The Soldier

Logan guided his horse north of Canaveral, a hunting rifle in a scabbard on the left side of the horse the only visible weapon. Buried in the saddlebags underneath a supply of food and clothing were several pistols and extra ammunition. Jon had argued against the extra weaponry, fearing a Federal checkpoint, but Logan insisted.

About mid morning, Logan arrived at what was obviously a port facility of some sort. As he came around a corner, moving past the deserted buildings and mostly empty parking lots, he came up on the rusted hulk of a vessel. It was partially sunken, its bottom clearly resting on the bottom of the basin, and it leaned in towards the shore, perched against the land like a drunk leaning against a lamppost.

Logan looked up at the ship as he moved slowly past, wondering what type of vessel it was. There were numerous cranes on the top of the ship. Most of them were empty but several still held smaller vessels that were once painted a bright orange. Then it hit him.

“It’s a bloody cruise ship,” Logan said, recalling a picture he had once seen online.

As he continued past he looked up and realized that there were people living on the hulk, as he saw lines with clothes drying on them strung between the balconies. Logan thought he saw movement from the top of the old ship, but gave no visible sign that he had noticed, keeping the horse’s pace constant. He casually let his left hand slip down to the rifle and released the safety just in case.

“Hey pal, where you headed,” a voice called. Logan stopped the horse and looked up.

“Huntin’,” he said, keeping his answers short to hide what he felt was a really bad attempt at the local accent.

“Where?”

" Up north.”

“Nothin’ up there,” the voice shouted, Logan realized it was a little high for anyone he needed to worry about. “South is better.”

“From the South. Now I’m tryin’ North. What’s it to ya?”

" Just curious,” the voice said. “You live around here?”

“Nope, like I said. From the South and just passin’ through.”

Logan was growing impatient and wanted to continue on. “And right now, I’m waistin’ daylight.”

“You know, you don’t sound like anyone from Florida I’ve known. You talk funny.”

“And you sound young,” Logan said. “Shouldn’t you be in school. They do have school ’round these parts don’t they?”

“They do, but my folks don’t make me go. They say they can teach me everythin’ I need to know right here on the ship.”

“Does the ship have a name?”

“We just call it the ship – it had a name once but it’s all rusted over.”

“So it is, do you have a name?”

There was a pause.

“You still there?”

Yeah, my folks really don’t like me talkin’ to strangers not on the ship.”

“Well, you started this conversation, I should at least be able to know to whom I’m speaking.”

“I suppose. It’s Tommy.”

“Nice to meet you Tommy, I’m Logan.”

“Nice name,” Tommy said. “Well I gotta go. I’ve got chores to do.”

“As do I,” Logan said, completely dropping his attempt to sound American.

“You comin’ back this way?”

“I hope so,” Logan said as he nudged the horse back into motion. “I truly hope so.”

“Great, I’ll look for you,” the still unseen boy said from the top of the worn-out cruise ship. “Give me shout if you pass back through. Someone’s always on watch.”

“I will,” Logan called back with a wave of his hand.

“Cool.”

On one of the upper decks, the boy stood next to a much older man.

“How’d I do, pa?”

“You did real good, son,” the man replied, a smile cracking the wrinkles on his weather-worn face.

“Who do you think he is?”

“No idea, but he certainly isn’t from anywhere ’round these parts,” the man said. “You run along now, like you said, you’ve got chores to do.”

“Ok, pa,” the boy said as he scooted down a nearby stairway. Once he had gone the man reached into his coat and pulled out a radio.

“Outlook 4 to base, you there Jo?”

“I’m here, what’cha got Frank?”

“Just had a stranger pass by our location. Looks like a hunter but there was somethin’ odd about him. He’s headin’ your way.”

“Funny, how?”

“Started out sounding OK, but my boy Tommy got him to talkin’ and his voice changed, picked up an accent of some sort and started talking real proper.”

“Huh,” Jo said. “That’s peculiar. Well, don’t worry about it. We’ll keep an eye out for him.”

