Hard Rain Falling (Walking in the Rain Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

a paperweight.
    “Yeah, well, there’s protected… and then there’s really protected. I’ve seen this same relay on other Brads working just fine. The damage is actually more trouble that way. We have to check everything because of that. Add this to the list. We’ll strip one out of the boneyard and see if it works.”
    Truthfully, I think the master sergeant was still gathering data on what absolutely had to be replaced every time, and what was just a random breakdown. I jotted down the part number as Warnecke recited it from memory. He seemed to know the ins and outs of these massive tracked vehicles like he’d written the book on maintaining and repairing them. Maybe he had.
    This time when I volunteered to work in the motor pool, Warnecke asked for me by name, and I figured it would be more work on the transport trucks, since I’d been getting trained on them. I’d tinkered enough with my dad back home repairing diesel engines on tractors so I knew a bit, at least enough to qualify as a helper or gopher to the actual mechanics.
    Instead, Warnecke led me over to the three monsters hibernating in one of the maintenance buildings, one each nestled in what I later learned were dedicated repair bays. Working in the bowels of these Bradley Fighting Vehicles turned out to be an education… a sweaty, filthy education.
    At first, I couldn’t figure out the reason or logic behind our work as Warnecke dug into the dead-lined armored vehicles, and the master sergeant ignored my questions. After a while, his plan became clear.
    The savvy mechanic focused first of identifying and then, if possible, repairing mobility issues with the Bradleys. Ignoring the peripheral systems for the time being, he directed our labors towards bringing the engines and drive trains back to life. He finally gave a partial explanation when he commented in an off-hand manner that an armored vehicle that couldn’t move was just a pillbox, after all —then I got it.
    After the master sergeant taught me this lesson, we continued to talk as we worked. Well, I’d been talking and asking questions all along, but now Warnecke would respond, or not, as we continued. I learned the master sergeant was married with two teenaged kids, a boy and a girl. His wife and the two youngsters worked in the gardens; or rather fields that were planted in cleared tracts in the fenced areas around the base.
    The planting went in late, of course, but already I could make out the green shoots poking up through the freshly turned earth. This was the colonel’s doing, Warnecke declared. Not the actual clearing and planting, but Colonel Hotchkins had gotten the men and women working on the project immediately.
    Fortunately, the Guard attracted plenty of recruits from rural backgrounds, and enough of them knew about growing crops that the deed was done. I joked about the Humvees being attached to plows must have been a sight. With a sniff, Warnecke went on to explain tractors were the first thing Colonel Hotchkins had his mechanics working on after the Humvees. Warnecke didn’t know where they got the seed or fertilizer but there were plenty of sources available in the area.
    “That man, he’s a thinker. Heard he was an up and comer in the regular Army, but went for the Guard for the sake of his family.”
    “Why would he do that? No offense. The Guard does a lot of good. Even before the lights went out, I mean.” I asked while using the moment to grab my canteen for a sip of lukewarm water. The temperature had to be well over a hundred degrees in the metal clad building. Dehydration was a real concern. Personally, I was still enjoying the clean water that came out of the taps in the barracks; another project of the colonel’s, no doubt. He’d managed to get a cobbled-together power network up and running as well, but usage was carefully controlled.
    “His boy has leukemia is what I heard through the grapevine. His wife was trying to do it all by herself, but they