameras in the equipment bay.”

We lay the diagram on the table and go over the changes. The only real alteration is that there is another door leading from the equipment bay that seems to lead to other rooms that appear to be quarters. The original plan was for Lynn to have four teams hold the main security forces at bay and keep an eye on a fourth door leading to the maintenance areas. Now, in addition to the three doors leading to the barracks, she’ll have to designate one team to cover the other two. The rest of the plan stands as originally designed; Horace will take over the control room, Watkins will cover the tunnel, main entrance from above, and provide a reserve force, I will lead the four of Red Team to cover the doorway leading into another large set of rooms. Because the bay is so large and filled with vehicles, we won’t be able to maintain a visual with each other so we’ll be relying on squelches from the radios to indicate that everyone is in position.

“Are we ready?” I ask, following our brief.

“Give me ten minutes to brief the leads and for them to update their teams,” Lynn says.

“Okay, but we can’t afford to loiter here. That lone person is making me nervous. He’ll be missed somewhere if he wasn’t part of the reaction team. And, it’s only a matter of time before someone stumbles into us,” I state.

“I know, Jack. Ten minutes.”

Lynn exits into the hall with the diagram. I brief Red Team on the changes; which for us, there really aren’t any. The waiting and the time we’ve already spent inside is making me anxious. I wanted to flow from one action to the next but controlling multiple teams takes time. I note the lines of tension around the eyes of each member of Red and Black Team as we wait for Lynn to finish. We are on the verge of a firefight that could go sideways at any time. If we can hold the security forces inside of their quarters, we’ll stand a chance. If they break out, we’ll be outnumbered four-to-one on their home turf.

Lynn returns and gives a nod. We’re ready. Weapons are rechecked. Lips are drawn tight from tension and game faces are on. If the others are like me, their hearts are pounding in their ears. We head out into the concrete hallway where the teams are gathered, looking like a football team about to take the field.

Horace’s Blue Team will enter first to secure the doorway to the control room with Red Team right behind. Lynn will take her four teams to the first line of vehicles near the doorways leading to the maintenance rooms, security barracks, and other quarters. There, she will direct the placement of claymores just inside the halls, ensuring that they cover the halls before wedging the doors open. If the doors close, it will place the security forces behind protective cover and allow them space to react. By wedging the doors open it will give the teams clear lanes of fire down the halls, forcing the responding security forces to wade through gunfire pouring into the enclosed space.

Once she is finished with that, Horace will enter the control room and take it over. We’ll be hard-pressed to stop any alarm from being triggered at that point but, by then, it will be too late. The soldiers rushing out of their quarters will be met with hundreds of steel ball bearings rocketing down the corridor. From there, Lynn will keep the remaining soldiers pinned in the hall with directed fire. Red Team and I will then enter the door into what looks like the headquarters. If the leaders of this outfit aren’t in the control room, we’ll find them beyond our doors.

At the door leading to the equipment bay, we stack in order of entry. Each team lead has a key card courtesy of the security room guards and Lynn. Horace looks to me.

“Let’s do this,” I say, giving her a nod.

One of Horace’s teammates holds the card to the reader. The door unlocks with a loud click. Horace pushes it inward and flows inside with the rest of her team, going to the left along the inner wall. Red Team and I follow on her heels. Behind me, I hear Lynn and her four teams rush through the door and race toward their positions. The teams have entered like a fast moving fog.

Ahead, two guards are posted on the outside of the control room. This was one of the blind spots on the camera so they come as a surprise. Horace fires a burst into the nearest one, sending him flying against the other standing next to him. The second guard’s face catches a spray of warm blood. Startled by his companion launching into him, he staggers and turns only to catch Horace’s second burst that stitches him across his chest and up. He too falls to the ground across the body of his colleague.

I spread out to the side of Blue Team, focusing on the steel door leading to the control room, anticipating a response and soldiers to rush out. None show. Horace and her team move the bodies from the door and take stations to the side. I move with the three others of Red Team and stack next to a steel security door leading farther into the complex. Horace clicks that she is in position and I follow suit.

The telephone rings beside Gav’s bed. It’s not often that she’s disturbed while she’s getting her few hours of sleep. She opens her eyes, instantly alert but taking a moment to place her position. Stretching and yawning widely, she turns and wiggles toward the phone, picking it up on the third ring. She notes the incoming call is from the control center.

“Yes,” she states tersely into the mouthpiece.

“Nahmer, sorry to bother you,” the voice on the other end says.

“Yes, yes, what is it?” she asks, coming more awake and annoyed at the supervisor’s attempt to placate her.

“Well, we’ve been picking up squelches over the scanner for the last couple of hours. At first we didn’t think it was anything but, well, it seems like there is a certain repetition to them. They come and go but they’ve been coming more frequently in the last hour and there’s definitely a pattern to them,” the supervisor briefs.

Instantly awake, Gav throws her legs over the bed and sits rigidly upright. A surge of adrenaline electrifies her. Along with a sudden feeling of apprehension comes a feeling of foreboding…and fear.

“Have you called the security office? The reaction squad?” Gav asks.

“They are our next call, Nahmer, but I wanted to notify you first.”

“Can you patch through what you’re hearing?”

“One moment. We haven’t heard anything for a little bit.”

Gav waits and hears a faint hiss as the frequency is fed into her phone. At first there’s nothing as she strains to hear, then there’s a series of definite squelch breaks that come through clearly. Hearing them, another surge of adrenaline floods her system.

“You idiots, that’s communication and coming from nearby,” she says, flying off the bed and standing upright.

“Call the security office and reaction squad. Sound the alarm,” Gav says, knowing it may already be too late.

She quickly dons fatigues as a shrill alarm sounds throughout the facility. As she pulls the quick releases on her boots tight, a series of dull explosions vibrates the floor under her. Anger envelopes her, but then, that vanishes like a breath blowing out a candle. A deep calmness settles in its place. The blasts tell her that it’s too late. She can only hope the security forces can push their way through; but, in her thoughts, she knows that is doubtful. She knows who has entered the facility and, having been there before—only on the other side—the only thing she can do is wait for her guests to arrive.

Lynn emerges into the large equipment bay on the run. She is momentarily taken aback by how vast the interior is. Humvees and Strykers are parked in neat rows to one side with a large expanse to the other for maneuvering the vehicles and for maintenance. The one thing she notes with satisfaction is the lack of anyone inside. With a fleeting glance to the side, she sees Horace deal with two guards that are posted in front of a steel door. The sight is lost as she enters a line of Humvees and dashes with the other teams down the column. The doors against the far wall that are her objective are in and out of sight as she runs by the vehicles. All eyes are focused on the doors, ready for an emergence of soldiers that would indicate that they’ve been spotted.

However, their luck holds as all of the teams arrive into positions across from the doors without incident, spread out, and take cover behind the vehicles. A line of Strykers are in the column behind her, some with .50 cal turrets and others with 105mm cannons.

Grabbing Mullins, she whispers, “I want you to take your team and start three of the fifty cal Strykers when we open fire. I want those guns online lending support. Concentrate on the three doors, but keep the others under observation.”

Mullins nods and gathers his team. They ease ramps down from three of the armored vehicles as Lynn sends Green Team, Drescoll’s old team now led by Jordan, to the doors to begin placing claymores. While the two remaining teams, hers and Cressman’s, stand guard, Lynn sees to the placement of the M-240s so that they have fields of fire down the hallways.

This is almost too smooth, she thinks, watching the last of the claymores being placed. I really hope the security forces are inside those doors. It would really suck for them to come streaming out from another unknown entrance.

