History Quest: A Novel of Time Travel

By Shand Stringham

In a top-secret research facility buried deep beneath Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania, a Department of Defense project has developed the ability to travel through time.

The projects primary purpose is to set up a defensive posture against a hostile power that could also develop time travel and use it against the United States. Colonel Barton Stauffer is assigned to lead an elite team on a parallel missionone sent in pursuit of humanitys lost history. In their quest to recover lost knowledge about mans past, they make startling discoveries that will challenge their dedication to the mission.

Current understanding of the history of mankind is filled of holes, gaps, and distortions. Some of the most important elements of the human experience have been deliberately excised from history. History is written by the victors, and this elite team has been sent to correct the damage. The true history of conquered peoples has been pillaged and rewritten time and time again. While the teams fundamental mission is to explore the past and develop an undistorted understanding of human history, they may also come to the conclusion that what lies hidden in the past is sometimes best left unexamined.

The team faces a gut-wrenching dilemma as it attempts to balance the noble purposes of their history quest with the painful discovery of proof of mankinds past inhumanity to man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491718780

Shand Stringham

Shand Stringham served twenty-six years in the US Army and retired as a colonel. His final assignment on active duty was on the faculty of the US Army War College, where he taught national security and strategy. He lives with his family in Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

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Copyright © 2014 Shand Stringham.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-1877-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-1879-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-1878-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013923056

iUniverse rev. date: 01/08/2014

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

About the Author

For Quin

PROLOGUE

Centralia, Pennsylvania,

Tuesday, May 27, 1962, 9:30 a.m.

The creaky mine elevator cage descended in jerking movements deep into the depths of the coal mine. Dim light bulbs hanging at intervals marked the slow, downward passage into the dark pit. At last, the elevator jerked to a stop and Jed Markel, mine foreman, turned to the two scientists who stood behind him in the cage, Okay, we’re now at the lowest level of the mine. We’re almost there. He pulled the flimsy accordion gate aside and stepped out onto the uneven surface of the mine floor. He motioned to the two scientists to follow him.

Dr. Elwyn Chandler, Ph.D., tenured Professor of Archaeology at Penn State University, followed closely behind Markel, with his graduate assistant, Tim Austin, taking up the rear, trying to keep up but burdened down by the heavy backpack filled with all their hand excavation tools. Each man wore a miner’s hard hat with a safety electric lamp mounted on the front. Dr. Chandler, who was mildly claustrophobic, insisted on carrying a Coleman lantern for better illumination and to avoid the sensation of being closed in by the surrounding darkness.

Tell me again, Mr. Markel, just when did you find this cavern? Chandler asked.

Well, Dr. Chandler, Markel responded over his shoulder as he kept moving down the dark mine passage, we just opened a new vein here at this level two days ago. When one of the boys was cleaning the mine wall with his pick axe, he accidentally broke through the wall into the cavern. We opened the hole larger with the picks but, with the dim lights on our safety hats, we couldn’t make out how big the cavern was. I sent to the surface to bring down flood lights and we stretched an extension cable over from the elevator shaft. When we positioned the lights inside the cavern and turned them on, we realized that we were in way over our heads and the boss decided to call you in to investigate.

Just what did you find, Mr. Markel, that puts you in… . way over your head? Chandler asked somewhat sarcastically. He was clearly put out by having to leave his research work at the university to be lowered down into an uncomfortable mine shaft without any clear idea of why he was there.

It’s kind of hard to explain, Markel shrugged. I think you had better just take a look for yourselves. We’re almost there.

The foreman led the two scientists up to a small hole broken through the side wall of the mine shaft. A bright beam of light from the flood lights on the other side emanated from the hole, casting shadows on the tunnel wall opposite the passageway and illuminating the thick coal dust hanging in the air.

Markel bent over and started moving through the hole, It’s a bit of a tight squeeze going through, Doc, but it opens out quickly enough into the cavern.

Chandler, a much bigger man than the mine foreman, bent over and squeezed through the narrow opening with some difficulty. Austin, his slender assistant, shrugged and took off the back pack, dragging it behind him as he followed his mentor through the hole. As they emerged into the open space of the cavern, Chandler could see that it was much larger than he had originally anticipated. The light from the floodlights the miners had set up near the opening faded off into darkness in the far distance, Chandler estimated that the cavern must be at least several hundred meters across. It was what he could see in the near distance that amazed… . and disturbed him. There appeared to be several hundred structures or stone buildings, carved into the sides of the cavern. Holding the lantern out in front of him, Chandler started moving cautiously across the floor of the cavern toward some close-by structures. Austin dropped his back pack to the floor and moved in another direction toward a built-up area off to the left. When Austin reached the doorway of the nearest structure, he turned his head from side to side to illuminate the interior. Somewhat startled, he looked back over his shoulder and called out to his professor, Dr. Chandler, I think you had better come and have a look at this.

