The War in 2020

somebody would have survived. The autosensors would have alerted, and we would have had more flash traffic calls coming in than the system could've handled.' He shook his head very slowly, then touched the edge of the gauzed hand to his hairline. 'It just doesn't make any sense.'

'Looks like a ghost town,' Hank Parker said. The clumsy, too-colorful image annoyed Meredith, and he almost made a dismissive comment. Then he realized, with a chill that ran along his arms, legs, and spine, that the assistant S-3's comment bothered him so much not because it was naive but because it was precisely correct. There was no town in the imagery, and Meredith did not believe in ghosts, but the feel that rose from the monitor like cold air was exactly the feel of a ghost town — of a no-nonsense, technologically affluent military kind.

'Rapper,' Taylor called through the intercom, 'get us down there as fast as you can. Get a fix on the S-3's bird and put down right on its ass.'

'Roger.'

'Sir?' Meredith said, suddenly forgetting his personal alarm and remembering his duty, 'are you sure you want to put down? If there's something down there we don't know about… I mean, the regiment needs you. We could direct one of the other squadrons to send in a recon party, do it right…'

'I don't want to wait,' Taylor said.

'Neither do I,' Meredith said truthfully. 'But we've got to think about the big picture. We've got to—'

'Be quiet, Merry. My mind's made up.' There was a tautness in the voice that Meredith had never before suffered.

Something was terribly, inexplicably wrong. Each man in the cabin knew it, but none of them could bring it out in words.

'What's that?' Taylor demanded, stabbing a finger at the monitor. As the M-100 approached the heart of the site, the on-board sensors picked up greater and greater detail.

Meredith squinted and saw only a black speck. He touched the selector pencil to the screen and the lens telescoped down.

It was a body. A man's body. Where before there had been only the disguised outlines of machinery and the insistent silence.

'He's moving,' Parker said.

They all bent down over the monitor, each man's stale breath sour in the nostrils of his comrades.

Yes. It was unmistakable. It was definitely a man, in uniform, and he was moving. He was lying on his back, making jerking, seemingly random gestures at the sky.

'What in the name of Christ?' Taylor whispered.

The unintelligent, wasted movement of the man's limbs came erratically. But he was unmistakably alive, although the snow was beginning to bury him. The man's movements reminded Meredith of something, but he could not quite place it.

'Get us down on the ground, goddamnit,' Taylor roared.

It seemed to Meredith that Taylor had just realized what was going on. But the old man seemed to have no intention of sharing his knowledge.

'Yes, sir,' Krebs's voice came back through the intercom, just a second late. The old warrant officer's voice seemed to tremble, astonishing Meredith, who had grown used to Krebs's theatrical toughness.

The sensors on the M-100 were very efficient, and although they were still several kilometers from the thrashing soldier's location, Meredith could already begin to make out the exact contours of the body, even the more pronounced facial features. He almost thought he recognized the man.

Suddenly, he realized what the man's unfocused pawings reminded him of: a newborn infant.

* * *

'Get a grip on yourself, Merry,' Taylor said gently.

Meredith shook his head and wiped his eyes. He could not bring himself to look at Heifetz again. Or at any of the others.

'I'm going to be sick,' he said.

'That's all right,' Taylor told him. The old man's voice labored to steady him. 'Just go outside. It's all right to be sick.'

Meredith did not move. The smell of human waste hung thickly in the ops cell of Heifetz's M-100. Meredith closed his eyes. He did not want to see any more. But, behind his eyelids, the image of the last several minutes grew even grimmer.

'I'm going to be sick,' Meredith said again. He could feel the' tears searching down over his cheeks for a streambed, seeking out the lowest hollows and contours of flesh.

Taylor took him firmly by the arm.

'Don't let it beat you,' he said. 'I'm going to need you, Merry.'

'I can't,' Meredith said, 'I just can't,' although he had no clear idea of what it was he could not do.

'It's all right.'

'My God.'

'I know.'

'Oh… my God,' Meredith said. He felt another wave of nausea. But it was not quite strong enough to set him in motion.

'Let's go outside for a minute.' Taylor said. 'We'll both go.' He spoke as though he were addressing a good child in a bad hour. Meredith could not understand it. Not any of it. And he could not begin to understand how Taylor could be so calm.

Unwillingly, Meredith looked around again. It was a little better now. When they had lugged the young captain's snow-dusted body into the shelter of Heifetz's M-100, they had found Lucky Dave and the crew spilled over the floor like drunkards, eyes without focus, limbs twitching like the bodies of beheaded snakes, mouths drooling. The smell of shit had soaked out through their uniforms, and they made unprovoked noises that seemed to come from a delirium beyond words. Taylor had immediately put Meredith to work, untangling the men's limbs, repositioning them onto their bellies so they would not choke on their spittle.

'What is it?' Meredith had demanded. It took all of his willpower to assist Taylor in repositioning the stricken soldiers. It was especially difficult with Heifetz. 'What is it?

'I'll tell you later,' Taylor had said patiently. 'Just help me now.'

Meredith had set his hands upon his fellow officers and the crew NCOs with the combination of trepidation and over-resolute firmness he might have employed with plague victims. Yet, these men were unmarked by evident disease. The warmth of their skin seemed normal. Nor were there any signs of wounds, except where one NCO had tumbled forward, breaking his nose. The man snorted blood like an ineptly shot animal as they laid him down properly.

Then Meredith needed to stand, as the nausea grew stronger. He saw Lucky Dave's eyes, and for a moment he thought they were staring at him. But it was only a trick of angles and light. There was no recognizable human expression on Heifetz's face. Only an unintelligent confusion of muscles.

'Let's go outside,' Taylor repeated. He held Meredith firmly by the upper arm, and he steered him as carefully as possible over the closely aligned bodies.

The bloody-nosed NCO began to grunt loudly and rhythmically. Meredith recoiled, as if a corpse had bitten him. But Taylor had him in a close grip. He directed the younger man toward the rear hatch.

'Watch your step, Merry,' he said.

The clean, cold air cued the sickness in Meredith's stomach. He stumbled down onto the snow-covered earth and began to retch. Taylor loosened his grip slightly, but never quite relinquished control of Meredith's arm.

When he was done, Meredith scooped up a handful of clean snow and wiped his mouth. He chewed into the cold whiteness. The regimental surgeon had counseled the men not to use snow to make drinking water, since the regional pollution had reached catastrophic extremes. But Meredith instinctively knew that anything was cleaner than the waste remaining in his mouth.

'It's all right,' Taylor said.

Meredith began to cry hard. He shook his head. He knew that something was terribly, horribly wrong. None of his experiences offered a frame of reference for this. He could not understand what his eyes were seeing. He only knew that it was hideous beyond anything in his experience, without having any conscious understanding of why.