Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

TACOMA, WASHINGTON

Sixty meteors entered Earth’s atmosphere on May Day 2018. One of them swept in over North America at 1:11 P.M. PST. It was brighter than the sun and traveling at nearly sixty times the speed of sound. Because of the object’s velocity and shallow angle of entry, it exploded above the San Juan Islands in Washington State.

The result was a flash of bright light, an expanding cloud of superheated gas and dust, and a powerful shock wave. Most of the meteorite’s energy was dispersed into the atmosphere. But the remainder produced an explosion twenty to thirty times more powerful than the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The blast was felt hundreds of miles away.

First Lieutenant Robin “Mac” Macintyre was walking toward the base exchange when she saw a flash of light out of the corner of her eye, heard a distant boom, and felt a wall of hot air hit her from behind. It threw her down. The ground shook for three seconds or so.

Mac did a push-up and was back on her feet in time to see a radio tower sway and fall. There was a resounding crash as the structure landed on a wood-frame building and cut it in half. Mac felt the force of the impact through the soles of her shoes. What the hell’s going on? she wondered. Did Mount Rainier blow? Did a plane crash nearby? No, a plane crash wouldn’t knock the radio tower down. Mac took off. She was off duty—and dressed in a tee shirt, shorts, and running shoes. Sirens wailed as aid units responded to calls, people ran every which way, and columns of smoke marched across the horizon.

Mac passed a chaplain as she rounded a corner. He was on his knees, head bowed, praying. It’s too late for that, Mac thought to herself, as a thick layer of dust swept in to partially block the sun. Something tells me that we’re well and truly screwed.

After crossing a grinder, Mac arrived at the company area where her platoon was waiting. Others were present as well, including Captain Paul Driscoll. The fact that he was dressed in camos came as no surprise since he was rarely seen in anything else. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Driscoll said. “We don’t have orders yet… But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the brass will come up with something for us to do. So draw weapons and get your platoon ready to roll.”

“Draw weapons?”

Driscoll looked grim. “I’m just guessing, but some sort of civil unrest is a distinct possibility. Oh, and Mac, one more thing…”

“Sir?”

“Find something to wear. You look like a cheerleader on her way to a workout.”

Mac made a face at him and went off to find Sergeant First Class Emilio Evans. He was her platoon sergeant and, if she was killed, would assume command until the army issued him a new lieutenant. Evans was five-five and typically stood on the balls of his feet as if to make himself look taller. He had brown skin, a round face, and a ready smile. “Good morning, ma’am… Is this some crazy shit or what?”

“It certainly is,” Mac agreed. “Do you have any intel on what happened?”

Evans shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“Okay, how many people do we have at this point?”

“We’re five short,” Evans replied. “But three of them live off base. So they could be in transit.”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed although she had her doubts. The sky was a sickly-gray color, the light level had been reduced by half, and Mac could feel something gritty on her skin. Fallout from a nuke? If so, the entire platoon was going to die. But there was no point in saying that, so she didn’t. “All right,” Mac said. “I hope they’re okay. Let’s redistribute the people we have.”

“Yes, ma’am. Been there, done that.”

Mac chuckled. “Sorry, Emilio… That was stupid. Of course you have. Carry on. I need to find something to wear.”

“Check the lockers in the maintenance bay,” Evans suggested. “There should be some overalls back there.” The ground shook, and they were forced to grab onto a Stryker vehicle for support. Soldiers swore, windows shattered on a building nearby, and a new crack zigzagged across the street. “We’re havin’ some fun now,” Evans said, as the tremor faded away.

“If you say so,” Mac replied. “See you in five.”

Once inside the maintenance bay, Mac realized that it might be dangerous there. All sorts of stuff had spilled out of the wall lockers and onto the floor, including a stack of olive-drab overalls. Mac grabbed one labeled SMALL, and hurried to pull it on. By the time she returned to the vehicles, the platoon was armed and dressed in full combat gear.

Mac’s vest was waiting for her. It weighed 3.6 pounds and was loaded with a .9mm pistol in a cross-draw holster, spare magazines, and a small first-aid kit. “The colonel is about to brief company commanders and platoon leaders,” Evans told her. “Maybe she knows what’s going on,” he added hopefully.

Mac followed Driscoll over to the whitewashed headquarters building. The wood-framed structure dated back to WWII and stood slumped like an old soldier who could no longer stand at attention. Rather than run the risk that the building would collapse, the order was given to assemble in front of it. Somebody shouted, “Atten-hut!” as Wilson rounded a corner, and the soldiers came to attention.

Like Mac’s father, Major General Bo Macintyre, and her older sister, Major Victoria Macintyre, Lt. Colonel Marsha Wilson was a West Point graduate. It was an honor Robin Macintyre had chosen to forgo, much to her father’s disgust. Wilson was about five-eight and her back was ramrod straight. Mac scanned the other woman’s face and didn’t like what she saw. Uncertainty? Yes. But Mac could see something else as well. And it looked like fear.

“At ease,” Wilson said. “I don’t have the time to weasel word this,” she announced. “So here’s the straight scoop… It appears that a swarm of meteors hit the planet at a very high rate of speed. At least a third of them exploded over the oceans, but the rest detonated over land and caused significant damage. I’m sorry to inform you that Washington, D.C., took a direct hit.”

The news was received with a chorus of groans followed by comments like, “No way,” “Oh, shit,” and “Those poor bastards.”

One of Bravo Company’s platoon leaders began to cry, and Mac knew why. The woman’s husband was working at the Pentagon. Had been working at the Pentagon. And what about her own family? Where was her father when the poop hit the fan? And her sister? Mac felt an emptiness at the pit of her stomach.