With that thought, she trots to the end of the vehicles to get a better picture of the interior. It’s dimly lit, but it’s not dark enough for NVGs to be used. Looking around, she doesn’t see any uncovered entrances other than the large hangar-like door leading out. Satisfied, she returns back to her position. Examining the hallways, it’s completely dark inside except for faint glimmers of light showing on the floors and walls, emanating from small windows inset into the numerous doors leading off the corridor.

She signals the others that they are in position and ready. Moments later, the air is filled with high-pitched sirens. It has begun. Steadying herself with a sigh, she leans against the hood of a Humvee and sights down one of the open halls.

She doesn’t have long to wait. Along the length of the halls, faint glimmers of light turn brighter as doors are flung open. She looks to Jordan, whose team is holding the claymore clackers, signaling for him to wait. Soldiers begin filling the darkened hall, many stumbling out of the doors donning vests and arranging their weapons.

“Now,” she yells to Jordan, her voice barely heard over the screaming siren.

Three rolling blasts shake the floor, drowning the sound of the alarm. Gray smoke pours from the open doorways completely blocking the view inside. Lynn senses more than hears Strykers behind her start up.

“Open fire,” Lynn shouts, her mouth dry from the adrenaline in her system.

Unseen and unheard bullets fly into and through the smoke still drifting out of the corridor through the top of the doorways. The three M-240s resting on the vehicles and the .50 cals behind soon join in the fray, lending their heavyweight fire to the suppressing fire of the teams.

Horace jumps as the alarm goes off, filling the large, open bay with its shrill noise. The sound tells her it’s time to go, having been given the word to or not. She heard the clicks denoting that Sergeant Connell was in position and ready. The next move was Horace’s anyway. With a nod to her team member by the keypad, she braces herself for the entry. She has an idea what the interior looks like having had Sergeant Connell brief her. The mag lock opens and she pushes the door inward, storming inside. With the alarm sounding, the time for stealth and quiet is gone, to be replaced by speed.

Inside, there is a flurry of activity among the rows of consoles. Technicians are running from one workstation to another. Some of those still seated have phones plastered to their ears. The rest are furiously hammering away on keyboards. Oddly, her entry toward the back of the room is unnoticed in the frenzy. She sweeps across the back, her M-4 aimed toward the interior. Four of her teammates follow with two remaining by the door to prevent anyone entering or leaving. The door closes, muting the sirens.

With Blue Team lined across the back, she bellows, “Everyone freeze! Don’t move an inch and, if you would be so kind, hang up your phones.”

Four technicians near the front bolt from their workstations toward a door situated near a corner on the far wall. The tiered room descends toward the front with each line of workstations a step lower than the ones behind. This layout is so a supervisor at the back can oversee the whole room, which gives Horace a commanding field of view. Before the four have taken two steps, Horace nods to her team members.

With Horace covering the rest of the room, the other three direct suppressed gunfire against the four attempting to make it to the door. Their clothing puffs from multiple bullet strikes, sending them headlong to the floor where they lie in a heap next to and over each other.

“Now, let’s try this again,” Horace states, as the three bring their weapons back into alignment, aimed at the rest of the technicians. “No…one…move!”

The last command wasn’t necessary as everyone in the room has frozen in their tracks.

“Okay, if everyone would be so kind to hang up their phones. No more words, just set them into their cradles. And then place your hands on the monitors in front of you.”

One of the technicians to the side continues talking with someone on the other end, his words unheard but, by his facial expressions, he is rushing to get his words spoken.

Horace lifts her carbine, centers her red dot, and pulls the trigger. A single round coughs out of the end of her barrel. The sub-sonic bullet streaks over terminals to crash into the side of the man’s head. A small spray of blood leaps into the air from the brute force of the impact. His head jerks to the side and he falls across his workstation looking as if he’s taking a nap, his hand still gripping the telephone handset. Several streams of blood, mixed with bone and tissue, run down the monitor screen in front of him.

Nodding to one of her teammates by the door, he strolls to the station. Removing the bloodied handset from the man’s grip, he places it on the cradle. There is the sound of multiple handsets being hurriedly placed in their respective cradles, and Horace notes everyone’s hands in sight on top of the monitors. She has control of this operations center but it’s a tentative one. What she does securely have is everyone’s attention.

Nodding to her other teammate by the door, she has him take out the overhead camera.

“Who’s in charge here?” Horace asks, bringing her carbine back to cover the entire room.

Several eyes dart to a man standing in the first row of workstations. The others in the room look from her, to her team standing watch, to the bodies on the floor in the front, their shirts darkened with blood, to the man lying in a widening red pool at his terminal.

“I… I am,” the man answers.

“Okay, you are now responsible for what happens to your people. You do what I say, when I say, and don’t cause any trouble, you all get to live. You don’t and…” Horace says, leaving the last part unsaid but nods toward the bodies.

The man hangs his head, understanding that, for him and his group, the fight is over before it really began. It’s not that they are fighters to being with, but the realization that they’ve lost hits him. He can only imagine what is going on inside the rest of the complex. Whatever it is, he and his staff will not be of any help.

“What is it you that want us to do?” the man asks, looking up.

“First, are any of you armed? With any kind of weapon? I don’t care if it’s a butter knife or a letter opener, I want to know,” Horace asks.

The man shakes his head.

“Know that we’re going to search you. If we find a weapon on anyone, they die along with the person next to them. So, let’s be sure of your answer. Is anyone armed?”

“No, we’re just support staff. We don’t have any weapons,” the man answers.

Turning to the teammate next to her, Horace has him go down to the far door the four were running for and wedge it closed. There are only eleven personnel remaining in the operations center but, with two doors and having to cover all of them, she feels spread thin.

She has the technicians line up against the wall and searches them. The supervisor is true to his word; not a one of them has a weapon. After removing a phone from a windowed conference room to the side of the main control room, she herds her captives into it, telling them not to talk with each other.

“Just so we’re clear. If there’s a word spoken between anybody, or if I think anyone is passing messages in any fashion, they’ll meet the same fate as those other unfortunate ones,” Horace tells the supervisor.

He nods his understanding and enters the conference room with the others.

“The operations center is under control,” Horace speaks into her radio.

Sergeant Montore is jolted awake by the alarm blaring in the squad room. Only temporarily confused, he springs into action, jumping off his upper bunk to the left side so he doesn’t come slamming down on his bunkmate below. Dressing quickly, he grabs his carbine hanging from the bunk post, slams a mag in and checks that the safety is on. There’s a flurry of activity as the others of his squad are doing the same.

Fucking drills, Montore thinks as the lieutenant enters from his room in the back, yelling for them to form up by the door. At least it does break some of the monotony.

Forming with his teammates, Montore has a fleeting thought that maybe this isn’t a drill knowing what happened to Bravo Company the other week. The lieutenant makes his way through the waiting squad to the door. Opening it, he waves them through, telling them to meet in the equipment bay to await further orders. The ones in front of Montore enter the hallway, some still donning their vests.

Montore is about to enter behind the others when a large blast fills the corridor. Those outside are torn apart and thrown down the hallway. Smoke rolls past the doorway carrying the smell of gunpowder. Stunned, Montore reels backward.

Amidst the instantly confused scene, he notes sparks showering off the walls and floor. Before he stumbled away from the door, through the smoke, he caught a brief glimpse of winking lights coming from the vicinity of the vehicles. Even startled and stunned as he is, he knows they are under attack by someone inside the complex.

