stalkere
Banned
Don’t turn your back on the Wolfpack
Duck and Cover – Don’t turn your back on the Wolfpack
Feb 21 1984
At the risk of being annoying, I decided to contribute this possible tale of a couple of survivors in TTL Buffalo, NY.
So, a fanfic of a fanfic…recursive much? Anyway –
Feb 21, 1984 Buffalo, New York
The young man sat on the ratty couch, watching the news on the black and white portable. His right leg was propped up on the ottoman, encased in a cast.
A cast covered in scribbles.
A cast that looked like it might have saved his life, if only for a little while. His Reserve unit had been called up and sent to Europe…but he had slipped on an icy ramp during a training mission in January.
In the hell that was Europe, nobody on the local news channels had said anything about the 914 Tactical Airlift Wing. He assumed that the aging C-130 A models probably lasted about as long as the tissue paper dog on a run through Hell.
He struggled to his feet and looked out the window at the swirling snow. It was a nasty day out there, cold and grey and biting. In other words, it was a normal February day in Western New York.
His son was curled up in his favorite bean bag chair. He had dozed off, bored by the news coverage.
The man smiled a sour grin. He remembered a Crisis much like this one, 22 years earlier, with missiles in Cuba. But – somehow – this one seemed worse. He had made preparations, as much as he knew how to make.
He had carried canned goods and dry goods to the basement. He had filled gallon after gallon of milk jugs for water. He had been putting away sterno fuels and trioxane tabs for years.
Suddenly, the picture on the TV changed. A steady tone came over the audio, and the Emergency Broadcast Announcement told everyone to move to shelter.
“Kevin.” He said, shaking the boy. “Kevin, wake up, it’s time to go downstairs.”
“Waah, dad?” said the sleepy six year old.
“We need to go downstairs. Daddy can’t carry you with his leg.”
“Hokay.” Said the sleepy boy. Tall for his age, he was already dressed for survival.
In the Hunter family, it was an article of wisdom, “scrounge what you can, when you can. You never know when it might come in useful.” Steven Hunter had managed to scarf up an Extra Small Nomex Flight Suit, and a set of extra-small Nomex underwear.
Why some Air Force functionary had decided to have a contractor make a flight suit smaller than the minimum height requirement, why some supply Sergeant had put it on stock at the base was unknown…but Steve had been told to “get rid of it.”
And now, it might make the difference between life and death for his son.
The town house had a basement that doubled as a garage. Steve’s 73 Duster took up most of the room, but he had put a desk at the front of the garage, made of 2x6 planks on top of two filing cabinets. Footlockers of canned goods, water and ammunition, two shotguns.
He was as ready for Armageddon as he knew how to be.
They curled up on the deployment bags, under the desk, and Kevin went back to sleep. There was sirens outside, and noise. It sounded like somebody was pounding at his door, but Steve decided to go back to sleep. No way was he going to stump back upstairs with this leg right now…let alone with inbound missiles.
A little while later, the house bucked and heaved, and the heavens roared. It sounded as if part of the building collapsed. Kevin woke up, scared, but Steve shushed him, and told him to go back to sleep.
-=-
A few hours later, they woke up. It was deathly quiet outside.
Steve checked his watch. 3.30 PM. He stood and stretched. He pulled out his flashlight and shined it around. The garage looked to be in good shape. He pulled out his Geiger counter and checked. It looked as though his taping job was holding – either that, or they didn’t get hit as hard as he had expected.
He went to the tope of the stairway and checked it. The counter started to click faster and the needle swung over. The door was cold to the touch, which told him that the townhouse above was probably broken, maybe gone. He went back down to the base of the stairs.
-=-
A week later, the Steve decided to risk the door. He and Kevin were absolutely stir crazy. The boy was incredibly smart…but he was still, just six years old. Steve had put the Small Mission Orientented Protective Posture Suit on him, carefully taping all the junctures, fitting the extra small M-17 mask. To the boy, it was still a game. He could not yet comprehend the idea of life and death.
“Stay here, Boy” Steve said. “I just want to take a quick look around.” And I’ll be right back.”
“But I want to see, dad.” Whined the boy.
“I know, I know” said his father. “But, it’s not going to be pretty. And it might be dangerous.” He wiped his brow. “Let me check it out. Then we’ll know what to do next”
Steve donned his own mask. Buckled his helmet. and went to the top of the stairs. He took a deep breath and pushed on the door.