Chandler turned and made his way over to where he could see the light from Austin’s headlamp as he stood there halfway through the doorway. As Chandler came up beside him, he extended the lantern into the room and directed his gaze in the direction where Austin was pointing. Two large bodies were laid out on a large stone slab that abutted the far wall of the enclosure. The bodies were much decomposed revealing skeletal structure beneath leathery skin. The clothing and furs that covered the bodies were also in advanced stages of deterioration and decomposition. Large tufts of matted, red hair adorned the skulls. Even laid out horizontal, Chandler could see that the bodies were tall, quite tall. He entered cautiously into the room and approached the mummified remains. Using the span of his extended arms as a rough guide, Chandler estimated that the body closest to him was approximately twelve feet tall and the smaller one closest to the wall was somewhat shorter, perhaps ten feet. With the realization of what this all might represent, a feeling of dread began to creep over him.

While Chandler was examining the bodies, Austin moved off to the left and tried to lift a huge metal axe that was leaning against the wall of the room. He could barely get it off the ground. He estimated that it must have weighed at least sixty or seventy pounds.

Markel approached Professor Chandler from behind and observed, There must be another two or three dozen of these giants strewn all over the city in houses just like this one.

That observation rankled Dr. Chandler even more. City? . . . . Houses? . . . . Giants? . . . . Chandler turned to face the mine foreman, his face screwed up in anger. I’ve worked my entire professional career establishing a solid reputation and academic credentials of excellence, he sputtered. I am not going to jeopardize all that now by being associated with improbable giants and lost underground cities.

Austin put down the axe and ventured an observation, Sir, this looks like a site that merits some serious scientific investigation. It’s something new, something I’ve never seen in any of the textbooks.

And there is a good reason for that. You can squander your professional career and standing in the scientific community down here in this hell hole if you want, but I’m getting out of here before it taints me.

Chandler abruptly turned around and headed back towards the flood lights which marked the entrance hole into the cavern. Perplexed by the professor’s unexpected outburst, Markel and Austin followed closely on his heels. As they emerged from the cavern back into the mine shaft, Markel caught up with Chandler and asked pointedly, Well, what do you think, Doc? What’s this all about?

What do I think? . . . . I think that this is a career killer… . What it looks like is a fabrication, a gigantic hoax… . a preposterous proposion far afield from accepted science!

This ain’t no hoax, Doc. We just opened up the hole in the wall yesterday and it’s just like we found it. No one’s touched it or messed with anything.

Well, just the same, I don’t want anything to do with it.

Well what are we supposed to do, Doc?

I don’t care what you do with it, Chandler raised his voice in a smoldering rage, but I am not going to have my name associated with it. Chandler swung around catching the lantern on the edge of one of the mine’s support beams. The glass shattered and fuel sprayed onto the beam and the surrounding coal seam. The mantles from the lantern ignited the fuel and set the beam and surrounding area on fire. The flames quickly moved along several beams piled on the floor toward some wooden boxes stacked against the wall beyond the cavern entrance hole.

Darn it, Doc, Markel exclaimed. Now you’ve done it. There’s a couple of sticks of dynamite in those boxes. We’ve got to get out of here fast while we can before it blows! The three men turned and started to run back along the passageway toward the elevator shaft. They had taken perhaps two dozen steps when the explosives detonated, hurling pieces of rock, coal, and wood after them. A large piece of coal grazed the side of Chandler’s head and he crumpled to the ground. Markel and Austin grabbed the professor by his arms and continued hurrying back toward the elevator. Climbing back into the elevator cage, Markel jerked the accordion doors closed behind them and simultaneously hit the control lever. With the mine quickly filling up with dust and smoke, the elevator began its slow ascent up out of the mine. A thick cloud followed them up the shaft which quickly enveloped them, and the men had to bury their faces in their shirts to filter out toxic particles in the air.

* * * * * *

The blast knocked loose a large section of the shaft’s ceiling above the hole into the cavern and it was buried under tons of rock and coal. In the cavern on the other side, the floodlights remained lit as the electrical cable back to the elevator shaft remained intact, unaffected as it was buried by the rubble. A wave of thick dust blew out into the cavern from the mine opening and then abruptly stopped as the hole was sealed over on the other side by the cave in. Immediately, a rectangular frame of shimmering light appeared in the dust cloud that spread out over the open area of the cavern and several figures stepped seemingly out of nowhere into the cavern. They were dressed in heavy fire retardant clothing and all were wearing protective face masks and self-contained breathing equipment. One of the figures gestured to the other, What did you learn from the temporal survey Ski? How long do we have before the whole place comes crashing down?

The other replied, Actually, Mel, we have several weeks, but the air gets so fouled in here within a few hours that it will become impossible to see, even with the floodlights and our helmet lamps. We need to get moving and recover what we can before it gets too dangerous to move around safely in here.

Where do you want to begin?

Let’s start over here at this first building the professors just left. We’ve got six teams lined up for this mission. They’ll be punching through as soon as we give the all clear. That ought to give us sufficient manpower to recover the bodies from all of the structures and whatever other artifacts we can snatch before we have to stop. There’s enough stuff here to fill several vaults.