Heavy caliber slugs begin impacting the walls, tearing large chunks from the concrete. Those remaining of his squad hunker by the door in shock. To step out of the door is to walk into a shower of steel and death. Several try to direct fire into the equipment bay from the doorway but are immediately hit. One heavy round slams into the door frame as Montore screams for those of his remaining squad to get back inside. Dragging their wounded, they leave the door and take positions behind semblances of cover, ready to repel any invasion into their room.

Lynn directs fire from the teams into the hallways. Inside their narrow confines, with the smoke clearing, she sees several bodies in each one. They are really nothing more than dark lumps within the gloom. They have the upper hand at the moment, but she knows that may not last. Once the soldiers, whom they have momentarily pinned down, overcome their initial shock, they’ll react. She’s outnumbered but has the advantage of position. However, even with that, she has to do something if they are to maintain their fire superiority.

The blast of the siren stops. With the alarm gone, the sound of the fight comes to the forefront. Behind her, there is the heavy thud of the .50 cals as they send their heavy bullets into the hall. To the sides, there is the tinkling of empty cartridges bouncing across the concrete floor and vehicles, the calls of ‘reloading’, and mags hitting the floor with metallic rings. The M-240s chatter away, adding their fire. Lynn walks down the line, talking to each solder, telling them to conserve ammo and put out just enough bursts to keep the opposing force’s heads down.

There is movement at the fourth doorway as it swings open. Several people peek out from behind the door and into the bay. By what she observes of their clothing, they are civilians. She can’t determine if they are maintenance folks or operations room technicians. Who they are doesn’t really matter. She needs to keep the equipment bay clear. A volley of gunfire sparking off the metal door sends them scrambling back inside.

Lynn briefs Jack on the situation and their need to keep the opposing forces off balance before their four-to-one numbers start making a difference.

“Are you sure you need to go in?” Jack asks.

“We need to do something. We don’t have a limitless supply of ammo,” Lynn answers.

“Okay, you’re there and I’m not. Do what you see fit.”

Walking down the line, Lynn briefs the other team leads on her plan to commence a room clearing operation, cautioning them to conserve their ammo. She briefs Mullins to gather as much .50 cal ammo as he can find and begin to use it sparingly. It may be the only thing that keeps the opposing forces at bay.

Taking Black Team, she approaches the first hallway, keeping to the side out of the line of fire. Waving the team covering the door to hold their fire, Lynn steps into the hallway. It’s filled with a lingering odor of gunpowder and the stench that accompanies death. The walls are pock-marked from the numerous rounds that smacked into them. Deep gouges show where the .50 cal rounds slammed into the concrete. Chunks of concrete are scattered across the floor, with concrete powder coating the bodies.

Making sure the ones in the hall have passed the boundary of life, she steps over the shredded bodies. Cautiously and warily, trying to avoid the pools of blood gathered around the still forms, she edges to the first door, keeping her attention on all of the exits.

She directs three of her team to cover the hall farther down. Readying a grenade, she nods to one of her teammates at the doorway. He opens it just enough so that she can toss the grenade in and they fold back against the wall. She gets ready to follow it up with a flash bang and they’ll sweep inside. The door shakes as the grenade goes off.

Ready to flash and enter, Lynn’s attention is caught by a different kind of flash. Strobe-like flashes light up the hall from the three she posted to cover the corridor. Turning sharply, she catches the last hints of sparks off one of the doors. Looking to the three, they are intent on a doorway several doors down.

“What is it?” Lynn calls, bothered that those inside the room might get a chance to recover.

“Someone opened the door and poked their head out,” one of the soldiers says without taking his eye from the doorway.

“Did you get them?” she asks.

“No, we’ve been made,” the soldier answers.

“Everyone out! Now!” Lynn shouts.

The team begins backpedaling quickly while keeping a watchful eye on the doors. One them opens suddenly with a flash of movement. In the dimness of the hallway, Lynn hears something metallic bouncing across the concrete floor.

“Grenade,” she yells.

The team turns and dives for the entrance. In mid-air, Lynn hears a tremendous explosion and feels a concussive wave roll over her. Above the blast, she hears a scream of pain. She lands hard on the unyielding surface, banging her chin which momentarily stuns her. Recovering, she notes three of her teammates on the ground.

Rising, she and her two remaining team memebers drag their comrades a short distance away from the hallway opening. Seeing what happened, the other teams direct a flurry of fire which envelopes the corridor. Under the covering fire, using the drag handles, they pull their wounded to safety.

Looking at her teammates, Lynn sees that two have been peppered across their backs and the rear of their legs. The two are covered in blood from many small wounds. One is moaning while the second is out cold. The third has superficial wounds along one arm.

“See to them,” Lynn directs her two remaining team members. “Stop the bleeding and dress the wounds as best as you can.”

The two immediately begin taking care of their own. Black Team, with the exception of Lynn, is out of the fight.

The grenade goes off, decimating several of the remaining survivors of his squad. Sergeant Montore’s ears are ringing from the tremendous concussion. Recovering, he quickly checks himself and looks around the room. It’s barely recognizable. The few pictures remaining on the wall hang askew, their glass coverings shattered. Mattresses are half on and half off the bunks with chairs thrown about. Hanging in the air is the smell of gunpowder. Several of his squad are screaming in pain. Some of the others aren’t moving at all. The door opened and closed so quickly that they didn’t have a chance to react.

Montore and a couple of others are the only survivors. Directing those still on their feet to help the wounded, he knows that they are out of the fight, regardless of what transpires. He has one of his teammates watch the door but knows that they will be hard-pressed to stop a mouse from entering, let alone armed combatants. He resigns himself that this won’t end well and becomes absorbed in helping the injured.

Seeing the wounded being taken care of, Lynn proceeds down the line checking on the teams’ ammo supply.

“Are you okay?” Cressman asks as she checks on his team.

It’s then that Lynn feels a burning sensation across her forehead near her temple. Rubbing her hand across it, her glove comes away smeared with blood. Removing her glove, she tenderly pokes at the cut to find that it’s just that, a cut, but bleeding like scalp wounds will.

“Let me see to that,” Cressman says.

“No, I’m fine,” Lynn says, moving on down the line.

Lights flare on the floors and walls in the hallways from multiple doors opening. Silhouettes form in the light like a multitude of shadow puppets. Grenades are lofted from the open doorways. Some land in the corridor but a few make it a ways out of the hall forcing the teams to take cover behind the Humvees. A series of explosions rocks the end of the bay. Shrapnel is hurled into the vehicles and walls with heavy thuds and pings.

Lynn, crouched behind the hood of a Humvee, her ears hurting from the blasts, hears the .50 cals behind start chattering. Rising quickly after the explosions cease, she sees soldiers trying to make it out of the hallway, only to be thrown back by the three heavy machine guns. Lynn adds her own fire to the fray and the forced rush is beaten back. Two more are wounded but are still in the fight, only marginally hampered.

The teams continue to pepper the hallways at intervals with bursts of fire to keep any curious heads down. In front, Lynn observes the carnage from the attempt of the security forces to sweep out of their quarters. More bodies lie within the hall with several on the concrete floor in the bay. Some are attempting to crawl to the sides, trying to get away from their pain. Moans can be heard coming from several who are lying still. Rivulets of blood seep out from the bodies, following the uneven contours of the floor.

“Should we do something about them?” Jordan asks.

Lynn looks at the devastation and really doesn’t have an answer. The humanity aspect of her says that they should help any wounded, but that would involve depleting her forces further and they are barely holding their own. She knows the opposing companies have been hit hard but doesn’t know exactly how badly. Right now, the safety of the teams is paramount.

