Chapter Eight

27 weeks Post-Apocalypse

A desolate wasteland, where the winds howled amongst debris, a blood-red sun rose, travelled the course of the cloud-filled sky, and set amidst a pool of red on the horizon, its passage across the heavens unwitnessed by living eyes. What living things that were left were insects and one-celled organisms resistant to radiation, that could potentially restart the cycle of advanced life on earth. Wind blew dust piles from one place to the other and not a blade of grass could be seen anywhere for miles around. Airbursts dissipated radiation quickly, but a few surface detonations had provided a blanket of radiation that would kill any exposed within a few hours. Some of the radioactive elements had an effective half-life of 50,000 years polluting any environment and turning it into a virtually unliveable habitat for humans on the surface of the planet. Pockets of radioactive water circled the globe on the ocean currents; battles between fleets with nuclear weapons having turned into large areas emitting radiation. Perhaps eventually, one day, life would return to this abused planet, but that wasn't now and not for the foreseeable future.

But pockets of life did exist, below ground, in the vaults, grasping at survival, hoping against hope that generations beyond theirs would be able to see a life beyond the Apocalypse. To perhaps repay the debt that civilization owed to Mother Earth for abusing it so severely. Whether they would, however, remained to be seen. For even though this devastation was wrought by their own hands, humankind was lacking in their wisdom; and slow to make corrections even when their very survival was on the line. For even now, avarice, paranoia and man's ability to wage war was still very much on display

"Fools say that they learn by experience. I prefer to profit by others experience."

― Otto von Bismarck

USS Birmingham SSBN-588, McMurdo Station, Antarctica, 27 weeks Post-Apocalypse

The antarctic wind still howled around the conning tower of the USS Birmingham. Subject to the whims of the Antarctic and its punishing weather, the crew of the Birmingham and the October Revolution had to hole up in their respective submarines to keep from freezing to death.

Commander Sturgis Turner lay holed up in his bunk wondering just where his life had taken this unannounced left turn. The missiles had flown as per ordered and he had not thought anything of it until he realized the jolts from the Trident II missiles leaving their launch tubes were actually the precursor to irreversible nuclear annihilation. When he had realized that the missiles had reached their targets and the ELF and VLF transmitters on shore had gone silent, he'd realized that there was nothing to return to. Now their entire way of life was gone; nothing would ever return to normal. Nations were ashes because fools in government decided that they would go ahead and press the launch button.

Wondering if life down at the bottom of the Earth; at the Antarctic was just delaying the inevitable, he looked up at the bunk above his and pondered just how life itself would get out of the mess that had been inflicted by those in power. Anything on the surface north of the 40 degrees latitude south, was permeated with radiation that was beyond survivability for more than a few hours at a time…and it would remain so for more years than he had on this Earth.

He shook his head. "Well, humanity, you really screwed yourself over this time." Turner muttered to himself. They were going to need to leave this planet in order to find themselves a home, but whatever rocket scientists ended up being blown up in the 5MT blast that destroyed Cape Canaveral. The Chinese had wanted to make damned sure that NASA was completely obliterated; and that US space exploration wasn't going to be possible.

A light knock on the hatch interrupted his musings as a MT1 poked his head in and asked. "Sir, I was wondering if you would be able to go see Captain Van Buren. He wants to know if anything came about of that VLF signal that the ST3 picked up on.

Turner got up and grabbed his ballcap and went down the hallway to the Captain's quarters. When he got there, Captain Van Buren looked over at him. "It's been several weeks since we've heard anything. There was a conversation. But as far as we know, it could have just been static. The conversation was unintelligible and we weren't able to decode it. It is possible that it could have been two vaults communicating, however at this range and with the transmission so garbled, I wouldn't stake my bets on it, considering the amount of devastation."

"Do you think that the transmissions are genuine or do you think its just environment static resulting from high radiation count?" CAPT. Van Buren asked sitting up at the chair beside his stateroom desk. In a sub even the captain's cabin was cramped. Aside from a foldaway bunk which allowed the captain to seat two more people at a ad hoc desk, the cabin was still considered small by most Navy standards.

