The rest of the story, until now...

So, I've been working more. I've been going over the past six chapters, debating whether to post them chapter by chapter or as one post. I decided on the latter. I've been reviewing them for errors, and have found a few> I've also made a number of changes and insertions. This is an alpha release. I've got the corrections on paper and hope to bring them to the digital world. When I make the changes, I'll post them.

Chapter 2

As I walked back to my station I heard my computer chime, telling me I had a message. "Shit," I muttered, seeing that the message has not only arrived by secure channels, but is also encrypted. I hate encrypted communiqués; they take more work than they are usually worth. I place my finger on the fingerprint reader, put my ID in my computer, and even type my pin - the same procedure I've repeated hundreds of times when an encrypted message arrives for me. I wait for the computer to process the decryption algorithm, the hard disk churning loudly as it works. The screen blinked with a message:

“NO VALID ISSUING AUTHORITY FOR ENCRYPTED MESSAGE.”

I think for a moment, working through the problem. I’ve received an encrypted message. It is addressed to me, but I cannot decrypt the message. “Why?” I ask aloud, even though no one is around. I decide to use a more intensive method of decryption – the brute force attack. I may hate encrypted messages in general, but I despise brute force attacks. They take forever because they must try every possible key. The theoretical limit is in the billions, but most are solved in millions. As soon as I engaged the brute force procedure, the message appeared in plaintext.

"THE DARKNESS TAKES ONE."

"What in the fuck could that possibly mean?" No sender identity, no indication of its meaning. Immediately I woke up to full power, beginning a trace program. As the trace was working, I began inspecting the IP packet for any data that may be helpful in locating the source of the message.

“ERROR. THIS DOCUMENT EXCEEDS THE MAXIMUM OF ONE HUNDRED ENTRIES. THE OUTPUT HAS BEEN ROUTED TO THE PRINTER.”

I go to the printer and wait for the output.

The first lines read:

“DESTINATION: SAT119 – SECURE”

“SAT243 – SECURE”

“SAT83 – SECURE”

“SAT1 – SECURE”

I stopped reading the first page to leaf through the second page. A strange line of entries, about half way down the page struck my attention.

“SATCG91 - UNSECURED ENCRYPTED”

“SATCG67 - SECURED UNENCRYPTED”

Two active Coast Guard satellites. Why are navigation satellites being used for a cryptic message? All I knew so far was that the message had bounced from one satellite to another on its journey.

As the sixtieth page came out, I noticed it was the last page. I looked to the last line:

"SOURCE: SATC119X - DIRECT SATELLITE UPLINK" Those words excited me. I had a start point, a place where to begin looking for the sender. A civilian satellite, number 119, active. The logs would have a ton of information on the sender, including a four-digit grid coordinate of the upload site. But for now, I wait. The satellite technician won't be here for another four hours. But I have a lot of work to do until then. I'm still not ready for the briefing today. The corps commander will be present, a rare event at any battalion level briefing. So I try to put the message out of my mind, running a message analysis to figure if there are any 'residuals' on the message, hoping that there is at least a remnant of a computer or user name. I still asked myself: if the message was so urgent, then why the great pains to ensure anonymity? That's the part that didn't make any sense. At least a pseudonym would help track down where the message comes from. But I had bigger things to think about.

Chapter 3

I'm in a very uncomfortable meeting. General Joaquin Cooper, the corps commander is being a true pain in the ass. Despite saying "please hold all questions until the end," General Cooper still insists on interjecting at every junction. This twenty-minute information briefing has lasted almost two hours. I know now what I must do. I must kill the general!

"...and this overlay here shows positions where hostile forces have been encountered, but what is truly interesting is when both a weather analysis overlay and the topographical overlay are used in conjunction with our friendly location map-"

"-this is all very interesting Lieutenant, but how is that relevant to the discussion?"

The corps commander looked angry. Angry I was wasting his time. Little did he know he was wasting my time: with his constant interruptions, irrelevant questions, and arrogant matter-of-factness. I joked to myself that maybe the reason the upper ranks don't go on patrols is because they might get shot for being arrogant assholes. I bite my lip to stifle the forming smile. "Be serious," I think to myself, "serious, serious, serious..."

"Sir, if you'll allow me to explain. The correlation is too strong to be a coincidence. Now if you'll look at this next slide, it is all tied in together. Inextricably linked to each other. This is not by accident."

"Lieutenant, could you please step out of the room," the general asked.

"Yes, sir." This was unusual, I thought, but a welcome relief from pandering to the general.