With a sigh, she answers, “There’s not much we can really do except listen to their pain from a closer angle. We just don’t have the personnel to treat them without depleting our own firepower. I hate to say it, but we’ll just have to leave them where they lie. Afterwards, we can treat them. Until then, we’ll just have to suffer their moans and screams.”

“Lynn, Horace has the ops center under control. How are you doing?” Jack asks over the radio.

“I heard. We have the security forces bottled up for the moment, but who knows how long that will last. The room clearing was unsuccessful and they just tried rushing under a volley of grenades. We beat them back with the help of the Strykers,” Lynn briefs.

“The what?” Jack asks.

“We have three Strykers operational and are using the .50 cals. That’s the only way we were able to force them back into their quarters,” Lynn states.

“Good thinking. That never occurred to me.”

“Jack, they have the ability to communicate with each other. I don’t know if that’s by phone or radio, but they are coordinating their actions. From what I see, they have twenty six down and almost double that wounded. We have five wounded, two immobile and three ambulatory. Black Team is out of action, but we need to do something, and soon,” Lynn replies.

“I’m working on it, Can you hold?” Jack asks.

“For the moment, yes,” Lynn responds.

“You have Watkins if you need.”

“Jack, we’re going to need more ammo before this is all said and done,” Lynn states.

“Horace, can you find out where their armory is?” Jack calls on the radio.

“Standby,” Horace answers, moments later returning. “They say it’s in rooms off the barrack’s hallways.”

“Well, we aren’t getting to that,” Lynn says.

“Horace, if things are under control, and if you can, send part of your team to give Lynn some of your team’s mags,” Jack radios.

While waiting for Horace’s teammates to show up, Lynn directs Mullins to send the drivers with him to scout the other vehicles for ammo. Her teammates return from patching up their compatriots. Black Team is back to having four members available.

“Hold out as best as you can, Lynn. I’m on my way in,” Jack says.

Crouched by the entrance with Gonzalez behind and Henderson and Denton on the other side, I hear the alarm begin blaring. Looking behind, I watch as Horace enters the control room. A short time later, across the equipment bay and out of sight, explosions rock the interior as Lynn triggers the claymores. I don’t hear an ensuing firefight with the exception of the M-240s firing and the heavy staccato of heavy machine guns. I can’t see in that direction and hope that those aren’t being used against us. If so, then this will be a very short sojourn into the bunker. I contemplate calling Lynn to find out, but I know that she more than likely has her hands full at the moment, and doesn’t need any distractions from my end. If she needs help, she’ll ask for it.

Hearing Horace confirm that she has control of the operations center and conversing with Lynn, I know that it’s our turn. I’ve waited because it would be a lot easier if those responding came to us rather than us entering and running into them, especially seeing there are only four of us.

We have waited long enough, though. The time has come for us to head inside. We have the upper hand at the moment but, like Lynn said, that may not last long. We need to keep the push going to capture the facility, and to do that, we have to capture the leadership. With them in hand or down, the rest should fall as they won’t have anything or anyone to fight for. However, it’s getting to them and then convincing those still fighting that it’s not worth it.

With a nod to Henderson, we unlock the security door and sweep inside. We enter into a brilliantly lit, wide corridor. The highly polished floors and painted walls, with pictures along the length, are so starkly different than the equipment bay that I’m momentarily startled. Walking from the concrete interior, filled with military vehicles and an ongoing firefight, into this feels like I’ve entered into some time-dimensional warp and stepped into a posh office building. Along one side of the wide hall are windowed offices, their interiors unlit.

Gonzalez and I spread to the side with Henderson and Denton behind. The hallway is the only place that’s lit…which makes me nervous. We’re in the light, whereas, anyone waiting for us will be hidden in the shadows. Luckily, there is a switch panel by the door. I’d hate to shoot out the lights as that would give notice to our location. If anyone is in this part of the complex, they know we’re already inside but not our exact location. With only four available at the moment, I would rather not get into a firefight, especially being in the open like we are. There aren’t any cameras here, so we at least have that going for us.

“Denton, hit the lights. We’re going in on NVGs,” I whisper.

The lights go out, plunging the hall into darkness. I see differing shades of gray and I hear subtle clicks as the others lower their NVGs into place.

Our boots squeak softly on the polished surface as we begin making our way down the hall. Checking the rooms as we pass, alert for anyone hiding within, I note that most don’t appear that they are being used, with some completely devoid of furnishings. The desktops that do appear are clear, only waiting for paperwork to be strewn across their surfaces.

Ahead, an intersecting hallway opens to the right as we proceed down the main hall. Conference rooms begin to appear between the offices as we slowly make our way past. In the distance, as I near the intersection, the main hall ends and turns to the right.

If I remember the diagram in the security room correctly, this area is filled with office space and what may be individual quarters farther in. At least the room sizes and adjoining bathrooms indicated this could be the case. Those are the rooms we’re trying to get to. If they’re occupied, then they will more than likely hold those in charge. I would have thought they would be in the operations center, but perhaps they didn’t make it before the alarm went off. If that’s the case, they could be anywhere.

However, the hall we’re approaching wasn’t indicated on the diagram, so all bets are off. At least, I don’t remember it being there, and it wasn’t on the original plan we studied at our compound.

Near the corner of the branching hall, I radio, “Lynn, Jack here. Can you spare three from Alpha? This place is a little bigger than expected.”

I’m worried about having our backsides covered if we proceed farther. No matter if we continue straight ahead or take the right, it would be easy for anyone to come up behind us and trap us.

“That’s fine, Jack, but it takes our reserves down. We’re still good for now, but we can’t keep this up forever,” Lynn answers, the sound of the heavy weapons chattering in the background.

“If you need those three, pull them back and we’ll deal with it,” I state.

“Copy that.”

The branching corridor is lit, casting a wide ribbon of light into the main one. I creep to the corner while we wait for the three from Watkins’ team to show up. Placing my mirror around the edge, I see that the corridor extends for a distance with some unlit windows facing the hall. Closed doors are placed at intervals along its length. Reaching up to a bank of switches, I flick them into their closed position, causing the hall to go dark… with one exception. Light issues from a window about half-way down.

Gav sits in a conference room, waiting. She observes the lights go out and recognizes that the end has arrived. She’s been on the giving end enough times to know when it’s here. She looks to the handgun in her lap. She will greet her guests peacefully enough but wants it ready. If whoever is approaching comes in shooting, and she is to die, she won’t go down without a semblance of a fight.

It’s how she always pictured it, but perhaps not in this manner. She always knew, with her chosen profession, that her life would end early. There were very few who went on missions that made it to retirement; well…to an old age that is. They were always retired in some fashion or another. She knew she had been pressing her luck, was on borrowed time each time she went out. She had thought, however, that her end would come in some firefight after having been discovered. When she accepted this position, if she really ever had a choice, she counted herself fortunate that she had made it. Until now, that is.

“Well… so be it,” she murmurs, placing the radio, through which she had been monitoring events, on the table and resting her hand on the gun in her lap.

The three from Alpha arrive and I direct them to watch the hall to our front. I want to take the corridor to the right, toward the room with the light showing. It may be a trap or it may have been left on as someone hastily departed. However, it is the only sign of human presence that I’ve seen since we entered this section, which means we may be getting closer to those that have to inhabit this place.

With our backs covered, we enter the side hall with our M-4s ready. We check each office and door we come to, trying not to focus on the light ahead. I feel the desire to rush to it, forgoing our security, and have to force myself to be patient.

Looking in each window as we pass, I think that it would be nice if this night vision carried the ability to see in the thermal spectrum as well. The rooms we pass are smaller in nature and the lack of many furnishings makes it easy to see if someone is hiding inside. The doors without windows are checked with a fiber optic camera and reveals only partially empty storerooms. It takes time to cover and check them all but we gradually inch closer to the light.

