Conspiracy

Shattered Dreams

Gav listens to the supervisor as she watches the central screen stabilize.

“We were doing a recon of the surrounding area, checking on the camp south of us… camp C-US-9. The one that is holding up in those caves.”

Gav gives an impatient nod and the supervisor continues, “Ahem… yes, as I was saying, we were doing a routine surveillance run and we found this.”

With the punch of a button, the screen stabilizes and she sees in magnified image of a Stryker sitting near an open mine on top of a ridgeline.

“Okay, so why am I looking at a Stryker sitting in the middle of nowhere?” she asks.

“That’s about seventy miles southwest of us,” he says, noting a slight raise of her eyebrow. ”But this is where it gets interesting.”

Gav nearly sighs out loud but restricts it to an inward sigh. It’s the same wherever she has gone. The folks want to guide you through their process to show their cleverness. Sometimes that’s necessary to sway others toward a decision, to show that it’s the logical one to take, but here it feels like the supervisor wants her to be impressed and throw him a bone.

Her mood has definitely taken on a black side since the recent failures. She can’t change them, nor can she alter her situation through sheer force of will. It is what it is. There isn’t anything she can do to alter her present position. She understands that, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. She wishes her staff would understand that she doesn’t need to be taken by the and guided. The sheer fact that they are here shows their expertise and they should just cut to the chase without taking her for a ride. Yeah, her temper has definitely been short lately. And those old men sitting in luxury in the back rooms…she doesn’t even want to get started thinking about that or she’ll scream. She takes a deep breath and pays attention to what the man beside her is saying. This is where things will transpire that will change the way things are…not the delusional wishes of old men.

“Nahmer,” the man says to get her attention back.

“Yes, yes… go ahead,” she replies.

“As I was saying, I did a backward run of the captured video from our satellites. This Stryker and the team with it departed McConnell AFB when Captain Walker was there. That was several days ago. I believe it to be a team from the A camp.”

“Are they onto us?” she asks, worried about a team this close to their command center.

It’s not that a single Stryker is a threat, but if they know about their location, well, that’s a worry. The stalemate between the two groups is still in existence, and the others are bound to find out about their location having captured her shooter, but any one of them this close is an additional anxiety.

“No. they departed before anything happened and we haven’t picked up any communications. We still have the satellites blocked. They can’t know the situation,” the supervisor says.

“What are they doing then?” Gav asks.

“I believe it to be a ground search for survivors. They’re parked very near the other camp. We’ve been monitoring all of the C-camp’s activities and it could be that the A-camp team knows of the captives being taken. We know, looking through the video, that they rescued one of those that were out.”

Gav knows the activities of this camp well. They emerge to take hostages and tie one of them up for the infected. The act is offensive to her, but she has elected to do nothing as of yet. She knows they’ve raided an armory at Fort Carson and carry some firepower. She would lose a few of her troops should she attack the cave structure, and luring them out would take considerable resources. They are on her target list though.

As she looks at the live feed, she notes vehicles departing the cave’s parking lot. At first there is a scant few, but then more join them. A short while later, she watches as a small team of nine leave the bushes adjacent to the mine and walks to the Stryker, which departs shortly thereafter.

With her mind working rapidly, she watches the slow progress of the Stryker as it meanders around the urban sprawl on a southerly course. The control room crew has identified the other vehicles that left the cave structure and have them targeted. Her thoughts center.

“You say they are seventy miles away?”

“Yes, Nahmer,” the supervisor answers.

“Thank you. Nicely done,” she says, her accent betraying her origins and she departs the control room.

Crossing the concrete floor of the equipment bay, she walks briskly toward the quarters housing the soldiers. She sees an opportunity to take care of the one group and a chance to whittle down some of Walker’s forces at the same time. If she captures some of them, she may gain some useful information. It’s a risk, but nothing else has worked so far and she’s tired of spinning her wheels. She knows it’s only a matter of time before the A-camp reacts. Sending her men out is risky, but she doubts her base will be hit in the interim.

Satellite footage places the AC-130 back in the Northwest. If they see the Spooky heading their way, she’ll have plenty of time to recall her men. There’s only the C-130 that met with the Santa Fe and is now transiting the southwest. The aircraft is only carrying a small team with one Stryker. They aren’t a threat to her facility or to what she is planning. They’re secure in the bunker and there isn’t any way that Walker’s group can hit them directly.

Her mind wanders to what she would do to attack this facility. Everything is located underground and accessible only via the bunker — she made sure of that. The only exposure they have is the solar farm. They can do without that; they have generators and can rely on them for a significant period of time. If they’re attacked, they’ll just hunker down and wait them out. The other camp doesn’t have enough troops to hold any particular area for long, and the AC-130 can’t stay in the air all of the time. No, they are secure here. However, doing nothing gives the camp basically a free card to play as they will. She needs to keep them off balance and reactive. If she can do that for a period of time, the aircraft fuel will eventually fail, stranding the AC-130, and the scales will shift in her favor.

Doing nothing will give Walker room to do as he will and that worries her more than anything else — what he will do with that kind of freedom. She needs to act, and the lone squad far away from base offers an opportunity. The group from the caves has also emerged in force from the protection of their caves. She can take care of both at once — two birds with one stone.

If in the process, she manages to capture some of Walker’s squad, she can gain additional information, but she won’t do it at the expense of losing her irreplaceable soldiers. Human intelligence offers more than any technical information, but she won’t risk her soldiers going solely for the capture. There’s no doubt she’ll lose some soldiers taking on the small team but, if she goes in solely for the capture, she’ll lose more. The opposing squad has a Stryker, but she has plenty of those in addition to faster moving Humvees. She’ll herd the opposing force into a kill zone. With only a single squad and Stryker, a company of her men should be adequate to take them out. Lacking any communications with their base, they’ll be sitting ducks.

