Overnight, word circulating about the impending move had triggered rumors and speculation that now raced among concerned residents rushing to gather belongings in storage or on loan. To get to the mess, Bradley had to work his way from his quarters through a level of human traffic never before seen inside the mountain.
Colonel Barlow arrived early at the Command Center where the tempo became nonstop meetings to organize the military element for their trained role of nation rebuilding. In her alcove, the same applied to Mayor Robinson dealing with issues concerning the livestock and the mountain’s support staff remaining behind.
Major Kellahan instantly dispatched his motor pool personnel to prepare the stored vehicles for travel, and in some cases, actually loaded vehicles with items related or assigned to it. Meanwhile, the ordnance personnel was cleaning and preparing their weapons for use if needed.
In the War Room, Bradley convened his unique weapons and intelligence personnel to study the Las Vegas Valley for any activity and to plan a defense strategy in the Las Vegas Valley using the Mount Charleston remote camera. With the radiation count remaining high, they saw no evidence of life outside the mountain other than the nightly electric light at the Springs Preserve — suggesting someone having somehow escaped the EMP’s aftermath. In either case, everyone considered the light’s presence a significant event with a high investigation priority.
As on previous military excursions outside the mountain, Bradley found it difficult for him not to micromanage organizing the mission. His meeting with Colonel Barlow, Major Kellahan, Mitchell, and Mayor Robinson had thrown the entire military structure into four separate units with separate leaders and missions, making the meeting a definite change of direction for the people. Those trained for nation rebuilding now reported directly to Colonel Barlow, communications and intelligence gathering personnel to Colonel Bradley, the transportation and combat troops to Major Kellahan, leaving it undetermined those staying at the mountain and who would lead them. Mayor Robinson would obviously continue managing the infrastructure, both inside and outside the mountain, but this left the need to name someone to lead and defend the repository and those remaining.
Complicating matters, rather than merely going out on a mission, Kellahan’s force, once deployed, would not return to the mountain. Once Kellahan secured the new venue, Colonel Barlow’s people planned to join him, leaving Bradley seriously considering his staying to keep the War Room operational. From there, he could provide visual contact over a vast area via the camera on Mount Charleston.
Colonel Barlow arrived at the War Room, contemplating the pros and cons regarding the direction that others and she planned to take their people. Sarge announced her presence by rushing to greet her. She stooped to pet him before addressing Bradley.
“Have a moment to chat, sir?” She asked while entering the War Room.
“I certainly do, Jane,” Bradley replied from his desk. He looked relieved. “I need rescuing from me wondering what in the hell to do.”
“Welcome to the club.” She sat down in a chair beside his desk. “Tom, I have wrestled with what we have to do, and it has finally soaked in that we have no nation to rebuild. We are starting a nation.”
Bradley saw his former XO acting about as stressed out as he.
“You may well have a point there. We have seen no sign of life since seeing the campfires in Las Vegas during the battle at Hoover Dam a few months ago.” He glanced at the Mount Charleston camera monitor. ”We could damn sure use some infrared detection capability on the mountain.”
She followed his gaze, seeing the Las Vegas Valley that once housed over two million residents and millions of tourists. “I wonder what we are going to find down there.” She mused.
“It will be hell. Jane. Even though it is desert, over four years of no humans to maintain the city will have changed the city you once knew. On the ranch, I recall watching a perfectly good hay barn melt away in a short time because of human neglect. You have seen this as well. Look at Gary, Indiana or Detroit how fast the cities turned into slums and entire neighborhoods crumbled back to nature after the people moved out.”
Barlow signed. “I have seen it all over the world.” She turned to stare at the weather data streaming across the big screen. Bradley respected her hesitance to broach what she wanted to see him about and remained silent, joining her in watching the screen.
“Tom,” she finally said to get to the subject of her visit. “My soldiers are not in some shit hole country trying to save its people from Sharia law. As you said, we are not rebuilding a nation in some foreign country — we are building one — an American nation in the United States. This is our country, and I do not feel it is the place of our or anyone else’s military to do what is required. Running a nation should not be a military function.”
Bradley said nothing and his face concealed any emotion on the subject. He waited for her to continue. Barlow nervously toyed with the eagle wings on her uniform.
“I propose that we place my people on a reserve status the same as the other civilians and we continue to do what we must as your appointees. When it is time, our people can select their leadership by election. I propose we establish our first civilian branch of government.”
Bradley stood and walked around his desk where he placed his hand on Barlow’s shoulder. “Jane, you may have just solved a problem that has long nagged the crap out of me.”
He thought for a moment before removing his hand and returning to his seat where he continued in a much more decisive manner. “My dilemma was what to do with our top-heavy military — the cabinet officers inherited with the mountain. Like you, they trained for civil affairs. They add only limited value to our defense. All of you came into the mountain as civilian soldiers. I might add that I have never commanded a better group of soldiers.”
He took a sip of coffee before continuing. “We have a hi-tech military capability, which minimizes the need for trench soldiers.”
He stared at Barlow thoughtfully as he narrowed his thinking. “By damn, I believe you are on to something,” he said excitedly. “You can also have our military police personnel for law enforcement. You and I will share in the sense that everyone will remain highly trained in our ready reserve for the event we need them. This includes the civilians.”
Barlow’s face radiated her relief. She stood up and faced Bradley to offer him some advice. “Remember, Colonel, you inherited us from the Nevada National Guard. You can remove those you do not need from active duty and retain those you need.”
“Understood. For your civilian role, how does the title of governor sound to you?”
“Perfect.”
Both of them displayed relief and satisfaction with the results of their meeting.
“Prepare me a list of all of those you want released from active duty. Give some thought on civil uses for our senior officers as well and let me know.”
“Yes, sir. I know George will want to reopen our electrical business. We can employ some of the people.”
Bradley motioned for her to sit back down. “That is exactly what I envisioned for our reserve members. The issue you may find a challenge is finding something for the sheltered brains, the prima donnas to do. Barlow, we need to talk farming and livestock. I spoke to Terre, the teenager who worked with Dr. Sanders in the garden. I believe she may have learned enough to carry on with that project. For our protein needs, be thinking along the lines of rabbit, chicken, squirrel, pigs, and various other poultry species. We can raise all of these species in a building as well as here and reproduce them quickly in litters or hatchings. I think that we keep the larger livestock here and not move them.”
Both envisioned the difficulty in not only moving the animals but moving the required hay and grain inventory as well.
“Understood. It’s not going to be easy.”
“No, it is not. Let us not forget that we are still at war. This spreading of our people may be wise should an enemy force overrun us. On the other hand, it spreads and weakens our defenses.”
Bradley walked Barlow to the entrance and then strolled into the radio room annexed to the War Room. His mood lifted, even more, when he found SP5 Charlene Dawson manning the bank of rack-mounted radios. Sarge instantly ran to the basket to smell her two-month-old daughter sleeping in a basket and to romp with her two-year-old son playing on the floor.
Bradley enjoyed a special reliance upon twenty-six-year-old SP5 Charlene Dawson. She was a 5-foot, 6-inch, brown hair, 130-pound native of Las Vegas known as Sparks. He liked that Dawson, a smart soldier with mischievous eyes, had since coming into the mountain ignored his potty mouth and never allowed his rank to intimidate her. He considered her most dependable and liked it that she never quibbled when asked something that she did not know. Though a bit outspoken at times, he felt it an asset her telling it like it is. He respected that, and unofficially, acknowledged her his aid-de-camp replacing SGM Weston, the mountain’s first sergeant major and the first death in the mountain.
“Good morning, sir. We have skip traffic on the HF,” referring to the AN/PRC-150C long-range High-Frequency radio. “Seeing you were busy with Colonel Barlow, I waited to tell you.”
