Project - 16 Page 6

  “What time did the Colonel want to see us?” I asked, sitting down.

  “Nine,” she replied. She took the seat next to me and sat nursing her coffee, fidgeting and constantly turning the cup clockwise with her fingertips. I suddenly longed for those quiet moments in the hammock as the sun rose and I put a pot of water on the stove to boil, listening to the birds high up in the trees overhead. Quiet moments of peace and a sort of timeless zone where life made complete sense and you realised that man should never have left the embrace of the woods and rivers of his ancestral youth.

  “Fucking cold here, man,” said Riley, pulling the hood of her jumper up over her woolly hat until it almost covered her eyes. “I'm freezing my tits off.”

  “Where did you think you were going when the plane took off?” I asked, my patience suddenly aware of its anorexia.

  “I thought it would be... warmer, maybe a bit wetter. Nobody mentioned how cold it would be. What is it? About minus 4 or something?”

  “More like 8 degrees c,” I replied, biting into a rubbery pancake. It went well with the rubbery bacon that I could use to resole my boots. Riley was looking at my plate the way a starving dog might and I shoved it across to her. She took my fork and began shovelling the stuff into her mouth.

  “You not hungry?” she asked as bits of egg were flung from her lips across the table.

  “Nah,” I said. “Enjoy.”

  I drank my coffee and watched the military engine gear up into life. There was a lot more order amongst the chaos than there had been last night and now the prefab buildings were starting to come apart to be loaded onto flat bed wagons. Cranes were being driven into position and the steady droning noise of helicopter rotors could be heard a little way off behind me. Between the shouted orders and the rhythmic humming of machinery I could hear Riley's jaw working the bacon and the screech of the fork as it scraped across the plate. She'd cleared it in a few minutes and I still had the foul instant coffee left in my cup. She belched under her breath and patted her flat stomach with a grin.

  “Ready to rock and roll,” she said, getting up. “We'd better get this show on the road, eh Miller?”

  The Colonel was in his office and it didn't look like he'd left it. There was a dark shadow across his jaw and the mountain of paper work he'd been ploughing through seemed to have grown. He gestured to the chairs and carried on scribbling across the pages with his Biro. I made straight for his coffee machine and tipped the remains of the instant into his bin before filling it again with freshly ground goodness.

  “You sleep okay, Miller?” he asked without looking up.

  “Yes thanks,” I lied. I went in the drawer and found the biscuits, took two and handed three to Riley along with a cup of coffee.

  “And you guys ate good?” he asked.

  “Like fucking Kings,” said Riley, kicking back in her chair. “Like fucking Kings.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The Colonel put his pen down and sat back. “What happens now?”

  “Miller?” asked Riley.

  “I read the letters...” I began.

  “And?” interrupted the Colonel.

  “I agree, they're looking for something down in that bunker, whichever one they're in.”

  “There's more than one?” asked Riley.

  “Yes, there's plenty dotted around England. We need to find out which one - we can't search them all and they won't be detectable by satellite.”

  “I can see about maps,” said the Colonel. “Though I don't know how helpful our Intel might be to you.”

  “I'll take what I can get,” I replied. “I may have some other bits of information at home, maybe from Dad's books.”

  “If anyone knew about those bunkers, your Dad did.”

  “Did he ever mention them?” I asked. “Did he ever need to go down into one?”

  “I wasn't always in charge of that side of things,” said the Colonel. “But I don't remember him ever having to. We sure as hell didn't send him.”

  “The other thing I learned is that the girl's family don't have a clue about where she is. They think she's in some college or something when in fact she's here, digging for lost treasure.”

  “You think that's why they're here? Loot?” asked Riley. I shook my head.

  “Not loot in that sense - a find, a thing of importance that they think might help mankind or line their pockets. Whatever it is they don't want the NSU to find out about it.”

  “I agree with that one,” said the Colonel.

  “That leads me to another point - the girl is Russian.”

