The Armageddon Effect by Ric Dawson

Author:Ric Dawson [Dawson, Ric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-13T22:00:00+00:00

AFTERMATH

Pono

Hawaiian-born Sergeant First Class Pono Kamaka, the nuclear survey team leader for the Colorado WMD Civil Support Team in Denver, dipped a crispy tortilla chip in a fresh bowl of homemade, three-finger poi his wife had whipped up for him.

Pono’s squarish jaw twitched in anticipation. His muscles stretched traditional native tattoos that laced his broad chest and shoulders in symmetric lines of black. Symbols of fire, earth, water, and air patterned his neck and arms.

“Man, that stuff looks nasty, sir,” Corporal James Nash blurted out as he watched the look of sublime pleasure on Pono’s face.

“Poi is a sweet paste of mashed taro root that delights the tongue. Sure you don’t want some, Corporal?” Pono offered, holding out a chip laden with the purple paste.

Corporal Nash screwed up his face, shaking his head vigorously.

Popping the chip into his mouth, Pono let out a long, slow sigh as he munched away. Then cleaned the last stain off his shirt and put it back on.

The team was scattered around the facility garage. The garage doors opened into the cool night air and the colorful lights of the Denver skyline. Corporal Rucker Jones and Corporal Sal Kitridge checked the radiation detection equipment and testing meters. Pono’s office occupied one of the two interior rooms. The other housed communications and Sergeant Jack Smith’s office.

Drills and maintenance kept the team busy. But it was quiet on the squawk box, just like every other day and night.

Sergeant Smith flipped open a three-page fold out, twisting the magazine ninety degrees then back again as he whistled.

“You’re gonna go blind!” Pono shouted from the next room as he popped another delicious poi-covered chip in his mouth.

“Shaadup. Just ‘cause a man’s ordered steak doesn’t mean he can’t scan the dessert section.”

“Yeah, your wife is gonna see all that ‘dessert’ and kick your ass.”

“Pfft,” Sergeant Smith retorted as something began blinking on his control panel.

The red LED lamp on the communications desk that never went off, even during simulations, began to blink as a siren spun up in the garage. For several seconds, surprise widened Pono’s eyes, then he scrambled out of his chair and ran into the comm room as Sergeant Smith was plugging in a small “code verify” flash drive into the key console.

The squawk box came to life.

“This is Homeland Defense, recognition ket Two Tango Bar Bar Less Seven, (pause) ICBM missiles inbound to Colorado Springs, eta fifteen minutes, payload three 450kT warheads. Repeat, ICBM missiles inbound to Colorado Springs, eta fifteen minutes, payload three 450kT warheads.”

Sergeant Smith checked the authenticator.

“Codes are valid,” he said as he looked over at Pono, jaw clenched.

Speaking into a mic, Sergeant Smith replied with the survey team’s acknowledgment ket.

The squawk box responded, “Denver WMD-CST Survey 1 authenticated, move to Medical Station site Bravo Tango. Repeat, move to Medical Station site Bravo Tango.”

Corporal Nash and Corporal Kitridge were already warming up the engines on the only two vehicles in the garage.

“Nash, don’t forget the flux sensors this time, K!” Rucker jumped into the back seat of MED-1.

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