It swung open easily, pulling against the duct tape. The first floor was pretty much intact…in the acheological sense. The picture window had blown out, and there was a snowdrift in the living room.
Steve swung the Geiger counter. The alpha count was already pretty low and the beta emitters didn’t look so bad, either. With he and Kevin suited up, it might be worth making a run for it.
He looked outside.
The apartment complex was blasted and scorched. Mercifully, it looked as though snow had covered most of the dead bodies…but spring was going to be nasty.
He walked outside, Geiger counter in his left hand, shotgun in his right. The radiation count looked to be the same. The snow drifts were nasty as hell, it looked as though they may have concentrated the radioactive particles.
He walked to a few blocks in either direction, but saw nothing moving. He looked at the clouds. They looked grey and roiled.
Another snowstorm looked to be brewing. He and the boy had food for several weeks yet, and maybe he could stretch it with some foraging. He had cut the cast off, but his leg was still weak. No way was he ready to walk out of here for some time yet.
Time to go back to ground.
At the top stairway, in what had been the small kitchen, he took off his helmet and dusted it off, then took off his poncho and shook it off, leaving it on the coat hook at the top of the stairs.
He went down into the basement and checked himself over. There was still some residual radiation, but he’d gotten most of it. He sighed. It was going to have to do.
Kevin was still sitting there, right where he’d left him. “how you doing, boy?” he said gruffly.”
Suddenly, the boy ripped off his mask and flung himself into his father’s arms. “Dad, I was scared. What if you didn’t come back?”
“I’m back, boy” said Steve. “And that’s why you gotta pay attention to everything I tell you. Because I’ve never lied to you, boy, and I’m not going to start now.” He held his son by his shoulders. “And the most important thing to me is, you have to stay alive. Got it?”
They were both crying.
“I want you to live, and I want you to grow up to have kids of your own.” Said Steve. “And I want to be there to see them, make no mistake.” He said. “But I for damn sure want you to grow up to have them, with or without me being there, OK?”
He looked at his son. “But right now, I’m cold. Soup?”
“Sounds good.”
Outside, the wind howled like damned souls.
Duck and Cover – Don’t turn your back on the Wolfpack
Feb 21 1984
At the risk of being annoying, I decided to contribute this possible tale of a couple of survivors in TTL Buffalo, NY.
So, a fanfic of a fanfic…recursive much? Anyway –
Feb 21, 1984 Buffalo, New York
The young man sat on the ratty couch, watching the news on the black and white portable. His right leg was propped up on the ottoman, encased in a cast.
A cast covered in scribbles.
A cast that looked like it might have saved his life, if only for a little while. His Reserve unit had been called up and sent to Europe…but he had slipped on an icy ramp during a training mission in January.
In the hell that was Europe, nobody on the local news channels had said anything about the 914 Tactical Airlift Wing. He assumed that the aging C-130 A models probably lasted about as long as the tissue paper dog on a run through Hell.
He struggled to his feet and looked out the window at the swirling snow. It was a nasty day out there, cold and grey and biting. In other words, it was a normal February day in Western New York.
His son was curled up in his favorite bean bag chair. He had dozed off, bored by the news coverage.
The man smiled a sour grin. He remembered a Crisis much like this one, 22 years earlier, with missiles in Cuba. But – somehow – this one seemed worse. He had made preparations, as much as he knew how to make.
He had carried canned goods and dry goods to the basement. He had filled gallon after gallon of milk jugs for water. He had been putting away sterno fuels and trioxane tabs for years.
Suddenly, the picture on the TV changed. A steady tone came over the audio, and the Emergency Broadcast Announcement told everyone to move to shelter.
“Kevin.” He said, shaking the boy. “Kevin, wake up, it’s time to go downstairs.”
“Waah, dad?” said the sleepy six year old.
“We need to go downstairs. Daddy can’t carry you with his leg.”
“Hokay.” Said the sleepy boy. Tall for his age, he was already dressed for survival.
In the Hunter family, it was an article of wisdom, “scrounge what you can, when you can. You never know when it might come in useful.” Steven Hunter had managed to scarf up an Extra Small Nomex Flight Suit, and a set of extra-small Nomex underwear.