As I stepped outside the room, my mind began to wander back to the message. The satellite technician had arrived about an hour ago, but this briefing has kept me occupied. I was still so curious about the message, and I hadn't even time to check the analysis. A Fourier analysis, a signal analysis, and a cryptographic hash algorithm a day keeps terrorism at bay! I began to mentally work through the day, which at first seemed so routine.

I stood outside the door for what seemed like twenty minutes while the general spoke to my commander about god-knows what pissed him off about my presentation. A moment later, the door opened and the general walked out.

"You're still here?" The way he asked was sneer and insincere, almost recalcitrant. I wanted to hit him. I wasted two hours on this nit!

"Sir, respectfully, you ordered me to wait outside the door. As far as I was aware, sir, those orders were still in effect, sir."

"Very well, carry on Lieutenant." Colonel Mitch Wilson, my battalion commander, just looked at me and shrugged.

I just about faced and went back to work.

Chapter 4

My palms were sweaty and my breathing was heavy. I looked like someone died. Only I didn't know it yet. I'd spent the past fifteen minutes trying to find my satellite technician, SPC Ann Rodriguez. I was eager to being unravelling the mystery message but she was nowhere to be found. I checked with the guardhouse and she hadn't arrived on base. My last stop was the battalion S1: PFC Luke Hanson.

Private First Class Hanson was a capable personnel specialist, always sharp in his uniform. Maybe that was because all Adjudant General guys belonged to the desk ranger force, an elite team of paperwork wielding soldiers. Death by paperwork! What a horrid demise!

"Private Hanson. I'm looking for SPC Rodriguez. Has she contacted you, indicated that she may be late?"

"Sir, no, sir. I was unaware SPC Rodriguez was missing, sir. I'll make/ some calls and see what I come up with." PFC Hanson's ability to think on his feet, to go beyond what is asked of him and anticipate what should be done, what he can do, will never cease to amaze me.

"Thank you, Private. Have a good day."

"You, too, sir." Then the phone rang. PFC Hanson picked it up and spouted off the required greeting: "Private Hanson here. This is an unsecured line. How may I help you sir or ma'am?"

Almost immediately, his expression changed. PFC Hanson's smile faded to a blank stare, and his throat went dry. "Yes, sir. ... Understood, sir..." PFC Hanson absently hung up the receiver of the phone, never changing his blank expression.

"Private, are you okay?" I ask out of concern, thinking that he just had some personal, bad news.

PFC Hanson looked at me, as if he were still caught in a daze. He seemed at a loss for words, but they came to him slowly. "Sir...you asked...uh, where SPC Rodriguez was. She's, uh, she's dead, sir."

Chapter 5

I've been pacing in my office for hours, and my nails are bitten to bone. I still cannot believe what happened. This is the first time I've lost a member of my team. Colonel Wilson has locked himself in his office for hours. Everyone here is sort of in shock. Including me. I go to my computer and blankly check the screen. I open the my email program, which chimes to tell me that I have new mail. Unencrypted, but digitally signed. It's from the colonel:

"FROM: LIEUTENANT COLONEL MITCH WILSON

TO: FIRST LIEUTENANT HANK RYAN

SUBJ: SPC RODRUIGUEZ AND TEMPORARY ATTACHED DUTY

ENCL: (1) TAD ORDERS

1LT RYAN, UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE YOU ARE ATTACHED TO THE COMMAND CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION DIVISION. YOU WILL REPORT NO LATER THAN 1630 TO CID. POC IS SSG GALINDEZ. YOU WILL BRIEF 1LT DREW CAMPBELL ON ALL ONGOING BATALLION OPERATIONS."

I snapped back to reality to prepare my files, a list of our current intelligence activities and outstanding priority intelligence requests.

After gathering what I needed, I went to the situation room and updated the board. I ersed my name from the S2 slot. Moving to the situation board, lovingly called WUB for 'what's-up-board,' I scanned the board for anything requiring my attention before I went to brief 2LT Campbell. I updated the current events section, removed an old operation, and added a citation to a recent operations order. Nothing on the board was critical, nothing 2LT Campbell couldn't handle.