The two men moved toward the nearest building carrying an elongated stretcher they had pulled through the portal behind them. They carefully maneuvered the first gigantic body on the stone slab onto the stretcher and moved back across the cavern in the direction of the floodlights, disappearing through the shimmering portal. As they disappeared, another team of men carrying an empty stretcher came back through the portal and moved in the direction of the building to recover the second, smaller body. Within minutes several other portals began to blink on around the cavern as teams of men emerged to begin evacuating the buildings of their contents. Meanwhile, the cavern slowly began to fill up with smoke as the fire on the other side of the mine wall raged out of control.

CHAPTER 1

Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania,

Tuesday, July 6, 2010, 11:30 a.m.

Colonel Barton Stauffer, his wife, Gwen, and the five Stauffer children walked up the hill from the youth soccer field adjacent to the Carlisle Barracks bowling alley. Their youngest daughter, Corbie, was breathing hard, drenched in sweat. Corbie played on one of the three girls’ peewee soccer teams from post and her team had just finished playing one of the Carlisle YMCA teams in a summer practice match. Gwen, Cameron, Crystal, Colin and Carlee had stood on the sidelines and yelled and cheered the team on. Stauffer had managed to break away early from his War College seminar class in Root Hall to hurry over to the field and catch the second half of the game. He arrived just in time to see Corbie kick in one of her team’s two goals but it hadn’t been enough. After Corbie’s goal, the game had not gone well and towards the closing moments of the game, the YMCA team had put in four goals in rapid succession, handing Corbie’s team a loss of 2 to 6.

As they walked back to the parking lot, Corbie was in a bad mood and her brothers and sisters were laughing and joking and otherwise trying to cheer her up. They reached the stone foot bridge over the Letort Stream in a gaggle and crossed over to the roadway. Gwen belatedly remembered that she had left her water bottle down by the field and started to turn around to go back and retrieve it. Stauffer stopped her and said, Nah, you go ahead with the kids and I’ll go get the bottle. Get the kids loaded up in the van and let’s go get a taco or a burger or something. Maybe it will help Corbie to cheer up. I’ll be right back.

Stauffer turned and ran back to the field in a half trot to get the water bottle. He found it beside the team bench, policed it up, and headed back to the foot bridge. As he hurried along the grass, he glanced to the right and saw a large yellow rental truck barreling down the lane toward him at high speed. He looked back to his left and saw that Gwen and the children were just getting to the parking lot next to the bowling alley and were in the direct path of the truck. He broke into a dead run to try to warn the driver to slow down. He raced across the foot bridge and out onto the roadway, waving his hands and trying to alert the driver to the danger ahead.

But the truck didn’t slow down and instead seemed to pick up additional speed as it approached. At the last second, Stauffer jumped to the side to avoid being hit. The truck’s side mirror clipped him on the shoulder as it went by, knocking Stauffer to the ground and sending his body tumbling off to the side of the roadway. Dazed, Stauffer struggled to his knees and yelled to Gwen and the children to get out of the way, but to no avail. As Gwen turned to see what Stauffer was shouting about, the truck hit her and the girls, knocking them into a row of parked cars. Gwen’s body slammed against the family’s minivan. The girls were scattered across the tarmac in bloody disarray. Cameron and Colin who raced ahead of the group, managed to jump clear of the truck.

Cameron and Colin ran to their mother and sisters who lay prostrate on the parking lot. Gwen was bleeding from the cuts and abrasions on her head, arms and legs, and was barely breathing. Crystal was lying on her side moaning softly.

Carlee and Corbie weren’t breathing at all. They apparently had been killed instantly by the impact. The boys moved anxiously from their mother to their sisters to see if they could help as Stauffer arrived, limping painfully from his injuries from being sideswiped by the passing truck. He knelt at Gwen’s side and spilled some of the water from the water bottle onto her face to see if he could revive her. She didn’t respond. She lay there unconscious, her face contorted in pain.

Stauffer looked around him in desperation for someone to help. He needed to see to the injuries of his children as well. Time seemed to stand still, frozen by pain and death.

CHAPTER 2

Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania,

Tuesday, July 6, 2010, 11:35 a.m.

The truck hadn’t slowed after it struck the Stauffer family but kept on going. It careened around the corner in front of the post bowling alley and then began to slow down as it came up adjacent to the back of Collins Hall. Abruptly, with tires screeching, it made a hard right turn into the loading dock area and crashed into the dock barrier. After a brief pause, it exploded with a thunderous roar and burst into a wall of flames tearing through the Collins Hall façade and into the sky. Pieces of brick, masonry, steel, computers and office furniture came raining down over the entire area.

Stauffer crouched over Gwen, trying to shield her from the falling debris with his own body. Colin and Cameron tried to protect Crystal but a shower of rubble cascaded down on them from above. Colin and Crystal were struck by large pieces of masonry, and a metal filing cabinet drawer hit Cameron squarely in the back. Masonry and bricks came crashing down where Stauffer and Gwen lay, and Stauffer was hit in the back by several small pieces of brick and mortar. Gwen suffered much greater damage when a large block of bricks fell on her exposed legs, crushing her bones into the pavement.

