Cold Warriors Read online

  "Yeah, Dr. Frankenstein.” He seemed to be holding in a chuckle. “I've never attached heads to bodies before."

  "That's funny,” he said flatly. He was tired and in no mood for bad jokes. “Real funny. Get started on the ones you can handle here and now.” He eyed the face of a cryogenic patient. Her face appeared angelic. She looked as if she was sleeping, but he knew better.

  "What?” The smile dropped from Bishop's face.

  "You heard me.” He glared at the doctor. “Get started."

  "Why not leave it to a civilian hospital?"

  Keegan leaned in close to the doctor, his voice remaining even. “Doctor, let me explain something to you. Lately, we've been acting like a salvage ship more than a carrier and because of this, our holds are filled with these popsicles; most of which we don't have the room to carry. Not to mention the fact that we are at least 72 hours away from the nearest base, so, until we get there, we're gonna have to thaw some of them."

  Keegan stepped back as Dr. Bishop nodded his head slowly.

  "This leaves us with two options; let them thaw slowly and run us off this ship or wake them up. I'm sure you understand that the former smells better.” Keegan grinned slyly, “And that's why you're going to get started immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

  Bishop tried not to frown at the thought of spending hours reviving semi-dead people. “Yes Sir."

  "Good, I knew you would agree.” Keegan left the room agitated because he knew he was the one that had to debrief all of those newly thawed popsicles.

  * * * *

  The Commander of the Air Group, Lieutenant Colonel Max Podi, climbed out of the cockpit of his single seat stealth fighter and pulled off his helmet with a huff. He scratched his blonde, almost platinum hair cursing to himself about the dangers of technology. The Blanchard's flight crew hurriedly hooked up his squadron's planes to the docking hoses spewing hot steam into the loading bay's thick air. His burly frame ambled over to a wiry young pilot with large eyes. The CAG knew the kid was scared. Probably more scared of his wrath than about nearly killing himself. A little fear mixed with respect for the C.O. never hurt anybody.

  "Didn't you hear me?” he barked at the young lieutenant.

  "Sir, no Sir,” Lt. Jacoby stuttered.

  "How could you not? I was screaming my goddamn head off!” The CAG scanned the hangar. “Where in the Hell is your wingman?!"

  A female trotted toward the CAG carrying her helmet. She stopped in front of him and stood at attention. “Sir,” Lt. Kovitz snapped smartly

  "Why were you unresponsive?” the CAG demanded of Lt. Kovitz.

  He felt the eyes of the flight crew on him. He didn't like dressing down members of his squadron in front of everyone but their behavior was unprofessional and dangerous, and that was unacceptable.

  "Sir, after I went through the planet's radiation belt I lost advanced radar contact and when I tried my radio it was unresponsive as well,” Lt. Kovitz explained.

  "Sir, it's true,” Lt. Jacoby added nodding to his wingman.

  "I was not addressing you, Lieutenant.” CAG peered at the young pilot and returned his attention to Lt. Kovitz, “You should have executed a full roll out and re-established contact! I expected this kind of a cockeyed stunt from Jacoby, but not you Kovitz!"

  The CAG calmed himself. “I want a full report in my hand in forty mikes! Is that clear?"

  "Yes Sir.” Lt. Kovitz stood stiffly at attention and nodded.

  "Dismissed.” He turned to Jacoby. “I want you and the maintenance crew to do a full check on your communications equipment and then report to the simulator after your down time. You are to do three rotations and report back to me when you're done. Then I will determine if you're fit to go back out. Is that understood?"

  "Yes Sir.” Lt. Jacoby saluted stiffly and trotted toward his plane.

  The CAG sighed and looked at his helmet. “Goddamn newbies."

  * * * *

  Keegan sat in his cabin studying the specs from the last mission. His desk sat facing the back wall in his cramped but orderly quarters. Not ready for the bad news that awaited him, he swung his chair around and gazed around his room. The shelves on the wall to his right were lined with books on strategy and tactical maneuvers. The books that sat in a neat stack near his bed were about ancient Rome, Japan, and China. He loved to read. Before, it was a chance for knowledge to learn about people in different times, now it was more of an escape.