2LT Campbell was probably the most squared away soldier in the batallion. Before being a soldier he was an enlisted Navy SeaBee, a member of a construction batallion. It was during one of his projects when his division came under fire from hostile forces. He single-handedly led the react to contact, despite being the most junior member of his team. When the smoke cleared, the enemy was dead and the only friendly casualty was a scraped elbow. Being awarded the meritorious service award and the combat action ribbion, two of the most coveted military awards, Campbell decided to become a soldier. After a year, he put in an office accessions packet, and commissioned soon after that. Previously an infantryman, he was orderd to military intelligence. He always felt gulty about working in a safe office while his brothers-in-arms were fighting, dying on the front lines. He still perrformed his duties flawlessly, taking comfort in the fact that he provided intellegence so that his troops had the upper hand, to be able to kill the enemy.

Walking over to his office I noticed that his light was off and his door shut, uncharecteristic for him. After searching the office spaces and briefing rooms, I popped my head into the latrine. There, on the floor, was 2LT Campbell sobbing. In his hands was a picture of SPC Rodruigez.

"Cambell," I asked softly.

He came to attention, responding, "Sir."

"You okay? Need to talk?"

"Sir. We kept it a secret. I loved her."

"You were involved with an enlisted person?" I said half shocked. " I mean, uh, oh.""

"No, sir. We were married."

"Oh." Still shocked, I didn't know what to think. I stammered out, "When you have a minute, we ned to discuss some stuff. I've been operationally assigned to CID..."

"Sir. Find the ones who did this," he said interrupted. "I'll do whatever is necessary to hold down the fort here. But you need to swear to me you will find them."

"I will," I swore, still unsure of how I was going to do that exactly.

Campbell, regaining his composure, resumed like nothing had happened, "Sir, let’s go to my office and go over those files."

"You sure you're going to be okay?" I asked just to make sure.

"Mission first. I'll have plenty of time to mourn when thisis all over."

"Let's get stated, I guess."

Chapter 6

After briefing Campbell, I still had an hour and a half before I had to report to CID. I needed to think, to mull things over in my head. But I can't do it in the office. I grabbed my pocket notebook and walk to the park. I like to do that sometimes, especially when I need to make sense of things in my head. One time I was working on a hard case, where a signal appeared and disappeared, almost randomly. The carrier wave was variant, but specifically within a defined limit. Every time a signal appeared, several ships would appear on AEGIS. But the signal had no source, and there were no ships. Quite a conundrum I had. Then one day, walking along a treeline, I had a thought. Rather than looking for the signal, a process for which detection still took too long, why not emit the signal from a P-3 Orion with an AWACS suite? Well, it worked. Two automated vessels emerged from the water. When the vessels were retrieved, they were found to contain nearly three million dollars in heroin. Downloading the information from the vessel's computer allowed us to take down the entire operation. Since then, it has become a tradition to walk along the treeline when working on that kind of puzzle.

I looked at my watch and realized that I'd better start making it back if l were to make it to CID on time. I moved at a double time across the base. As I ran, I saw buildings in better shape than the one I worked in, owing to their ownership by the Air Force.

Panting, I slowly walked up the stairs to the building that housed CID. The moisture in the air clung heavily to me. The building was large and made of very new, very red brick, almost like a castle. I paused before entering, my heart still racing from the run across the base. After swiping my ID card, cautiously walked through the door, looking around at the wonders before me. The walls were painted, the floor was waxed and shiny, the ceiling was intact, and the air conditioning actually worked. But what was more amazing is what I saw as I walked into the CID situation room. Digital Ink screens lined the walls, with a large plasma screen hanging in the middle of the room.

"So this is where the Army budget for this command goes!" I said to myself in a mocking tone.

"Glad you approve," I heard from behind me .

I snapped to the position of parade rest, a courtesy extended to NCO's. "I just meant that we have a dry-erase board that doesn't really erase and a leaky roof."

Changing the subject, he said ''I'm SSG Galindez, lead investigator here at CID."

"SSG Galindez, I'm 2LT Hank Ryan."

"Sir, you have a dead specialist on your hands. It is our job to find out whodunit."

This man sure wasn't one for small talk, I thought. "Staff sergeant, I'm eager to get started."

"If you’d walk this way, sir."

We walked down a hallway lined with offices.

"Team, POST!" he shouted.

As soon as the last note sounded, the hallway was further lined with the occupants of the offices.

SSG Galindez began, "SGT Mark Howitzer, SGT Paul Todd, CPL David Sheen, SPC John Soto, and LCpl Brittany Herrington. We have a murder to solve, but apparently the upper-paygrades think we need a babysitter. Let's prove them wrong. Hooah!"

"Hooah," they all responded, except LCpl Herrington, who responded with the Marine call "Oorah!"