A deafening roar filled the air as successive floors of Collins Hall gave way and collapsed down on each other. After a few moments, the movement of the building ceased and an eerie silence hung over the scene, punctuated only by an occasional scream of pain from victims who had been standing in the parking lot at the time of the explosion or from people tossed from their offices in Collins Hall onto the tarmac below. In the stillness of the aftermath of the explosions, paper fluttered in the breeze like snow on a wintry day.

Stauffer rose painfully up to his knees to attend to Gwen’s injuries. He could see that her legs were crushed. Still unconscious, she moaned and breathed with great difficulty. Stauffer tried to clear the heavy bricks and pieces of mortar from Gwen’s body, but the movement only seemed to cause her greater distress. With his injured shoulder, he was clumsy at best in lifting the heavy material. Stauffer looked around for someone who could help. As his eyes scanned the parking lot, he saw Colonel Garner Stuart Wilson IV emerge from the entrance to the bowling alley. The entrance was partially caved in and Wilson had to push the twisted door frame to the side to get out. Wilson didn’t see Stauffer hunched over Gwen and continued to his right, high-stepping over the rubble-strewn roadway up the hill toward Collins Hall. A few minutes later, his old War College teaching partner, Bob Zazworsky, emerged from the bowling alley as well and followed Wilson up the hill on the run.

Stauffer turned his attention back to Gwen. Sweat poured down his face. He wiped his brow with his uninjured hand and managed to get blood in his eyes, blurring his vision. Stauffer looked around for something to wipe his eyes and grabbed a piece of paper that floated by him on the breeze. He glanced quickly at what was printed on the page. It was a training exercise scenario document marked SECRET for Training. He shrugged… . anything will do in a storm… . and wiped his eyes clear with the document. After a few minutes, a young woman came running up carrying a bag. It was one of the EMTs from the post fire station. She knelt down beside Gwen and Stauffer and asked in an urgent voice, What have we got here, sir?

It’s my wife. She was hit by the truck and then hit again by the falling debris. She’s unconscious… . I don’t know… . Stauffer’s voice trailed off in quiet despair.

Understand, sir, the young EMT responded reassuringly. Let me take a look. She quickly examined Gwen’s extremities for bleeding and then checked her pulse and breathing. She wasn’t doing well on either count. Nodding to the Stauffer children nearby, she asked, Are these kids yours too, sir?

Stauffer nodded, looking around in confusion. He was in shock and it had muddled his thinking. In his concern for Gwen, he had temporarily forgotten the children. He looked back at the young woman. I… . uh… . need to… . check on them.

You go right ahead, sir. I’ll stay here with your wife.

Stauffer painfully stood up and limped over to Carlee and Corbie. Their bloodied clothes didn’t portend well. Stauffer checked them both for a pulse. They were already gone. From the looks of their crumpled bodies, he judged that they hadn’t survived the impact of the truck. Stauffer moved over to Colin and Cameron, who lay over Crystal forming a human shield to protect her. But their efforts had been in vain. Neither Crystal nor Cameron was still breathing.

But Colin moved in slight, jerky movements.

Stauffer kneeled at the side of his son and whispered softly, Colin… . Colin… . Can you hear me?

Colin raised his head when he heard his father’s voice. Dad, we tried to help Crystal… . protect her from the falling bricks… . it was too much… .

Colin stopped talking mid-sentence, his eyes fixed in a death stare, his head dropping down to his side. Stauffer gently lowered his head back to the pavement. You did well, son… . You did well. I’m so proud of you… . all… . His voice trailed off as he looked down at them, tears filling his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.

He slowly stood up, turned and hobbled back to where the EMT was attending to Gwen. The young woman looked up and frowned, I’m sorry, sir. She’s gone. Her injuries were too much. She was in a great deal of pain. How about the children?

Stauffer shook his head and the medic turned her head looking around, Sir, I’m sorry, but there are others I need to attend to. I’m sorry for your loss, sir. She stood to her feet, picked up her bag, and hurried off in the direction of Collins Hall.

Stauffer knelt back down at Gwen’s side and held her in his arms, sobbing. His body ached from his own injuries but his heart ached far more for the loss of his family. He twisted to his side and sat down on the pavement, a shattered man, next to Gwen’s inert body, recounting in his mind the wonderful times they had had together and their plans for the future. The sound of footsteps off in the distance caused him to turn his head in the direction of the bowling alley. He was puzzled to see Bob Zazworsky making his way through the rubble and back through the destroyed entrance to the bowling alley. He started to call to him but the words caught in his throat and wouldn’t come. Stauffer stared after him for a few minutes only to be more puzzled by Colonel Garner Stuart Wilson, IV, following the same path back into the bowling alley where he disappeared among the twisted beams and fallen ceiling. Stauffer looked back down at Gwen’s bloodied face, a grim reminder of the death all around him. He clutched her tightly to his own aching body and leaned his head back against the van, closing his tear-filled, blood-caked eyes.

* * * * * *

Colonel Wilson hurried down the metal stairs from the secret entrance to the Hole in the men’s bathroom of the post bowling alley. He fairly flew, taking the steps two at a time, whirling in the air on each of the landings, grasping tightly onto the railing as his pivot point, as he descended deeper into the bowels of the building. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, he walked hurriedly down a long corridor until he reached his office door. He placed his hand on the security hand plate and it slowly swung open. He strode across the room and dropped into his chair. He picked up the red telephone on his desk and punched numbers quickly on the phone’s keypad. He paused briefly and then spoke rapidly as Zazworsky picked up on the other end. Ski, I’m back in my office. What have you been able to find out? Where are we at?