He showed no sign of surprise. “One thing about the storm — it kept out the bad guys. With it headed north, it would not surprise me to see company arriving to see what happened to those shit heads we took out just before the storm hit. They have to be wondering what happened to their plane.”
“Sir, it is sheet-heads, not shit-heads, she said jokingly.” Turning serious, she said. “I’m scanning all frequencies and keeping an eye on the camera monitor.”
He laughed and sat down in a chair beside her at the radio. “Cruising for political correctness class aren’t you, Dawson.” Turning serious, he said, “You probably heard the scuttlebutt about Major Kellahan taking a recon detail to Las Vegas. You will need some help with the radios.”
Dawson chuckled. “Yes, the scuttlebutt about a boondoggle is running wild and wooly.”
Dawson’s adrenaline surged as she conversed with the colonel. He grinned and took a sip of coffee. The way Dawson said it implied her inviting clarification from him to bring her into the loop.
He leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head in a relaxed position. “It is more than a boondoggle. It is a permanent deployment. All of you on the radio detail will remain in my section, so do not start packing. I will ensure the deployment not splitting up any families. We are still working out all the details, so don’t be surprised at what you hear.”
Dawson detected from his tone that this was all he intended to say. “Thanks for the heads up, sir. I will brief the other operators and otherwise put a lid on the information until you say otherwise.” She turned her attention back to the radio, indicating her not having any more questions.
He stood up and adjusted the position of his sidearm in preparation to leave. “I know you will. I will be with Major Kellahan if anything comes up.”
Bradley and Sarge rode the handcar through the five-mile tunnel, occasionally stopping to show moral support to the residents preparing to move out of their subterranean home for a little over four years. He located Major Kellahan at the ordnance depot alcove and dismounted. “Dick,” Bradley acknowledged after they exchanged brief salutes to acknowledge Bradley’s arrival. He shrugged his head in a manner telling Kellahan to carry on.
Kellahan continued instructing a staff sergeant on what ordnance to load and into which vehicle while the ordnance loading detail waited. Bradley strolled around the alcove mentally recalling the vast inventory delivered by the Air Force and Nevada National Guard to the mountain immediately after the EMP attack and before the bombs. He stopped when he came to the huge stack of stinger missiles crates.
“Major, when you have a moment,” he said to Kellahan passing nearby.
Kellahan stopped. “Sir?”
Bradley gestured to the missiles. “Dick, with the storm passing, we can expect the Brotherhood will want to check on their missing plane and people. We know their intentions, so you are to consider any arriving plane or military vehicles as being the enemy. We have one rule of engagement. If you see them, kill them. Send them to join all those virgins Allah has waiting for them.”
Kellahan grinned briefly, not out of pleasure, but out of satisfaction knowing that he had anticipated the need for the missiles and had given them a priority. He pointed to a deuce and a half truck sitting in a line of loaded trucks. It contained thirty missile crates.
Bradley nodded his acknowledgment and approval.
Kellahan rested his hand on a missile crate and paused to discuss his plans. “We will maintain a 24-hour missile detail at Nellis. So you know, sir, Nellis is near the top of my short list of suitable locations for our new settlement. It has a hospital, plenty of shelter from the storms, and is isolated enough from the city to provide us security. For growing food, I propose we convert some structures to greenhouses using the hospital’s independent water source. We might even get its solar farm back into operation. Probably more important is the fuel farm there eliminating our having to move our fuel storage.”
Bradley, being a stranger to Nellis and the state of Nevada before the EMP recognized Kellahan being the best choice to make this decision. He said, “This certainly makes it a key piece of real-estate fitting the needs of something that I am considering. The mountain is only two hours from Las Vegas and Nellis and with us now having radio and visual connection; my thoughts are to maintain it as our current War Center. Do you suppose your air force types might rustle up an old army colonel a light plane or helicopter to use for travel to and from?”
“I bet we can find something. I imagine Captain Alexander would love being your pilot,” Kellahan said jokingly. Kellahan walked to the next truck in line with Bradley walking beside him. Turning serious, he said. “Are you aware that Jer is staying at the mountain as the doctor? He volunteered.”
Bradley did not know, but it did not surprise him. It pleased him to see her having the opportunity to step from the shadows of his sister militarily. “I am glad he made that choice.”
Kellahan stopped with one foot raised onto a footstep on the vehicle. He turned to face Bradley. “Frankly, sir, I would prefer being on the battlefield much more than being a doctor having to deal with the wounded.”
He continued climbing into the truck to inspect the ties on its load while Bradley waited in silent thought after learning of his son electing to remain at the mountain with his sister, Sammie and him.
Samantha, a.k.a. Sammie, now Captain Bronson, even wearing her Kevlar, was a stunningly good-looking woman with brown hair and beautiful dark eyes. She showed a radiant and confident personality and an ever-present infectious smile that expressed excitement and confidence regardless the occasion. She had married Ray a year after entering the mountain where they shared common interests—Ray’s choice being the simulated 50-caliber machine gun in the shooting gallery and Samantha’s, the sniper weapons system. Their 31-month old son carried his grandfather’s name, Thomas.
Jeremy Bradley, who went by Jer or Jez, looked to have gotten his looks from his mother’s side of the family, whereas his sister, Captain Sammie Bronson resembled their dad with both having dark hair and a slightly darker complexion from his bit of the Cherokee Indian bloodline. The EMP had caught Jerry attending spring break in Death Valley with his UNLV classmate, Jamie Ellis. Stranded in Death Valley, they managed to hook up with the cattle drive out of the nearby Amargosa Valley to the mountain. After entering their subterranean refuge, Jamie and Jer married in a joint ceremony with Sammie, and Ray about the time Jerry joined the Army to become an Army doctor, learning under the mountain doctors’ study. With Jerry studying to be a doctor, Jamie elected to train and work as a nurse.
Until now, of the two Bradley siblings, only Sammie had experienced combat. Having her directly in his chain of command naturally placed him and her in a close professional working relationship, whereas he and Jer merely socialized. Their diverse professions left them little in common to talk about. He feared an appearance of favoritism from his being Sammie’s boss and did not know how to prevent it.
Before the EMP attack, Captain Samantha “Sammie” Bronson technically worked for the Department of Homeland Security on the Nevada National Security Site. Using that as a cover, she was involved in nonlethal weapons research with CIA weapons engineer Raymond Bronson at Area 51.
She married Bronson after he delivered two lethal strength prototypes to the mountain after the EMP and before the bombs. Sammie used this same weapon to avenge the death of her mother, and the others killed in the bomb planted at the south portal only four months earlier. On that occasion, she used the weapon during an attack on the mountain by Muslim Brotherhood members imported from South America. Immediately afterward, she took the battle to the surviving invaders, hitting them holed up in Hoover Dam.
Bradley leaned his back against the truck while, he, like Kellahan, visually and mentally surveyed the overall preparations with the critical eye of an experienced leader of warriors. He continued their conversation relating to military doctors.
“I think that is pretty well universal with soldiers. Adrenaline fuels the killing and dying in battle. Unfortunately, it leaves little thought for the suffering and compassion that the caretakers deal with. Jer has to deal with this suffering much more than you or me.”
Kellahan looked away, wondering if Bradley spoke of his suffering following the loss of Stacey. He looked Bradley in the eye. “We chalk our friends killed in action off as having screwed the pooch, propose a toast in their memory, and move on. A good leader triages his losses, fills the vacancy, and moves ahead. You are right, sir. Our medical professionals do not have that escape or privilege. They have to deal with the carnage caused by the likes of you and me.”
Bradley did not respond. He knew the truth in what Kellahan said. He walked up the line to the next vehicle.
“So, Dick, what was your civilian job when not playing soldier in Afghanistan with the guard?”
“Cox Cable. I was a district supervisor.”