Greg watches the streamers of smoke rising in the air. As he continues to observe from his elevated platform, another dark, oily plume appears, its dark smoke climbing rapidly. Then another… and another. He knows this sight having seen it numerous times during his deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. It is vehicles being set alight by heavy caliber fire. Another dark cloud of smoke rises in the afternoon sky. The latest plumes are larger…whoever it is causing them is heading his way and drawing closer.

“Driver…. go! Everyone hang on,” Greg yells into the interior. To the two standing by the side of the road, he shouts, “Follow us if you want, but I wouldn’t advise being here in about ten minutes.”

Leonard is awakened and looks at the clock. “What’s up, XO?” he asks, knowing they couldn’t have arrived at San Diego as yet.

Leonard is familiar with the pulse of his boat and instantly knows they’ve come to a stop. “Why have we stopped?”

“Sir, we’re beginning to pick up an increase in radiation levels,” the XO states. “I’ve halted the boat.”

“Where are we?” Leonard asks.

“We’re approximately forty miles to the northwest… on a bearing of 315 degrees from San Diego,” the XO answers.

Leonard can tell from the Santa Fe’s lack of a rolling motion that they are submerged. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the XO says and departs.

Leonard sits up and runs a hand through his hair. He feels significantly older than he did five months ago. Sure there were stresses associated with running an attack sub in war zones but nothing compared to what they’ve been through since. And now they’ve halted when they are almost home. Since the attack on Krandle’s team and getting them safely back on board, they’ve made a run to the south. The medical personnel assured him that the chief’s men would recover fully. An attack of that magnitude took both of them by surprise. With the SEAL Team being his only protection, he’ll be more cautious where he sends them next time. And by the chief’s look as his men were brought below decks, he’ll be reluctant to send his men inland as well.

Splashing water on his face from the tiny basin in his cabin, Leonard dons his uniform top and shoes before making his way to the control room. He is apprised of their position once again. The radiation readings are within tolerable levels, but have steadily risen as they’ve journeyed south. Before they reached marginal limits, the XO dove the boat and ordered a halt.

Their passive sensors indicate all is quiet above.

“Bring us to periscope depth,” Leonard orders.

He feels the boat rise as the buoyancy levels are increased. Looking through the periscope, he performs a three-hundred sixty degree sweep. It’s all clear under an evening sky. The sun is setting on the western horizon bathing everything in its orange glow. Over gentle rollers, Leonard spots land a few miles to the east. To the southeast, toward San Diego, the last of the sun’s rays illuminate a dark smudge lying on the horizon. It’s obvious that this line extends well below the horizon. Looking at the ugly brown blanket covering the sky in that direction, he feels a cold thread of fear work its way inside him.

Continuing to stare through the lens, he watches the warm glow of the sunset spread, igniting the sides of the shroud. The color diminishes as the sun continues its downward trek but the orange glow doesn’t vanish completely.

He holds the Santa Fe in its present position until daylight. He doesn’t want to arrive in the middle of the night. If there is any remaining presence in their homeport, whoever is there will be more than cautious. In the morning, he’ll bring the boat in closer, broadcast their position, and wait for an escort. Failing that, he’ll surface if the radiation levels have stabilized, and motor in. No one can mistake their distinctive silhouette and will withhold any hostile reaction.

As far as the radiation levels go, he believes them to be a carryover from the nuke power plants in Southern California that have leaked their nuclear waste. Or from winds carrying the fallout from the vast number of plants in India and the Orient.

The next morning, with no change in the readings, he orders the helm to keep to their previous course and speed. He has the radiation levels monitored and leaves his boat at periscope level. At twenty miles, the levels reach marginal conditions. Being underwater, the boat won’t be affected as much; it’s the air that’s poisoned. The ocean is always slower to follow. Leonard has their course altered to keep some distance from the shoreline, still believing a nearby power plant to be responsible for the conditions.

He sends a broadcast identifying his vessel and position. There is no reply either over the airwaves or physically from an escort leaving the harbor. At seven miles out, the levels tip over into the red. At this range, Leonard knows that this must be hitting the city itself. No one can live through this. Outside, just scant feet over their heads, sits a microwave of enormous proportions. They couldn’t survive a moment without proper gear. They’d be cooked in minutes should they venture out.

Not saying a word to the crew, he has the boat turned to parallel the coastline. He wants to at least glimpse his homeport. When their position indicates that they’ve cleared Point Loma, their home, and they can view the naval base situated on North Island and the city itself, he raises the periscope mast to its tallest extent. He has the cameras rolling without putting the video on any of the displays and looks through the eyepiece. The sight he beholds is not at all what he is expecting and his mind goes blank for several seconds.

The dark smog that has hung on the horizon now shrouds the entire sky to the east. Its dirty brown tinges everything. Leonard presses his face harder against the eye cups as if he will be able to see through the veil. Point Loma, North Island, and the strand connecting it to the mainland are gone. They aren’t just lying in ruins or have some parts visible, they are completely gone…obliterated. What lies beyond is even more shocking. The city is in ruins. Skeletal remains of buildings rise in places amongst rubble. Light smoke drifts upwards from a hundred places to create an abysmal cloud above the city. The smoke prevents a look farther inland, but Leonard knows that he would only see more of the same. He gazes along the inner shoreline where naval vessels once berthed. It was there that aircraft carriers were based. Several of the older carriers that were docked, like those in Bremerton, on display or to be torn apart for their scrap metal, are overturned hundreds of yards from their previous moorings. Of the others, there is no sign.

The scene through the periscope adds up to one inescapable fact. Someone nuked San Diego… and nuked it heavily.