"I wouldn't venture a guess, sir" Sturgis replied. "We're here at the safest location on the planet; we don't want to risk our fuel rods and go travelling looking for survivors unless we have absolute proof."

The CO of the Birmingham sat for a long moment while he rationalized the situation they found themselves in. It was the age-old dilemma: save survivors versus saving themselves. A voyage of several months to an irradiated coastal city was not a feasible or rational journey.

"Do we believe it's morally right to leave potential survivors to their fate?" The CO's tone was torn as he turned a look to Turner and continued."I could say that we have a moral obligation to rescue those in need." He had to play devil's advocate before he'd feel comfortable with this choice.

"Well, sir, keep in mind that those uncontaminated by radiation sickness are secure in vaults and not out in the elements. The rest are out in the elements and are either suffering radiation sickness or are dying or dead." Turner replied, his stance indicating that he was dead-set against sailing on what he thought was a fool's errand. "Considering that we'd be undergoing a long overland journey if we find out that the signals are coming from someplace farther inland, and inflicting unnecessary radiation exposure from the environment while trying to locate the source of those VLF and ELF transmissions. No, sir. It's not worth it."

Captain Van Buren let out a heavy sigh. "I don't like it, Sturgis. I feel like I'm letting those people die without any hope of rescue. But goddamnit. I hate it when you're right." Slapping the palm of his hand down on the desk, he looked Turner straight in the face. "You're right in that there is no justification in risking lives for those who we don't know are alive or not, or whether we are just hearing the residual from radiation." He paused for a long moment. "You know something, Sturgis, In 25 years of being a Naval Officer, working my way up from Officer of the Boat all the way up, I never thought I'm come across the day when I had to do this duty that this ship was designed to carry out. We just traded gratification of being victorious for lives. Sturgis."

Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Cheyenne Mountain, CO, NORAD Command, 27 Weeks Post-Apocalypse

"Lieutenant Commander Hawkes, a moment with you?" General Horner said as he looked over at the young Navy officer. "General Stafford and I would have a moment of your time."

"Yes, sir." A request by a general officer was an order that could not be refused. Beth was cautious. She didn't let her ties to those at Mount Storm be known. And all files of her former postings were now radioactive carbon. As far as she knew Cheyenne Mountain didn't keep records of their military personnel, they just retrieved files from the Central Records at the Pentagon. But alarm bells were going off in her head wondering why the higher ups were thinking of her. And to know that her little O5 ass had their attention had her scared. But CDR Elizabeth Hawkes bit down her fear and clamped a poker face on. Hopefully those two don't play cards because they would have seen right through it, she thought as she got up and headed for General Stafford's office accompanied by the taciturn looking General Horner.

"Are you aware of the scuttlebutt going around NORAD Command, Lieutenant Commander?" Skates looked surprised at being addressed by Horner on the way up. Usually, the reserved General was a silent spectre looming over the vault; not saying much verbally, but in his silence, enough to get his point across to those who were listening not with their ears but their minds.

"Not that I've personally heard, sir." Beth responded unsure of what to make of the rhetorical question from Horner. A little voice in the back of her head warned her that he was fishing for information and that she should keep her connections to those who she knew at Mount Storm to herself; and she decided to do a little fishing herself. "Sir, are you saying that there's something to be aware of?" Years of being in a fighter squadron where many of her squadron-mates gossiped worse than a bunch of old housefraus; like they had anything better to do when they were not on duty; had inured Beth to squelch down the urge to talk about herself. A girl had to keep secrets and girls in a fighter squadron knew that if they didn't keep things to themselves, they'd be the topic of conversation for the rest of the deployment.