Bradley said nothing more and squatted to check something on the underside of the vehicle while waiting for Kellahan.
Kellahan concluded his inspection and hopped from the truck. He joined Bradley looking over the next truck’s load in line. “Sir, do you think we will find many survivors in the city?”
“I think you will find a few stragglers who survived, but no fortified groups such as ours. I imagine Las Vegas, like any major city, is infested, not only with survivors turned rogue, but also with rats, cockroaches, pigeons, and termites. They live sheltered lives. At this point, any survivors have reverted to the wild and are surviving by using all necessary means. You will probably encounter a large number of feral cats and dogs living in buildings where they have access to rats and birds. This food train would also support individuals or a small band of survivors.”
“I wonder how such a survivor will accept us.”
Bradley shook his head negatively and shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t know, Major. There is no telling how their mind works after living like an animal all this time. I suggest you not force our will upon them. If they want to transition back to a civilized society, let them make the decision. Until proven differently, they are not an enemy.”
“Understood.”
Bradley thought of all the intelligence briefings that he had attended and given before the EMP. Many concerned the Muslim Jihadist Brotherhood’s jihad movement to take control of America. “Did Kellahan realize how the EMP and the aftermath of the bombs that followed were providing a window of opportunity to the Brotherhood radicals with medieval beliefs focused on the necessary jihad?”
In a concerned tone, he said, “Dick, we are all venturing into untested waters as we transition our people back to being civilians. The National Guard security aspect to protect them is all yours. I will support you with Intel and work with you to support our war needs. I expect us to engage the Islamic Jihad Brotherhood any day now, so be on your toes. I will try to keep it from being a surprise.”
Kellahan chuckled. “We can handle the radicals. All I ask, Colonel, is that Mother Nature doesn't surprise us with an unexpected dose of radiation. By the way, we are taking Rad-Safe personnel with us to set up radiation monitoring.” He fingered the dosimeter hanging on a cord around his neck. “These damn things are worthless unless we have someone reading them.”
Bradley realized his micromanaging the major’s operation. “Dick, I need to get back to the War Room where we are monitoring for renewed communications now that the bad guys can crawl out from beneath their rocks. I think we can expect them to return to check on their plane and those we took out just before the storm. One last thing.” He paused before continuing. “Dick, we are dealing with a foreign military force, so I think we should broaden our thinking to it being our defending our homeland. I suggest you raise Old Glory. I want anyone flying into our valley to know that they are in the United States and that we are not just some band of marauders.”
Eight days later
All morning, Bradley watched his people preparing to move out of the mountain. Equally busy were those staying as they prepared to occupy a chosen alcove when it emptied. All this shuffling activity reminded him of Stacey and his arrival at the mountain. The EMP attack had occurred while he and Stacey vacationed in Nevada to see the kids in conjunction with his witnessing a bunker bomb demonstration at the National Tonopah Test Range. He and Stacey spent the night in Beatty and woke up the next morning to find them stranded. Fortunately, both kids lived here in Nevada, Jerry attending UNLV and Sammie working for Homeland Security.
Immediately after the EMP attack, the military bases at Nellis, Creech, Edwards, the Nevada National Guard, the Nevada National Security Site, the Navy at China Lake, and the Marine Corps base in Barstow, California had rushed supplies to the mountain. Having taken command of the mountain, Bradley ensured military trucks entering the mountain with supplies did not leave the mountain. Thus, the mountain acquired a fleet of serviceable military vehicles along with a considerable number of fuel-filled tankers, gun-mounted attack vehicles, and a massive amount of ordnance.
Yesterday, after four years, the National Guard soldiers maintaining the equipment in storage for this moment began reinstalling the batteries, filling the radiators, fuel tanks, and lubricating the vehicles. The tunnel near the south portal had roared with the sounds of the vehicles coming back to life.
Today, the mountain’s paging system had sounded full time with messages as the residents activated for the anticipated move. Now, inside the central tunnel just outside the packed mess, residents arrived, some singularly and others as a group to see their warriors off to the deployment.
For the occasion, the mess had prepared a picnic-type buffet dinner where the diners ate wherever one found a place in the tunnel. Excitement filled the air and adrenaline ran high with the departing soldiers joking among themselves in the confident way soldiers of all nations had for centuries done before going into battle—a modern-day version of a war dance. The wives and dependent children carried the jubilant mood, the spouses knowing the family would soon follow the warriors back to Las Vegas.
While the soldiers readied and loaded their vehicles, the ranchers and farmers remaining at the mountain busily shuffled the livestock and cleared the tunnel in the corral area to allow passage of the stored vehicles. They too shared the excitement, knowing they were pioneering a new way of farming and ranching. To accomplish this, they would consult, teach what they knew, and learn what they did not know.
Most of those selected for sheltering after the EMP likewise saw an opportunity to become productive, applying what they knew to new technology that fit the new world in which they now lived. Tonight signified the start of a new life for everyone.
Four months earlier, when the residents left the mountain for the first time, they felt insecure on the outside—unprotected, vulnerable. This time they felt commitment, adventure, and more importantly, hopes for a future. Adding to the excitement and signifying the change, was the civilians switching from their military attire to western clothing obtained during an earlier supply run to Shepler's Western Wear in Las Vegas.
Bradley tried to mix with the others but quickly realized his presence reminded many of the recent loss of Stacey, their first lady, and the others in the south portal bombing. Even after four years with these people, fraternization came difficult for him. His laissez-faire attitude about the civilians came from the differing cultures from that of the military. Soldiers complained—a right that came with the uniform. Soldiers of different races often made racial jokes with one another, but civilians did not have that right. Spotting his son and daughter visiting in the mess, he melted away from the crowd to join them.
“Dad,” Jer said while motioning Bradley to join them.
“Doctor,” Bradley responded as he sat down beside him. “Jamie, Ray, Sammie,” he said to acknowledge the others at the table. “Where’s the rug rat?” He said, indicating Ray and Sammie’s son.
Sammie laughingly chuckled. “He and the others ran out of here a moment ago on some mission. They are like a flock of starlings swarming around changing direction with no sense of rhyme or reason.”
Bradley turned to Jer. “Understand you are not deploying along with the troops.”
“No, sir. This might have been my turn to play soldier, but my allegiance remains here.” He said it in a joking, sarcastic jab directed toward his sister for her demonstrating her military capabilities in two separate skirmishes with the Jihadists.
“You two make me proud,” he said softly.
His timing could not have been worse. He said it just as a rancher’s wife passed all decked out in her western garb. Seeing her reminded them all of Stacey, an avid horsewoman similarly attired. It grew uncomfortably quiet, and one after another, they looked elsewhere with moist eyes brought by memories.
Sammie tried to break the mood. “Dad, I understand you are keeping the War Room here at the mountain.” She meant the comment as conversation, but the timing implied he's staying for the reason of their thoughts — remaining to be near her mom.
The shroud of sadness peeled from Bradley’s thoughts, exposing a reason for his staying that even he did not know existed. “This mountain is the apex overseeing everything that goes on. Here, I can escape being bogged down with domestic activities of our people. Here I can protect our people, and from here, I will conduct a Jihadist 72 virgins mating service for any of those bastards that even think of setting foot in my country. They are going to learn that warriors don't wear sheets, they wear dog tags!”
He turned to Ray Bronson. “Ray, I am sending you on a shopping trip for components. I want you to field a number of our grizzly weapon systems. Do it as you did at Area 51—keep it compartmentalized and need-to-know so that only those assembling the weapons here at the mountain know the finished product’s identity.”
They might be living in a mountain, but Bradley intended for his people having the most technical and deadly weapon systems ever known to man. His people would not emerge from of this mountain armed with bows and arrows against the modern weapons of the Islamic Brotherhood.