Hello, Boss, Zazworsky responded in a subdued, almost mechanical voice. I think I better come up there to brief you. I’ll be right there.

Roger that… . Make it fast, Ski.

Wilson hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair as he awaited the arrival of Zazworsky. He knew that it must be bad or Zazworsky would have given it to him straight over the telephone. As he waited, his eyes wandered over to his I-Love-Me wall with all of his memorabilia of 25 years with the Special Forces. His eyes continued along the wall to a special set of pictures—old photos and daguerreotypes—of his forefathers who had also served in uniform. He subconsciously started reciting his genealogy, subvocalizing to himself, like some people recite the Lord’s Prayer in times of stress.

Wilson finished his genealogical dissertation with a tone of sadness. He was a highly decorated officer and had a chest full of ribbons that bespoke of his participation in numerous fields of combat around the world. Not represented in all the fruit salad were a number of clandestine operations that could never be publicly acknowledged. He had indeed been in many serious scrapes during his distinguished military career but he had always managed to cheat death. He had paid his dues well as evidenced by his purple heart with a silver and two bronze oak leaf clusters, but he had not, as Lincoln had so eloquently expressed it, given the last full measure of devotion as his father, grandfather, great-grand father and great-great-grandfather before him had done. And it was that realization that always made Wilson feel uncomfortable and disconnected from his noble forebearers.

Wilson was brought back to the present by the pounding on the door signaling Zazworsky’s arrival. He pressed the lock release button on the corner of his desk and Zazworsky burst into the office, breathing hard. I got here as quick as I could, Boss.

Wilson responded in a quiet, measured voice, Give it to me straight, Ski. What’s the situation here in the Hole?

Well, Boss, the good news is that none of the staff were killed or even injured and as near as we can tell, no portion of the Hole was breached. Security is still intact.

"Yes, that is good news, Ski, but what’s the bad news?

Zazworsky’s face immediately clouded over. Yes, Boss, there is some bad news… . very bad news… . General Goldwyn was coming down from topside in the elevator when the explosion went off. The elevator must have dropped several stories and then the elevator shaft filled up with a bunch of heavy debris which broke through the roof of the elevator and crashed down on the old man. Sir, . . . . he… . uh… . didn’t make it. General Goldwyn is dead. I guess that leaves you in charge. What do you want me to do?

Stand by for a minute, Ski. This new information on General Goldwyn’s death put a whole new complexion on the situation for Wilson. Ski was right, he thought. With General Goldwyn out of the picture, he was now in charge, at least until someone else might be assigned to take over. Wilson thought back on the events of the morning. When the bomb had exploded topside, Wilson had just come down into the Hole from the sub-basement in Collins Hall. The Hole was a top secret, black project, research facility buried deep beneath Collins Hall, which spread out under the rest of Carlisle Barracks. Just prior to the blast, Wilson had been conversing with General Goldwyn topside about an upcoming Congressional staff visit. He had left in a hurry to get to a staff meeting down in the Hole. General Goldwyn had told him that he would be right behind him but he needed to stop first and discuss a matter with his secretary, Mabel Hauser. Wilson had just arrived at his door and entered his office deep beneath Collins Hall when he felt the shock vibrations from the explosion above. Several of the heavier plaques on his I-Love-Me wall shook loose and fell to the floor as he steadied himself grasping tightly to the doorframe. When the vibrations stopped, he tried to go back up topside the way he had just come down but found the normal route blocked and he quickly changed directions, taking the passageway and metal circular staircase up to the concealed emergency entrance in the men’s bathroom of the post bowling alley.

As Zazworsky’s words sunk in that General Goldwyn hadn’t survived the blast, he realized that once again he had cheated death, or rather that death had cheated him of following in his fathers’ footsteps. What do we know so far, Ski?

I had Smed run a quick temporal scan to back track and see just what happened topside, Zazworsky quickly responded. His initial evaluation is that it was large rental truck filled with explosives that was detonated as it was driven into the back loading dock of Collins Hall. It looks like some kind of a terrorist attack.

Wilson sat there for several seconds contemplating the situation. Then, he pulled out his keys, unlocked the top left drawer on his desk, and withdrew a solitary sealed manila envelope. Picking up a letter opener, he slid it under the flap and cut the seal and withdrew a lone sheet of paper from within. The message on the paper was from General Goldwyn. It was simple, brief, and to the point: When the shit hits the fan, engage Colonel Barton Stauffer to fix it.

As Wilson sat there contemplating Goldwyn’s cryptic and disappointing message, Zazworsky spoke up, Boss, some of the folks on my team think that we can use the time travel capability and go back and set up some kind of an interdiction mission to take out the explosives truck before it gets on post. All we have to do is backtrack where it came from by temporal observation and ram the truck or disable it somehow before it gets here. That should take care of it. But we’ve got to work fast to get it in under the Temporal Council’s 12-hour directive.

