Free Nightstalkers by Bob Mayer Page A

Nightstalkers
. We are ultimately accountable only to the survival of the human race.”
    Kirk blinked.
    Moms looked him in the eye. “That’s no bullshit, okay?”
    Kirk nodded.
    “
Be on time
.” She frowned. “I need to reorder those two.”
    “I told you that last time—” Nada began, but she waved him silent.
    “
Keep your mouth shut about the team when outside the team
. Or Roland will pay you a visit.”
    “And it will be a wet experience,” Nada added.
    “
Follow Protocols
,” Moms said. “Even the smallest ones. And I, actually Nada, will be ripping Mac a new one for sneaking two extra beers while we’re technically on call.” Moms smiled. “And last but not least, keep your sense of humor. You’re going to need it.” She closed the book and raised her eyebrows. “Any questions or concerns?”
    “No, Moms.”
    Moms sat back in her seat and gestured for Nada to begin.
    The team sergeant got up and picked up the top binder. “Nuclear Protocol, including facilities, materials, weapons, etcetera.” He tossed it to Kirk, who caught it. Nada picked up the second binder. “Biological Protocol. There are some nasty bugs out there, and hard as it is to believe, there are people in labs trying to make nastier ones. It’s not like Mother Nature can’t be quite the motherfucker by herself.” He tossed the second binder. Third binder: “Chemical. Really, you do need to read all this stuff, ’cause Doc or an Acme might not be by your side. Pretend you’re in graduate school for things that can kill. Learn which ones kill quickest and fastest.” He paused. “You know your three Bs, right?”
    “Breathing, bleeding, broken,” Kirk said, listing the priorities for triage.
    Nada nodded. “For us it’s the three Cs. Containment is the first priority. Nothing else matters if whatever shit we’re trying to deal with spreads. Then concealment.” He noted Kirk’s surprised look. “Panic can kill as much as the actual problem. Word of some of the things we’ve had to squash gets out, peoplewill go bonkers. The people out there in the world got twenty-four-hour news channels. They’re hungry for bad shit, like the way weathermen pray for hurricanes to hit so they can stand on that pier with the wind howling around them. The news would eat up the stuff we deal with and the public would panic.
War of the Worlds
–type shit. The third C is control. That one is regulated by Ms. Jones’s directive whether it’s dry, damp, or wet. Got it?”
    “Containment, concealment, control.”
    “Good.”
    Nada picked up a stack of three more binders. “This is just a bunch of stuff. And some of it is pretty weird. They list every single mission the Nightstalkers have been on since it was founded in 1948. Makes for great late-night reading.”
    Moms cut in for the first time. “Don’t concern yourself so much with the problems, because some of them won’t happen again, but look at the way the team dealt with it and consider possibilities.”
    Nada dumped the three binders on top of the ones already in Kirk’s lap.
    He grabbed the thickest one off the desk. “This is the one I call the Dumb Shit Scientist Protocol, but don’t ever let Doc hear that. This lists all the incredibly dumb things scientists have done that damn near wiped out the human race.” Nada’s eyes shifted to the wall between the CP and Ms. Jones’s office, as if she could hear through two feet of steel-reinforced concrete. “Pretty high up on that list is what happened at Chernobyl.”
    Last, Nada tossed a pocket-sized team Protocol. “That’s your first priority reading. You’ve got forty-eight hours, then anyone can ask you anything in it and you’d better know it and your place in whatever it is.
    “There’s a locker with your gear on it. Check it, but don’t move anything around. I assume in the Rangers you had standard operating procedure for the way everyone rigged their gear, right? So you can grab anyone’s vest or ruck