Pulling into the driveway of the old farmhouse he stopped and looked across the field at the sunset. One of the recent reports generated by some Beltway Bandit, one of the numerous consulting firms on Washington’s Beltway that provided specialized studies for the United States government, dealt with climatological changes. Mike knew just enough climatology to doubt that anyone could accurately predict what the climatological changes might be when the activities of the enemy were still unknown, but the least that was sure to happen was some kinetic or nuclear bombardment. How much the weather changed depended on the severity of the bombardment.
If there was a minimal spatial bombardment there would be a minimal drop in worldwide temperature. The converse was of course true. A minimal bombardment, sixty to seventy weapons scattered across Earth’s surface, targeted solely on the projected Planetary Defense Centers, would have the approximate climatological effect of the Mount Pinatubo eruption. That had caused a global temperature drop of nearly a degree and some spectacular sunsets, but otherwise weather was hardly changed.
However, as the number of weapons increased so did the relative severity. Two hundred kinetic energy weapons in the five to ten kiloton range would have the equivalent effect of the Mount Krakatoa explosion, which had plunged the world into a mini-ice age, causing year round frosts in the late eighteen hundreds. At over four hundred weapons it was projected that a real ice age would ensue, especially as the rate of carbon dioxide emission was projected to drop to nearly nothing over the next twelve years.
That particular datum called for the largest caveat in the entire report. The report tossed a bone to a theory that Earth was currently in the midst of an ice age and that the only thing holding it off was the current rate of CO2 emission; in essence that the current scheduled ice age was held at bay by “greenhouse effect.” If the theory were true, and some climatologists were willing to admit it might be, ending the era of fossil fuels could coincidentally cause an ice age in and of itself.
If an ice age ensued from the war, win or lose, some of the most civilized regions of the world would become untenable. And the conditions projected for the war itself? Mike had seen the raw reports, the ones that so far had not leaked to the press. That knowledge and calling in a few favors owed him had created an awareness of a situation that no parent should ever have to face. With his mind on those thoughts he got out in the deepening twilight and walked into the kitchen of the holiday-festive house. There was a scent of the cedar Christmas tree cut from the family farm, and Sharon had been baking cookies.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!” The expression was trite, but the emotion behind it was heartfelt.
Sharon came into the room leading the youngest. Mike’s heart lurched when he realized Michelle was almost too large for her pink footie pajamas.
For the past long months Mike had spent between sixty and eighty hours a week at GalInf headquarters in Fort Benning or hopping from one military base to another. As one of the few experts on the new infantry systems, every time there was a snag he had to go troubleshoot. In most cases there were honest difficulties with assimilating new technology but on several occasions he had run into the technophobia mentioned in regards to the new ACS commander.
Eight months with almost no contact with his family and darn near no social contacts at all had left him drained. It was time, however short, for a break.
“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” he said to his daughter, opening his arms for a hug. “Do you have a hug for Daddy?”
“No!” She hugged her mother’s leg and buried her face in its protective warmth.
“Why not?”
“Not Daddy.”
“Am too!”
“Not!”
“Meanie! Pooh!” He blew on her hair and she giggled.
“ ’Top!”
“Meanie! Pooh!”
Giggle. “ ’Top!”
“Meanie!…”
“Pooh!” Giggle.
“Aggh! Got me! Hug?”
She wrapped her arms around him and, just for a moment, all was right with the world.
“Do you have the holiday off?” asked Sharon. End of moment.
“Actually I have the week and a bit. But there’s bad news to go with the good.”
“What?” There was another surprise here and she was getting tired of surprises. Coping as a single mother for the last eight months had not helped.
“I’m getting attached to the ACS unit deploying to Diess with the expeditionary force as an advisor,” he said, standing up with the pink bundle of his daughter in his arms. “You sure are getting heavy!”
“You’re going off planet?” Sharon asked, stunned.
“And how.” Mike nodded, dreading the coming argument.
“When?”
“Next week. This is the pre-deployment leave.”
“How come everyone else gets a couple of months’ warning?” Sharon demanded.
“Probably because everyone else has a normal job,” said Mike, reasonably.
“Well, dammit!”
“Honey,” Mike gestured that he was still holding Michelle. “Can we save this for a bit?”
“Sure. Since you’re home you can give Cally a bath.”
“Okay. Did I miss supper?”
“Yes, and if you hadn’t I’d have thrown it outside anyway.”
“Honey.”
“I know, but this is just a little bit hard to take, okay?” Sharon had tears in her eyes. “It’s kind of hard being a single mom all the time, okay? And it’s kind of hard knowing what’s coming. And I’ve just about had as much as I can take. The projects are piling up and I feel like every time I take time off for the family I’m letting our side down!”
Mike stood silent. This was one of those times when no words would help.
“Why is Mommy crying?” asked Michelle.
“Because Daddy has to go away for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Daddy’s job.”
“I don’t want you to go away!”
“I know, sweetie pie, but I have to go.”
“I don’t want you to!” In sympathetic reaction Michelle started to cry.
Shit. “I didn’t want to get into this, honey, but maybe we could go down to Florida for the week. Mom would love to see the kids, I’m sure.”
“Granma?”
“Yes, pumpkin, Granma.”
“We’re going to Granma’s house!”
“We’re going to Granma’s house?” asked Cally, arriving late from a potty break.
“Honey, I don’t know if I can get the time,” said Sharon, automatically. “We’re knee deep in modifying the F-22s.”
“If Lockheed won’t let you go under the circumstances, quit. It’s not like we’ll need the money and you could spend more time with the kids.”
“Let’s not talk about this now,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s get Michelle and Cally to bed and then we’ll talk.”
“Okay.”
After the children were tucked away Mike and Sharon pulled out a bottle of “the good stuff” and talked; it was a good way to wait up for Santa. Sharon, curled on the couch, brandy snifter in hand, tried as best she could to bring him up-to-date on the children’s lives, all the little things that he had missed over the previous months. Mike, sitting on the floor, watching the lights of the Christmas tree blink, told her in greater detail about his work and about the overall preparation for the upcoming war. And, violating security, he finally told her about the full nature of the threat and what it meant.