Blackout: Chapter 2

Previously

From the Journal of Jason Forrester

10 October 2012

Well, I am officially a member of the Marine Corps Reserves.  The LT said it would get me out of country while they worked to get me discharged.  According to him, the documents should be finalized by the time the plane touches down in KC.  I hope he is right.

God, I haven't been home for over a year and a half.

How do I explain this to my father?

How do I explain this to the Gunny?

The LT also told me that he would let me know when the funerals are.  Those letters were the hardest thing I ever wrote, but I don't know how I can face the mothers of the four men I left behind.  Not going would be an even worse act of betrayal though, wouldn't it?

Kansas City International Airport

12 October 2012

Jayce became aware of a hand on his shoulder and a soft voice saying his name.  "Sergeant Forrester, you need to wake up now."

Looking up, he was pleasantly surprised to see the hand on his should was that of the chief flight attendant.  She was cute.  "Sorry, what?"

"Sergeant Forrester, the plane is landing and you need to return your seat to,"

"The full and upright position."  He finished with her.  "Thanks."

He gave her a weak smile and did as she instructed.

"Your hat," she said, handing him his utility cover.

"Thanks."

"No, thank you."

Jayce winced at that.  Ever since landing at Shannon, he had been thanked by dozens of people while in the customs line.  At Newark, a group of veterans with the local VFW and American Legion Post had been there to greet him and a couple of others.  The guys who led him off the plane had been excited, one of them had been introduced to his newborn daughter for the first time.  But one of the American Legion guys had recognized the look in his eyes and told him simply, "It gets better."

Thankfully, there weren't any other military on his flight, and the Captain had taken one look at Jayce and moved him up to First Class with orders that the air crew try to give him some privacy.  Veterans always looking out for their own.  You never leave a man behind, and he had.  It only hurt him more.

Stepping off the plane, he was surrounded by people who wanted to shake his hand and thank him.  He couldn't meet their eyes, and his hands were like dead fish as he shook their hands.  It left them muttering and casting aside glances at him as they drifted away.

Even the civvies can sense I did something wrong, he thought to himself.

He managed a smile when he saw his mother and  father waiting for him at the gate.  His mother wrapped him in a hug and cried tears of joy, "Thank God you are home, son."

Though he winced at that, the thought of the nine men his leadership failure had put in the ground flashing through his mind, he managed to keep his fake smile on his face for his father's benefit.   

They could not know why he was home.

His mom could sense his unease, and after a few non-committal answers, she decided to drop it.  Neither of them could remember whether they talked about the Chief's ongoing abysmal year, Jayce's annoyance at not being able to watch a hockey game due to the NHL lockout, or even the weather.  None of it seemed to matter, as if the two of them were talking for the sake of talking.  Talking to fill the void they both could feel.  His father just remained silent, taking in the scene.  He knew his son, Jayce would talk to him in his own time, when he was ready.

Something had gone wrong, and Jayce was taking it very hard.  Whether he deserved to place the blame on himself or not, his son was doing so.  But the burden of it was heavy, and it darkened Jayce's otherwise bright and inquisitive brow.  It was as if a shadow had fallen over his son.  This was not the young man who had called them at the beginning of the month with his excitement over pinning on Staff Sergeant and taking command of a squad of Marines.  This was someone different.  If only Arturius was not stuck up in Omaha .  His son needed to decompress with an old friend.

The ride home was uncomfortable in its silence as Jayce just stared out the windows in silence, his eyes darting between vehicles on the highway, looking for threats.  He remained tense, flinching away from semis as they came up the on-ramps, and reaching for a gun which was not there when cars sped past them.

Michael had seen enough war movies to know that his son's mind was still in Afghanistan.  His mind was still on some distant battlefield, fighting a battle he had lost.  A battle in which friends or subordinates died.  Deaths he blamed on himself.

Arriving back at home, Jayce grabbed his bags and just stared up at the green house.  It was older than he was, his parents the only owner it had ever known.  It had known two dogs before his Australian Shepherd, Bastion, had moved in.  He had drawn on the walls with crayons, broken a leg in the front yard jumping out of the old oak tree at its center, his first kiss had been on the front porch with Rachel Stevens, his room was the one over the garage.  And yet, it felt so alien to him now.  He felt like he had never stepped within.  Not even the sight of Bastion's rapidly wagging tail was enough to make him feel at home.

He jumped when his father clapped him on the shoulder, "You going to come in, or just stand out here admiring the house?"

"Sorry, it just…doesn't feel right, you know?"

"No, and I doubt I ever really will.  When you are ready to talk son, let me know.  Until then, I am sure Bast would love to finally see you again.  He has been waiting by that door all year."

Lenexa, KS

19 October 2012

Jayce could hear the muffled voices from the front hall.  Bastion had one ear pointing in their direction, tracking the conversation, but otherwise just lay on Jayce's chest as he surfed the internet from his bed.  Bastion, smart dog that he was, knew there was something wrong with his human, and had decided to stick close.  For his part, Jayce liked having Bast nearby.  Bast couldn't judge him, Bast couldn't recriminate him for leaving people behind.  For not even stopping to see if the men under his command were alright.

Jayce knew, abstractly that he needed to get out of his own head, but for some reason he was having trouble doing it.  He needed to get out and about, but even after his release papers had been fully signed and he was officially cut loose, he still felt wrong.  He was neither a Civilian nor a Marine, but rather something else entirely.  Neither fish nor fowl, with no place to rest his head.

"Great, I am getting poetical.  Bast, if I start quoting Kipling or Solomon, bite me please."