The next day
SFC Dan Stratton stood at the door on the right side while checking the Humvee for dosimeters, film badges, first aid kits, weapons, food, water, and radio. Waiting patiently for him, Major Kellahan looked back at the line of vehicles in convoy. Seeing Stratton place his weapon into the vehicle in preparation for boarding, Kellahan laid his right hand on Stratton’s shoulder. “I will sit in the rear, Sergeant. You have been there before, so you are leading the troops.”
Stratton retrieved his weapon and accepted the major’s weapon while he situated in the vehicle’s rear seat. Stratton handed Kellahan his weapon and took the right front seat, wrenching in pain as he climbed aboard. The gunshot wound to his hip had occurred after his squad, and he retrieved two spacesuits for outside the mountain needs. The Jihadists who shot him were acting on intelligence received from Carlos, the traitor responsible for detonating the bomb at the south portal.
“You okay, Sarge?” the driver asked.
“I’m okay,” Stratton gruffly replied. He turned to face Kellahan. “Thanks, Major.”
They all knew Kellahan surrendered his seat to Stratton because of the sergeant’s painful hip wounded a few days earlier during an ambush in North Las Vegas while on a shopping trip to the mountain.
“Lead the way, Sergeant,” Kellahan said while inspecting his dosimeter and the radiation film badge clipped to its bottom. He next checked the clip in his weapon.
Once the radiation level dropped to a safe level outside the mountain, the residents had scrambled to replenish supplies and acquire needed items.
Kellahan had led two recon squads into the town of Beatty when the residents first emerged from the mountain before this latest storm.
A few male soldiers had traveled to and from the Groom Lake facility at Area 51, hauling equipment salvaged from the facility.
A few soldiers had accompanied the farmers and ranchers hauling feedstock to the mountain from the outlying farms and ranches in the Amargosa Valley.
However, for most, this would be their first venture into the Las Vegas Valley since the EMP attack. Now, four years later, they would evidence the horrors others had talked about during these past ventures outside the mountain. Many realized this when viewing the few desert plants managing to survive the nuclear winter. Viewing the sickly few remaining signified the wasteland being devoid of life.
The EMP struck a little after midnight in Nevada, a time of relatively low traffic. By it occurring at this hour, it had drastically minimized the number of vehicles stranded by the EMP. Nonetheless, as the convoy approached Las Vegas, it encountered increasingly large numbers of stranded automobiles abandoned when the EMP struck.
Usually, a vehicle in the dry Mojave Desert did not rust. However, that was before exposure to a four-year nuclear winter. Today the vehicles appeared badly deteriorated and surrounded by scattered bones of their occupants. The soldiers grew somber after seeing the human remains that reminded them of family and friends lost.
Forty-five Nevada National Guard personnel had entered the mountain immediately after the EMP. Today, 30 of them deployed with the convoy along with six who joined the military while inside the mountain. This left behind three original guardsmen plus three new members along with the senior staff officers pending release from active duty to serve in civilian leadership positions. Those left would deploy with the civilians.
SFC Stratton stopped the convoy near the Lee Canyon cutoff to Mount Charleston, where the troops dismounted for a bathroom break. Major Kellahan and others with binoculars conducted a visual scan over the Las Vegas Valley for signs of life. The female soldiers among them looked away while the men relieved themselves — some taking refuge in the mobile bathroom shelter quickly erected to provide privacy and preserve their dignity.
Major Kellahan and SFC Stratton stood at the front of the lead Humvee scanning the city below them with their binoculars. Kellahan said, “Sergeant, you have been down there twice since the EMP. Any thoughts concerning where to move our people?”
“Sir, as you and I both know, most mega hotels have underground rooms that are serviceable as fallout shelters, but I think we are beyond needing an actual fallout shelter. We need shelters from radiation carried by the storms rather than a bomb shelter. I feel that under the scenario described by the colonel, we need just as importantly, a supply of usable water, warehouse type structures for greenhouses and our livestock, and most importantly, a secure, defendable location.”
While speaking, Stratton moved his gaze toward Nellis AFB. Kellahan followed his lead and focused on the base as well, focusing his eyes on the huge, modern hospital building, the fuel farm, solar farm, and the base itself surrounded by a security fence. Viewing the water tower universal to almost any military base convinced him immediately of this being the only venue meeting their needs. He saw the city as a jungle they must avoid.
Kellahan continued scanning, “Nellis it is.”
He scanned the north and east of the base. “We expect the Brotherhood to arrive any day to investigate what happened to their plane and people. One good thing about Nellis is its one approach for landing passing directly over the NASCAR racetrack. I want guards with Stinger missiles at the track where they can bring down anything coming in for a landing.”
Both had seen enough. Stratton looked back along the convoy and gave the troops a signal to load up. The sounds of NCOs ordering their men back into the vehicles echoed up the line to the lead vehicle.
Thirty minutes later, the convoy sped through the main gate of Nellis AFB and continued to the flight line where Stratton quickly ushered all the vehicles into empty aircraft hangars and dispersed the weapon-mounted vehicles in strategic defensive positions.
Major Kellahan remained in the front seat of his Humvee watching his people secure a perimeter. Moments later, unable to conceal the pain from his unhealed hip wound, SFC Stratton limped to the side of the Humvee. Kellahan saw his pain and quickly dismounted.
“Sit your ass down, Sergeant,” he ordered. “Our people know what to do without your supervision.”
Stratton hauled himself into the seat and resumed watching the activity.
“Sir, I’m going to bunk our personnel with our mobile weapons tonight. I do not think we should get too comfortable until we have scouted out the valley. We are setting up a portable generator to fire up the control tower. You might want to set up there.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
The soldiers quickly secured the vehicles out of sight and gathered outside a hangar for further orders. Kellahan motioned the driver to head their way. The radio blared as they started to move.
“Base Six, this is Remote Six.” Stratton handed Kellahan the mic and adjusted the volume.
“Base Six,” Kellahan acknowledged.
“Be advised we have eyes on you and are maintaining visual on your perimeter. Dick, I think we can watch your six during the day so you can go about your business.”
Stratton and Kellahan exchanged silent nods of approval.
“Thank you, sir.”
Bradley laughed into the mic and said in his whispery voice, “Drop the sir bit. It places a target on me if anyone is listening. We will assign some call signs for future use. Dick, while I have you on the horn, see if you can find a long-range infrared camera. With that on the mountain, I can provide you with night intrusion protection.”
“I’m on it. Request visual for a patrol in three zero minutes to investigate the lights,” Kellahan said, referring to the lights at the Meadows Preserve detected by the camera.
“Visual surveillance confirmed. Have the squad leader wave to us when he is ready to depart.”
Bradley further confirmed his having a good visual on the Humvee when he added, “Sergeant Stratton when you have an opportunity, have someone check the StarQuest facility for anything that might help us expand Dr. Sanders’ garden. I understand they have quite a bit of stuff such as radiation hardened lunar habitats.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Heads up, Sergeant. I see doc headed your way to see if you are overdoing it with that hip. He’s probably going to chew your ass for even going on this deployment.”
Stratton looked at Kellahan and said jokingly, “Sir, I think we may have created a monster by giving the colonel eyes on everything we do.”
At the mountain, Bradley remained in the radio room monitoring the Mount Charleston camera monitor, watching when the squad headed out to check on the electric light source seen earlier.
The squad made its way through the streets littered with stalled vehicles until it came to the Springs Preserve. It covered the 110-acre with its miles of trails meandering through native habitats and archaeological sites where adventurous explorers and ancient people once found refuge in the Mojave Desert.
The squad cautiously entered the grounds and explored the spacious modern buildings where EMP survivors had, much like the ancient people, barricaded an area to fortify it for their protection and used the furniture as firewood for campfires.