  Keegan turned back to his work, scrolling through the stats on the computer in front of him. He sighed as he looked at the numbers of fatalities that the Blanchard had suffered during the Battle of Omega 153. It was a lot less than they had suffered in their two previous battles, but still thirty lives were lost. Thirty lives he had been responsible for.

  Keegan shook his head. The Battle of Omega 153 was a hard one for the UN Forces. The Pakistanis, Brazilians and United Africa all lost a substantial amount of people, not to mention three of his squadrons that were annihilated by the Verneans and their allies.

  Some allies. They use slave labor and they still managed to inflict major damage.

  Keegan studied the names of the men and women who fought. Some of them he knew, most he didn't. The Blanchard was now standing down pending the arrival of reinforcements. They'd fought hard and long without a break for four months and everyone was worn down, including himself. And now that they had some respite, instead of being able to make their necessary repairs and pick up supplies in peace, they were taking on more cryos.

  Keegan then stared at the computer disk containing the records of all the cryos that had been picked up. Most of the cryogenic patients they had taken on were relatively young when they died and suffered from ailments that had been conquered long ago by human medicine and Wacian science. Unfortunately the ship's holds were filling up with their bodies and some of these people had to be revived.

  This is a bad idea. What about the security risks? We don't know anything about these people, their background, what they are capable of. The brass doesn't think about these things, of course, when they're handing out orders.

  Someone knocked on his door, interrupting his thoughts.

  "Enter.” Keegan closed out the program.

  "Sir.” A seaman saluted then stood stiffly at attention. “Major Bishop requests your presence in the sick bay."

  Keegan stood up slowly. “Thank you seaman,” he returned the salute.

  Time to brief another stiff, he griped to himself.

  Chapter Two

  A bright beam of light penetrated the inner reaches of Caitlin Driskoll's mind drawing her into reality. Feeling her mind become more alive, Caitlin inhaled deeply several times before opening her eyes. She tried focusing on the two figures before her. Though her mind was slow to respond, her ears told her she was being addressed.

  "Can you hear me?” a man asked

  Caitlin groaned in response.

  "This one's good?” Another man's voice asked.

  Caitlin winced as she felt a prick in her arm.

  The first man who talked to her held a syringe between his fingers and spoke with a gentle voice, “This should help balance your electrolytes.” He paused and then looked toward one of the other men, “Okay, she's all yours."

  As her blurry vision came into focus, their forms began to take shape.

  "Is she conscious?” she heard another man's voice ask. His tone was deeper, more raspy than the first. She felt neither cold nor warm, only numb. Her mind was foggy, almost like in a dream. But was it real? Was she awake? She was unsure.

  "Yes, but how lucid? That remains to be seen."

  "Well that's a chance I have to take."

  'That's a chance I have to take.' His words repeated in her head with warning bells resounding. Am I in danger? Who are these men?

  Suddenly the smell of antiseptic and alcohol bombarded her. Caitlin realized she was not dreaming. The scent was familiar. It was a place she had known all too well—a hospital.


  Am I still in Bethesda? Where's Jason?

  She tried to recall why and when she had entered this hospital. But nothing came to mind. She tried to focus on one image, one idea, but was unable.

  She could hear moaning in the distance. Was it her? She could not tell. A man's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Ms. Driskoll?"

  Caitlin turned her head towards the man who called her name. Groggy, she still didn't feel like talking.

  "How do you feel?” the man asked.

  She blinked her eyes. Her vision continued to go in and out of focus. She squinted in the bright lights of the room. She gazed at the form that stood beside her. Slowly the form filled in and she could see him. A man with the short cropped graying hair and a khaki uniform. His stern glare, a pin of a silver eagle on one lapel, the shiny gold insignia of an eagle with spread wings perched atop a globe of the Western Hemisphere with an anchor and a rope around it on the other instantly told her that he was a Colonel—

  A Marine Corps Colonel.