Wilson immediately saw the beauty of Ski’s suggested plan—few moving parts and it rewrote a different history without a deadly terrorist blast on post. That sounds like the makings of a reasonably good plan, Ski. You and your people get to work on the details. I know just the man to drive the ram vehicle to take out the terrorist truck.

"You, Boss?

No, I wish it were me. Handing Zazworsky the lone sheet of paper, Wilson continued, Actually, the old man left me instructions directing me whom to assign the job to in case of just such an emergency… . Colonel Barton Stauffer. You know him well, don’t you, Ski?

Yes, sir, I’ve known him quite a while. We’ve been teaching partners at the College for the longest time. He’s a good man. But, Boss, I just got word from one of my team members who came in from topside that Bart is sitting on the ground out there in the parking lot across from the bowling alley entrance cradling his dead wife in his arms. And it appears that all of his kids are scattered around the parking lot dead as well. He’s pretty distracted right now. He might not be the guy for this job.

What a terrible thing, Ski. I can’t imagine his pain… . but, once I lay it all out for Barton, he’ll jump at the chance to take out the explosive truck, even at peril to his own life. He has too much at stake.

Roger that, Boss. I’ll go down and get my people working on a plan. We should have it wickered together in short order. Give me 90 minutes.

Take your time on this one, Ski, and do it up right. Get back to me in two hours with all the details. I’ll be here.

As Zazworsky departed his office on the run, Wilson sat back in his chair pondering the situation. He wanted so much to do the interdiction mission himself but General Goldwyn had clearly mandated his choice for the job. He considered momentarily disregarding the old man’s instructions and then put such thoughts aside. His sense of military discipline was too entrenched after so many years in uniform. He closed his eyes and started thinking about what he was going to tell Barton Stauffer to bring him up to speed fast and get him moving in the right direction. Stauffer had no knowledge there was an ongoing black project here in the Hole deep beneath the Barracks and knew nothing about the reality of temporal observation or time travel. How was he going to get him on board fast? After exploring a few different possible scenarios, he concluded that it really shouldn’t be all that difficult. Whatever he told him, it was going to permanently engage Stauffer in the hyper-security that surrounded the black operations in the Hole.

CHAPTER 3

Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania,

Tuesday, July 6, 2010, 12:30 p.m.

Stauffer sat there motionless on the pavement next to Gwen for almost an hour, oblivious to the activity going on around him, as ambulances and emergency response personnel arrived and started moving around the area up the hill nearer to Collins hall. Finally a team of EMTs came by checking the bodies scattered around the parking lot where the Stauffer family lay. One stooped down beside each of the Stauffer children checking for a pulse, shook his head, and then moved on to the next. Finally, he turned and hurried over to Stauffer. Kneeling down at Gwen’s side, he checked her for a pulse. Stauffer slowly opened his eyes. The medic looked at Stauffer, then back at Gwen, and then at the bodies of the children. Is this all your family, sir?

Stauffer slowly nodded absently, not speaking.

Sir, I’m real sorry but they’re all gone. We’re going to have to move them to a temporary morgue over in the gym. Are you feeling well enough to stand?

Stauffer nodded again and slowly got to his feet with the medic’s assistance. The pain in his back, shoulder and legs was excruciating. A truck pulled up and stopped adjacent to the family van and a team of soldiers jumped down from the back. One helped Stauffer move back as his fellow soldiers carefully lifted the bodies of Gwen and the children into the back of the truck one by one. As the soldiers finished their work and started to load back into the truck, Stauffer finally spoke up, Please, I would like to ride with them one last time.

The soldier that was supporting Stauffer by the arm nodded and helped him climb up into the back of the truck with the other soldiers and it pulled away slowly to the right down the same roadway that the deadly terrorist truck had come. At the end of the street, it circled around the Root Hall complex and came to a stop next to the side door entrance to the gym.

Stauffer helped the emergency response personnel to position the inert bodies of Gwen and the children on the floor of the gymnasium and they covered their bodies with white gym towels. An NCO handed Stauffer a stack of 3x5 cards and he mechanically filled out a card for each member of his family with their personal data for body identification. Stauffer watched numbly as the sergeant punched a hole in each card and, after carefully removing their shoes, affixed it with a twisted paper clip to the big toe of each body. When Stauffer was certain that all had been appropriately tagged, he moved back to Gwen’s body one last time and paused, crying softly, before he moved dejectedly to the door. At the door, he turned again to survey the gym. There were at least 75 bodies already laid out in neat rows, covered with gym towels. Many had yet to be identified and tagged. Stauffer shook his head in sorrow and turned back toward the door. His heart was heavy with anger and a sense of hopelessness. As he emerged into the bright sunlight, he heard the sound of sirens of the emergency response vehicles that were racing around post evacuating the injured who had survived the blast.

Stauffer walked slowly around the circle in front of Root Hall and turned onto the street, moving slowly in the direction of his quarters on Garrison Lane. As he rounded the corner next to the post theater, a white SUV pulled up in front of him. The SUV had huge dents in the roof and hood, and the windshield was cracked with a fine spider web lattice pattern on the passenger side. Stauffer surmised that the vehicle must have been parked earlier in the near vicinity of Collins Hall when the terrorist’s truck detonated. The SUV came to an abrupt halt in front of him and the driver rolled down the window. It was Garner Wilson.