Why some Air Force functionary had decided to have a contractor make a flight suit smaller than the minimum height requirement, why some supply Sergeant had put it on stock at the base was unknown…but Steve had been told to “get rid of it.”
And now, it might make the difference between life and death for his son.
The town house had a basement that doubled as a garage. Steve’s 73 Duster took up most of the room, but he had put a desk at the front of the garage, made of 2x6 planks on top of two filing cabinets. Footlockers of canned goods, water and ammunition, two shotguns.
He was as ready for Armageddon as he knew how to be.
They curled up on the deployment bags, under the desk, and Kevin went back to sleep. There was sirens outside, and noise. It sounded like somebody was pounding at his door, but Steve decided to go back to sleep. No way was he going to stump back upstairs with this leg right now…let alone with inbound missiles.
A little while later, the house bucked and heaved, and the heavens roared. It sounded as if part of the building collapsed. Kevin woke up, scared, but Steve shushed him, and told him to go back to sleep.
-=-
A few hours later, they woke up. It was deathly quiet outside.
Steve checked his watch. 3.30 PM. He stood and stretched. He pulled out his flashlight and shined it around. The garage looked to be in good shape. He pulled out his Geiger counter and checked. It looked as though his taping job was holding – either that, or they didn’t get hit as hard as he had expected.
He went to the tope of the stairway and checked it. The counter started to click faster and the needle swung over. The door was cold to the touch, which told him that the townhouse above was probably broken, maybe gone. He went back down to the base of the stairs.
-=-
A week later, the Steve decided to risk the door. He and Kevin were absolutely stir crazy. The boy was incredibly smart…but he was still, just six years old. Steve had put the Small Mission Orientented Protective Posture Suit on him, carefully taping all the junctures, fitting the extra small M-17 mask. To the boy, it was still a game. He could not yet comprehend the idea of life and death.
“Stay here, Boy” Steve said. “I just want to take a quick look around.” And I’ll be right back.”
“But I want to see, dad.” Whined the boy.
“I know, I know” said his father. “But, it’s not going to be pretty. And it might be dangerous.” He wiped his brow. “Let me check it out. Then we’ll know what to do next”
Steve donned his own mask. Buckled his helmet. and went to the top of the stairs. He took a deep breath and pushed on the door.
It swung open easily, pulling against the duct tape. The first floor was pretty much intact…in the acheological sense. The picture window had blown out, and there was a snowdrift in the living room.
Steve swung the Geiger counter. The alpha count was already pretty low and the beta emitters didn’t look so bad, either. With he and Kevin suited up, it might be worth making a run for it.
He looked outside.
The apartment complex was blasted and scorched. Mercifully, it looked as though snow had covered most of the dead bodies…but spring was going to be nasty.
He walked outside, Geiger counter in his left hand, shotgun in his right. The radiation count looked to be the same. The snow drifts were nasty as hell, it looked as though they may have concentrated the radioactive particles.
He walked to a few blocks in either direction, but saw nothing moving. He looked at the clouds. They looked grey and roiled.
Another snowstorm looked to be brewing. He and the boy had food for several weeks yet, and maybe he could stretch it with some foraging. He had cut the cast off, but his leg was still weak. No way was he ready to walk out of here for some time yet.
Time to go back to ground.
At the top stairway, in what had been the small kitchen, he took off his helmet and dusted it off, then took off his poncho and shook it off, leaving it on the coat hook at the top of the stairs.
He went down into the basement and checked himself over. There was still some residual radiation, but he’d gotten most of it. He sighed. It was going to have to do.
Kevin was still sitting there, right where he’d left him. “how you doing, boy?” he said gruffly.”
Suddenly, the boy ripped off his mask and flung himself into his father’s arms. “Dad, I was scared. What if you didn’t come back?”
“I’m back, boy” said Steve. “And that’s why you gotta pay attention to everything I tell you. Because I’ve never lied to you, boy, and I’m not going to start now.” He held his son by his shoulders. “And the most important thing to me is, you have to stay alive. Got it?”
They were both crying.
“I want you to live, and I want you to grow up to have kids of your own.” Said Steve. “And I want to be there to see them, make no mistake.” He said. “But I for damn sure want you to grow up to have them, with or without me being there, OK?”
He looked at his son. “But right now, I’m cold. Soup?”
“Sounds good.”
Outside, the wind howled like damned souls.