  The office went silent until Riley let out a long whistle and laughed. “He's been banging a fucking NSU slut!” she said. “How did I miss that?”

  “How do you know?” asked the Colonel, suddenly sitting forward, all signs of fatigue quickly fading.

  “It's the language, the construction of the sentences. The English is good - very good, but it isn't her first language. She tries too hard and it shows.”

  “You speak Russian?” asked Riley.

  “A little,” I lied. My Dad, besides passing on his skills to me as best he could, also saw the future. Not in some mystical way, but he had a knack for reading the news, for seeing between the lines and he predicted the rise of the NSU long before it happened. Between lessons in English, Geography and bush craft, he often gave me long discourses on Russian and had me translate books he had in many different Russian dialects. Again, like some prophet of old, he'd been on the pulse when the NSU finally rolled its tanks across most of Europe.

  “This changes things,” said the Colonel.

  “No shit,” said Riley. “This girl is fucking Alex and selling him down the river.”

  “What do you think, Miller?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “It could be either and I can't tell from the letters. The fact that her parents know nothing about this...”

  “Or so she says,” spat Riley.

  “It would go in her favour if it were true. They're both in this to profit by it and hope no one finds out. On the other hand, Riley could be right too - it could just be a ploy to win his trust before stabbing him in the back. Either way, with all due respect, we need to be moving on this.”

  “I agree,” said the Colonel. “I need you to locate this bunker and secure it as soon as possible. If she does blab to the NSU, chances are they'll invade and take control of the country.”

  “And there won't be anyone to stop them,” I said. “You boys will be back home.”

  “Believe me, I'd rather be here. The way these reports come in makes me think we aren't far from the end ourselves. Maybe the NSU are the only ones who'll come out of this on top.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “You might be right there.”

  “I hope I'm not.” He stood and came from around the back of his desk, his hand out to me. “Good luck, Miller. And you, Riley.”

  “Thank you sir,” she said and gave him a salute which he returned with a smile.

  “I hope you're as good as your file, soldier.”

  “Better, sir. I'm much better.”

  Turning to me, he smiled. “Your Dad was one of the good guys and it looks like it got passed on. I hope we meet again, Miller. I really do.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, touched by the compliment.

  “Head home. We'll have the documents wired to Riley's equipment. Anything you need, get it today and get gone - by tonight most of it will be flying across the Atlantic.”

  “Will do. I hope it works out back there.”

  “I do too.”

  3.

  We left the office, walking out into the last hours of the cold morning and saw a more subdued camp but one still busy in dismantling the mobile force known as the US army. I looked up at the stars and stripes flapping on its pole in the centre of camp; the fabric cracking and slapping in the strong winds.

  “I'll get my gear and see the quartermaster. Are you running a generator out there?” asked Riley.

  �
��I don't normally but I can if you need the power.”

  “I do,” she said. “I'll be bringing my computer and stuff. It'll need charging.”

  “Okay. I'll load up the 'Rover and we'll meet again in about an hour.”

  “Sounds good. Catch you later.” With that she marched away, drawing looks of longing from the G.Is she passed and falling in step with another familiar face. I watched her disappear, then I took my pack to the 'Rover and checked out what I was lacking. The tanks had been filled without me asking and I suspected the Colonel was feeling a little guilty for his people pulling out at such a delicate moment. What would it mean if the NSU did invade? I didn't have any particular grievance with them - in fact, quite the opposite. I couldn't know for sure but the Colonel wasn't aware of the work I'd done for them in the past when their own kids had come over. I had some contacts with the Russians, but would it help me if they decided to throw me out? Or worse?

  I remembered that I needed some bits and pieces for the house, just replacement parts and stuff, and there was a list on the dash which I began adding to, trying hard to plan ahead for Riley's stay and also the long journey to which ever bunker we were destined. The fuel couldn't carry us around forever. Sooner or later we'd be on foot and I tried to make the most of the free supplies the Colonel had offered.

