Free Day by Day Armageddon: Beyond Exile by J.L. Bourne

their slightly faster mobility or their extreme radiation. The small numbers outside at this moment should not be a problem for the men dealing with them.
    We can escape now (via the alternate exit) and leave Hotel 23 forever, never knowing if the military outside are our allies, or we can stay and fight or maybe attempt communication. We still maintain our radio silence and do not plan to break it unless absolutely necessary.
    They are making no attempts to gain entry at this time and have made no gestures toward the cameras. The sun will be downin roughly two hours and if they plan to gain forced entry, I feel they will do it in the dead of night.
    One thing is absolute . . . defeating foolish raiders with a lucky cheap shot is one thing, but going head to head with a couple of dozen well-armed U.S. Marines is quite another.
    17 Jul
    2236
    Negotiations at first were civil, then turned to threats that in turn led to violence. They began with radio transmissions directed “at the ones in the bunker.” Then came the explosives. They set the explosives but did not detonate them. They wanted to get in without resistance. After seeing block after block of explosives being carted down into the silo hole, I had no choice but to break radio silence with the Marines.
    I keyed the microphone and said (to the best of my recollection):
    “To the men trying to take this facility by force, please cease hostile actions or we will be forced to retaliate.”
    I thought for sure I would hear laughter on the radio, but they were professional.
    “No one wants hostilities, we just want the complex. It is U.S. government property, and we have rightful claim to such properties, in accordance with applicable federal laws and executive orders. We ask that you allow us to gain access and no one will be harmed.”
    That was the moment when I wanted to laugh at
them
on the radio. We were at a standoff. I had to speak to the person in command of this unit. I requested to do so and was met with evasive wording and lip service.
    “The commanding officer is at headquarters and will not be present.”
    I asked for the person speaking to identify himself. He refused.
    I asked, “On what real authority do you claim this compound?”
    He replied, “On the authority of the chief of Naval Operations.”
    “Don’t you mean the Commandant of the Marine Corps?”
    At first there was silence, and then the tinny voice came back and said, “The commandant is missing in action. It is our best guess he is with his fellow cadre of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs at some
secure
location, along with most of the nation’s leadership . . . dead.”
    “So you are under naval operational control at this time?”
    “We are the Marine Corps, Department of the Navy.” There was audible laughter at this point.
    I didn’t see any point in hiding that we were the ones who had saved Ramirez and his men.
    These Marines probably knew that we were the same people, so I asked, “What about Ramirez and the other men that we saved from the disabled LAV?”
    “They are fine and one of them is with us now. Ramirez is back at base camp on perimeter defense duty but wanted to pass something along face-to-face.”
    With as much sternness as I could muster on the radio, I yelled into the mic, “Let me speak to a commissioned officer now, Marine!”
    “I can’t do that.”
    “Why not?”
    “We don’t have any . . . er, I mean we don’t have any
here.
”
    The Marine had slipped. I began to wonder who exactly was in command of these men. More banter went on until I finally convinced the Marine on the radio to put me on with the senior noncom present. Gunnery Sergeant Handley answered the call.
    The Gunny bellowed, “Now listen down there, we need the complex as a forward command center, as there’s still a little bit a’ hope. A plan is being formed for the remnants of the U.S. military to attempt reclamation of the United States from the creatures.”
    I asked him how