him that command wasn’t listening. He repeated the call in but the outcome was the same, a fizz of static and little else.
The Corporal turned back to the truck where Kunaka waited; his thumb stroking the Browning’s cold steel.
“ I’ll need to see some papers,” the Corporal snuffled through his filter.
Kunaka shook his head. “Sorry Corp, but this is a Special Ops initiative. There are no papers.”
Inside, Kunaka breathed a sigh of relief. Outside he remained cool, like a soldier ready to execute his orders.
But he couldn’t really believe they were getting away with this. These guards were either sloppy or they had a clear remit. The tank aiming its canon towards the city skyline underpinned this statement. These guys were more concerned about letting people out than stopping people going in. This was about containment . And it made him uneasy. Containment was an interim strategy; it bought the brass time while they came up with a solution. More often than not that solution was to neutralize the threat.
He looked at the swatch of light marking the city skyline and clucked his tongue, his mind falling back to a time when the world was far simpler; where the world was about right and wrong and being safe.
He is suddenly back in Kingston, his Grandpa Joe sitting on the porch, the rocking chair making the paint-peeled boards creak as he watches the nebulous black clouds gather on the Atlantic’s wavering horizon. Stu Kanaka, six years old, peering up at his gramps, amazed at how someone could be that old.
“ The devil’s comin’, my boy,” Gramps says as the first roll of thunder comes in from the sea. “An’ he got his eyes and mouth wide open fer us today.”
Kunaka nodded behind his face plate, the city had replaced the sea storm; but Grandpa Joe’s words still had a hold on him.
The Corporal appeared to mull this current situation over for a long moment. “You guys have got to be crazy to go in there,” he finally said. “But I’d be crazier still if I let you in without sanction from my CO. Your team will have to stand down, until I contact COM by cell.”
Stand off , Kunaka thought. The Corporal was doing the right thing; he had his orders after all. Now Kunaka had a job to do.
The Browning was now out of his lap and in Kunaka’s mitt. He flicked off the safety.
But before he could do anything, Grandpa Joe’s long distant prophecy came back with such potency it left Kunaka hesitant.
Because, without warning, all Hell broke loose.
***
“ So, tell me, Shipman, if Intel gave you this, what can your team do about it?”
Carpenter handed the smart phone back to the Major who was now pressing keys, the tiny screen imprinting a bright white square upon each of his brown eyes.
“ My orders are simple, Colonel,” Shipman replied softly. “Retrieval.”
“ Retrieval ?” Carpenter echoed. “And what do you plan to retrieve?”
Again, Shipman passed the smart phone to his superior. An image was on the screen, a photograph of a youth, possibly late teens. It was difficult to tell, Carpenter was of an age where all kids and young adults looked the same.
“ Who is he?”
“ Our target,” Shipman said.
“ Don’t play games with me Major,” Carpenter warned. “This is still my COM and you will give me straight answers. Are we clear?”
“ Yes, sorry, Colonel,” Shipman said, though it appeared forced. “His name is Thom Everett. He is nineteen years of age and the only child of Pauline and Arthur Everett.”
“ Should I know these people?”
“ No, they are civilians and unimportant. Until now.”
“ So why now?”
Shipman leaned forward, his fingertips pressed together to form a diamond.
“ Approximately nine and a half thousand people per square mile live in Birmingham, Colonel. The fallout from the blast that released Whittington’s Lazarus Initiative is estimated at three miles. No mathematician is required to tell us that for a significant amount of the
The Corporal turned back to the truck where Kunaka waited; his thumb stroking the Browning’s cold steel.
“ I’ll need to see some papers,” the Corporal snuffled through his filter.
Kunaka shook his head. “Sorry Corp, but this is a Special Ops initiative. There are no papers.”
Inside, Kunaka breathed a sigh of relief. Outside he remained cool, like a soldier ready to execute his orders.
But he couldn’t really believe they were getting away with this. These guards were either sloppy or they had a clear remit. The tank aiming its canon towards the city skyline underpinned this statement. These guys were more concerned about letting people out than stopping people going in. This was about containment . And it made him uneasy. Containment was an interim strategy; it bought the brass time while they came up with a solution. More often than not that solution was to neutralize the threat.
He looked at the swatch of light marking the city skyline and clucked his tongue, his mind falling back to a time when the world was far simpler; where the world was about right and wrong and being safe.
He is suddenly back in Kingston, his Grandpa Joe sitting on the porch, the rocking chair making the paint-peeled boards creak as he watches the nebulous black clouds gather on the Atlantic’s wavering horizon. Stu Kanaka, six years old, peering up at his gramps, amazed at how someone could be that old.
“ The devil’s comin’, my boy,” Gramps says as the first roll of thunder comes in from the sea. “An’ he got his eyes and mouth wide open fer us today.”
Kunaka nodded behind his face plate, the city had replaced the sea storm; but Grandpa Joe’s words still had a hold on him.
The Corporal appeared to mull this current situation over for a long moment. “You guys have got to be crazy to go in there,” he finally said. “But I’d be crazier still if I let you in without sanction from my CO. Your team will have to stand down, until I contact COM by cell.”
Stand off , Kunaka thought. The Corporal was doing the right thing; he had his orders after all. Now Kunaka had a job to do.
The Browning was now out of his lap and in Kunaka’s mitt. He flicked off the safety.
But before he could do anything, Grandpa Joe’s long distant prophecy came back with such potency it left Kunaka hesitant.
Because, without warning, all Hell broke loose.
***
“ So, tell me, Shipman, if Intel gave you this, what can your team do about it?”
Carpenter handed the smart phone back to the Major who was now pressing keys, the tiny screen imprinting a bright white square upon each of his brown eyes.
“ My orders are simple, Colonel,” Shipman replied softly. “Retrieval.”
“ Retrieval ?” Carpenter echoed. “And what do you plan to retrieve?”
Again, Shipman passed the smart phone to his superior. An image was on the screen, a photograph of a youth, possibly late teens. It was difficult to tell, Carpenter was of an age where all kids and young adults looked the same.
“ Who is he?”
“ Our target,” Shipman said.
“ Don’t play games with me Major,” Carpenter warned. “This is still my COM and you will give me straight answers. Are we clear?”
“ Yes, sorry, Colonel,” Shipman said, though it appeared forced. “His name is Thom Everett. He is nineteen years of age and the only child of Pauline and Arthur Everett.”
“ Should I know these people?”
“ No, they are civilians and unimportant. Until now.”
“ So why now?”
Shipman leaned forward, his fingertips pressed together to form a diamond.
“ Approximately nine and a half thousand people per square mile live in Birmingham, Colonel. The fallout from the blast that released Whittington’s Lazarus Initiative is estimated at three miles. No mathematician is required to tell us that for a significant amount of the
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