On the monitor, Bradley and the radio operator watched the squad leave the building complex and head for a small structure. Moments later, they emerged from the building and headed for the two Humvees.
“Outpost One, this is Squad One.”
Bradley nodded to the radio operator to answer.
“Outpost One.”
“Be advised that the mysterious light is a solar-powered home. It has a sign identifying it as the Desert Sol. It appears to be an exhibit created by the UNLV Solar Decathlon Team in an experimental sustainable home design using solar energy as its only fuel source. Someone has stayed in the house since the EMP. They apparently succeeded in repairing to the solar panels. The place is empty now.”
“The solar panels were worthless without sunlight, so if they repaired the panels, they were obviously looking to the future,” Bradley said.
The sergeant did not mention finding any EMP survivor bodies, which suggested to Bradley that they did not die there. He wondered. “Where are they? How did they survive and for how long?”
“No joy on the electric light,” Bradley announced to Mitchell while stepping outside the radio room to approach the weather display on the big screen. “It is an exhibit depicting an all-solar home.”
“Gotcha. Nothing to announce on my end,” Mitchell replied. “The last storm is now raising hell over Kansas.”
Bradley turned from the big screen and called back into the radio room, “I will be at the Command Center if you hear or see anything.”
On the way to the Command Center alcove, it seemed strange not seeing the usual number of military personnel going about their business in the tunnel. The few civilians he saw acted too busy preparing to leave the mountain to do more than exchange greetings in passing. Sarge led the way, knowing that once they passed the mess, they would head to the Command Center.
“Good morning, Colonel,” Bradley said as he marched into the alcove. “Gentlemen,” he said to his staff officers and the sergeant major awaiting his arrival. They all responded to his greeting.
Colonel Barlow stood up with several documents lying neatly on her desk in front of her. “Sir, if you will kindly sign these releases from active duty, you can drop the colonel bit and call me governor,” she said jokingly. To the side, the S-1, S-2, S-3, S-4, and adjutant staff officers similarly joked with a couple of them making remarks to the effect that they too would return to being civilians again.
Inside the mountain, the National Guard battalion-level staff officers had served no real military purpose, so he had treated them as advisors to the mountain operations. He never considered them in the chain of command of day-to-day military activities, reasoning that a squadron or battalion size staff for a less than flight or company size contingent made it a unit of all chiefs and no Indians. Unlike Bradley, when the EMP struck all his military personnel was really civilians called to active duty in the Nevada National Guard to serve as first responders.
Bradley glanced at SMG Barry Marshal. “Sergeant Major, I’m going to miss having you to keep Colonel Barlow and me straight.”
MSGT Barry Marshall had replaced MSGT Jack Weston as the sergeant major after Weston, formerly with the Nevada National Guard’s 422d Signal Battalion, died after suffering a cerebral hemorrhage.
“I will keep my uniform close by, just in case.”
Bradley joined Barlow at her desk, saying to the others on the way, “You will all retain your positions in the National Guard as civilians in reserve.”
He made light of the moment by saying, “The good news is that you will not have to wear your uniforms or salute me when we meet.”
He turned serious. “I do expect you to help train and keep our civilian reserve combat ready. We have yet to work it out, but you retain your military standing under any threat situation, whether or not you are in uniform.”
Bradley sat down at Barlow’s desk and signed each document. When finished, he stood up and shook hands with each while thanking them for their service. Saving Barlow until last, he said, “Well, Governor, it is all yours.”
“Thanks for nothing. You have handed me the impossible.”
“Well, that is why you earn the big bucks.”
Barlow laughed. “That is the point. Where are the big bucks? Are we going to be a democracy, turn socialist, or become communist? Democracy means capitalism, which means moolah—pay me. What do we use for money? How do we back our currency? Who regulates and how do we bank it.”
Bradley sat down on the corner of Barlow’s desk and remained the seriousness of the matter as he addressed all in the alcove. “I do not have the answer, but I do know that rather than reverting to the Stone Age, we are leaving this mountain with a leap into the future. We do not have a source of rubber or a BF Goodrich Company to produce tires, so do not even think of designing something that does not fly or soar. We no longer have a nation to feed so we will not follow a plow to harvest food—we will produce our food in a laboratory level environment as needed by farmers wearing white robes rather than overalls. We have the knowledge to do this, and with a bit of ingenuity, I bet we can find in Las Vegas the means to do whatever we need to do. We have no choice.”
Three days later.
For the past two days, Sergeant Thor and two others had scoured the Las Vegas Valley outlying areas, one playing shotgun by manning the overhead gun and the other driving. Yesterday, they had checked Hoover Dam where they saw the battle results where Captain Bronson and her squad took out the nest of Jihadists responsible for attacking the mountain. They saw no evidence to indicate anyone occupying the dam, and Boulder City lay void of life except for a couple of dogs that ran when they heard the Humvee.
Today, after first circling through North Las Vegas, they were now driving onto the Fremont Experience, a section of Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas converted to a pedestrian walk beneath the once dazzling light and sound technological wonder. Before the EMP, the high-tech overhead canopy offered synched special light effects. After four years of nuclear winter, the canopy looked heavily weathered by many of the broken lights hanging only by their wiring.
The Humvee crept with the driver trying to avoid running over broken glass and human bones while the others scanned for signs of recent occupancy. So far, rather than entering any buildings, they looked for recent signs of life from the safety provided by their vehicle.
“Sarge, let’s check the Golden Nugget Casino to see if the gold nuggets are still on display,” the driver said.
The driver referred to a famous 61-pound golden nugget found in 1980 with a metal detector in Wedderburn, Australia.
“Let’s do it. I need to take a leak anyway.” They all took one last look around for signs of life before leaving their vehicle.
The moment they entered the casino, they saw pigeons flying everywhere, through the casino and out of sight down the corridor past the swimming pool and several little restaurants. The rancid odor and piles of bird poop identified this long being their sanctuary and protection from radiation.
The soldiers were gawking at the gold nugget still encased behind glass when they heard a thump above them.
Sergeant Thor announced, “Pigeon,” Nonetheless, all three instinctively readied their weapons. “The floor above us,” Thor whispered. He looked around for a stairwell, locating one beside a bank of idle elevators. He took the lead with the others alertly following.
On the second floor, they spotted a buffet sign and again heard a sound coming from that direction.
They entered the buffet room and spread to survey their surroundings. “There, Sarge. It is a cat. He is on that far counter. Hell, there is another one. He is stalking a pigeon.”
The cats heard him and instantly scampered out of sight. “They have gone feral, Sarge.”
The three scattered to walk through the buffet, quickly finding cats and the pigeons were not the only occupants. Inside the kitchen counters and cabinets, an army of rats scurried into hiding, and cockroaches were crawling everywhere.
“Let’s get out of this rat’s den, Sarge.”
Thor shouldered his weapon and turned to leave, freezing in place when he heard a loud thump of something jumping onto the floor behind him. Slowly he turned, sliding his weapon off his shoulder in the process, finding him staring into the eyes of a full-grown leopard. On a counter behind her, he saw two young leopard kittens not over four months old.
The leopard hunkered, never taking her eyes off his. She curled her lips and snarled a warning to her kittens.
“Easy, mama,” he softly said as he took a step backward. She growled, and he took another slow step backward. “Easy, mama, go easy mama.” The leopard looked back at her kittens.
The other two saw the situation from the start, and like the sergeant slowly retreated toward the entrance, hoping not to upset the leopard. The leopard looked at each kitten and back at Thor.
“Easy mama. We are leaving.” By now, all three had their weapons aimed at the leopard. A kitten made a sound, catching its mother’s attention. She turned to face her kittens, repeatedly glancing back at Thor and the others during their retreat. Deciding the soldiers posed no threat to her kittens; she bound back on her ledge and lay down for them to nurse — continuing to watch the retreating soldiers and speeding them on with her low guttural sounds.