The lit room is the next one on the left. I crouch and make sure none of the others stray into the light, yet can still provide cover in either direction. Though the three from Alpha are out of sight covering the main hall, there’s still a chance that someone can come out of the doors we checked. Without knowing if there are connections between the rooms, it’s possible that we could be circumvented.

I peek into the room at the corner of the window. I don’t use my mirror as it may reflect light back inside and truly act as a signal mirror. That would kind of defeat the purpose. The quick glance reveals either a conference or lunch room. Against the far walls are cabinets above long counters with a sink in the middle of one. It’s sparse, but it’s kind of on par for the course with what I’ve seen so far. In the middle of the room is a round table with chairs tucked in around it. And…seated on the far side is a woman clad in fatigues, staring directly at me.

She doesn’t move, scream, or make any other sign that she has noticed me other than to maintain her gaze. She knows that I’m here, and it seems as if she was expecting for me to look in from this exact location. I’m a little startled. Realizing that the need for secrecy is up, I stand.

Motioning to the rest of Red Team, I let them know of the person in the room. Positioning Henderson and Denton to cover the hall, I boldly walk into the light with Gonzalez trailing. Turning the handle, we enter, covering the woman with our carbines, my finger rubbing along the trigger, watching for the slightest move. If she blinks wrong, I’ll send a burst into her at point blank.

Gonzalez sidles to the right of the room, covering the woman from separated positions so, if she decides to take us under fire somehow, she won’t be able to get both of us. Gonzalez, her lips drawn tight, keeps her M-4 barrel pointed unwaveringly at the woman. The woman remains seated and smiles at Gonzalez’ move.

“Captain Walker, I presume,” the woman states with a slight accent.

“And you must be Nahmer,” I reply, to which she nods.

“Please remove the gun from your lap and place it slowly on the table,” I say, with my red dot centered on her chest.

She tilts her head slightly and her expression alters to that of a quizzical nature.

“Your right shoulder is sagging. Only a very little but enough to give you that extra quickness and so that it won’t betray your actions as much when you go for it,” I say.

She smiles again and moves her hand. My hand tightens on my carbine and I feel the pressure as my finger squeezes harder on the trigger. I hear Gonzalez move a step and she gives a low growl. If it didn’t involve me having to look away from this woman, I would turn to stare at Gonzalez. Granted, we haven’t worked that long together but, in all of our actions, I’ve never heard her give a menacing growl of warning at anything. It’s probably because she is remembering Allie and is just itching for a reason to fire. Here is the woman who, in all likelihood, gave the order that ended with Allie’s life being taken; unceremoniously dropped to a sidewalk, lying in her own blood.

The woman, Nahmer, pauses, and then very slowly lifts a handgun from her lap with two fingers holding the trigger guard. She places it with equal slowness on the table next to a radio that is periodically broadcasting low voices over the airwaves.

“With your left pinky finger, slide it across the table,” I say, to which she complies.

“Gonzalez,” I say, indicating for her to retrieve the weapon.

Gonzalez moves closer and retrieves the handgun. She then moves to a position slightly behind and to the side of the woman, looking her over to see if she can observe any other weapons. She looks up and gives me a subtle shake of her head.

“Before we go on, I should ask if you have any other weapons on you,” I state.

“There are no others,” she replies.

“You know that, if I search you and find others, any further discussion we may have will be over.”

Nahmer nods her understanding but makes no move to remove anything else. I call to one of the Alpha team members to join us. Upon his arrival, I have Gonzalez search Nahmer, coming up with nothing more.

“Satisfied?” Nahmer asks, following the search.

“For the moment,” I answer.

More voices sound from the radio. The volume is turned down, so I can’t make out the individual words, but the ones I do hear seem confused and worried.

“So, Captain Walker, where do we go from here?” Nahmer questions.

“Well, you order your troops to surrender and we’ll have more discussions once that happens,” I reply.

“And why should I do that?” she asks.

“You are still trying to play cards you no longer hold. If you don’t, everyone in here will be dead within the hour. You and I both know that, so quit trying to play a game in which you’re no longer at the table.”

“Why should our casualties and what happens to us concern you?”

“They don’t, but I’ll lose people trying to root them out. We’re prepared to do that, but if that happens, you won’t like the way you die,” I state, staring directly into her eyes.

So far, she hasn’t tried any womanly wiles. I’m sure she knows the affect that can have on some but perhaps knows that it won’t be a player here. And, even though she is still trying to play the game, deep down she knows that she is hanging on by only a very thin thread. A wrong step and that thread will snap like it was never there.

“So, Captain Walker, you are offering me a quick death instead, then?”

“No. I may be offering you the only hope at life that you have. But I’m tired of playing this game.”

“Very well. What can I say? You won, I lost. That means you get to dictate what happens. May I use the radio?” she asks, nodding to the radio in front of her.

I get the feeling that she brought the radio here knowing full well what it would be intended for and how this was going to go down. At one time, we may have worked together, but events have transpired that make that impossible. Sitting in front of me is a person who was a ghost in all senses of the word; more of a fairy tale than real. If half the stories of her are real, or if the stories are only half real, then there is a remarkable mind behind those eyes.

“It had better be a clear and short conversation. If I get a whiff of any code being used, it will not end to your liking. Do we understand each other?” I ask.

“Only too well, I’m afraid. We aren’t really that much different,” she responds.

“Lady, we are worlds apart.”

With a sigh, she picks up the radio. “How would you like for this to go down?”

“First of all, you give the order which each commander will verify, indicating that they will comply. Each room will empty according to the orders of my team lead. Then, you will contact the remaining personnel with the same order. I warn you, Nahmer—” I begin.

“Call me Gav.”

“I warn you, Nahmer, if there’s any shot fired after you give the order, you know how it will have to end,” I finish.

“I would have thought you above clichés, but it will be as you say,” Nahmer states.

She then turns up the volume and contacts the companies, telling them to lay down their weapons and to comply with the commands of the opposing forces. After I hear the corresponding verifications, I radio Lynn and let her know what is transpiring.

Soldiers begin emerging from the barracks on Lynn’s orders and she rounds them up, placing them into small groups against one corner of the bay. She places those under guard and then gathers the operations center people, followed by the rest of the personnel. Barring anything unforeseen, we have the complex under control.

I continue to keep Nahmer separate so she can’t communicate with the others or initiate some other kind of action. I mean, who knows, she may have the place rigged to blow just in case.

With the security forces and personnel rounded up and under guard, Lynn directs two teams to search the maintenance areas and quarters for anyone else, finding no others. With her radio call that all is clear, I feel an immense relief. My body, which has been under continuous stress for hours on end, relaxes to some degree, allowing fatigue to replace the adrenaline which had been my mainstay. We’re not out of this yet so I can’t allow my guard to fall.

Part of the problem now is that I have no idea what to do with the prisoners. I guess I really didn’t expect to have any, so I hadn’t given it much thought. We just aren’t set up to take prisoners, and I don’t know what we would do with them in the long-term. I don’t trust them enough to fold them into our structure as they may cause problems in our group. But we can’t exactly kill them in cold-blood either. Well, we can and may have to if we can’t think of something else, but the thought doesn’t really sit too well with me. Turning them loose may just cause the same problems for us down the road.

If I thought the soldiers were truly evil, then it would be an easy decision. It may be that they were only following orders. However, even that isn’t a good enough reason to attack without provocation. There is the chance that they may not have known what was going on. That’s the problem I’m wrestling with. They may have been pulled directly from the military, or they may just simply be hired guns. If they are only hired mercenaries, that wouldn’t explain all of the military vehicles sitting in the equipment bay. Those had to come from some military base, or perhaps directly from the manufacturer, which implies high-level connections in the past.