Horner gave her a penetrating stare and was silent the rest of the way up to Stafford's office. Beth kept her own silence and just continued to stare quietly at the back of Horner's head. As they reached General Stafford's door, Horner looked at her and said. "None of what's talked about in this meeting goes past these doors. Do you understand? Lieutenant Commander Hawkes?" The unspoken threat hung over Beth unspoken, but obvious.

"Yes, sir; understood, sir." Beth's mind nearly froze in fear looking into Horner's cold blue eyes.

"I hope I've made myself absolutely clear on this."

"Yes, sir." She said as Horner opened the door and ushered her in to the presence of General Stafford. She squared off at attention in front of him. Stafford, his steely expression never wavering, looked her up and down and nodded, assessing her quietly in a calculating manner more akin to a serpent eyeing a rat that it intended to make into a tasty morsel. "Lieutenant Commander Beth Hawkes, United States Navy; sir, reporting as ordered."

"Ah, Lieutenant Commander," General Stafford quietly commented, his voice honeyed with cunning intent. "I needed to get your take on the matter of Mount Storm and their continued refusal to accede to Cheyenne authority. You are aware that they have declared independence and have told Cheyenne Mountain and Crow Rock to in their words Go fuck ourselves. The problematic part of allowing them independence is that out of all the vaults, they have put themselves in a position of being the only nuclear superpower left. All launch and control systems in both Russian and friendly forces control are all eliminated. The only thing that they have now are the gravity bombs located in the shelter that they control."

Beth looked surprised, "…and you believe they pose a threat to the rest of us?"

"Certainly," Horner commented, "You have nuclear weapons, naturally, you're tempted to use them."

Beth's opinion of that statement was that it was utter horse rubbish. Anyone having gone through the complete and utter devastation of their world by nuclear war would not for a second consider utilizing them on another human being. It was the same as when Japan was visited with the two atomic bombs that rendered Hiroshima and Nagasaki into radioactive rubble. It was only the victors who thought they had carte blanche to utilize those weapons of mass terror and destruction. But Beth knew that vocalizing those thoughts would put her directly in the cross-hairs of suspicion and any suspect behavior would be thoroughly rooted out and removed from existence. Her scalp was tingling with the warnings Horner was giving off through his body language.

"Lieutenant Commander, do you really think that they won't realize that they have a power-advantage and won't try for a power-play gambit, using their nukes as a means of threatening other vault alliances to come to their umbrella of protection? Just remember that the B83 has a 1.2 Megaton yield. And they also have others of that megaton yield in their bunker." Stafford put both hands on the table and leaned towards her, his eyes holding her gaze captive.

"It wouldn't put a scratch on our blast door with all due respect, sir." Beth had heard that it would take at least a Tsar Bomba on top of a guided munition tail dropped through the opening in Cheyenne Mountain that would blow the blast door off its hinges. And if that happened, they were all screwed anyway.

"You willing to stake our lives on it, Lieutenant Commander?" Stafford gave her a probing stare.

Beth returned the stare, "I'm willing to gamble that they won't be able to lop a B83 down the tunnel and explode it within the confines of Cheyenne Mountain, sir. The B83 is for all intents, a gravity system. It doesn't have a guidance system."

"Could they possibly detach the tail of the B83 and attach a JDAM control fins to the assembly?" Horner asked. "That way, they could potentially GPS the bomb directly into the tunnel and fry us where we stand."

Beth looked at both Horner and Stafford. Both were starting to looked as though they were paranoid. Her internal warning system alerted her to stay sharp and play along. She figured that the best bet would be to have a support system in place. "Are our GPS satellites working still?" She asked unwilling to even consider a lapse in nuclear strategic strategy of not utilizing an EMP blast to destroy all working components within the GPS satellites orbiting the earth. Leaving those satellites still operational was a lapse in judgement. "Do we have control over them?"

The two generals unanimously looked at each other and then said, "Commander, come with us." Walking swiftly towards the Strategic Command Display in the control room, where they kept track of their spy satellites and other space vehicles in geo-synchronous orbit around the Earth, Horner and Stafford motioned to Beth to look at the screen. "The radiation is dissipating and we're getting a clearer read on what we still have."