Human bones no longer mattered to the driver as he sped the Humvee through the walkway and exited onto a street.
“Those were babies,” Thor said thoughtfully to the others.
“No shit, Sarge. Well, the mama sure the hell wasn’t,” he said excitedly.
“Babies mean a daddy being around here somewhere. They probably escaped from a zoo along with no telling what all else.”
He nodded knowingly. “They and the feral cats are feeding off the pigeons and rats. With four years to reproduce, no telling now the number of leopards holed up in these buildings. This means that we expect wild animals are frequenting any open water sources.”
“This might explain the lack of human survivors,” said one of the soldiers, observantly.
The detail returned to Nellis where they reported to Major Kellahan and First Sergeant Jack Curtis.
Both the major and first sergeant, a rather large and ungainly man, eyes teared up from laughing. “Say that again, Thor. It sounded as though you said you almost got eaten by a leopard.”
SFC Thor did not find it near as humorous as did the major and first sergeant. “I said that we ran into a mama leopard and her kittens in the Golden Nugget buffet. That cat and I weren’t more than ten feet apart.”
The major and first sergeant burst out laughing again, this time, causing Thor and his men to join in the laughter at their own expense.
“Okay, you two may think it's funny, but zoo animals are running loose in Las Vegas. I almost shit my pants when that damn leopard dropped down off a cabinet and looked me straight in the eye.”
“And this occurred in the buffet line at the Golden Nugget?” The first sergeant asked laughing. “What else did you see?”
“We saw pigeons and wild cats everywhere.”
“In the buffet as well?”
“Screw you, First Sergeant.” This time Thor laughed at how ridiculous this sounded.
“We believe you, Sergeant. Rats can live on just about anything, even cardboard and such. The same with pigeons, which are nothing more than flying rats. They probably holed up in the hotel because of a source of water and food. The house cats would have followed to feed off the pigeons and rats, and the leopard is probably feeding off them. There must be a source of water in the hotel-casino to attract them.”
“I assume you found no human survivors,” Kellahan said.
“Negative, sir. We saw some bad stuff out there, but nothing to indicate any recent human activity.”
“Thank you, Sergeant, and the rest of you. I realize it is a gruesome assignment, but necessary. Did you have to shoot the leopard?”
“Negative, sir. We saw enough death without adding more to it. Besides, she had two kittens.”
Kellahan dismissed the recon squad and joined the first sergeant in a nearby Humvee to continue to the temporary command post set up in the control tower. Before entering the control tower, he turned to face the camera on Mount Charleston. He signed to the camera that he would call in ten minutes. He turned to the first sergeant. “We will see how well those in the mountain are monitoring our six.”
In the radio room at the mountain, the radio operator called into the War Room. “Colonel, Major Kellahan just signed to the camera that he will call in ten minutes. He and the first sergeant are entering the control tower.”
Bradley answered Kellahan’s radio call jokingly saying, “Big Brother.” He heard Kellahan laugh and tell someone that he knew the mountain would be watching.
“No joy on survivors, sir,” Kellahan reported.
“This confirms what we see with the camera. Nothing to report here. How does it look?”
“I think you and the governor should join me in a powwow, but not on the radio. I see some pros and cons that we need to weigh.”
Though he once worked with the RSL, Remote Sensing Laboratory, staff at Nellis, Bradley had never been to Nellis AFB. When the EMP hit, he headed the Defense Intelligence Agency’s facility in Huntsville where he had worked with NSA, CIA, and with the intelligence agencies of most US allies. His people in Huntsville had developed the malware codenamed Stuxnet that infected the Iranian computers to set back their nuclear program. They also produced the missile defense that redirected the Chinese missiles during the Middle East war.
Kellahan sensed Bradley’s hesitancy for all the leadership to be together outside the mountain. “Sir, what I need to tell you requires boots on the ground and should not be discussed on the radio. I will give you a hint. I feel congested.” He extended his arm with palm up and made a complete circle.
Bradley watched on the camera monitor and immediately grasped Kellahan referring to the base’s complex infrastructure surrounding him. “Gotcha. We will evaluate it from aloft and discuss it with you at 0600 hours. Have the coffee ready.”
“Roger on the coffee.”
Bradley intended to have the duty officer locate Barlow, but stopped halfway to the alcove entrance realizing that he no longer had a duty officer, but did have a comm line to the paging station. He used it instead to request the volunteer on duty to page Barlow to report to the War Room.
When she entered the War Room, Barlow saw it not being an emergency. Bradley ordered the imagery from the Mount Charleston camera patched to a big screen where he and Mitchell intently discussed what they saw. Both stopped to stare at Barlow.
“Barlow, I believe this is the first time that I have ever seen you dressed in civilian clothes. I would not have recognized you.”
Barlow performed a modeling gesture to show off her blue jeans and western shirt. She still wore her military boots. “I hope that is a compliment, sir,” she said laughing. “What’s up?”
“You have a military mind and know the area that we are looking at. Dick called in, saying he felt congested and indicated it is because of the infrastructure surrounding him. I can see his point. He is stretched too thin to be surrounded by all the buildings on the base. He has no field of fire.”
Using the remote, Bradley shifted the camera view where they saw soldiers still unloading the trucks.
“You know, Tom. If we had infrared with this resolution on the mountain, we could perform perimeter watch for them, reducing their need for a rapid response team.”
“I beat you to it. I asked Kellahan to visit RSL in hopes he can scrounge up some remote sensing gadgets for us that include infrared and perhaps even sonic detection.”
“Scan the camera to your left. There. Stop. That is the Nellis hospital complex. This is where I suggest we move the civilians. The runway and control tower make the main base a target. Las Vegas Boulevard separates the hospital and the air base. The hospital fits in with the civilian landscape. Our people can use the buildings on the base for our needs, but I suggest they live off base inside the hospital complex. It has a mess hall, recreation rooms, and plenty of privacy for no more people than we have. I assume they found no survivors.”
“No survivors,” Bradley confirmed.
“I feared that might be the case.”
Bradley thought for a moment. “It is just a matter of time until we see immigrants from South and Central America crossing the Mexican border. We are not talking about the bad guys. We need to put the good ones into our plans for the future.”
“Yes, our immigration policy has changed drastically. Now we need more the merrier.”
For near an hour, Bradley and Barlow viewed and studied the Nellis complex and surrounding residential area abutting up to the base on two sides.
“Sir,” the radio operator said from the connecting entrance to the radio room. “Major Kellahan just now gave me a message to pass on to you. He said to tell you that they found the transportation requested by that old Army colonel and it will pick you up at 0700 hours.”
Barlow and Mitchell both looked at Bradley expecting him to explain the apparently coded message.
He grinned, his quirky grin distorted by the battle scar on his chin. “I’ll be damned! Kellahan found me a plane. Barlow, you are going with me on my maiden flight.” He walked to the radio room entrance. “Put out a page for Captain and Mr. Bronson to report to the War Room,” he ordered the radio operator.
“Sir,” Sammie said, reporting to her father. Bronson stood beside her and glanced at the big screen depicting the ever-changing stream of weather data and the other displaying the soldiers working at Nellis. His interest reflected on his face, but he said nothing.
“Capt'm, we will have a plane landing here at 0700 hours tomorrow. It is my plane, so I don’t want you or your ragtag security personnel shooting it down.”
Sammie laughed. “No, sir. We will not shoot your plane down. Really?” She exclaimed. “You got a plane?”
“We have a plane,” he said with embellished smugness. He switched to a serious tone. “Sammie, Barlow, and I are meeting Major Kellahan at Nellis in the morning. I want you and Ray manning the War Room in our absence. We will be only an hour away, maybe less, having the plane. I expected us to hear from the ragheads before now, so keep everyone on their toes.” He turned to Mitchell. “The same applies to you, Charlie. Any changes in the weather let us know. By the way, how does our weather look for flying in the morning?”