And then there is this Nahmer herself. She is far too dangerous to have with us or to leave her to her own devices. We have several dead to attest to that. The deep anger I felt at the loss of our people is allayed to a degree; both from the tiredness creeping over me and from standing face-to-face with our antagonist.

“Where did the security personnel come from?” I ask Nahmer, who remains seated.

“They were selected from various units and were ordered here,” she answers.

“So, they are regular soldiers. What will they do now?”

“I can’t speak for them, but I assume they will do whatever you tell them to do,” she replies.

“What do they know?”

“Next to nothing about the reality of this place, which I assume you already know about seeing you’re here,” she responds with a questioning look.

“Yes. I know what you and the others did, and why,” I state.

“Well, they know what happened…but not who or how. As far as they know, they are guarding one of the last establishments of government.”

At least I know the status of the soldiers under guard. However, that doesn’t mean that I can trust them or that they don’t have some other orders. It’s a tough decision, and one we’ll have to make soon.

“Lynn, I’m going to call Robert and have him land to drop Harold off. He’s the only one who can possibly decipher the equipment in the ops center. Can you send a team to escort him?” I radio.

“Things are under control here. I’ll send Watkins and then I’m joining you. I want to get a look at this bitch,” she answers.

I open up and give Robert a brief synopsis of where we stand. “Land in the field and drop Harold off. Alpha Team will meet you. How’s your fuel?”

“We have enough for a few more hours but that’s it,” he replies.

“Okay. Shut down and Alpha will return to provide security.

“Okay, Dad. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

“Lynn, Robert is on his way. After Watkins escorts Harold in, have him return to the aircraft for security,” I call.

“Okay, Jack. I’m on my way.”

Gonzalez maintains her alert guard, having replaced her M-4 with her handgun. Lynn arrives looking a little the worse for wear. Her bloodshot eyes tell of her tiredness, but she enters the room with a look of grim determination. Seeing Nahmer sitting calmly at the table, her lips tighten even more.

“Are you alright?” I ask, seeing blood streaks on one side of her face.

She runs her fingers across the wound. “Yeah, it’s just a scratch.”

Nahmer looks from Lynn’s entrance to me, her calm expression never leaving.

“Before you discuss what to do about me, or do anything else, I would beg your indulgence with something,” Nahmer asks, her accent only slightly betraying her origins.

“You are not in a position to ask for anything,” Lynn states firmly.

“That is true, but I would ask it nonetheless,” Nahmer replies.

“And what is this indulgence you want us to give you?” Lynn asks, staring hard at Nahmer.

“I have some… business to take care of before you decide what to do with me,” Nahmer says, her implication clear.

“They are here? In this facility?” I ask.

“Yes, they are.”

“Why would you want to see them dead?” I question.

“Because, it was their foolishness that made me lose,” she asserts.

As much as her winning would have been the end of us, I can understand her desire.

“We’ll escort you,” Lynn asserts, taking any decision out of my hands.

Nahmer rises with both Gonzalez and Lynn covering her, their faces tightened by anger and alertness. With Nahmer leading, we gather Henderson and Denton and proceed farther into the complex, turning down several halls. We walk slowly to make sure we aren’t being set up for an ambush, but it seems this part of the bunker is empty. Rounding a corner, Nahmer comes to halt.

“See that door with the camera overhead?” Nahmer asks, pointing. “That leads to their quarters.”

I also note the keypad next to the door.

“Give me the entry card or passcode and we’ll handle it,” I say.

“No, this is something I have to do myself. This is the indulgence I am asking for,” she replies.

“No, we’re going with you,” Lynn states.

“If they see you, they’ll more than likely lock us out, if they haven’t done so already,” Nahmer says.

“So, we’ll wait them out,” Lynn says.

Nahmer chuckles. “Good luck with that. They’re well supplied in there.”

I stare into Nahmer’s eyes and see that she is speaking the truth. I don’t see any falsehood written in them, but then again, she was an operative. It’s a risk, but I feel that she’s being honest.

“Go then, and make it snappy,” I state.

I return her handgun, making sure she only has a single mag. As much as the risk is that she’ll just flee or try to organize something, I understand on another level what she wants to do and believe that she’ll return. It’s something I can’t fully explain other than a knowing and that, even though we ended up as opponents, we were once in the same game together. All of this was conveyed in that single look.

With a nod, Nahmer turns and walks down the hall, the sound of her boots echoing off the walls of the wide, empty hallway.

“Jack! You’re just letting her go? Just like that?” Lynn asks, incredulous.

“She’ll be back,” I answer, watching Nahmer swipe a card and enter.

“Yeah, and how do you know that? And what will she be back with? And how many? Sometimes you just amaze me, Jack,” Lynn says, obviously not happy.

“She’ll be back,” I say, looking to Lynn.

“What, you know that from that look you two shared? That’s what told you?” Lynn states, her anger mounting.

‘Jealous much’ wouldn’t be the appropriate response, so I press my lips together to prevent the words from being uttered. Besides, I know that this isn’t where her reaction is coming from. It’s been a tense day and one filled with adrenaline. I understand what she is saying, and I just don’t know how to explain it, really even to myself. I try to but do a very poor job of it.

“It’s a weird kind of honor, but honor nonetheless,” I end up saying.

“I know you have your reasons, and I love you for them, but they’re just hard to take sometimes. I can’t believe you’re going to let that woman go. The woman who gave the order that was meant to kill you but killed Allie instead. And destroyed Greg’s team while almost killing him as well.”

“I haven’t forgotten, and for that, she’ll pay. I just don’t know what that means yet,” I respond.

“I do. Kill her. With her around, those soldiers under guard are more of a threat.”

“I’m aware of that… but… more than likely, she also knows these systems better than anyone and we need that info.”

“Harold can figure it out, and we have the technicians,” Lynn says.

“That may be the case, but what if he can’t and we eliminate the one person who does know. We need to wait and find out what she knows. These systems can help us with the night runners who are gathering at our doorstep. It will also help us find survivors,” I respond.

“Fine, Jack, but I don’t like it.”

“Me either,” I say, turning back to watch the door.

Gav swipes her card and hears the door unlock. Feeling the handgun firmly in her grip, she opens the door and steps inside. The posh carpet and surroundings of the foyer tell the story of those who reside within. With a sigh, she walks through the foyer toward the conference room. The men, who orchestrated this whole mess, will know what is happening and that’s where they will be waiting for her to report. She’s surprised they haven’t summoned her yet, but that would only have been a matter of time.

Before entering the chambers, she checks the mag, clicks it back into place, and tucks the handgun in the beltline at her back. Knocking on the heavy wooden door, she hears “enter.” Inside, it’s just as she’s witnessed numerous times, five elderly men sitting around the polished conference room table. They are dressed in suits which she could never really understand.

I mean, who are they getting dressed up for? Each other? she has thought countless times.

However, that doesn’t matter at the moment. They’ll make nice burial attire.

“Have you come to report on the disturbances, Gavrielle?” one man asks, sitting at the head of the table.

Disturbances? Even now, they are so out of touch with reality.

“I have,” she answers.

“Then tell us what you are doing about the intruders,” the man says.

Calmly, Gav pulls the handgun out and fires point blank at the man at the head of the table. The report of the gunshot fills the room, muted to a degree by the plush carpeting and books lining the walls. The round leaves the barrel and strikes forcefully just to the left of his nose. Blood sprays outward, splashing on the two men on either side. The man rocks backward in his plush chair, tipping to one side and falling heavily to the floor.