Get in, Bart. I’ll give you a lift.

Stauffer wasn’t in any mood at that point to have a conversation with his old nemesis and politely declined, Thanks, Garner, but I’d just as soon walk alone and gather my thoughts.

Wilson cut him off, "Bart, I really need to talk with you… . Now. Please get in."

Wilson’s pressured insistence caught Stauffer off guard and he reluctantly opened the SUV’s passenger door and got in. Wilson swung the vehicle around the circle and down Garrison Lane toward the far end of the street where the Stauffer family lived. Wilson’s uniform was dirty and his shirt was torn and slightly bloodied. As they drove down the lane, he spoke to Stauffer rapidly in a strained voice, Bart, I’ve got a big job for you. Please don’t bombard me with a lot of questions. I need you to do precisely what I’m going to ask you to do. Do you still have that old 15-passenger high-top van of yours?

Barton nodded, Yes, it’s parked down the street in front of my quarters.

Wilson responded, That’s good. That’s very good. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to drive your van over to the main gate and out to Highway 11. Turn right on 11 and head east. Down the road a few blocks, you’ll see two black vans pulled off on each side of the road with guys in gray jump suits trying their darndest to look like PPL technicians working on the lines. As you drive between them, you’re going to experience a sensation of dizziness and disorientation. It will pass quickly and you’ll find yourself still on 11 but in a different time frame.

Stauffer started to speak but Wilson silenced him with a wave of his hand, Bart, hear me out for the moment. I know that this doesn’t make much sense yet, but it will. Once you’ve passed through the time portal, now it gets dicey.

Time portal, Garner? What in the heaven’s name are you talking about? Time travel? Get serious! Stauffer was clearly out of sorts and out of patience at this point.

Look, Barton, I wouldn’t ask this of you but I’ve been told that you’re 100% reliable. Besides, you have a lot at stake personally. You need to do this. Yes, time travel is possible, and we’re going to use the technology to launch you into the past earlier today to stop that truck loaded with explosives before it can get on post and kill your family and blow up Collins Hall. Understand? Wilson had raised his voice, almost shouting the last few words.

Stauffer stopped arguing to digest what Wilson was saying. Slowly, he nodded his head.

Wilson took the cue and continued, lowering his voice back down again. Now, pay attention. When your head is clear after you’ve driven between the two trucks, you’ll find yourself pretty much on a deserted stretch of Highway 11. Keep on heading down the road towards the Sheetz gas station. When you get to the light at the intersection, turn left on Wolf Bridge Road and head on up the road under the Turnpike overpass and on toward the one-lane metal bridge over the Conodoguinet Creek. Just as you get to the bridge, a white Mercury Tracer will come at you off the bridge. Remember, it’s a one-way bridge. Let the Tracer pass you and count to five. Then gun it and move onto the bridge at full speed. Make sure your seat belt harness is secure. You’re going to be heading straight at a large yellow rental truck coming at you from the other side of the bridge.

When Wilson mentioned the yellow rental truck again, Stauffer immediately saw where this might be going and Wilson now had his full attention. Wilson continued, The driver may try to brake but it doesn’t matter. I want you to ram the truck as hard as you can right there on the bridge. Try to veer to the side to use your right front bumper. I know that you went through DOD’s counter-terrorist training and you’ve already got experience in ramming vehicles to clear roadblocks. You’re not going to clear any roadblocks with this one but you will stop him there on the bridge and wedge him in so he can’t get off. On impact, your van’s airbag is probably going to deploy. When the van stops moving, get the airbag out of the way and clear out of there on a dead run as fast as you can back across the bridge the way you came. When you get to the downward slope off the bridge, drop to the ground on the shoulder. We think the truck is on a timer-delay switch and its going to blow sky high shortly after impact. You’ve got to hurry to get out of the way of the blast.

Stauffer now saw clearly what he was being asked to do and adrenalin began to race through his body. The pain in his shoulder and back from the earlier events of the day diminished as he saw the possibilities of what Wilson was saying. He suppressed his own disbelief about the plausibility of traveling back in time and began to gear up mentally for what lay ahead. As Wilson braked the SUV next to the Stauffer’s oversized van, he turned to Stauffer and asked, Do you understand everything that I’ve said and what I’m asking you to do?

Stauffer had a grim smile on his face by this time, Garner, I don’t have a clue about what you just said about time travel and moving back in time, but if you can really pull it off, I’m your man. Let’s get on with it. If there really is an explosives truck out there and I can stop it, I’ll make sure that it doesn’t get past me on the bridge.

Stauffer got out of the minivan, opened the door to his van and painfully climbed up into the driver’s seat. The discomfort from his shoulder and back injuries was a little distracting but he would have no problem piloting the vehicle down to the Wolf Bridge crossing. As he got into the van, Wilson yelled after him, Follow me out the front gate. The post is locked down but I’ll clear it with the security guards to let you through. Once you’re past that, you’re on your own. Good luck, Bart. I hope you pull through this. I think that we could get to be good friends.

