Without warning

The engineer nearly jumped out of his boots.

The army officer (or was he army? They had majors in the air force too, didn’t they?) was a lean, forty-something man with a bristling grey crew-cut. He looked the part, but sounded like a surf bum. A Californian, maybe? There was no avoiding him though, so Kipper set his features and made the best of it.

‘You’re McCutcheon, right? Did you come in here to explain what the hell happened at Costco? You guys were supposed to be there guarding the handout. You insisted on it, as I recall.’ As soon as Kipper started to speak, all of his bottled-up rage and frustration spilled out. He was nearly shouting by the time he’d finished. ‘All that bullshit about major security operations being an army gig now – but I got eighteen people dead, and the entire fucking city locked down again! It’s not good enough, Major!’

‘No it’s not,’ countered a gruff voice from somewhere behind McCutcheon. ‘Now get your ass in here, son, and help us sort it out.’

Kipper pushed in through the door, surprised to find another uniformed man in the chair behind the deputy mayor’s desk. This one was older, bald, and much more thick-set than McCutcheon. ‘Who the hell are you?’ Kip asked, as the major pushed the door to slightly.

The man, who was dressed in fatigues like McCutcheon, gestured to a chair for the engineer to sit in. ‘General Jackson Blackstone,’ he said. ‘Take a seat.’

Kipper blinked and froze. ‘You. You’re the fucking idiot who insisted that the army would handle security this morning. Great fucking work out there, guys. Top-shelf effort.’

‘Sit. Down.’ Blackstone’s voice came out in a low growl.

McCutcheon pressed Kipper towards the chair, placing a hand gently on his elbow. ‘Yeah, sorry, not our finest hour,’ he said. ‘We sent two platoons over to that marketplace that got hit last night. It’s a snafu, Kipper – I’m sorry, it happens. Come on, we need to talk.’

‘You’re damn right we need to talk,’ replied Kip. ‘And what’s with the invasion?’ He gestured to take in the hordes of military personnel swarming the building. ‘Is the army taking over or something?’

McCutcheon remained unaffected by his hostility. ‘Naw. We just stand out because of our superior grooming and fashion sense. Really, if it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t even know we were here. Come on… I’m not army, by the way, I’m air force. Special liaison to the civil power, for now. General Blackstone is army, and co-chair of the Special Means Committee.’

The air force officer fetched a coffee pot from the sideboard. The office was crowded with paper files, maps and electronic equipment, all of it military issue. Blackstone sat as quietly and impassively as if he were a log on the forest floor.

‘You want Java?’ asked McCutcheon. ‘It’s fresh. But the milk’s not. I got some very nasty military-issue creamer, if you want.’ He held up a drab olive container with a white plastic slide top on it, by way of explanation.

Kipper grunted, asking for a mug of black, no sugar.

‘Damn, that’s hard-core. You sure you’ve never been in the service?’

The chief engineer nodded grumpily. ‘I’m certain. People shouting at me just pisses me off.’

‘Well, fair enough then. You gotta love the shouting, or it’s just not the life for you. How’s your family, by the way? They pulling through okay, got enough supplies?’

Kipper shook his head in exasperation. ‘Look, what the fuck is this? I have a major disaster on my hands. Eighteen people dead. And you call me in here to make fucking small talk.’

The major walked over to the door and carefully closed it, cutting off the growing hubbub from the corridor outside.

General Blackstone spoke up as he did so. ‘The last time I checked,’ he said, ‘we had a lot more than eighteen dead. When last I checked, our casualty count was well over three hundred million, Mr Kipper. So I have some sour news for you, sir. This morning was a minor fuck-up, and there will be more of them.’

‘A minor -’

‘That’s right. And there will be more of them. More death. More chaos. Get used to it, and get used to dealing with it. Because if we don’t deal, it’s game over here. In this city. Everywhere.’

Kipper waved away the cup of coffee McCutcheon held out.

‘What are you talking about, General? If this morning was your idea of dealing with things, then yeah, we’re fucked.’

‘Look, this is kinda delicate,’ said the air force man, taking a perch on the edge of the desk, where he could look down on Kipper. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem with the council, I’m afraid.’

Kipper shrugged. He’d wondered how on earth the military was going to continue working so closely with a group of people who were almost their antithesis. ‘Well, apart from this morning, things seem to be getting done,’ he offered. ‘All my department’s requests are going straight through the Special Means Committee and getting approved without any questions. What’s the problem?’