CHAPTER 12
Fox Troop’s line of tanks and trucks were pulled up in front of a dirt-covered ammo bunker at McGregor Live Ammunition Depot in the desert north of El Paso. Despite a continuing lack of orders, Captain Suarez had decided to take on a full load of ordnance in every vehicle. Come what may it couldn’t hurt to be full up on live rounds. The loading crewmen were running their forklifts back and forth from the bunker carrying pallets of artillery shells to the tanks and ammo trucks. Suarez, outfitted in battle fatigues and a cloth-camouflaged Kevlar helmet, walked from his tank toward the Bradley communications vehicle parked nearby. Its boxy rear compartment bristled on top with every conceivable sort of antenna and radio dish. Fox Troop was maintaining radio silence but that hadn’t kept Suarez from telling his people to eavesdrop on everything going on out there. Unfortunately that hadn’t been much. The citizens’ bands were the only place anybody was talking and there you only got occasional frightened cross-chatter between civilians. Nothing worth the time spent listening.
Suarez ducked inside the rear hatch of the Bradley where Radio Specialist Corporal Wayne Wallace sat at the communications console with his bug-like Combat Vehicle Crew helmet on, monitoring the airwaves. Suarez tapped his radioman’s shoulder. “Anything shakin’ out there?”
“Yeah, listen to this.” Corporal Wallace handed him a second CVC helmet, plugging in the jack for its built-in headphones as Suarez pulled off his field helmet and put on the CVC helmet. He heard a man’s voice through the headphones, thin and broken by static.
“Fly me to the moon,” the man sang. “Oh Baby, fly me to the moon.” In addition to sounding far away the voice sounded like its owner might be high on something. “Hey, Cheyenne,” the caller warbled. “You got your ears on?”
A more somber, clearer voice responded, “Roger, Daddy Longlegs, we read you.”
“Hey-hey dude, how you been?”
“Okay, and you?”
“Good, good. I got a new girlfriend. Her name’s Sweet Pea.”
“Roger, that’s Sweet Pea, what’s her location.”
“She’s the pea for me, you know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“Yeah. I’m hot for her, you read?”
“Sure, Daddy Longlegs. Got anything we can use this morning?”
“Yeah, I do… I do-oo-oo,” he crooned. “I wanna say ‘I do’ to my Sweet Pea.”
“Ahh,” Cheyenne interrupted. “Daddy Longlegs, if you don’t have—”
“Yeah, I got something, I got something, man. Keep your shorts on. Now this Sweet Pea chick, she’s from JPL, you know?”
“Jet Propulsion Laboratories?” Cheyenne suddenly sounded more interested.
“Yeah man, JPL. She’s a rocket scientist. Just my type.”
“Go on.”
“Well she’s got a spaceship. Calls it Clementine. Oh my darlin,’ oh my darlin’… Anyway, she’s gonna get some photos of those moon dudes. Tomorrow, Two pm Pacific Daylight Time, frequency 999.43 megahertz. Be there or be square. You dig?”
“Got it.”
“Whadda you think, Cheyenne?”
“We’ll look into it. Who is this Sweet Pea? Has she got a name?”
“Hey, man. No fair, no fair. You wanna put the moves on her too, right?”
“Negative Longlegs, just need to confirm what you’re saying.”
“Okay, but don’t tell nobody else, all right? It’s Diedre Porter. That’s her name. And I think I’m in love so don’t mess me over. Okay buddy?”
“Affirmative, Longlegs.”
“Okay man, I gotta go. Somebody’s knockin’ on Channel Three. Daddy Longlegs over and out.”
“NORAD out.”
The last words sent a jolt of adrenaline through Suarez. “NORAD!” he pounded his fist on the ceiling of the Bradley in exultation. “That’s who Cheyenne is. It’s Cheyenne Mountain. NORAD is still operational. This is too good to be true!”
He clapped Corporal Wallace on the shoulder. “Come on man, we’re gonna break radio silence. Get me in touch with that NORAD dude on the double.”
Wallace pressed the transmit button on his console and spoke into the microphone of his headset. “NORAD, NORAD, this is Fox Troop. Do you read?”