Beth asked gauging her words carefully. "Can we shut down those satellites to prevent use by hostile vaults?"

"No, they are fully autonomous. They send out a signal every two seconds for GPS receivers to home in on." Horner informed her. "But we have nothing; not even aircraft to mount an assault. Everything would have to be done on foot."

"…and you are implying that Mount Storm has aircraft, sir?" Beth's tone was incredulous; her mouth dropping open in surprise.

"There's a lot of things that went into Mount Storm from what we learned about building this bunker." Stafford clarified. "We aren't sure of the exact numbers, but we know that Mt. Storm has nuclear capable fighter aircraft. We know that the bunker is blast-shielded by doors able to withstand twice the blast pressure of the Tsar Bomba."

"…and we have no weapons that will penetrate their blast doors." Hunter opined dryly as he looked first as General Stafford then at Beth.

"At least nothing that provides the impetus of a nuclear munition hurled at near speed of sound." Stafford commented. "I flew F-4Es in Nam and F-15Es afterwards. The B83 isn't hardened tip to be a true bunker buster though."

Horner snorted derisively,"I wouldn't put it past Boone to have his engineers work on a bunker-buster 1MT to start dealing with the problem of having to take out a vault or two."

Beth shuddered as a look of horror dawned on her face. She had served under Boone on the USS Seahawk and also with Boone as both of them had transferred to the VF-41 Black Aces. Boone had always struck Beth as a no-nonsense hard-ass. She wasn't fond of Stafford or Horner either. But while she lived under Cheyenne Mountain's protective roof, she intended to abide by their laws; at least until the first chance to get out became available. But having to figure out how long it would take for the environment to be safe enough to make a trek from one point on the surface to the other would take a lot of research. Beth didn't let her thoughts slip but when Horner and Stafford dismissed her, she breathed a sigh of relief. The research would take a lot of time, but what else did she have but time?

Crow Rock, Blue Mountain Ridge, Pennsylvania, 27 weeks Post-Apocalypse

Edward Sheffield was looking over at Commander Tracy Manetti. He quietly looked over and said, "Tracy, I know that this isn't something that I would normally talk about." He had tried to find an out of the way corner of the shelter that they were in to discuss matters. He knew that Tracy had friends in Mt. Storm. If he hadn't needed her at the meeting they were at, she could have been at Mount Storm amongst friends. "You didn't hear it from me, but they're planning to attack Mt. Storm." He whispered quietly in Manetti's ear.

Tracy's eyes widened in horror. "You've got to be kidding me? Why?"

"Because Boone won't accede to demands to hand over control of special weapons to Cheyenne Mountain's control." He didn't bother mentioning that Moreland, Stafford and Horner were paranoid megalomaniacs. It was well enough apparent that their actions spoke for themselves. "They want to take out Mount Storm and put it under their control. They don't trust Mt. Storm to secede and not take them out."

"They are maniacs!" Tracy replied. "This is asking for certain annihilation. If Mt. Storm has special weapons; if attacked, they will use them."

"I'm sorry for getting you into this…" Sheffield looked saddened as he lay his hand on his god-daughter's shoulder. "I could have sent you to Mt. Storm instead of following me."

Tracy nodded. "Well, all that is could have: should have." She said. "We're stuck here for the next god knows how long." There was no way out of this situation. Even if some left the vault, the residual radiation would kill them slowly and painfully. And considering a 5MT Dong Feng had landed on top of Crow Rock, the residual radiation within the area would kill them before they could make their escape. So escape was no longer an option, nor an exposed walk towards another bunker. They would die of radiation poisoning before they got there. But there were other options.

"We need to assess our situation very carefully; make careful in-roads to determine who is safe to talk to and who reports to Moreland." Her god-father replied looking carefully up and down the corridor to make certain that there were no ears listening in on the conversation.