  It was always worth knowing where the QM was on any Army base. Unlike the mess tent and the accommodation I knew exactly where to go this time. They'd stuffed the stores' office into one of those portable shipping containers and there were three more arranged in perfect parallel lines to it, each one lined with shelves. I knocked on the door and went in.

  “Morning, Tony,” I said. Tony was another of the old timers, one of the few people not to be rotated with the other shifts. He was fifty-ish, greying hair, pot-belly, but above his wide, alcoholic's nose were a pair of friendly eyes that never failed to invoke a smile.

  “Hey Miller. How's it going?”

  “Good thanks.”

  “I hear the Colonel filled you in on what's happening?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is what it is.”

  “I know. We're needed back home but I hate to think of just walking out of here and leaving the door wide open for those Commie bastards. Man, they've got most of Europe - do they need the fucking rest?”

  “Who knows?” I said, looking around at the gaps in the shelving. It looked like things were moving fast.

  “Yeah, exactly. Who does?” he said. “Anyway, what do you need from old Tony? You'd better move fast - they're robbing me blind here. Whatever you need, just take it. I can have the boys run it over to your truck if you want.”

  “How are you for diesel?” I asked. He clucked his tongue and did a dramatic head shake.

  “No-can-do I'm afraid. I got orders to fill your rig and no more...” he said, then, patting the top of his desk he winked at me and smiled. I got it. There'd be a few 'lost' cans hidden in the 'Rover when I got back. It still wouldn't be enough but I would take whatever I could get now. I didn't think the NSU would be putting any petrol pumps up when they got here.

  “Thanks, Tony.”

  “Don't mention it - and I mean it! They'd kill me if they knew. Still, I figure I owe you and your Pop something. Have a look through the shelves, take what you want. We won't be needing it. Most of the guys...”

  “What is it?” I asked. Those friendly eyes suddenly turned away and began searching the paperwork on the desk for something more distracting.

  “Well, most of the guys, they've got family back home and they want to make sure they're safe from the rioters, if you know what I mean,” he said without looking up.

  “I think I do. Desertion.”

  The ageing soldier nodded. “Yeah. We've been getting news feeds and messages from home. It's not good. As soon as the plane touches the tarmac, most of us are making a run for it.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder and he tried to smile but he was welling up.

  “Don't feel guilty about it,” I said. “I didn't realise it was that bad over there.”

  “Miller, you don't know the half of it. Man, it's like nothing we've ever faced before. It makes 9/11 look like a joke.”

  “What's causing it?”

  “That's the thing - someone bombs your city, you call it terrorism. Someone invades your country, you call it war. The news, the politicians, they're not calling it anything. It's like the whole fucking system is collapsing and no one knows fucking why.”

  “I'm sorry, Tony,” I said and I meant it.

  “Me too. I'm sorry that it looks like we're going to be camping in the woods by the end of the year like you.” He laughed but the mirth didn't reach his eyes. I offered him my hand and we shook. Then I went into the crates and began taking as much as I could, trying not to let the panic get its fingers around my throat.

  Riley appeared an hour later dragging a trolley of gear behind her. She had a beer in one hand which she emptied before throwing it over the wall.

  “Give me a hand,” she said, opening the back of my 'Rover and throwing her bags on top of the boxes. Slung across her shoulders was a sleek, black rifle with a number of attachments bolted to the rails including a large scope and an extended magazine. She kept this with her as she emptied the trolley, then went to the passenger seat and stood the weapon carefully in the foot well like it was made of glass.

  “Have you got everything?” I asked.

  “Sure have. Let's roll.”

  I climbed into the driving seat and slammed the door shut, taking one last look behind me at Fort Washington before setting off through the gate with an armed escort in front and behind. They led me to the outer barrier and waved me on. Seb was at the front and I pulled up alongside him.

  “You take care of yourself, mate,” I said.

