“Great. Sounds good — especially if I’m going to be working here. Lead the way.”
“This way, sir. But I’ll need to have you stop off at the verification center.”
Chief Zolley led McGriffin to the back of the command post. A black rectangular object resembling a microfiche reader sat on a desk. Zolley explained, “We need to get a picture of your retina for positive identification. It’s an old system we’re still using until we get the new genetic scanners in. No one can duplicate the pattern your blood vessels make in your eye. It’s kind of like a fingerprint, except much more accurate.”
Zolley held out a chair for him. “This will only take a second, sir. If you’ll look into the goggles …”
Moving his head to the plate, McGriffin squinted into the blackness. As his eyes adjusted, he made out a narrow lens and what appeared to be a flashbulb—
“What!” The bulb went off, startling him. McGriffin pulled back from the device, rubbing his eyes.
“Sorry, sir. If I’d told you what to expect, you might have blinked.” Chief Zolley punched buttons on the device and helped McGriffin out of his seat.
McGriffin squinted. Red, yellow, and green splotches filled the room.
As Zolley led McGriffin to the front of the command post, an airman removed a digitized image of his eye from the verification unit. Zolley noted McGriffin’s wings. “I hear that you used to fly out of McChord, sir.”
McGriffin rubbed his eye and blinked. Things began to swim back into view. “Best tour of my life. I flew 17’s darn near everywhere they could go.”
“I was a crew chief there for three years. Tacoma was quite a place.” He led Major McGriffin into the command post area.
They squeezed in between an array of computer terminals and stopped before a huge screen depicting an aerial map of Wendover AFB. To the right a computerized board listed the various squadrons and tenant units on the Air Force base: 2021st Maintenance Group, 37th Airbase Wing, 1977th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron, and the Sixth Security Police Group.
Unit emblems decorated the wall behind him, barely visible in the low light. A row of five clocks lined the wall. To his right a status board listed twenty-five critical areas on the base. McGriffin noted that twenty of the areas were located inside of the Alpha Base complex.
From the aerial map, McGriffin picked out the town of Wendover, Nevada, lying northwest of the base. Dugway Proving Grounds was to the east, and, barely visible on the map, the Hill Air Force gunnery range. The crater containing Alpha Base showed up as a small spot on Wendover Air Force Base.
Chief Zolley stopped before a desk in front of the main board. Enlisted personnel worked quietly in the background, answering phones and updating information into their computer terminals. A green light burned softly over the status board. Chief Zolley noticed McGriffin lingering over the aerial map. “This part of the country is mostly a dried-out lake bed.”
“I noticed. It looks like a beach on the Gulf of Mexico with all that white sand.”
Chief Zolley grinned. “After a year here you’d wish you were there. If it wasn’t for Salt Lake City being two hours away by interstate, we wouldn’t have any visitors at all. Most of them drive from Salt Lake City to gamble in Nevada, so we get a bit of the spillover, that, and the Enola Gay Museum here on base … you know, the plane in World War Two that dropped the first atomic bomb? They actually trained here, so we get a fair amount of tourists.”
A voice called out over the command post. “Major McGriffin, the base commander requests your presence.”
McGriffin straightened and flashed Chief Zolley a quick smile. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Chief.”
“So am I, sir.”
McGriffin turned for the exit. An airman stood by the door. “This way, Major.” The airman held out a white-gloved hand, directing McGriffin out of the command post area.
Ducking into a hallway, McGriffin strode past several doorways: communications, nest & broken arrow liaison, and base commander were posted on the walls. The enlisted guide stopped before the last door. He rapped sharply. When a voice answered, the guide nodded McGriffin in. “Major McGriffin, sir.”
Colonel DeVries rocked back in his chair and surveyed McGriffin before answering. McGriffin noticed that the base commander was nonrated, a nonpilot. DeVries allowed a few unspoken moments to pass before he stood, leaving the chair bouncing in his wake. “Morning, Major. Welcome to Wendover.” He extended a hand. “Charley DeVries.”
“Thanks, sir. Bill McGriffin.”
“Have a seat.”
McGriffin pulled up a chair as DeVries walked behind his desk. “So you’re from McChord. A C-17 driver?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We get quite a few 17’s in here, carrying in nukes to store in Alpha Base. Ever been to Wendover, Bill?”
McGriffin turned in his chair. “No, sir. For the most part I just ferried trash across the pond.”
DeVries smiled at McGriffin’s nickname for the Pacific Ocean. “This will be a change of pace for you, then. We’re a little different here from most bases you’ve been to. Wendover was used after World War Two as a test base — they used the salt flats and seclusion to practice taking off on short runways. In fact, we’ve got a war memorial here that’s open to the public. As a result, there’s a lot of tourists around, kind of unusual for our mission nowadays. The base was deactivated after the war, then reopened ten years ago when Alpha Base was built.” He swiveled his chair around and pointed to a map of Wendover AFB hanging on the wall.
“Alpha Base was built to house America’s stockpile of nuclear weapons. It’s roughly seventy-five square miles of storage space, five miles due west of Wendover’s main complex. Alpha Base is actually a base within a base, complete with its own security and barracks, taking up only a small fraction of Wendover’s twenty thousand total square miles.
“The crater provides a way to keep watch on all the storage bunkers at once. All they had to do was to fence off the crater — the storage bunkers are burrowed into the crater’s side. After the INF and strategic limitation agreements, Alpha Base was agreeable to the Russians as the place to house our weapons.”
McGriffin frowned. “Agreeable to the Russians?”
“Their satellites fly overhead nearly once an hour, and with our good weather, they don’t have to worry about clouds covering the storage sites — you know, so they can monitor activity here. It blows the dispersion policy for operational readiness all to pieces, but we have the same arrangement with the Russians at their storage site.” McGriffin nodded as Colonel DeVries continued. “Over five thousand warheads are contained within Alpha Base’s perimeter.”
McGriffin whistled. “You must have some security detail guarding it.”
“We do. It’s a crackerjack outfit. In reality, there’s so many checks to the high-tech security system, it’s mostly a baby-sitting job.”
DeVries turned back to his desk and scanned a sheet of paper. “You’ll be rotating the command post duty with two other officers. Since you’re the new kid on the block, I’ve assigned you to the night shift—1800 to 0200.” He shoved the paper across the desk to McGriffin. “I hate to throw you right into the job, but we’re low on help around here. Any problem starting your duty tonight?”
McGriffin’s eyes widened. “No, sir. I guess not.”
“Good.” DeVries stood and extended his hand. “Glad to have you.”
“Thanks, Colonel.”
As McGriffin turned to leave, DeVries called after him. “Bill?”
“Sir?”
DeVries nodded his head toward McGriffin. “Nice hairs — but they won’t hack it at my base. You aren’t flying trash haulers anymore.”
“I was just going to get a haircut this afternoon, sir.”