"I'll meet you in my quarters." Manetti replied. "Perhaps we won't be overheard there."

They parted; each knowing that they needed to keep quiet and keep their heads down. Any unwarranted attention on the part of others as to their plans would sink their plans surely as though the words came from their own lips and any attention from those higher up in the pay of Moreland would surely doom them all.

Mt. Storm Emergency Facility; Somewhere in the Blue Mountains. 27 weeks Post-Apocalypse

There were still rats in the tunnels. How they got there was unknown; where they came from was an equal mystery. But the scratching and scampering of little rodent feet were still heard no matter where one went in the tunnels. How they tolerated the dank, damp cold that permeated the rock, it wasn't understood; it was assumed that they had been there since before the Apocalypse and thus would remain so for as long as they were able to survive scrounging little bits of food.

How she hated rats. They were disgusting creatures, not like the rats that were sold in pet-shops before the Apocalypse. These were brown, filthy rats; vermin: carriers of disease and infestation and not to be trifled with. Their bites were full of sickness and there were no other animals that they knew of to hold off the horde. If they were to be rid of those things, they would have to do one of two options: Option One was to form teams of eradicators to go up and down the tunnels to find the hiding spots and set poison baited traps for them. The other was to just shoot them on sight. And Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, United States Marine Corps, didn't have a weapon to do so. All the weapons were locked up tight in the Armory. And there was a serious problem with rats in the Armory, Mackenzie thought to herself. If anyone needed a good extermination, starting with the Armory would probably be the best bet. But she knew for a fact that she was powerless to do anything with regards to dealing with the human rats that she knew as the Privileged.

They had lost one of their own in Simone while the Privileged's own Danny Zhou was in a irreversible coma from a rebar blow to the head. Mackenzie thought that it was deserved. The Privileged were walking around as if they owned the place and that new Zhou was an enlisted man; walking around like he owned the tunnels. He deserved it. She thought: if anything she was the one that deserved to be one of the Privileged. She would take away their weapons and force them all into the killing cold.

But thoughts of killing them all and instigating the thought into action were two separate things. She pondered how she and her allies would manage to attack the Armory considering that the place was guarded 24/7 by guards: armed Privileged who rarely if ever ventured from their fortified refuge. In fact, she had heard from someone that the Armory was suspected to be so large that all the Privileged could reside within the fortified walls and not venture out at all. There was actually talk that the Privileged planned to move the Armory to the floor of the shelter that Boone was on to cocoon him within their umbrella of protection. There would be no access other than by specialized scan-cards and body temp/fingerprint biometrics scanners. It would be a no-go area for anyone but the Privileged. After Zhou had been hurt; Boone was far less forgiving of any transgressions and was fast-tracking the Privileged Protection Area. And if Boone managed to accomplish that task then obtaining weapons would be much harder if not impossible.

Almost 15 years in the Marine Corps had taught her one thing: you don't bring a knife to a gunfight and right now; all they had were knives and clubs.

She wandered up and down the tunnel, arms crossed; her mind hashing and rehashing her plan of getting her hands on a weapon. There had to be a weak link somewhere. The newest Privileged were too covetous of their newly exalted position and would be wary of those seeking them out for favors. And she knew that the Nakamuras didn't trust her. Neither did Harm any more. The blonde bitch Austin and that enlisted slut Petty Officer were too busy fucking Nakamura or Rabb at any given moment to enlist the help of, in getting a weapon.

But what to do to make them believe that her life was in mortal danger enough to warrant them handing over a weapon just like that. There were bound to be questions asked. At the very least those questions would be uncomfortable; at the other end of the scale: life threatening. She looked up at the rock ceiling of the cavernous tunnel. She would have to plan this so the Privileged didn't take notice that she was now carrying around a weapon. Oh, she was carrying one currently for defensive protection, a Marine K-Bar but she would feel much safer with a 9mm sidearm that she could conceal on her person. Mac preferred being the aggressor in a fight to the death.