  She swallowed instinctively. A Marine giving you a look like that is never good, she thought wearily.

  Oh God, she sighed. This is not a good sign; the doctors in Bethesda never looked this spit and polished before.

  Remembering his question, she finally answered. “I'm not sure yet.” Her voice cracked like she had sore throat or had lost her voice. She instinctively flexed her hands and moved her legs, feeling the blood moving back in her body. She raised her hands and looked them. Her brown skin was pale, dry and cracked. Her nails were white and filmy and part of the nail bed appeared blue.

  "That's understandable.” the Colonel said and closed his folder. His deep blue eyes peered at her showing a sign of recognition. “Do you know where you are?"

  Caitlin wanted to answer but decided against it. She shook her head instead. “Who are you?” she asked swallowing. Her voice continued to crack. She tried clearing her throat but her mouth was too dry.

  The man straightened. The creases in his uniform faded. Standing almost at attention, he replied, “Colonel Keegan."

  Relaxing his stance he continued, “Ms. Driskoll there's a lot to tell you, so I'll get to the point. All of your past medical problems have been cured."

  She wondered if her eyes reflected her surprise. How could she be cured? Was this a dream? “Oh, okay...” She said wanting to go back to sleep.

  "You entered the hospital May 5th 1997 at the age of 32 suffering from acute renal failure due to a sustained bacterial infection. You were put on life support,” Keegan tapped the buttons on a handheld minicomputer, “and nearing death, you were taken off of life support by your husband, Lt. Commander Jason Driskoll."

  Caitlin's eyes popped open. “What?"

  "You were declared legally dead and underwent biostasis. It is there you remained in a cryogenic state for 99 years.” Keegan stated mechanically.

  "Jason? Where is he?!” She sat up quickly and then fell gracelessly back on the pillow with nausea threatening to overtake her.

  Keegan tapped the minicomputer and shook his head, “I don't have access to that information at this time. However, we have awakened and treated you for your illness and restored all your renal functions. Presently you are on the USS Blanchard."

  I'm on a ship? In the Navy? Panic ran through her body causing her to hyperventilate. “I'm out to sea?"

  "No. However, you are on a ship—just not one you are familiar with. This is a Titan class ship. We're not on Earth's oceans ... we're not even on a planet. We're in deep space, Ms. Driskoll."

  Her panic switched to down right terror. Caitlin could feel her heart racing. “SPACE? That's impossible!"

  "I assure you I would not be wasting our time by joking.” Keegan contended.

  Her mind still reeling, “What year is this?"

  "Twenty ninety-six."

  "Space! Twenty ninety-six?” Stunned, Caitlin stared wide-eyed at the patchwork of beams in the ceiling. Her groggy mind raced from panic to anger. No single thought made itself coherent except for one notion. “I am in no mood for jokes, just let me speak to my husband."

  "He's not here.” Keegan replied. Annoyed, his shoulders heaved as he sighed. “As, I was saying—"

  Just then another soldier approached the Colonel. He frowned and acknowledged him. Curious, scared and upset, she strained to listen. She could just barely hear him speak...

  "...Sir, all have reported in ... we will be able to make the C-S departure in ten minutes."

  "Thank you Lieutenant."

  "What did he say? What's a C.S. departure?” She squeaked slightly afraid of the possibilities of what it could mean.

  "Oh, that's nothing,” another man replied. His voice sounded friendlier than the Colonel's. “C.S. stands for Curved Space. Curved Space Departure is a common means of travel in deep space Ms. Driskoll."

  The Colonel shot the man an irritated glance. He cleared his throat and fell silent.

  "Where's Jason?” she asked with a mixture of fear and desperation.

  Ignoring her shock, Keegan continued. “I told you I don't know. We are presently en route to a base that will get you situated back on Earth."

  "Why am I here?” she asked confused and scared.

  "I'm not at liberty to say,” Keegan droned.

  Caitlin sank into her bed.

  "All right,” the man said.

  Terror swept through her. “Who are you?” she said with bulging eyes.

  "I am Dr. Anthony Bishop. Just think of me as your on-board physician."

