Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle by Anthony Decosmo Page A
Authors: Anthony Decosmo
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wall.
"I agree, Colonel, that you are not prepared to command a traditional military installation. But for here you are the perfect fit. You can constantly evaluate the personnel, something Haas couldn’t do. Hell, he couldn’t prevent his own …" Borman's authoritarian boom wavered and he spoke the word "… deterioration" in a subdued voice.
They came to the end of the main corridor and a steel door watched by a sentry armed with an M16. General Borman showed his pass to the soldier. The sentry glared at Liz, who realized she needed to do the same.
After flashing her security badge, the guard opened the door for them.
They walked down an even tighter corridor to yet another heavy security door. As they moved, Liz took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an attempt to find some kind of calm. When she could not quite manage
'calm" she reached for resolve and mustered just enough inner strength to keep her heart from beating right out of her chest.
General Borman told her, "You see, over the last twenty years we’ve come to believe that the best defense against these … these … influences is a well-ordered, disciplined mind that can maintain strong concentration and focus."
"Yes, I’ve seen that. I’ve also noticed that the garrison here is not what I would have expected."
"And that would be?"
"Rangers. Special Ops forces, or something similar."
"Yes, the guards here are primarily from military police regiments. Our Special Ops forces are trained to think on their feet; to be creative problem solvers. They are deadly because they outfight and outthink the enemy."
Liz finished for the general, "But the less thinking here, the better. Right?"
He nodded and slipped a special key card into the security device at the door. There was a loud buzz and a heavy bolt retracted.
"Don’t get me wrong; these are some of the finest soldiers in the armed forces," he said. "But they are also the most focused."
She thought robots.
Liz followed General Harold Borman into the Vault Security Station. The two soldiers on duty inside stood at perfect attention, but Liz barely saw the men. Instead, she looked past them, beyond the windows opposite the two control consoles, beyond the security door between those consoles.
Liz gazed in at the ominous vault door in its perfectly white room; the door marking the separation between the upper levels and the lower levels, all the way down to sublevel 8.
General Borman shared her view of the most heavily guarded door in all the world and said, "You have one job, Colonel; one priority. It’s all very simple, really. That door never gets opened."
6
"Whoops," Thom said aloud to himself as he turned to catch the front door before it closed. He dropped his duffel bag on the front stoop and reentered his ranch-style home.
Gant crossed the dining room and moved into the kitchen area. It was a bright kitchen, lots of white counters and cupboards, made even brighter by the big glass sliding door looking out on a rear patio and backyard.
He glanced around and found his black leather briefcase exactly where he had left it, on the linoleum floor next to one of the stools surrounding the breakfast bar. He bent, grabbed the handle, and stood straight again with the intention of exiting the house for the second time that morning.
Instead, he stopped and stared out the glass doors. There, beyond the patio and barbecue grill, was his wife on her hands and knees, working a patch of soil that served as their garden, although it was rather barren at the moment: only weeds, which Jean Gant seemed intent on eliminating.
It had been only moments since Thom had said good-bye to her, explaining that he was leaving on assignment, that he might be away as long as two weeks.
She took the news with the same demeanor with which she accepted all his news in recent years: without a protest, without a whimper, without any emotion at all. He might as well have been telling her the weather forecast for the
"I agree, Colonel, that you are not prepared to command a traditional military installation. But for here you are the perfect fit. You can constantly evaluate the personnel, something Haas couldn’t do. Hell, he couldn’t prevent his own …" Borman's authoritarian boom wavered and he spoke the word "… deterioration" in a subdued voice.
They came to the end of the main corridor and a steel door watched by a sentry armed with an M16. General Borman showed his pass to the soldier. The sentry glared at Liz, who realized she needed to do the same.
After flashing her security badge, the guard opened the door for them.
They walked down an even tighter corridor to yet another heavy security door. As they moved, Liz took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an attempt to find some kind of calm. When she could not quite manage
'calm" she reached for resolve and mustered just enough inner strength to keep her heart from beating right out of her chest.
General Borman told her, "You see, over the last twenty years we’ve come to believe that the best defense against these … these … influences is a well-ordered, disciplined mind that can maintain strong concentration and focus."
"Yes, I’ve seen that. I’ve also noticed that the garrison here is not what I would have expected."
"And that would be?"
"Rangers. Special Ops forces, or something similar."
"Yes, the guards here are primarily from military police regiments. Our Special Ops forces are trained to think on their feet; to be creative problem solvers. They are deadly because they outfight and outthink the enemy."
Liz finished for the general, "But the less thinking here, the better. Right?"
He nodded and slipped a special key card into the security device at the door. There was a loud buzz and a heavy bolt retracted.
"Don’t get me wrong; these are some of the finest soldiers in the armed forces," he said. "But they are also the most focused."
She thought robots.
Liz followed General Harold Borman into the Vault Security Station. The two soldiers on duty inside stood at perfect attention, but Liz barely saw the men. Instead, she looked past them, beyond the windows opposite the two control consoles, beyond the security door between those consoles.
Liz gazed in at the ominous vault door in its perfectly white room; the door marking the separation between the upper levels and the lower levels, all the way down to sublevel 8.
General Borman shared her view of the most heavily guarded door in all the world and said, "You have one job, Colonel; one priority. It’s all very simple, really. That door never gets opened."
6
"Whoops," Thom said aloud to himself as he turned to catch the front door before it closed. He dropped his duffel bag on the front stoop and reentered his ranch-style home.
Gant crossed the dining room and moved into the kitchen area. It was a bright kitchen, lots of white counters and cupboards, made even brighter by the big glass sliding door looking out on a rear patio and backyard.
He glanced around and found his black leather briefcase exactly where he had left it, on the linoleum floor next to one of the stools surrounding the breakfast bar. He bent, grabbed the handle, and stood straight again with the intention of exiting the house for the second time that morning.
Instead, he stopped and stared out the glass doors. There, beyond the patio and barbecue grill, was his wife on her hands and knees, working a patch of soil that served as their garden, although it was rather barren at the moment: only weeds, which Jean Gant seemed intent on eliminating.
It had been only moments since Thom had said good-bye to her, explaining that he was leaving on assignment, that he might be away as long as two weeks.
She took the news with the same demeanor with which she accepted all his news in recent years: without a protest, without a whimper, without any emotion at all. He might as well have been telling her the weather forecast for the
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