William Forstchen - The Final Day

“Sir, we’ve got less than fifty in here,” the sergeant whispered. “No telling how many we’ve yet to secure who will fight back once they get organized for a rush on us. The general said everyone who can hold a gun stays on station until we get things straightened out.”

The sergeant turned his attention away from John, shouldered his weapon, and aimed past him. “You there! Halt and keep back, or I will shoot!” the sergeant snapped.

John looked over his shoulder. A group of milling civilians was getting closer and at the sergeant’s command sullenly started to draw back.

“If they were all armed, we’d be in the shit,” the sergeant said softly. “Word is that there are some additional personnel in a highly secured area.” He paused. “You know anything about that, sir?”

“I do,” was all that John felt comfortable with saying. “Just be ready; there could be some well-trained personnel in there.” He looked just beyond the gate; there was a Humvee parked inside. “See if you can get that thing to start. If not, drop it into neutral and roll it to block this gate. Stay behind it as cover just in case.”

He looked over at Forrest, who was nodding in agreement. “Mind staying here?” John asked him. “Kevin, Reverend Black, maybe you two as well?”

“Okay.” Forrest smiled. “Sir.”

The two guards were obviously grateful for the reinforcements, and leaving them behind, John started for the bunker complex. As he approached, he eyed the building. Unlike the living quarters, it was made of poured concrete. A lone guard from Scales’s unit guarded the door, offering a salute as John approached and opening the door for him.

As he went through the door, it felt as if his ears were about to pop. The room was overpressured, the air pressure higher within to keep any ambient dust or anything else, such as chemical or biological agents, from filtering in. He could see wire meshing in the heavy glass of the door. It wasn’t armor against bullets; it was faraday caging of the entire building, proofing it against an EMP. Of course it was known about back in the 1960s, and he could recall some of the secured briefing rooms down in the basement of the Pentagon having the same kind of protections.

Once through the double doors, it truly was a Dr. Strangelove world. A vast projection screen filled the opposite wall. It was dark, but he could easily imagine a global map display, arrows crisscrossing back and forth showing the trajectory of incoming missiles. Several dozen desks were arrayed in three tiers facing the darkened screen.

They were standard military issue of a generation or more ago. Most had old standard rotary phones on them as well, a few early model desktop computers, all of it having the feel of a time capsule. There were glassed-in rooms in a semicircle set around the main room, half a dozen feet higher than the main floor. John could see one was lit up with fluorescent lights; Bob Scales and half a dozen of his troops were in that room. As he approached, Bob looked down and waved for John to come up.

There was an unpleasant scent in the air, and as he drew closer, there was yet another body, not covered, shot in the head. He had seen so many dead like this one, but in this surreal room, the corpse seemed so out of place. John hesitated for a moment, looking down at it and then up at the lone guard stationed at the door telling John that the general was waiting for him, and he went into the room.

Far-more-up-to-date computers and communication gear lined two walls of the room, some of it lit up. The far wall was covered by a dark blue curtain, in front of it a desk, flanking the desk to either side American flags. Parked at an angle were a couple of television cameras that looked to be twenty or more years old, and glassed in to one side a small control booth, apparently to operate the cameras and sound equipment.

Besides Bob and his security detail, there were several civilians in the room as well. One of them Pelligrino, ashen faced but still alive. Standing nervously behind him were two men and a lone woman.

“John, are you all right?” Bob asked.

“Sir?”

“There’s blood all over your jacket.”

John looked down and for the first time realized that he was indeed caked in blood. “It was Grace. The girl with my unit,” John said softly.

“She going to make it?” Bob asked.

John could only shake his head.

Bob looked back at Pelligrino. “Another death I am holding you responsible for.”

It looked like Pelligrino was beyond rattled and just sat in dejected, terrified silence, eyes darting back and forth like those of a hunted rabbit.

“What’s going on here, sir?” John asked.

“Get these four things out of this room and have them wait in the hall,” Bob snapped, and the guards with him shoved the civilians out without any display of civility, leaving Bob and John alone.

Bob leaned back in the old chair, put his feet up on the table, and sighed. “You want the ‘sit-rep’?” Bob asked, motioning for John to pull up a chair.

John sighed and nodded, fishing into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he had taken and pulling one out.

“I thought you quit,” Bob said, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

John did not reply as he tossed the pack on the table. Bob reached over, pulled out one as well, and motioned for the lighter.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“I didn’t other than the occasional cigar.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, Bob coughing as he exhaled but then nodding. “I can see how you can get hooked on these damn things.

“We’re in the shitter,” Bob finally said. “For that matter, the whole damn world is in the shitter.”

John knew that he was serving as a sounding board and the best thing to do now was to just listen.

“I came in here with eighty people. We’ve taken about twenty casualties.” He paused, looking at John. “I’m sorry about Grace and Lee.”

John could not bring himself to reply.

“All I could worm out of that administrator Pelligrino is that we are in a world of hurt. There are a couple of hundred civilians at the back end of this facility in a highly secured area who are family members of high-value types. ‘Movers behind the movers,’ they call them. Anyhow, the security we faced at first, standard garrison types, you could see that. But there are some definite A-team types holed up in that highly secured area, and if they try to retake us, it could go badly. I was on the phone to someone up there. She wouldn’t identify herself, but I told her she keeps her people in place and there’s no threat. But if they move, all bets are off, and this place turns into a free-fire zone.”

“Do they know how many we really have with us?” John asked.

“I don’t know. If they have access to outside cameras, they could see how many came in with us and do the math. For now, I think I’ve got them convinced I’ve got a full battalion in reserve coming in and if they start a fight, we can hold until that battalion arrives and all hell will come down on them. They’re not pushing, at least for the moment, and if they don’t, we don’t shove.”

John nodded.

“They’ll buy it for a while,” he finally said while Bob took another drag and coughed again but did not toss the cigarette down.

“What else?” John asked, for obviously there was more.

“I had that piece of crap Pelligrino out there get on the phone with Bluemont.”

That momentarily caught John by surprise, but then again, the moment they started to hit this place the alert would have gone to Bluemont, which by land was less than sixty miles away and by helicopter a quick twenty-minute flight.

“And?”

“I’m ordered to surrender my entire command. They’re sending up a battalion by land even as we speak.”