"I think we should get specops to breach the building, then. I'll call the powers that be," you say, concerned that your men, while capable of CQB, aren't exactly trained to have a light touch when clearing a building. Fuck! you think to yourself, trying to keep your cool – you gave your sat phone contact info to the VJCS a while back, but never got their info back..
This means calling the goddamn public inquiries line again. By some act of God, you recognize the voice on the other end as the receptionist you badgered back before deployment, even though it sounds like she's underwater for some reason. What's wrong with comms? The radios aren't doing too hot, either. Nevertheless, it seems like someone clued her in this time around. "I'll transfer you directly to the Secretary of Defense, sir. You seem pretty important, Colonel," she chuckles.
"Yeah, thanks," you say, forcing a laugh of your own. Why on God's green earth would they tell the public inquiries lady to field your calls, while not giving you a direct line of communication? This sucks.
Within a minute or two you're greeted with the familiar voice of Rummy. "Colonel? How's it going?"
You give him a general update, emphasizing, feeling like you're half-lying – is it a lie when you don't know something for certain? – that the situation is holding stable; it is stable, after all, but for how long? "Sadly, I believe the locals could hear some gunfire. We're trying to get the kids home from school, and then we start evacuations in earnest," you say. "The BMRF, uh, I believe he's the deputy director? He's going to talk to the press."
"And say?"
"That there's a national security situation related to the 'nuclear incident.' I apologize, sir, but with regards to OPSEC we're springing holes like a leaky boat," you say. "The cops are aware of the situation, the FBI agents are aware of the situation. Can't really cover up them seeing zombies," you say, nearly nonchalant. This is the reality of the situation, after all.
You almost don't understand why Rumsfeld is, to say the least, perturbed by the notion of zombies, recalling only after about ten seconds that this is deeply abnormal to someone not actively living through it. Fair game to be stressed out. You assuage his fears somewhat by explaining that it's parasitic, not pathogenic or radiological, and that said parasites can, apparently, be killed with relative ease.
"Not good," says SecDef. "But I understand that information control is getting very difficult. I'll talk to the President and the DoE and the State Department and the rest of them to try and get everybody on the same page."
Time to pop the question. "I was hoping to request reinforcements, sir."
"I've been advised that your battalion's Bravo Company is en route from North Carolina."
"No, sir, not them." You explain: "we need some infiltration-trained special forces to make entry to the building where the failed experiment took place. Lots of sensitive equipment that needs to not get shot up, so I was hoping we get some big-time professionals out here; the eggheads need their readings recovered by hand."
"I see," says SecDef. You hear him clear his throat. "I'm not sure what elements we have and where. Give me a moment, I'm going to put you on hold."
It was probably only five minutes or so, but the wait was agonizing. The fuzz of an open line returns to your ear. "Are you there, Colonel?"
"Yessir."
"The Joint Chiefs have advised me that the most combat-ready special forces in your neck of the woods are…"
[] "Army Special Forces – the Green Berets, I mean."
You'd receive two twelve-man ODAs out of Fort Carson, Colorado, deployed by helicopters from the 13th Air Support Operations Squadron of the USAF. ETA: circa six hours.
[] "Air Force Special Reconnaissance."
You'd receive two twelve-man STT-ERT squads out of Hurlburt Field, Florida, deployed by a C-130 variant from the 15th Special Operations Squadron of the USAF. ETA: circa five hours.
[] "some operators from SEAL Team Seven."
You'd receive a sixteen-man Navy SEAL platoon out of Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, San Diego, California, deployed by a C-2 Greyhound from the VRC-30 "Providers" logistics squadron of the Navy. ETA: circa four hours.
Do some research on who's the best fit, gang! A rare opportunity for QM-sanctioned metagaming.