“Sounds good. Say hey to Jessie and the kids from all of us.”

“Will do. The same to everyone down there. Base out.”

“Outlook 4 out,” Frank said. He turned the radio off and set it down on a bulkhead, settling in to finish out his shift on watch at the top of the old cruise ship.

Logan decided to make camp early, in part because a full day on horseback was tiring and in part to keep up the illusion that he was just a hunter heading north. Several hours ago, he had passed the long-abandoned security checkpoint for Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, yet another indication of how America had fallen apart under the financial strain of maintaining The Wall that isolated the country from the rest of the world.

Logan easily built a small campfire from scrub wood in the area. He wasn’t too concerned about being observed – the time for stealth would be later, once he actually found a way to attempt entry into the Space Center.

With his bedroll laid out next to the nicely blazing fire, Logan took in his surroundings. North of him, the island he was on continued on for several more miles. Between the island and the mainland flowed a peaceful river, that Jon had said was called the Banana River. With the collapse of international trade, Logan had never actually seen a banana, but he assumed the name came from the shape of the river as he hadn’t noticed any of the fruit growing in his travels through Florida.

To the North, it looked as if the width of the river narrowed, giving Logan some hope that he would eventually come to someplace where he could cross the river undetected. To the east, he could just barely make out several large structures. He walked over to where the horse was grazing and extracted a set of binoculars that Jon had provided. He focused in on one for the structures, which turned out to be an old launch complex. It was covered in rust with grass and trees firmly anchored in cracks in the concrete.

“So ends the birthplace of the American space program,” Logan said to himself as he put the binoculars back into the saddlebag. Then he took out his rifle and began walk inland in search of something to have for dinner.

The wind rustled as Logan jerked awake to the sound of distant gunfire. He was instantly alert and reached down to pick up his standard issue Browning. It was only then that he noticed that he was alone and reached up and tapped the comm piece in his ear.

" Mitch, Johnnie, Peter, report.”

All he got in response was static.

“Damn, where did they get off to and what the hell is wrong with the radio?”

Logan moved silently off, the idea that the terrain and foliage was all wrong for the middle east only a vague notion at the edge of his consciousness. Again, he tried to contact the rest of his team.

" Come on lads, this isn’t the time or the place,” Logan whispered, again getting nothing buy static in response.

Then he heard the soft crackle of someone stepping on a dried palmetto frond and spun around, crouching low as he did so. But he saw nothing. He slowly rotated, straining his eyes to pierce the darkness, wishing he had a set of night-vision goggles and wondering why he didn’t when the light-enhancing devices were a normal and required part of his unit’s equipment. Another sound of palmetto fronds being walked on caused him to spin in the opposite direction, but again nothing was visible.

He felt his heart rate increase and his breath shorten as he began to get a trapped feeling, like he was being herded by an unseen enemy – and he didn’t like it very much.

Something caught his eye off to his right, a motion at the edge of his peripheral vision. He turned and tried to focus, getting the briefest glance of a spot of red on the ground.

Damn, he thought, then looked down to see the red of a laser sighting beam on his chest. He leapt to the left and rolled, ending up behind some brush just as the crack of the sniper rifle reached his ear and dust exploded from where he had been standing moments before.

“You’re going to have to much better than that,” he called out as he brought his Browning up and fired of few shots in the general direction of where he thought the sniper was concealed. “Had you been in my unit, you would have never allowed me to get the chance to dodge your shot.”

All he heard was silence, not that Logan expected the sniper to actually respond to his taunt. Then the silence was broken by the sound of automatic weapons fire and the ground around Logan exploded with dirt and bits of flying plant matter. Logan returned fire as best he could, as the shots seemed to be coming from every direction at once.

Then Logan heard a soft thud and looked down to see a grenade sitting next to him. He tried to lunge to one side but felt the sear of pain and heat as the grenade exploded.

Logan awoke in a cold sweat and immediately saw the uniformed man standing in front of him with a rifle casually aimed at Logan’s head.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Having a bit of a nightmare, were we?”

Logan reached for his rifle that he had left by his side but only grabbed dirt.

