9
At long last, the two SCEVs made their way across the Sierra Nevada mountain range and into the smaller foothills that surrounded the Santa Clara Valley. Andrews and Mulligan were once again helming SCEV Four, the sixth time they had shared the rotation. Andrews found that the big sergeant major’s disposition hadn’t changed greatly during their time together, though he did continue to restrain himself from engaging in any non-mission discussions. Not that there was a lot to talk about it; even though Andrews was greatly interested in Mulligan’s history with Rachel and her parents, it was clear he wasn’t going to get anything out of the older man. Beyond discussing the vistas outside the rig’s viewports or the texture of the landscape revealed by the terrain-mapping radar, Andrews had little choice but to leave Mulligan to his own devices.
Early in the afternoon of the sixth day after leaving Harmony Base, the rigs made it to the valley.
Andrews brought the rig to a halt on the valley’s rim. From the corner of his eye, he saw SCEV Five slowly ease to a stop beside them.
Below them lay the weathered skeleton of San Jose, California. Parts of the city were mounded over by great dunes of sand; others had been blackened by long-extinguished fires that left almost nothing behind. It was obvious the city had suffered at least one direct ground strike, for they could see a large crater that was ringed by layers of shattered debris that age and weather had made virtually unidentifiable. The rotting husks of cars and trucks lay scattered about and, in the distance, Andrews thought he could see the twisted skeleton of a downed airliner laying in the dusty emptiness of a street from which all structures had been blasted away. To the north, the cities of Santa Clara, Sunnyvale, and Cupertino were vague and indistinct, hidden behind veils of wind-blown dust.
Andrews took in the vista and let his breath out in one long, drawn-out sigh. Leona slipped into the cockpit and knelt between the seats. She stared out of the viewports, and Andrews glanced at her. Her expression was blank and unreadable, revealing nothing of her internal thoughts. Andrews looked beyond her, to where Mulligan sat in the copilot’s seat. He was surprised to see a glimmer of emotion in the big man’s eyes, which he tried to conceal immediately when he realized Andrews was watching him.
“Come here before the war, Sergeant Major?”
Mulligan snorted and turned away, looking out the viewport to his right. “Yeah. Hasn’t changed much, I see.”
Leona glanced at Mulligan as well, and her brow furrowed. She seemed to sense the man’s internal turmoil and she looked to Andrews, as if seeking guidance. Andrews shrugged and shook his head.
Don’t bother with it, Lee.
Leona looked back at Mulligan again, then reached forward and grabbed the control yoke for the forward-looking infrared system. She panned the FLIR from left to right, watching the imagery it returned in a small window on the center display. She stopped the device’s slew suddenly and made a curious sound in her throat. Andrews glanced down at the display as she thumbed the zoom.
Framed in the small picture was a short, twisted tree with pale green leaves.
“Life,” Leona said.
Mulligan looked at the display and cackled suddenly. “My God, is that all we get? That thing’s twice as ugly as Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.”
“It’ll do, Mulligan,” Andrews said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “It’ll do.”
***
The rigs picked their way down into the valley, pushing the wrecked hulks of dead cars out of their way as they sidled down the remains of a cracked street. On either side of the roadway, the dilapidated remains of tract housing stood silent watch over the vehicles’ progression. Many of them had been flash-burned by the nuclear blast that had hit the area, and the ensuing shockwave had ripped off roof tiles, broken windows, and shattered chimneys, but for the most part, the structures had fared well. They were lifeless and uninhabited, of course. While the instruments indicated the radiation level was substantially lower in this part of California than it was in the Midwest, they would have been absolutely lethal even in the short term for several years after the war. Andrews watched one Mediterranean-style house slip by as the SCEV trundled past, its windows missing, the tattered remnants of what had once been über-expensive drapes flapping about in the mild breeze. The dwelling had likely cost millions of dollars, but its construction was cheap and its walls thin, so there was little doubt it had extended the lives of its occupants by only minutes, if that.
Finally, when the two vehicles had picked their way through the shattered city’s outskirts and into the municipality itself, Andrews brought SCEV Four to a halt.
“Five, this is Four. Over.”
Jim Laird’s voice came over the radio immediately. “Go ahead, Four.”
“We’ll push on ahead and see if we can find the target site for those supports. You folks hold here and wait for us to report back. We’ll be in protective posture four at all times. You getting our transponder data? Over.”
“Roger that, Four. We’re getting everything. Uh, you sure it’s wise to split up at this time?”