SSG Galindez turned to me and asked me if I'd like to say a few words.

"Hey, guys. Looking forward to working with you all. Briefing in ten minutes. Hooah?"

"Tracking," they all responded, as if returning the call would be a betrayal of their team if rendered to me.

"Dismissed" came the call from SSG Galindez. He then turned to me, fire in his eyes, "Sir, respectfully, this is my team. I'd like to be informed of anything you have them do before hand. I'm still their team leader. Your job is to work with me to get the case solved. My job is to work with my team to get the case solved."

"Understood," I replied, "I didn't mean to step on anyone's toes. I'll be more conscious of that in the future. If there is nothing else, SSG, I'd like to get prepared for the briefing. How do I use those digital boards in the situation room?"

"Sir, I'll show you now."

Chapter One

Okay. I'm trying to write a novel. So far, it's been good. I've stuck to it, and it's a bit more than I've written in quite a while. I still run into problems grounding the reader in the scene, transitioning between scenes, and communicating the thoughts and motivations of my character to my reader. But here is chapter one.

Thoughts, suggestions, corrections, or additions welcome.

Chapter 1

For several days, a dark gray had filled the sky of Hampton, a coastal New England town in northern New Hampshire. The fog rose thick as the day broke, making night and day just barely distinguishable, as the sound of waves crashing along the shore filled air. The ground was still wet from several days of heavy rain.

I woke up to the screeching alarm clock. It must be 0400, I thought. Not wanting to disturb my pregnant wife, I quickly silence the alarm. I figure that in her seventh month of pregnancy, she deserves as much sleep as possible. Flipping over, I stole a glance out my window, and silently lament about the dreary weather. Rising out of my bed, I grab my towel off the chair, and stumble half-asleep toward the shower.

Undressing, I turn the hot water spigot to full, which always took forever to heat up. While I was waiting, I grab my razor and began shaving through the foggy mirror; my reflection barely visible from the steam. The humidity in the room felt as if the shower was begging me to step into its warm embrace. As I step under the hot water, I let out a breath. Watching the water coarse down my body, I thought about going back to sleep. Satisfied that I was thoroughly clean, and awake, I turn the water off. I towel off and got dress slowly, occasionally glancing into the mirror to make sure my uniform look sharp. I adjust my trousers in my boots and lace them up, making sure they were sharply bloused. I took a good long look at my wife, kiss her on the forehead, and whisper "I love you." I walk out to the garage and drove off to work.

The long drive was uneventful. The interstate, usually swarming with drivers weaving through lanes while narrowly avoiding construction crews, was uncharacteristically empty - I was alone. My headlights shone through the fog, particles of moisture dancing about in the bright light. I put my blinker on as my exit came up, questioning to myself why I bother since there was no one to signal to. I made a sharp right, down the long, winding road that would take me to the base. Approaching the guard station, I came to a stop, bearing my ID card while the rifle-armed airman inspected my decal. Once satisfied with my identity, he allows me to pass. I drive around the dilapidated building the Army called an office, parking in my assigned spot. Turning the car off, I muttered a curse under my breath, then walked inside.

I swipe my ID card to gain building access, thinking to myself how the Army always has enough money for ammunition, but can never seem to afford to fix the leaky roof. I open the door and walk in, bracing myself for the day that was about to begin. Ignoring the nearly full drip-bucket behind my chair, I sat down and logged into my computer. The same Army-wide announcements from yesterday appear on my desktop. Another fine Army day, I thought, but I've lived this day dozens of times. The details of the reports or the briefings may be different, for sure, but the routine is invariant. Feeling restless, I got up for a cup of coffee. "Damn too early to think without coffee," I thought aloud. Not that it mattered what I said since no one else was in the office at this hour. No, that honor is bestowed upon me: the senior intelligence officer. I sleepily lift the carafe of coffee, cleverly programmed to brew before I arrive, and pour my mug close to full and add a copious amount of creamer and sweetener. I like my coffee black, but only after 0930; before then it's extra-cream and extra-sweet. I still need three more cups until I'm ready to work.

First Post

Okay. This is a first. I guess I hopped on the blog wagon a bit late. This is my first blog post. Ever. But that's okay, baby. I'm here now.

If there is ANYONE reading this, tell me how it works. Do I editorialize my day, expound on my email, talk about my favorite sites. Or tell sea stories about how I club baby seals and roll with twelve gangs who only commit hate crimes. But hey, it's my hot body, I do what I want!

By the way, I love Cartman.