The Cessna T-41 Mescalero, a four-seat, single-engine, high-wing modified Cessna 172F Skyhawk landed on the paved road and taxied to the north portal to Bradley, Barlow, and a small entourage of spectators from the mountain. Bradley and Barlow climbed into the small, four-seat plane. They listened to the pilot, Robert Alexander, a young captain with Kellahan’s transportation company conducting a radio check with the radio room. Moments later, they become airborne and forty minutes later dropped over the Sheep Mountain Range into the Las Vegas Valley with the Nellis AFB runway looming in sight.
Captain Alexander landed the plane and taxied to where Major Kellahan and the first sergeant waited to greet them. Barlow dismounted from the plane followed by Bradley, both stepping aside for two soldiers rushing to the plane to drape a camouflage net over it. This emphasized the lack of vehicles parked out in the open.
“Belay the salutes,” Bradley ordered. “It places a target on the leadership. I am suspending the practice entirely while in the field.”
In issuing the order, Bradley drew on his prior experiences while in Special Forces. He realized all his military personnel being National Guard, civilian soldiers now in what he considered a war zone. “Major, I believe that to maintain a chain of command, we must use rank and sir protocol as always. However, being a small, cohesive group, I will relax the old fraternization protocol during work. That said; draw a line between work and social activities. Your officers have no business drinking and playing poker with the enlisted personnel. You have to retain that degree of separation to maintain authority.”
“Yes, sir,” Kellahan responded. The first sergeant nodded concurrence and remained silent. Both valued Bradley’s past war experiences that they knew involved small unit operations.
Bradley looked around at the terrain surrounding them. “I saw while on approach what you are talking about.” He focused his gaze on the Thunderbird Museum dominating the row of hangars lining the flight line. Deep into the base interior stood hundreds of huge buildings that included the BX, commissary, post office, Air Force Warfare Center, the Club, massive office buildings for the various wings, and numerous dormitories. These were great for peacetime occupation but had no place being on the battlefield.
“I wonder where they took all the planes,” Barlow commented.
“We have no idea. They destroyed all classified documents but took nothing but the planes. It appears an evacuation occurred. All that is left are the planes needing repair.” Kellahan looked at the Cessna. We found your toy in a hangar that appears to have belonged to the Nellis Aero Club. The hangar saved it from the EMP.
Bradley saw that Kellahan had followed his orders about flying the American flag. “Dick, I’m rescinding what I said about displaying the flag. Until the enemy knows we are here, I suggest we take it down. I may be old-fashioned, but I still feel we are defending the United States. The flag goes up when we go to battle.”
He looked up at the sun. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could get used to this weather. We do not know the condition of the ozone layer, so caution your people about sunburn and always wearing sunglasses when outdoors. Are you detecting any radiation hotspots?”
“Negative on radiation, thus far. I expect we will find long-life radioactive isotopes wherever radioactive snow or water accumulated. We checked some of the hotels and found a few residual radiation spots, but nothing lethal. Vegas Wash and around Lake Las Vegas will most likely have high radiation levels.”
Barlow looked toward Sunrise Mountain sitting between them and areas under discussion. “That could account for the lack of survivors. They would have gone to the water.”
While he spoke, Bradley noticed some weeds starting to show in an asphalt crack next to the hangar. He bent over to examine them and noted others were working their way through the seams as well.
“Look here, everyone. This is exactly as we pictured the aftermath of a nuclear winter. Regardless the weather, where they have shelter, plants are going to return. With no one maintaining the grounds, they will widen the seams in the asphalt and sidewalks. Without maintenance, ten years from now, there will be no asphalt remaining.”
He looked toward the Las Vegas Strip. “When the EMP struck, those hotels had all sorts of exotic plants growing inside. Some will somehow have escaped the nuclear winter, and where they found moisture, I would bet right now that they are climbing the walls. Without people, ten years from now, those buildings will be uninhabitable. One hundred years from now, most of this city will have converted back to the desert.”
Bradley led the group to the hangar’s windward side where he kneeled and scraped the ground with his hand to gather up any sand, dust, and ash. He held it in the palm of his hand and blew it gently with his breath. The ash and dust blew away, leaving only the larger particles that with closer examination resembled ash as well.
He said, “Carl Sagan and those refuting his scaremongering nuclear winter hypotheses should be here now. Just like global warming and all that worldwide environmentalist propaganda, none of those morons predicting the effects of nuclear war knew jack shit about what they preached. They predicted a 90 percent loss of life in the event of an EMP attack, but never counted on such an attack sparking a nuclear exchange. They never counted on there being a nuclear winter. Global warming or nuclear winter, in any case, this old planet evolves to the circumstances. It doesn’t give a shit who screws things up — Mother Natures, Neanderthals, Denisovans, or us Homo sapiens. The bottom-line is that we must evolve to the world we now live in.”
He dusted his hand. “Dick, do not let our finally seeing the sun draw you in. We are living in a hostile and very deadly world. After the bombs, the winds carried radioactive particles here in the form of sand, dust, and ash. The lighter, invisible stuff, dust and such, is still drifting in the atmosphere as fallout particles, tiny enough that one can inhale them into a person's lungs. Have our people wear dust masks when working in a dusty environment or on windy days. Wash everything having exposure to dust, and we should be okay. This change is part of our evolution.”
“Speaking of change — Sergeant Thor and his men met up with a leopard and two kittens in the Golden Nugget casino,” Kellahan said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Scared the crap out of them. They said pigeons, rats, feral cats, and at least one leopard with kittens has taken over the hotel.”
Bradley nodded acceptance but ignored the amusement. “It goes to reason that some breeds of dogs and most cats have become feral and converted back to the wild. It makes sense that zoo animals escaped and that people released those stashed in their backyards to run wild. There are dogs out there that have probably never seen a human being. With no predators, some animals have multiplied like crazy. Any water source is most likely attracting wild animals as it did the survivors.”
Bradley dropped the small talk and spoke to Kellahan on the purpose of their meeting. “Jane and I took a hard look at your situation using the camera. As I said, this fine city is doomed and destined to return to the desert. Whatever remains standing will become an urban jungle inhabited by wild animals. Jane says you have quite a bit of surface water here from the springs and it flows down Vegas Wash into the lakes. Any animals surviving the last four years have found shelter from radiation and will now thrive.”
Barlow added, “Dick, we are all disappointed at the lack of human survivors. However, we hope to eventually see people emigrating from the countries south of us where they escaped the bombs. The world’s changing weather and seasons have most likely devastated much of the world’s population. This will force survivors to seek new territory. Meanwhile, we are a small number of people with no need for what is in the city other than specific stores and commercial businesses having what we need to resume operations.”
Bradley finished her spoken thoughts. “We recommend moving the civilians into the Nellis Hospital where they will have full comfort, yet be easy to protect. It is only half a mile away, so we can still use such buildings as the Base Exchange for our gardens and greenhouses. I understand the base has its water wells, so we will need to maintain the water tower.”
Bradley looked around him to identify what they had seen from above using the camera. “Otherwise, we suggest you establish a range of fire by torching the residential homes around the base. With the uncontrolled growth of weeds and such in the city, a combination of one lightning strike during a strong wind and the city will eventually burn. You have to establish a firewall for your protection.”
Barlow stared at the machine shop’s sign on a building across the street from the flight line frontage road. “For four years, we protected the high and mighty brainy ones for this day. Most no longer have an occupation, so I have the former staff officers working toward getting them interested in entrepreneurial activities to put their education to use.”