Stauffer got into his van and followed Wilson to the front gate, running the strange turn of events over in his mind, all the while resisting the unrealistic expectation that time travel was possible. Turning onto Highway 11, he drove east past the new Keystone Arms housing complex. A half block ahead, he saw two black utility vans parked on each side of the road protected by portable signage and safety cones, just where Wilson had said they would be. He slowed down as he passed between the vans and he recognized one of the workmen as an officer who worked in Collins Hall on the annual Strategic Crisis Exercise.

Almost immediately, Stauffer experienced an uncomfortable dizziness that left him disoriented for a few seconds. When it had passed, he looked into his rearview mirrors and noted that the vans had disappeared. They were just plain gone and the roadway behind him was deserted. Apparently, Wilson was playing it square with him and he had been transported into a different time gradient. That realization bolstered Stauffer’s weak resolve for what lay ahead. Worst-casing it, he calculated that if he did encounter the yellow rental truck down the road on the Wolf Crossing Bridge, it would probably explode on impact and this was going to spell the end for him.

Stauffer drove on down Highway 11 until he came up abreast of the Sheetz station and turned left. Driving north, he passed under the Turnpike overpass and quickly came up on the one-lane iron bridge over the Conodoguinet. Stauffer slowed in anticipation of the oncoming traffic Wilson had briefed him about. As a white Tracer emerged from the metal structure and raced past him on down the road, Stauffer now knew that Wilson’s implausible yarn about time travel was spot on and he was about to take that long step into the dark night. Stauffer counted to five and put his foot down hard on the pedal, quickly accelerating the large van. Flying onto the bridge with adrenalin pumping, Stauffer immediately saw the rental truck entering the bridge from the other side. When the horrified driver saw him, he tried to stop the truck and back up. But, without any sense of foreboding or remorse, and fortified by the memory of the lifeless bodies of his family stretched out on the pavement next to the post bowling alley, Stauffer did exactly as Wilson had instructed—gladly, even enthusiastically. He wasn’t afraid to die. At worst, he believed he would be joining his family on the other side.

Bracing for the impact, he rammed the truck at full speed. Both vehicles twisted within the confines of the bridge’s metal support cross members as the van’s airbags deployed protecting Stauffer from going through the windshield. The rental truck didn’t explode on impact. Dazed and hurting from the blast of the airbag’s fiery hot plastic on his face, Stauffer pushed the deflated bag out of his way, and briefly saw the panic-stricken face of the man who had clipped him earlier in the day, struggling to get out of the truck. Stauffer opened the door of his van and jumped out, racing back across the bridge as fast as he could run. Wilson had told him they thought the explosives must have been wired with a time-delay detonator but he didn’t know how much time he had. Adrenalin flooded his body as he pushed himself harder in his flight racing back across the bridge.

He had just reached the end of the bridge span and was moving down the slope to the roadway when the truck exploded with a tremendous blast. The force of the explosion lifted Stauffer off his feet and threw him down the slope to the side of the road. He rolled head over heels down the steep shoulder and came to rest sprawled against the trunk of a gnarled tree. Searing pain raced through his bruised shoulder. Bent pieces of hot metal from the vehicles and the destroyed bridge flew past him. A large piece of the suspension framework hit the tree several feet above Stauffer’s head and ricocheted off into the woods. Dense smoke from the blast hung in the air and made it hard to see or breathe. Stauffer lay there leaning against the tree trunk, trying to catch his breath and get his bearings.

Almost immediately, two black vans pulled up on the road bed adjacent to where Stauffer had been thrown. Bart, are y’alright? Stauffer was hurting but comforted to hear Bob Zazworsky’s voice. He turned to watch the big man stumbling down the slope to where he lay. Wilson was right behind him. Stauffer moved to his knees and stood up slowly with Ski’s assistance. He did a quick self-inventory and found that although he was battered some, he didn’t appear to have any broken bones or other serious injuries. The ringing in his ears from the blast’s overpressure wave made it difficult to hear Zazworsky clearly. Stauffer was overcome by a wave of dizziness, and he looked at Zazworsky and Wilson with a puzzled look spreading across his face. Stauffer managed a question in a weak voice, What happened? I think I just had an accident there on the bridge and it all blew up.

Zazworsky spoke up with a big grin on his face. Well, old friend, I’ve got some good news and bad news for you. The bad news is that that tank of yours you’ve been driving your family around the country in is pretty much destroyed. Not just totaled… . It’s gone. Not much left of it. Wait, maybe that’s the good news. The better news is that you just undid a terrorist plot to blow up Carlisle Barracks. Nice work. You’re a bit of a hero."

Wilson chimed in, And now, Barton, we need to get you back to your own time. The technicians are setting up a time portal on the roadway. I need to have you go through it before emergency responders and rubber-neckers show up here to see what happened.

As Stauffer worked his way slowly up to the roadway assisted by Zazworsky and Wilson steadying him on each side, he looked to his right down the road toward the Turnpike and saw that the white Tracer that had just passed him was pulled over