But the problem of obtaining such a weapon still taunted her and she couldn't very well go up to those she rejected and tell them that she was needing a weapon for self-protection. They would be suspicious of her motives.

Ballistic Missile Submarine October Revolution; McMurdo Station, 27 weeks Post-Apocalypse

The Antarctic winds howled a spiteful dirge around the conning tower of the Oktyabr'skaya revolyutsiya battering the superstructure and the ice pellets hurled by the winds snapped against tower like bullets shot from a rifle. It was cold enough to freeze one solid if one stepped out for any length of time. With the world average mean temperature dropping to below freezing, the hothouses were death-traps and they had to hope against hope that the weather would turn back to something more hospitable or they would all starve to death.

Captain Semyanov turned to see his XO Captain Second Rank Viktor Ivanovich Gruschev standing beside him, "Comrade Captain, our men are getting hungry and weak. It has been a week and a half since this blizzard has blown in and they are not doing well under quarter-rations. We are still making dire inroads into our stock of canned food. The Americans are stuck in their ship too, and I am certain that they are starving too. But we cannot even set foot outside our ship to help them or we will freeze to death."

"Mother Nature is a mean mistress." Captain Semyanov affirmed simply looking at the gauges watching the temperature readings. He had lowered all the antennae; communications, navigation as well as the periscope. It was not going to do the October Revolution any good if during this blizzard, the antennae were snapped off. That would mean that the October Revolution wouldn't be able to submerge. He looked over at Gruschev. "We can do nothing but wait out the storm. And hope that our rations hold out until this storm passes."

"If it passes, Comrade Captain."

"Yesli budet na to volya Bozh'ya. (If it be God's Will)" was Semyanov's reply. He took a deep breath. He hoped that it wouldn't come to exhausting the food sources that they had or they would have to make an attempt to get the seeds and seedlings from the hot houses and try to save what they could. For this trying time would be the sifter that would weed out those who couldn't survive or were just hanging on by a thread.

Since mankind was stupid enough to let fly the birds of destruction, they would have to resort to the olden days of survival. Those who were mentally and physically hardy enough to survive would, those who weren't wouldn't. In this time of hardship, life wouldn't get any easier and those who had the stamina to persevere would inherit the earth. Semyanov gazed into the monitor that told of the dropping temperatures; the churchmen would talk of God and His magnanimous blessings upon those who eked out their living. Semyanov knew better.

Australian High Command Nuclear Bunker, Alice Springs, Australia – 27 weeks Post-Apocalypse

Captain Mic Brumby, RAN, glowered at the USN Lieutenant who had just given him a report of the radiation inspections. The counts had gone down but they were still in the dangerous level, considering the level of devastation that Alice Springs was impacted with. It was only the fact that they were well below 200 feet below the surface of the earth that Australian High Command Nuclear Bunker was saved. But the fact that Alice Springs itself was the epicenter of six nuclear blasts of 1 MT yield. The other four Multiple Independently Targetable Re-entry Vehicle (MIRV) landed on the other two sites that were designated military targets, two a piece. However the airbursts hadn't done much except to tear up the soil a bit, leaving the bunker intact. "Fair enough. The rads are dropping but no where near enough to step outside. We're going to be in here a bit." He didn't particularly like the Seppos that he was assigned here to be with. There were too many bad memories in the mix. What he'd give for a rollie right now. But he'd quit that habit. Sarah hadn't liked it so he'd stopped cold-turkey. What was it that the Seppos say to tell someone to rack off? "Uh…Dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." The American Navy Lieutenant snapped to attention and about-faced. It was still a surprise when Mic looked in the mirror to see the four stripes of a RAN Captain on each shoulder, but he knew that the Royal Australian Navy needed him in command.