Andrews looked over at Mulligan. “Sarmajor, opinion?”
Mulligan shook his head. “Your wife is in Five, and she’s the subject matter expert for the supports we need, so it makes sense to play pathfinder for them.”
“Hooah.” Into the radio, he said, “Yeah, Five, this is how we’ll play it. If we run into any trouble, you’ll be the first to know. Over.”
“Roger, Four. We’ll stand overwatch here.”
“Later, Jim.”
“Happy trails, Mike.”
“Walters is going to love the nonstandard radio communications,” Mulligan said. “You do know he listens to the recordings?” Like all the measurements taken by the rig’s instruments, radio communications were likewise recorded, stored in one of the rig’s many black boxes.
“Screw him.” Andrews pushed forward on the control column. The SCEV slowly accelerated down the road, leaving the other rig behind.
“That’s the spirit, Captain.” Mulligan was smiling faintly when Andrews glanced over at him, but he didn’t say anything further.
***
Andrews drove on, cutting through streets and vacant lots where he could, or using the SCEV to batter through old, dead traffic when necessary. The rigs were built to be as tough as tanks and, so long as he didn’t do anything stupid, SCEV Four could take the punishment he was giving it. If the rather strenuous workout of pushing through tons of pitted sheet metal and delaminating fiberglass bothered him at all, Mulligan said nothing. He merely divided his time between monitoring the instruments and keeping an eye out for any obstacles Andrews might have missed.
It was during one of those times that Mulligan slapped the lockout switch on the center console and seized the copilot’s control column. Andrews was locked out; the controls on his side of the cockpit were frozen in place. Mulligan stomped on the brakes and wrenched the rig hard to the left without any warning. Andrews heard Spencer shout from the rear of the SCEV, where he was still getting some rack time. He hoped the crew chief had strapped himself into the bunk, otherwise he would be bouncing all over the place.
“Mulligan, what gives?” Andrews demanded when the SCEV shuddered to a halt amidst a spreading cloud of dust.
Mulligan pointed out the viewport. “Sinkhole.”
Andrews saw a clump of cars on the roadway ahead of him. The street canted down the face of a small hill, and the vehicles were piled up near the base, as if they’d all been caught in the same accident.
“I don’t see—”
“Look past the cars, Captain.” As he spoke, Mulligan slowly reversed the rig back up the hill. Andrews leaned forward and peered through the thick glass. Sure enough, just on the other side of the pileup, he could see a yawning maw of blackness. It was just barely visible, but when he knew where to look, there it was.
“Holy shit.”
“Don’t sweat it, sir. I’m sure you would’ve figured it out before we went over the edge and woke up taking harp lessons from Saint Pete.” Mulligan continued reversing the rig as Spencer practically leapt into the cockpit.
“What the f*ck is going on, Sarmajor?” he bellowed before Andrews could say anything.
“Hello, Sergeant Spencer. Come up to critique my parallel parking skills?”
“Spencer, Mulligan just stopped me from killing all of us,” Andrews said as Spencer sucked in air to reply. Spencer considered his words for a moment.
“Yeah, like how?”
“I almost drove us into a sinkhole. Mulligan saw the danger and acted.”
“Oh. Well, good job then, Sarmajor. Happy to have you onboard.”
“Shut up and go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Mulligan brought the SCEV to a gentle halt. He turned and looked back at Spencer with hard eyes. “And the next time you take issue with something I’ve done, I strongly urge you to discover the proper tone of voice to take when you bring it to my attention, son.”
Spencer looked at Mulligan for a long moment before a big, shit-eating grin slowly spread across his face. “Hooah, Sarmajor.” Even Spencer, who was about as sensitive to the human condition as a water pump, could figure out that screwing around with Mulligan was a fast road to hell.
“Okay, I’ll take it again, Sergeant Major.” Andrews reset the lockout switch and grabbed the control column on his side of the cockpit. “Unless you have any problems with that?”
Mulligan cut his eyes over to Andrews. “None at all, sir. But I’d recommend you take that left there”—he indicated the direction with his big chin—“and follow it for another hundred meters or so before swinging a right. The manufacturing complex should be a few klicks away. You still here, Sergeant Spencer?”
“Gone,” Spencer said, ducking out of the cockpit in a hurry.
“Mulligan, stop f*cking with my crew,” Andrews said softly as he checked the moving map display. Sure enough, an alternate route to the manufacturing complex had been highlighted.
“How am I doing that, sir? Spencer wasn’t just out of line, he was annoying at the same time. That’s a transgression no one should forgive.”