  “You too, buddy.” He stuck his hand through the open window and I shook it. “Maybe we'll be back.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I spoke to the QM.”

  “You did?” he replied. His expression told me what I wanted to know.

  “Be safe. Don't take any chances. It'll get crazy out there and people will surprise you when you see how low they can go before the end.”

  “Yeah, I think I understand. We'll be careful. See you, Miller.”

  “See you, Seb.”

  I drove on, leaving him staring after me. Before I knew it we were on the old road and heading north into a hazy, sunny afternoon that promised to stay dry. Riley turned in her seat and looked at me through her round sunglasses - optimistic for anyone in this country.

  “You know what they're planning?” she asked. I nodded. “The QM?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I spoke to my sister. Warned her. Gave her a few names.”

  “Is it as bad as they're saying?” I asked. She shrugged.

  “Hard to tell. When has the media ever told you the truth?”

  “Fair point,” I replied.

  We drove on in silence for a bit. I wasn't going fast - hell, Land Rovers never did, but with my fuel supply gone I'd have to take it easy all the way home.

  “How far is it?” she asked. “To your house, I mean.”

  “About three hours, maybe more if we have to take a detour,” I replied. “It depends on the roads.”

  “Is it a nice place?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Colonel said you used to train Rangers up there.”

  “Yeah. For quite a while. It was my Dad's job, then he passed it on to me.”

  “I never went in for that survival bullshit before,” she said, lifting her foot onto the dash. “I figure that if you're going to get stuck without your gear or a radio then you might as well die because you ain't cut out for being a Ranger.”

  “That's one point of view,” I said, restraining a sigh.

  “I can shoot straight - that's the only thing I need to know. I never listened in these lessons. I got bored of them moaning on all day. If I could get away with not being there I usually wasn't.
One time, me and this guy ducked a whole day just by hanging around the range, cleaning guns and loading mags. Man, we had a hoot back then. Tommy, that was his name, Tommy Ledbetter.”

  “Good guy?” I asked.

  “Yeah, the best. Then he got killed in Iran. Taken prisoner, killed under torture. When they found him he was missing a lot of stuff. Arms and shit.”

  If you weren't looking for it, you'd never have seen it. It was all in that turn of the head, the quick, almost invisible pulse of the neck muscles that moved the mind of Claudia to somewhere else in an instant, somewhere, anywhere other than Iran and the body of Tommy Ledbetter.

  “You ever had crumpets?” I asked. She laughed and Riley was back in an instant.

  “Crumpets? What the fuck are they?”

  “Like toast but thicker with bubbles in.”

  “Bubbles?”

  “Yeah. You butter them when they're hot. Like toast.”

  “Sounds weird,” she said. “Where do you get them from?”

  “I make them,” I replied.

  “What, like baking and stuff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My Mom used to bake. Baked her own bread every Sunday to have with our lunch when we got back from church. She never baked fucked-up toast though. Never saw her bake a crumpet.”

  I laughed and so did she. “You went to church?”

  “Yeah, we all did. Big family thing, been doing it for generations. Same church, same time and up until a few years ago it was the same Pastor. Then he went and joined Jesus and now they got some new guy in who ain't as good.”

  “Do you believe it all?”

  “Hell no. You think I could do my job and cry 'God Bless Claudia Riley' after it? Nah, I done some bad shit that I ain't proud of and if God is up there then I don't think he'll be too happy with me.”

  “I see your point.”

  “Do you? Man, I never got the whole 'God Bless America' bullshit. If there is a God then he stopped blessing us when we delivered early Christmas presents to Nagasaki and Hiroshima.”

  “You aren't proud to be American?” I asked.

  “Proud? What the fuck have we got to be proud of? Man, the moment the Ruskies started moving south we backed down like they were the high-school bully or something. There was a time we'd just go over there and fuck them up. Now? Now we ain't got the backbone to do that any more. Now you guys, man, they were good times. Who was that guy at Trafalgar?”