When the US Navy Lieutenant had left, Mic leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling and sighed. His thoughts had been on Sarah Mackenzie lately. He wondered what she was doing in this post-nuclear holocaust world. At least he hoped she was surviving, even though there was no chance in hell of ever meeting again. The radiation that encircled the globe at least in the lower 49 of the pole and the upper half of the upper hemisphere that kept anyone from utilizing any mode of transportation not affected by the nuclear blasts. The radiation was still intense enough to kill anyone. Figures the Seppos and the Commie bastards had nuked the whole planet. Brumby thought to himself. At least he wouldn't have to see that smiling yobbo Rabb. He vowed that the next time he ever came across Rabb if the radiation had come down enough to travel, he'd shirtfront the whacker and feed him a knuckle sandwich.

Maybe considering that he'd have to spend a lot of time in this miserable place, he'd better start getting to know some of the people that he was going to be sharing this shelter with for the next who knew how long. They would be tripping over each other and it wouldn't make for a good situation if the next bugger was at odds with another.

Mt. Storm Emergency Facility; Somewhere in the Blue Mountains. Medical Ward, 27 weeks Post-Apocalypse

The ward was white-walled and smelled of floor cleaner. The caretakers in the shelter that were specified workers had made it their mission to keep the medical ward hygienically clean. Bacteria build-up could mean disease and death. The research team was coming up with a new solution for treating the floor when the cleaning chemicals ran out but right now, the floor was cleaned sparingly. Just enough to keep a hygienic place for treating illnesses and wounds.

Doctor Ellen Parkman looked over at her patient, former Army Lieutenant Sandra Cashman who at 19 weeks was showing. "Your baby's the size of a mango right now." Ellen reassured her as she readied the ultrasound machine to check on the baby's progress. Spreading the gel on Sandra's belly, Ellen grabbed the ultrasound wand and looked around for the baby.

"Oh…there's the heartbeat." a watery thub-dub sound came through the auditory speakers of the ultrasound machine. Ellen reassured Sandra that the baby was doing fine for 19 weeks, the heartbeat was strong and that the bloating and gas that she felt in her tummy was normal for the developmental stage that the fetus was at.

Ellen pondered for a long time after she was finished with Sandra Cashman and her unborn baby. The world had gone to hell in a handbasket, but they were all still alive. But what sort of life were they bringing babies into? The radiation was still present like an ever-looming spectre. If they were even able to get back to the surface within this millennia, the radiation would still cause birth defects in any future generations. What kind of world would they be living in? What trials would they end up having to overcome? And in the end, was it all worth it? Ellen didn't have the answer for that and no matter how much she thought about it; in the end it all came down to the basic instinct for survival and her sworn Hippocratic oath. So she girded her heart and went slowly about her business trying to help the rest of the shelter survive no matter what.

Crow Rock, Blue Mountain Ridge, Pennsylvania, 27 weeks Post-Apocalypse

When Commander Tracy Manetti returned to her room after her shift at the radar (for which she had been trained through the past ten weeks); she found her godfather sitting on the chair as she walked in.

"Tracy…" he said quietly. "If Moreland controlling this bunker isn't bad enough, it will be even worse when he gets into cahoots with Stafford and Horner. Those two are going to cause a war…" He paused ominously and Tracy sat down on the foot of her bed looking at him.

"Do you think they'd be so stupid to hash things out in open combat with Mt. Storm?" Tracy asked her godfather who shrugged his shoulders. "They have to know that they don't have a chance in hell of succeeding."

"Moreland reminds me of a spoilt child." The former SECNAV stated quietly. "If he wants something, he'll throw a temper-tantrum until he gets it and what he wants is those nuclear weapons. He wants to wield them like a spear at any other nation who still has a shelter and threaten them with annihilation unless they acquiesce to being controlled by our two shelters. There is no democracy any more, Tracy. What I need you to do is lay low and try to ferret out information of what's going on. We need to be very calculating. But we also need to look unassuming and innocent to those who gaze our direction. Be very cautious about who you befriend in this vault, Tracy, and always watch your back." He warned.

