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Bisley is certainly doing everything he can.”
    “Things are tough everywhere, gentleman,” I commented, trying to neutralize the situation. Clearly, Lori was not pleased to hear that the situation back home mirrored what she’d seen here. I could read the tension in her shoulders, even as Summer started tearing up. Worrying about a situation is one thing, but hearing confirmation is something else.
    “Any luck working with the Reserve components, Colonel?” Vanderpool asked, clearly trying to change the subject.
    “Not since Colonel Winscott cleared out on day three after the pulse. And that brings me to something else; something that, frankly, shocked the hell out of me.”
    Colonel Hotchkins went on to explain what Nick’s friend shared with him on the eve of the pulse. Again, Vanderpool managed to at least keep the shock off his face but Halloran looked mad enough to shoot somebody.
    “So, Sir, you mean to say somebody, somewhere knew this was going to happen and didn’t issue a warning? Like, at least grounding the planes? The freaking planes that crashed and burned half of Oklahoma City.”
    Halloran asked his question in nearly a cry of anguish. I wondered who he lost in those flames.
    “That’s what some of us suspect, Sergeant. I know it isn’t easy to hear, and I take it nobody knows anything about it back home?”
    “Scuttlebutt only, Sir,” confirmed Vanderpool. “If it’s true, that may explain why certain groups are laying low at the moment.”
    “Too much to speculate about this evening, men. And Sergeant Halloran, I’m sorry to bring up such an obviously sensitive topic.”
    The tough looking sergeant made an effort to compose himself, wiping unashamed tears from his eyes. He looked at the colonel, then at me.
    “Really? Somebody knew enough to shut down the nukes but didn’t warn us? Sir,” he said looking straight at the colonel, “if this is true, it could tear the country even further apart. I could never… my house was burned in the fires from those crashes. My wife and daughter were home at the time.”
    I knew what he nearly said, or thought I did. He could never take orders from some asshole that let his family die. I couldn’t blame him. There were rumors out there already; but as word spread of the truth, the people responsible could expect a warm reception… in Hell.
    “Well, that’s a subject for another day,” Vanderpool interjected, “and now we have other matters to discuss.”
    And we did. The Oklahoma National Guard was still trying to get their forces rallied, and the suspicion was that the weapon I’d recovered was part of an armory somewhere that had been raided early on by some opportunistic gang. Unfortunately, Captain Vanderpool informed us that with the computer network down there was little that could be done to trace down the serial number of that M4. And it was hardly the only piece of military armament that had gone missing.
    As for the rest, Vanderpool gave us a quick summary of their status—which wasn’t good. I’m sure Colonel Hotchkins got the full briefing earlier, but the snapshot available to the rest of us was bleak. The Oklahoma Guard lost a good deal of repairable transport and gear to the fires in Oklahoma City; so the governor was still scrambling to make bricks without straw.
    Thus, the Oklahoma governor engineered a deal with his counterpart in Arkansas, Governor Watkins, to trade some items—unmentioned in our meeting—to the Arkansas Guard for repair and replacement parts that they did manage to save from the flames in exchange for transport.
    In particular, Vanderpool was there to pick up parts for a number of Bradley Fighting Vehicles—mainly circuit boards and modules necessary to get them back up and running. He indicated that he and a small staff would be staying behind to work with the colonel while Sergeant Halloran and a small convoy of Hummers would make the trip back to Oklahoma City. And we would be catching a