“Looking for this?” the soldier asked as he held out Logan’s hunting rifle, which had been slung over his shoulder.

“Who the hell are you?” Logan asked pausing only briefly to make sure he spoke with his best American accent.

“No,” the man said, “The question is who the hell are you, and what are you doing trespassing on Federal property?”

“The Name’s Logan, and I’m a hunter,” Logan said as he slowly moved to a sitting position. “If I’m not where I’m supposed to be, I’ll just move along. I’m new ’round these parts and didn’t know.”

“Nobody hunts solo, where’s your hunting party?”

“Several miles south. They were finding nothing so I came north to scout things out. I was heading back to meet up with them in the morning.”

The man looked at the others then chuckled.

“Right. Well, it looks like you’re gonna be a little late getting back,” he said. “Everyone knows about this installation and I believe your story about as much as I believe a pig’s gonna sprout wings and fly. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“You’re really not in the position to be asking questions, friend.”

" Perhaps,” Logan said. “But what’s the harm in telling me exactly who you are and where you’re taking me?”

“No harm, I suppose. I’m Capt. Lance Dixon, Kennedy Space Center Security. We’re taking back to our facility so you can be questioned. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Completely, thanks,” Logan said.

“Very well,” Dixon said. “Let’s move out.”

They allowed Logan to gather his gear and mount his own horse before they tied his hands to the saddle horn. Then they led his horse short distance away to where three other horses waited, grazing patiently. Dixon and his men mounted up and rode off to the North, with Dixon leading Logan’s horse.

Several hours later they group passed another launch facility, this one obviously of new construction.

“I assume this means America is getting back into the rocket launching business?” Logan asked.

“That’s classified information,” Dixon said. “We’ll be asking all the questions from here on out.”

“And we would be?” Logan prompted.

“The U.S. Government,” Dixon said. ” Oh, and do me a favor and drop the fake accent. It’s more than a bit painful to listen to.”

“Done,” Logan said.

As they rode past the new launch facility, Logan could see that it was being prepared. There was no rocket on the pad yet but there was activity, technicians of various sorts checking hoses and cables. There was a wide gravel roadway leading away from the pad, and when Logan followed its course he could see a large building in the distance, which he assumed was where the rocket was being prepared.

Logan looked around and tried to spot some landmarks other than the launch pad itself in case he needed to find the location again as he especially wanted a look inside the vehicle preparation building.

Dixon saw Logan looking around.

“Gonna admit that you’re here to stop this?”

“I don’t even know what ‘this’ is,” Logan said. “Like I said, it looks like you’re about to try to launch a rocket of some sort. No one on Earth has launched a rocket in God knows how long, and I’m the naturally curious sort anyway.”

“It’s a weather satellite,” Dixon said. “The government is trying to launch some replacement weather satellites to replace the ones that failed after we were forced to build the wall.”

“Forced to build the wall?”

" Of course,” Dixon said, looking at Logan as if he were a school child being taught the most basic tenet of history. “The UN had failed and the world was threatening to take over the U.S. The government had no choice but to build the wall to protect all of us.”

Logan could tell the man believed every word he was saying, and realized it was something that was probably drilled into him in whatever passed for schooling in America.

“So, I’d like to know,” Dixon said, “Why the British are so intent on stopping us from launching a weather satellite?”

Logan looked Dixon squarely in the face.

“Simply put, we’re not,” hj said.

“Then why are you here?”

Logan struggled, unsure of how to proceed, how much truth to reveal.

“The short answer is to try and rescue a friend who your government has captured.”

“And the long version?”

Logan chuckled. “I’m not sure I care to tell you the long version, at least not yet. You seem to be an all right sort, captain, and I’m generally a good judge of character. But the long version will have to wait for a bit.”

Dixon almost laughed. “Suit yourself. You can tell me now, or you can tell my boss later, though I would think telling me now would be a whole lot easier on you.”

Dixon wheeled his horse.

“Move out,” he called as he moved on, leading Logan’s horse behind him.