Tracy knew that her god-father was giving her good advice. Their continued existence was paramount and Tracy would do anything to keep her godfather alive. Even if that meant stomaching the loathsome presence of General Alexander Moreland, United States Army, West Point class of 67 and officer extraordinaire of the Quartermaster Corps. Tracy Manetti was certain that the Quartermaster General had always felt second best to his late friend General Isaac Carruthers who was a decorated combat veteran and he was taking his chance to vet himself in what he considered the forge of blood.

Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Cheyenne Mountain, CO, NORAD Command, 27 Weeks Post-Apocalypse

Beth after that traumatic grilling from Horner and Stafford wasn't sure who to trust any more. She stumbled into her room, her thoughts spinning haphazardly around inside her mind. The problem was that she felt alone and uncertain and the fact that Stafford and Horner had indicated their intentions to go after Mount Storm made her wonder if the leadership in the Cheyenne Mountain Complex was actually sane. If the leadership went after Mount Storm, they would retaliate with nuclear weapons.

With that disturbing thought in her mind, she opted to go to sleep. But that didn't prove for a restful sleep; what dreams that came.

As a radar intercept officer, Lieutenant Commander Beth Hawkes was assigned to a radar position within the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. The higher ups had told her to monitor a second strike capability of the Russians after this current attack. And she was wondering if the Russians did have the capability to attack a second time after the US retaliatory secondary strikes.

Colonel Shawn Hanson was at his post. "Keep an eye on the monitors. We're showing strikes of mission critical targets in Tyumin, Omsk and Novokuznetsk. All military refineries. We hit them with sub-launched W88 tipped Trident II missiles. Three independently targeted re-entry vehicles per target plus an extra one for Omsk targeted at their airport.

Beth monitored the radar by rote. After seeing the birds fly from their nest, she had shut down mentally and existed just by following orders. There was too much to consider; that eventually her mind couldn't take all of it and coped by just waiting for orders to follow. Despite the nuclear devastation wreaked on his wife's home city in Canada, Royal Canadian Air Force Colonel Shawn Hanson steadfastly continued to monitor the radar and gave out orders to his subordinates. Almost two hours later there were still no further tracks emanating from the Russian hinterland and Horner reluctantly told Colonel Hanson to shut 'er down but keep monitoring the situation. It appeared that Russia was not about to use their remaining Tsar Bomba (the full 100MT yield weapon) to destroy Cheyenne Mountain and raze it to the ground. Beth remembered that clearly, but the next twist of fate would cause her to wake up in a cold sweat.

An alarm sounded on her radar monitor. She was instantly on the horn, "Attention, radar track bearing east 090 towards us; four hundred fifty miles. Judging from speed and track it appears to be a four engined turboprop."

The colonel yelled, "Bring up cameras five and seven. I want to see what's coming at us." When the static cleared on the camera, they zoomed it in to see a lumbering heavily modified Tupolev Tu-95 Bear. As they zeroed in on the belly of the aircraft, they could see a large object hanging from the belly.

"Oh…shit…" The bomber was unassailed…surprising for the situation at hand, but evidently, the attacks must have been so severe that the air to air interceptors of the USAF were unable to respond to this gross incursion of national airspace.

Beth started crossing herself as she saw the object separate from the bomber, then the bomber just disappeared and the bomb or whatever it was started falling towards their shelter. The only thing that kept running through her mind was a Russian phrase uttered by Khrushchev; that much she knew from history. "Ya Pokazhy tebye Kuzkinu mat!" A parachute deployed from the back of the bomb to slow it down enough for the now non-existent bomber to get away. But like a bad dream the bomb was still there and it still kept falling…and falling… and falling.

It wasn't long before the TV monitors shone impossibly white and then a vibrating rumble as the shelter shook and dust rained from the ceilings. And in the brief second of a painfully white light and being ripped apart in the shock of an exploding 105.7MT nuclear explosion, she heard the words, "Kuskinu Mat…" in a ghostly echo.

Kuzka's Mother.