All of the men’s eyes widen from shock, looking from their fallen member to Gav, their mouths open. Wasting little time, Gav aims at the next man and pulls the trigger. A wisp of smoke trails out of the barrel following the bullet as it streaks toward her target. The man joins the first on the floor, lying in a pool of blood soaking into the thick carpet. The men recover from their shock and twist to get out of their chairs in an attempt to get away from the vengeance that is being administered.

Their soft lives make any attempt weak at best. Gav fires at one who is attempting to rise. The bullet slams into the side of his head, launching him across the arm of a chair, his weight toppling it. He comes to rest with the overturned chair lying on top of him.

The two remaining are bolting for the door, the term bolting being relative. She fires into the back of one of the fleeing men. The silken threads of his suit coat puffs from the projectile passing through on its way to find flesh and bone. With a scream, he lurches forward, his hand automatically going to his back and the sudden pain. His legs give out from the intrusion upon his body and he falls face forward just before the open door.

The last man stumbles out of the doorway, making a feeble effort to close it behind him. Gav calmly walks across the room, one once filled with the fragrance of expensive cologne. Now it holds the rank odors of death. Passing the man bawling in pain from the bullet wound in his back, she fires one round into the back of his head, silencing the cries.

She hears frantic scrambling from the remaining man as he tries to make it to the outer doorway, his panting from fright and exertion audible. Stalking behind, she removes something from her pocket and places it in her mouth, tucking it between her cheek and gum. Rounding a corner, she spies her quarry almost to the door leading into the hallway.

Without slowing, he plows into it which opens under the force of his impact. He stumbles backward and, regaining his balance, starts forward once again. Gav raises her handgun and fires.

I continue to watch the doorway that Nahmer entered. Lynn is silent as she stands beside me but I can feel the anger emanating from her. I know she doesn’t understand my decisions at times, well, most of the time if truth be known. And she has a valid reason as they sometimes seem illogical, even to me. However, I’ve stayed alive by going with my gut instinct, as illogical as it may be.

Gonzalez and the others of Red Team stand watch covering the hallway, but I note their speculative glances aimed toward me. They all startle, going to their knees and bringing their M-4s to bear as the door suddenly swings open.

A man in a suit stumbles, going to his knees and then falls forward to the floor. He frantically turns his head, looking at something, or someone, within the room from which he just fled. Nahmer walks out and stands beside him. Looking down at the man, she raises her pistol and fires. The man slumps to the ground.

I sense the tension coming from Lynn and the others.

“Hold your fire,” I tell them, still watching the scene ahead.

Nahmer looks in our direction and very slowly places her weapon on the floor. With her hands raised, she walks toward us. We escort her back into the conference room where she takes her previous seat.

I begin asking questions about the systems in place, but she forestalls me with an upraised hand which brings an almost violent response from both Lynn and Gonzalez.

“Before we go any further, the man you have, Harold I believe, will be able to figure them out,” Nahmer says. “Plus, you have the technicians.”

“Harold? You know about him?” I ask.

“Yes. We photographed him in your compound and ran him through our system. He was the one who disappeared after we caught him in our network. I assume that’s how you figured this all out,” she answers.

“Wait, you sound like we’ve already made a decision about you,” I say.

I catch Lynn’s nod in my peripheral.

“No, but I have made a decision that will save you from having to make one,” Nahmer says.

“You didn’t?”

“I did. I’m afraid that I made a wrong choice many years ago, and it has now caught up with me,” she states. “And I’ve continued making the wrong choices when I should have made the right one. I should have approached you long ago but I became caught up in the game. There is no place for me in this world anymore.”

“Jack, what is she talking about?” Lynn growls.

Nahmer’s eyes clinch from pain and a trickle of blood streams out of one nostril. Recovering, she wipes a hand across her face, smearing the blood across her upper lip and part of her cheek.

“I see that I don’t have much time left. I’m sorry for your losses, Captain Walker.”

Her eyes clinch tightly shut once again, then her whole body relaxes and her head falls to the table with a thud. Blood slowly trickles out of her nostril, forming a small pool beside her head.

“Holy shit!” Gonzalez exclaims. “Why in the fuck would she do that?”

“Because she’s been dedicated to her cause for so long that it meant everything to her. She knew we couldn’t keep her around so she opted to make it her choice,” I say, looking at the body lying on the table as if napping. For all of the wrongs she did to us, the woman was once a legend.

“Good. She just made it easier for us, that’s all,” Lynn says, checking Nahmer’s pulse.

Harold arrives with Alpha, who leaves him in our care before heading back to the aircraft. Even though we have things under control here, it’s still nighttime and anything can happen. It’s possible that night runners could be heading in our direction, following the sound of the 130 landing. So far, we’ve been lucky with that and we may be too far from any of their lairs for them to be a factor. Robert is keeping the aircraft locked up and can sense them should any draw near, but there may be others around besides night runners. Doubtful considering where we are standing, but not impossible. Seeing as we may be here for a while sorting through documents and files, and feeling nervous about Robert and Bri being outside with only one team to guard them, I call and have Alpha escort them and Craig inside.

On arriving, after a brief, Harold sits at a console in the operations center and begins going through manuals and documents. I have a few technicians, under guard, released to him to answer his questions. With the leadership gone, they become helpful without any attempts at evasion. I still don’t trust them or the soldiers but, from what I observe, they are being compliant.

Harold takes to the ops center like a kid in a candy factory. He’s a frenzy of activity that seems disjointed to me but I’m sure it makes sense to him. Soon, the desktop at the console is spread with papers, files, and notebooks. I’m thankful for the time we’ll have to spend here as it puts off any decision about the soldiers. The survivors, of which there are close to three hundred, outnumber our entire group back at Cabela’s. That could make for problems down the road if they take it in mind to be troublesome. I’m sure they are viewing themselves as prisoners, and as such, it means that we are still viewed as an opposing force. With the training they’ve been through, they will see it as their obligation and duty to escape and/or be disruptive. Perhaps seeing that we have regular duty soldiers with us, they’ll change their perspective. I’ll talk it over with Lynn and the other team leads to see what they think.

After giving Harold some time to give things a cursory scan, and knowing it will more than likely take days or weeks to compile everything, I head into the operations center with Lynn. We may not have all that much time with the 130 just sitting out there. I’d like to clear out of here and get back to Cabela’s soon as we still have a very big threat infiltrating from the north. It may be that we have to either come back later or leave some teams in place. The prisoners are a sticky issue though.

I take a seat next to Harold, who is so completely absorbed by his work that he doesn’t notice me arrive. Getting his attention, he looks up startled to see me.

“Well?” I ask.

Harold transitions from his absorption to the present. I fully expect him to launch into a series of statements that have nothing to do with each other, like when he found the files on the CDC Director’s hard drive. But he takes a minute to compose himself.

“There’s a lot here, and I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of it. One thing, the information we found on the hard drive is correct. They…” he sweeps his arm to indicate the entire facility and those within, “…initiated this whole thing but things went wrong almost immediately. Like I originally thought, they didn’t anticipate the night runners and that interfered with the staffing of the other sites. From all appearances, none of them made it into operation. There’s more but I’ll have to dig deeper.

“I also found the reason for the failure of the satellite comms. According to the few logs I’ve read so far, they discovered our means of communication with the Santa Fe and had the comm channels blocked.”

“Can we unblock them?” Lynn asks.

“We’re fixing that now,” Harold indicates, pointing to a technician at a nearby console.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, letting them have access like that?” Lynn asks.