Kellahan thought along the same line about his military. To defend the community against a modern army, his 30 or so soldiers required good intelligence and the means of acting on that intelligence. He looked toward the control tower that once handed over half a million aircraft operations annually. He turned to the others.
“According to my radar people, Nellis used a modified EARTS, a hybrid radar system. They think they can get the radar working with one of our nuclear-powered generators. It’s not long range, but it would give us a 60, perhaps 120 nautical mile heads up on anything coming our way.”
“What air defenses have you established, Major?”
“We have a two-man stinger missile defense set up at the NASCAR race track.” He pointed to the speedway lying directly in line with the approach for landing on the runway. “We will booby-trap the airstrip as a failsafe. If a rogue plane manages to set down, we can blow it up as it taxis down the runway.”
He walked to the back of his Humvee and lifted out a wooden crate. “You were right, sir. RSL had your high-resolution infrared camera. We will have it installed today, so perhaps you can check it out tonight.”
Bradley’s piercing eyes flashed a spark of happiness. He said, “You put that camera up today, and I guarantee that you can sleep well tonight.”
At the mountain, Sammie sat in the radio room listening to the radios and watching the camera monitor now focused on her father and the others. She watched her father on the tarmac with Barlow and Kellahan with interest. The sight of him brought back memories of when both Ray and she both sought to join the Mountain Command’s military, and her father’s refusal to militarize Ray because of two hidden secret weapon systems inside the mountain that were known only to the three of them.
When Ray volunteered to join the military, Bradley knew the wisdom of CIA running Area 51 instead of the Air Force, which, unlike Central Intelligence, had a chain-of-command and a personnel rotation policy that made it impossible to maintain secrecy. Knowing this, he did not want militarization of this weapon, or his proposed cyber warfare — fearing militarization might reveal the existence of both black projects that he considered crucial to their survival.
Her thoughts drifted to her brother choosing to remain at the mountain as its doctor — a profession that scared her to even think about entering. Her mind could not imagine slicing a living body open and handling a living organ, yet she never blinked an eye when she took the life of a Jihadist enemy.
Even as a child, her father had considered her his little warrior — the one who cried when he departed on deployment and raced to jump into his arms when he returned. Being his little soldier, she always wanted to be the one to shine his insignia with Brasso, or spit-shine his shoes. On the other hand, her brother, Jer was always the intellectual one asking questions or challenging their father to a game of chess.
She felt an adrenaline rush and lost her ready smile as she studied the monitor and realized her being the ranking military individual inside the mountain. She just now realized her leadership responsibilities inherited when the Cessna lifted off two hours earlier. If something happened to her dad and Governor Barlow, she realized that she did not have a clue of what to do. She looked up with a sigh of relief when SP5 Dawson walked into the radio room to check on her operator.
Dawson instantly noticed on the monitor the camera image of her boss standing on the tarmac at Nellis AFB. “What!” She exclaimed in mock indignation. “I miss one shift to go for a doctor check-up, and he escapes on a boondoggle on the outside.”
“I know, Dawson. I feel the same way. How is the baby?”
She smiled and picked her baby up. “Doc says she is doing well.”
“You didn’t know if it was going to be a boy or girl.”
“No. I didn’t have to do any shopping for baby clothes, so it didn’t matter,” she joked. “We do need to requisition some smaller Kevlar helmets for the kids,” she said while hugging her young son protectively against her leg. The thought of a rock falling from the ceiling and hitting him in the head petrified her. The child wore a female size helmet that dwarfed his tiny head. “Are you at liberty to say what the colonel is doing going into the war zone? He has no business leaving this mountain.”
Sammie laughed. “Dawson, you and I are on the same page on this. He didn’t check with us before sneaking out into the boondocks.”
“I don’t care if he is a colonel. It is irresponsible for him to be playing soldier when he is indispensable to our existence.”
“I recall my mother saying the same thing and quite honestly, I agree with both of you.” She laughed. “We are worried about a mustang officer who served in the Special Forces and will never talk normal again from damage to his throat caused by a sniper bullet. He has battle scars that you have probably never seen. I imagine he can take care of himself.”
“This is not my point, ma’am. He has done enough. He has used up some of his lives, and we don’t know how many he has left.”
“Thanks Dawson for being here for him and at the moment, for me. He left me holding the fort until he returns. You do know that he now has a plane?”
“I heard. That scares me. I fear he will go hog-wild once he gets a taste of liberty.”
The conversation stalled when on the monitor they saw two soldiers removing the camouflage netting from the plane. The soldiers stowed it in the empty seat, and the colonel and Barlow boarded the plane.
Dawson shifted her eyes from the monitor and picked her baby to check its diaper. She looked up at Sammie. “How about you, Captain Bronson? Do you plan to have more children?”
Sammie hesitated before answering. “I’m not sure.” She sighed and after a short hesitation, confided, “I exceeded my allowed radiation dosage while at Area 51 when we recovered all that equipment.”
Dawson looked stunned but said nothing — expecting Sammie to explain.
“My brother, Jer knows and is running some tests. Only he, the Rad-Safe technician, and now you know this. I would love to have more children, but not something handicapped or deformed because of my radiation overdose.”
“I’m sorry, Capt'm. I hope that you can. Meanwhile, my lips are sealed.”
Sammie smiled. “Charlene, this makes you my confidant as well as for the colonel,” using Dawson’s given name to signal a more personal relationship.
Both Sammie and the radio operator froze briefly when a radio broke squelch. They quickly located the radio in the rack and breathlessly waited for something to follow. The radio remained silent. “That is the Muslim Brotherhood’s frequency,” Dawson observed, referring to the frequency previously used by the planes overflying the mountain by Islamic Jihadists of the Muslim Brotherhood. “We are probably picking them up at Davis–Monthan Air Force Base outside Tucson.
“The Colonel and Barlow are taxiing. This can wait for their arrival,” Sammie stated authoritatively, her voice calm. She stood and briskly headed toward the War Room to manage the situation. “I will listen to the speaker and watch on the monitor in the War Room.”
She instinctively glanced at the perimeter camera monitors and the outside radiation level reading before looking at the weather data on the big screen. Satisfied, she stepped from the War Room and into the main tunnel to ensure someone manning the grizzly, the name that was given the secret weapon by Bradley when he revealed it after keeping it hidden inside the mountain until the recent break in the nuclear winter.
“As you were, Sergeant,” she said to an NCO working inside the vehicle. She looked toward the open portal door. “Are there many outdoors?”
“No, ma’am. A couple of adults are monitoring the kids playing outdoors while their parents prepare for the move.”
“Thanks.” It did not register with her the reason for her asking the number of people exposed outside the enemy or her need to check on the grizzly. Nor did she realize her having a premonition of impending danger, an instinct often experienced by her father ahead of past attacks and storms hitting the mountain.
The soldier stood aside to allow Sammie to climb into the vehicle and stand beside him to examine the grizzly weapons system. Ray Bronson and she had initially developed the weapon at Area 51 for nonlethal means of crowd control. It was a dual weapon system, a mystery weapon that the enemy could not see, smell, or otherwise detect. One weapon used microwave parabolic reflectors that transmitted variable frequencies that heated the fluid in the human body through vibration. The other weapon emitted infrasonic frequencies with enough stimuli to make the weapon lethal.
Sammie had used the sonic weapon to eliminate the traitor who killed her mother. He and a band of Jihadist had attacked the mountain following the south portal bombing. She had used the microwave weapon again a few weeks earlier when she commanded the squad taking out the Brotherhood militants occupying Hoover Dam. The radio squelch break reminded her that she might soon be using the weapon again.
She turned to dismount the vehicle. “The Colonel and Governor Barlow will arrive in a few minutes. If you have any chores to attend to, do them now. I have a feeling we may deploy to Nellis with those leaving the mountain.”
****