“If anyone’s going to discipline the crew, it’ll be me.” Andrews brought the SCEV into a left turn. The big rig bumped up and down as it rolled over a small economy car that hadn’t moved in a decade.
Mulligan stared at Andrews for one long moment, then shrugged. “Sure thing, sir.”
***
Almost an hour later, SCEV Four finally rolled up to the manufacturing complex. Like every other structure they had seen over the past few hours, the buildings of the manufacturing complex were extremely weathered, having suffered blast damage from the strike that had hit San Jose. Andrews slowly circumnavigated the complex, looking at the sagging chain-link fence surrounding it. The fence was topped with coiled concertina wire, essentially a whirl of razor blades that, while weather-beaten, still looked sharp enough for a shave.
Leona ducked inside the cockpit. “So this is it, huh?”
“The sign says it all, Lieutenant.” Mulligan pointed toward a large, badly peeling sign that read WHITNEY MANUFACTURING, INC.
“Yeah, that does make it pretty obvious, doesn’t it?” Leona leaned forward and looked past Andrews’s head. “That long building there must be the warehouse.”
Andrews nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. Even though the rig carried enough water for them to take the occasional quick shower, he still felt dirty and grimy. “Roger that, we’ll start there. I guess we’ll just crash what’s left of the fence.” He slowed the SCEV and turned toward the sidewalk. The rig jounced slightly as its big tires met the curb, then it smashed right through the fence. Andrews worried briefly about the razor wire slashing open a tire so badly that the self-sealing compound inside it might fail to do its job, but when the tire pressure system didn’t indicate anything even remotely approaching a leak, he allowed himself to relax. He kept his eyes sharp and moved his head on a swivel, scanning the area for anything that could threaten the rig as it rolled across the facility’s cracked, empty parking lot. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mulligan doing the same thing. There was a metallic click as the sergeant major relaxed his harness’s shoulder straps and leaned forward, half-turning in his seat to look out the rear of the vehicle. When he leaned back, he caught Andrews’s eye.
“It’s always wise to check the flanks, sir,” he said.
Leona laughed. “You think there’s anyone out here who’s going to try and harm us, Sergeant Major?”
“I have no idea, Lieutenant. But it’s wise to presume there is.”
Leona laughed again, and Andrews nudged her with his elbow.
“This is what Mulligan’s here for,” he told her. “Knock off the pissy attitude, Lee.”
Leona looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. With a blank face, she slipped out of the cockpit and returned to her station. Mulligan shot Andrews a thumbs-up, then went back to his scans.
Andrews brought the vehicle to a halt by the loading docks and pressed the red TRANSMIT switch on the control column. “Five, you copy?”
Laird’s voice came back a moment later, marred slightly by the hiss of static. The air was still full of charged particles, and radio communications would become progressively more unreliable the further away the vehicles were from each other. “Standing by, Four. Over.”
“Yeah, listen Five, we found the complex. We’ll have to enter some structures, so I’m going to bet we’ll lose voice commo for a while. I’ll try and keep you updated every hour. Is that good by you? Over.”
“Roger, Four. Hourly updates are good from our side.”
“Outstanding. I sent you the route we took to get here, did you get a chance to review it?”
“We have it, Four. Both myself and my XO checked it out. Seems simple enough, and the computer tells us we can make it to your location in about forty minutes if we take our time. I’m presuming you left us a nice path? Over.”
“Roger that, Five. Just follow the crushed vehicles and the tire tracks in the dust. You have a fix on our pos? Over.”
“We have your pos as Latitude North, 37 degrees, 19 minutes 47.0316 seconds, Longitude West, 121 degrees, 53 minutes, 19.7736 seconds. How’s that?”
Andrews chuckled but confirmed the coordinates anyway. “That’s pretty precise, Jimbo.”
“Hey, we aim to please.”
“Roger that. We’ll be suiting up and heading out now. We’ll update you before we leave the rig, then hit you every hour afterwards. Over.”
“Roger your last, Four. Happy hunting, and we hope to hear good news soon. You give the word, and I’ll bring in the SME to verify your findings and we’ll be on our way home. Over.”
“From your lips to God’s ear, Jim. SCEV Four, out.” Andrews set the parking brake and looked at Mulligan. “All right, Sarmajor. Let’s go through the shutdown checklist, and then let’s get suited up and ready for action.”
“Highly motivated, sir,” Mulligan said, though his tone indicated he was anything but.