“I’m monitoring it. I’ll know if they tap into something they shouldn’t. So far, they’ve been nothing but helpful. I don’t know if this Nahmer gave them different orders, but they’re being cooperative for now,” Harold answers.

Restoring the satellite communications, I try contacting Leonard to no avail. I’ll keep trying at intervals, but at least I know that we have the ability to do so without having to conduct a search for him.

“This,” Harold holds up a notebook, “is a list of other survivor camps that they’ve found. They have them designated according the number of people and capabilities.

“You can see ours here,” he opens to a page.

Each of the lists has numbers, capabilities, and observed activities, to include increases and decreases in population and contacts with other groups. It’s a fairly comprehensive listing. Our camp includes high-res photos of our group, listing the leadership structure. Looking over the notebook, I’m impressed with what they were able to derive from just photographs. Of course, Nahmer had mentioned they ran some through a system they have in place.

“How many are there?” I ask.

“That’s hard to say, as some don’t appear to have been updated in a while. Most of the ones indicated in this notebook are situated in the western part of the country,” Harold replies.

“So there are some overseas, then?” Lynn asks.

“Well, not many it seems.”

“Do these give an indication of what is going on elsewhere?” I ask.

“Yeah. Keep in mind, though, that I’ve only brushed the surface of all of this. But, from what I’ve read so far, it’s not a pretty picture. Europe is mostly gone. According to the notebook, there are a few camps still in existence near the Mediterranean, but they don’t have many people in them. And what they do have seems to be dwindling. The notes indicate that large parts of Europe and Asia are covered in a radiation cloud. Basically, most of Europe and Asia are wastelands, or soon will be,” Harold says.

“Is that going to reach the West Coast?” I question.

“I looked into what they have regarding that and, from all appearances, we’ll see an increase in radiation levels along the seaboard…but nothing lethal. They were monitoring that. Apparently, they intended to bring the reactors online as one of their first steps but, as you well know, they didn’t get that chance. The numerous reactors worldwide have either gone critical, or will shortly.”

“You mentioned survivors in the western part of the country. What about the eastern half?”

“I’m afraid it’s the same as most of the rest of the world. There are a few groups, but they are in the same shape. Their population numbers are shrinking. And,” Harold says, forestalling a question I was forming, “it doesn’t appear that we can do anything about them. The radiation levels are too high. Even if we could go in and get them, there’s nothing we could do except watch them die. Many of those indicated in the notebook have vanished altogether.”

“Okay, so what about the rest of the world?” I ask.

“I mentioned a few groups around the Med but that’s a no-go for the same radiation reasons. There are apparently some nomadic tribes in northeastern Africa, but they were only identified and not updated. Perhaps they didn’t think them a threat. There are some indications of encampments along the western coast of Africa and a few in the interior. The areas surrounding the Indian Ocean are gone, along with Japan. Most of the cities, irradiated or not, have very few, if any survivors. There is apparently some still living in parts of the South Pacific Islands, but those appear to be mostly native tribes. There are, though, some small settlements scattered throughout them. Australia, with only a few places that people could escape to in the interior, is mostly gone. According to the notes, there are some living in the countryside along parts of the eastern Australian seaboard and for a short distance inland,” Harold briefs, referring frequently to files and notebooks stacked on the desk.

Punching a few keys, Harold directs my attention to the large screen at the front. The image slowly resolves itself into a map of Northern America with an overlay of thermal images. Most of the map shows in blue, indicating little to no heat. However, across the eastern half of the US, dozens of orange, yellow, and white glowing locations appear.

“These are the hot spots from nuclear reactors in various stages of meltdown. From the looks of things, most of them have had their fuel rods evaporate the cooling ponds and are generating a tremendous amount of heat, throwing off radiation plumes. The winds are generally carrying those eastward. I pulled up several visual images which show that many of the plants have had explosions, more than likely from a buildup of gasses,” Harold briefs.

The image dissolves and is replaced by a world map. Besides the eastern seaboard of the US, Europe is one big, glowing location with whites, yellows, and oranges mixing together in a swirl. That continues, although slightly abated, through the western half of Asia. The eastern part of India shows a few spots as does the eastern regions of China. Japan has disappeared and can only be identified by glowing ovals.

Staring at the screen, shocked by what I’m seeing, it becomes readily apparent that vast tracts of the world are uninhabitable. I feel for those survivors caught in the swirling radiation plumes.

The screen changes. Harold briefs that I am now looking at an overlay of radiation levels. Red covers the areas where the nuclear reactors are, or were, and stretches in a generally eastward flow. The entire continent of Europe is red and only changes to a yellow near the central part of Asia; plumes from the reactors coating the continents. Red streams out of Japan and drifts east, fading as it crosses the Pacific.

“How long will it be like this?” I ask.

“I don’t really know. Possibly for hundreds of years,” Harold answers.

“What are the chances that it will reach here in dangerous levels?”

“They were monitoring that and the reports indicate that it won’t reach here in harmful levels. It would be a good idea to keep checking with the Geiger counters, though, for as long as they’ll last. We’ll lose this satellite coverage in a few months,” Harold replies.

“Can we designate new passes with the satellites to update the information?” I ask, still stunned by the images.

“That’s possible but, according to the technicians, there’s not a lot of fuel remaining to keep the satellites in orbit. We have, at best, a couple of months if we don’t task them too heavily. While the electronics onboard are solar-powered, the fuel that keeps them in orbit is running out. After that depletes, their orbits will decay and they’ll burn up in the atmosphere, the remaining pieces falling to earth. There is one keyhole satellite parked above our compound that they were using to keep tabs on us.”

“Can we use that one to locate the night runner lairs and keep track of their movements?” I ask, sitting up straighter.

“Yes. We should be able to. We may not get much aside from the information we gathered from the AC-130 video, but we can use it to monitor them,” Harold answers.

“Can you set up a relay from this site to ours?”

“I can, but it will take some work. However, there’s no way I will have the capabilities that I would here,” Harold replies with a questioning look.

“We’ll talk about that later,” I say, the idea running through my mind. “Speaking of night runners, did they do any tracking of them?”

“It looks like there was some attempt to catalogue them, but it’s incomplete. It looks like they gave up after only a few cities. There are indications that the night runners are suffering the same fate as some of the identified camps in the radiated zones. They are dying along with the survivors.”

“Okay, I know you haven’t had a lot of time to study it, but now for the million dollar question. Why didn’t they use the system to activate the nanobots? Is it that they didn’t need to because everyone was already dead or changed into night runners?” I inquire.

“Well, here’s the thing. Aside from the fact that their plans went awry with the appearance of the night runners, from the logs I’ve read and from questioning the technicians, it appears that they’ve lost communication with the satellite that was to trigger them. I mean, they lost the ability to transmit the instructions. They are still receiving telemetry data, but here’s the kicker, Jack. According to all that I’ve managed to read so far, the night runners may still have those things floating around in their heads.”

“Wait, do you mean that the night runners may have the nanobots still active inside of them?” Lynn asks, incredulous.

“According to this, yes. Although, the percentages of those having them would be the same. The bots were administered in two-thirds of the vaccines. Remember, the vaccine was the cause of the night runners, not the bots,” Harold states.

A dawning light rises inside of me. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, with a flick of the switch, we could get rid of two-thirds of the night runners?”

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s theoretically possible. However, we can’t communicate with the satellite. The technicians state that they’ve been working on it since they arrived. It has been their number one priority but, to date, they haven’t been able to transmit to it,” Harold responds.

“Work on it. There hasn’t ever been anything more important in all of your life.”