He didn’t know what the job and bed would entail, but he did know one thing, he was in and that was reason for his being there.
USNORTHCOM, Colorado Springs, CO
Welch had to wait twenty-four hours before he could leave the mountain and investigate.
The raging battle, continuous gunfire over what Welch called ‘the flag’ had ended. One call out, and the rescue came in the form of an experimental bomb from Russia.
It was so different that even masks didn’t work. Welch lost three men. Men who believed they were safer and stayed outside to keep firing.
The bomb was not an explosion, it didn’t contain fire power, radiation, or some biological agent. Instead, when the bomb detonated it spewed trillions of what Welch could only describe as microscopic shards of glass or similar to glass.
If any landed on the skin, they were absorbed and like acid ate their way through the layers of epithelia. But their main route of attack was inhalation and that caused an agonizing death.
The microscopic shards entered the person’s airways, embedding in the lining of the bronchial tube and lungs. Every breath taken thereafter, pushed the shards deep into the tissue, cutting it to shreds.
The victim coughed and choked as the entire respiratory system was annihilated, the lining of the lungs turned into a slosh and they drowned in their own blood.
It was horrendous and painful.
It was… inhumane, but the only way to bring a halt to the situation outside of Cheyenne mountain. He supposed another wave would come, and he was confident that they wouldn’t detonate a nuclear weapon, at least not yet. Not when they needed access to the United States Arsenal. It was the only control hub left. Welch made sure of it.
Until that time came when they’d retreat inside after another attack, Welch made his way outside to assess.
Twenty-four hours after they had wiped out the thousands of Chinese soldiers, no retaliation had occurred. No one from the Procs showed up. That told Welch they weren’t in constant contact. The invasion was too big, there weren’t enough hands on the battles to manage it properly. Things… soldiers… battalions slipped through the cracks. As did those who lost their lives at the massacre at Cheyenne.
Outside, General Welch wore covering over his entire body as a safeguard. The fence outside the compound was down, not that it did much anyway. The main tunnel entrance had been battered, and starting from the second he walked outside, Welch saw bodies.
They didn’t just drop where they were. They died in various positions, holding onto their throats, bent over with piles of dried blood by them. Some were curled up and others even appeared as if they were crawling. Fingers scraping the ground, mouths wide open, probably screaming in agony.
Thousands of bodies scattered about.
It was quiet, and the battle had been won.
Welch wanted to feel bad, but he couldn’t. Those thousands of lives lost paled in comparison to the millions of Americans who were now dead because of them.
The massacre at Cheyenne was not only the end of one page, but it was something else. Something bigger.
It was the opening of the starting gate.
General Welch put out word that it was time.
A call to arms to those ready to fight, the rise of the resistance and the beginning of what would be the biggest war America would ever face… Operation Recover Home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sixteen Days Post Bombs
Mitton, TX
Perfect.
Fen couldn’t ask for more perfection. It was exactly what they needed. The small town of Mitton was clean and picturesque. The townspeople moved about happily as instructed and there wasn’t a single case of sickness.
Fen directed everything like a movie producer, knew what went where and how it should look.
Four photographers and videographers were present and she pointed to where and what they would photograph. An Asian news correspondent stood by, preparing for a broadcast.
“Play with the children,” Fen instructed a group of soldiers. “Smile, laugh.”
She pointed to the camera people to capture the group of people having coffee at an outdoor café, and those who laughed while in line to get provisions.
It was a beautiful sunny day, the best kind for a broadcast.
Fen grabbed another photographer taking him toward the distribution center set up as a market. She then instructed the news woman that the market would be a great backdrop, especially with the coffee shop right next door to it.
A little boy, no older than eight darted by, bumping into Fen. She stopped him.
He wore the brightest blue and green stiped shirt, his brown hair was messy, and his dimpled smile was adorable as he peered up to her.
“I brought the soldiers cakes,” he said. “Our thank you for saving us.”
Fen smiled at him. “Go on,” she said. “They will like it.”
She wanted to get the boy on video but he was too dirty. Perhaps she would find him, clean him, and then get him on camera. She reflected as she watched him carry the basket to the soldiers. He reminded her of her brother.
Her biological brother.
Always moving fast.
Fen wasn’t born into a privileged life. In fact, she was very poor. They lived in a farming village outside of Hong Kong. Her parents violated the one child law and the woman who lived next to them said Fen was hers. She was unable to have a child.
She was five years younger than her brother. They lived in a small house, with flimsy walls and only one big room.
She was about four years old when an earthquake struck her village and the mudslide that followed wiped everything out. Her and her brother survived only because they were out playing. Immediately she was an orphan, but instead of going to an orphanage, she and her brother lived on the streets. They slept in an old train car, ate by stealing food from the market, and made money by running errands and shining shoes.
They were so young, but she could have lived that way forever. Her brother took care of her. Until the day he was hit by a car right in front of her.
She screamed and cried. He wasn’t killed, but they found out they were orphans and had no parents. A newspaper had a picture of her crying and a wealthy family adopted her.
She never saw her brother again.
Fen had been searching her entire life for him, but he was nowhere to be found. She wouldn’t give up.
The sight of the boy in the green and blue shirt brought back fond memories of her brother. She watched him run off after leaving the treats for the soldiers.
She wanted to follow him, but the news reporter began and she wanted to listen to make sure everything was relayed properly. He would be easy to find. He tucked himself against the corner pharmacy store watching the broadcast.
Fen waved. He waved back.
“The people here welcome the humanitarian efforts,” the reporter said. “As you can see…” She pointed behind her. “There is not the brutality that is being reported. There is happiness, gratefulness. The people of Mitton cheer the soldiers and the children play with them. They finally are receiving proper med—”
BOOM.
The loud explosion rocked the ground and a blast of heat caused a fast, high pressure wave of air that lifted Fen from her feet and threw her in the air and a distance of ten feet. She landed hard on the concrete, face down, knees first and catching herself with her hands, breaking the fall enough that she didn’t smack her head off the ground.
There was a pressure filled pain in her ears and they rang so loudly she couldn’t hear.