  She panted heavily as her eyes rolled back in her head.

  "Nurse we need some oxygen over here!"

  The nurse placed a small mask over her face. She inhaled deeply feeling her body warm and her eyes grow heavy.

  "Doctor, I'm not finished,” she could hear the Colonel say.

  Bishop interrupted, “That's enough. It's time for this patient to get some rest ... besides I'll be needing this bed soon."

  Caitlin closed her eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * *

  General Hollis’ leather chair squeaked as she rocked back and forth. Her wrinkled hand supported her frowning head as it stared intently at the pudgy man's face on the holograph in front of her.

  The fist sized image scrambled and righted itself periodically as his voice droned on without feeling, “...I realize it was unusual for you to be picking up this kind of cargo but I assure you, you are finished doing so. Once they've been revived you may start sending the approved personnel to the base that's coming over your subspace fax. Afterwards, await further orders."

  The image disappeared just as someone knocked on her door.

  "Enter.” Hollis ordered and closed out the holo-terminal on her desk. A motor turned on to her left and spat out a piece of paper.

  Keegan entered the room and stood at attention in front of her.

  Hollis read the fax, tore half of it and handed it to Keegan. She fed the remaining half to the shredder.

  "Make way for Yeager station,” she said getting up from her chair. “Prepare a list of cryos that will be ready for departure. They will be the first group to go."

  "They're on their way home then?"

  Hollis handed her Executive Officer the new set of orders. “I never said that,” her southern lisp growled emphasizing her message.

  Keegan peered at her with his deep blue eyes and furled his brow, “What?"

  "You have your orders Colonel.” Hollis went back to her seat. “Carry on."

  Colonel Keegan glanced at the paper, placed it in his shirt pocket and made his way toward the door.

  Hollis leaned back in her chair and nodded her head, “Since we can't spare too many shuttles, send them out in groups of ten with three trips full of able bodied personnel. The rest send in one cargo shuttle. The remaining will stay on board. They are out of our hands now."

  Keegan turned and asked, “What about the rotation of personnel?” The annoyance in his voice became more apparent
with each word, “I have three understaffed squadrons."

  "I know Colonel. Just carry out my orders."

  Keegan stood at attention. “Yes Ma'am."

  He exited silently as he had entered.

  Hollis stared at the closing hatch to her quarters, “Something's happening. I can feel it."

  * * * *

  Flying was all I knew for twelve years. Keegan reflected as he stepped over a long hose inside of launch bay Alpha.

  His shiny black combat boots echoed his footsteps on the cement floor inside the partially deserted expanse. Keegan inhaled deeply, savoring the bay's thick air. An aroma he always associated with flying greeted his nose. He was sure it was a mixture of propellant, steam and the sweat of hard work. A sweet smell that could only be matched by a woman.

  Glancing around the bay, he smiled at his former home. His first time out as a pilot, he was sent to fly on the Blanchard. It was where he made his first deep space run. It was also where he met his wife. He only spent two years on the Blanchard before being shuffled around from base to base.

  Still somehow from one change in orders to another he managed to run into her again, Margaret, the one who truly understood his love for flying and serving in the Corps. And somehow she managed to steal that love and grow it even more. Not too long after their first date they were married. And then he had everything he could ever want in life—a job he loved and a woman he loved even more. Then he lost her. All he could do was fly and serve because it was all he had left. Then he was shot down and flying was taken away from him. Now all he had left was the Corps.

  Dense windowless walls, he knew to be made of an alloy of high stress metals, enclosed the chamber. It was the size of two football fields. Struts jutted back and forth across the length of the ceiling like poles of a teepee. High above his head to the right stood a long window where he and General Hollis often viewed the departures of their pilots. At the very top of the room towards the ceiling were two blast shields, when opened, it enabled a view into space.

  As he strolled further into the launch bay, Keegan stopped and proudly eyed two rows of Marine single seat fighter planes resting on the deck connected to their umbilical supports. They looked like majestic birds proudly awaiting their next mission. Keegan stroked their smooth surfaces.