Bastion just cocked his head inquisitively, and nuzzled Jayce's hand to get him to start scratching behind the ears again.  Jayce was more than happy to oblige.

The knock on the door came as no surprise, Jayce had heard his mother come up the stairs and dither near his door, but it still made him jump nonetheless.

"Jayce, can we talk for a moment?"

"Sure mom, just let me clean up real quick."

Before he joined the Marines, that might have been necessary.  Now, he just picked up a loose sock and chucked it at the dirty clothes hamper.  With all the aerodynamics of a sheet of loose paper, it understandably missed.

"Come in."

His mother opened the door.  Anne Forrester was slim for her age, and she had her almost perpetual farmer's tan.  Hazards of working as marketing director at a nursery.

"Jason, I am worried about you, cooped up in your room all alone.  I know you have Bastion in here with you, but I feel like you need to talk to someone.  It's been a week, and you haven't left your room except to eat."

She was wrong, Jayce often went on late night walks around the neighborhood with Bastion after she had fallen asleep.  The first funeral was in five days.  He had to catch a flight to Chicago in three.  It was Lance Corporal Jaimes' funeral.  How do you explain to a mother that you didn't even stop to check on her son?  It would be closed casket as well.

"Listen, there is going to be a dance at Redemptorist.  The VFW managed to get a bunch of young ladies from the local community colleges to show up and dance with the guys coming home.  I would like to see you there."

Jayce managed not to wince, but the reluctance in his eyes was plain to see.

"Jayce, I think this would be good for you.  Get out, meet some new people.  Maybe meet someone nice."

"Okay, I'll go."

"Great," his mother smiled, "Oh, and go in uniform.  No cover charge for veterans in uniform."

Kansas City, MO

19 October 2012

Rebecca Reynes plunged into her closet and pushed clothes around.  "God, I can't believe my classes."  She could hear Lisa shrugging off a dress as she griped.  "Why do I have to take chemistry in the first place?"

"Because you want to be a nurse.  Just be glad you haven't started the anatomy classes yet.  I hear those are horrible."

"What about you, don't you hate those law classes of yours?"

Rebecca pulled out a blue dress, and held it up in front of herself in the mirror, and scowled in uncertainty.  "Nope, but then I also was on the Varsity team in Debate.  This is just a more impressive, and more important, form of it.  I actually prefer the philosophy stuff.  Its fun."

She could almost hear Lisa rolling her eyes.  Lisa was in college to get her Mrs.  Her nursing degree was incidental to the situation.  In fact, Rebecca was convinced Lisa was going to the dance to find a young officer with career prospects to marry.

Pulling out a purple cocktail dress with short sleeves, a classic cut, and a sheath silhouette which hugged her curves.  On top of that, it brought out the blue of her eyes and the red of her hair.  She had worn it to her senior homecoming dance, and she had turned heads.

"If you don't like all the science, why not go into a different track?  Why not go into business administration instead?"

"I don't know, I kinda like the idea of being a nurse.  I just don't like doing the hard work to get it."

Rebecca looked back at her, bemused.  "You do know that nursing is science right?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah.  How about this dress?"

It was an orange halter.  "Ooh, that goes well with your hair.  I have some jewelry which will go well with it.  Orange tourmaline and gold.  Want to check it out?"

"Sure, sounds about right.  How about you, you going to wear that purple dress?"

"Yeah, I have a lot of amethyst jewelry to go with all the purple clothing in my closet."

Rebecca wasn't interested in getting her Mrs. just yet, she still had to study for her LSAT's next semester.  She didn't have time for a relationship.  It was either that or become addicted to coffee.

Redemptorist Parish

20 October 2012

Jayce was actually enjoying himself, he was surprised to say.  Granted, it was mostly just enjoying watching the young women in beautiful dresses float around like bits of wrapping paper on the wind.

A number of young women had caught his eye and asked him to join him for a dance, but he had turned them down so far.  All except for a Marine Aviator with combat experience under her belt, and she had almost had to order him to do so.  Marines don't leave their own behind, she had said.

Beyond that, he was content to be a wallflower and let others have fun without his dragging it down too much.  It was enough to see women who weren't covered in a sky-blue burlap sack with a breathing vent but rather in clothing which flattered their bodies and made them look like actual human beings.

Rebecca was really enjoying herself at the dance.  All of the young Soldiers and Sailors and Marines were so eager to make her happy, and a few of the young officers even knew how to dance.  It was such a change from the clubs Lisa enjoyed where she just felt like a piece of meat on the dance floor.  The compliments she got really went to her head as well, and she knew it had swollen to twice its normal size.  Honestly, though, these boys needed to spend more time away from the burlap bags the Afghans dressed their women in.

That was when she spotted the young Marine Staff Sergeant standing by himself against the wall, afraid to make eye contact.

"Good evening Staff Sergeant," she said, her tone soft.

"And to you, Miss."  His eyebrow cocked, asking for her name.

Oh, a gentleman, Rebecca thought to herself.  "Reynes, Rebecca Reynes.  Would you care to dance, Staff Sergeant?"

"If it would please you, I would love to."

He placed his hand in hers and she led him out onto the dance floor.  As they took up their positions, the violins and english horns in the gymnasium struck up a slow dance.  The trumpets led the rest of the orchestra in, and Rebecca could see recognition in Jayce's eyes.

"If you would like to wait for the next dance, I don't mind."

"No, I know this one."

"Then by all means, Staff Sergeant, take the lead."

Taking her hand in his, and placing his other hand at the small of her back he led her through a Viennese Waltz to a lively song she had never heard before.  As they spun, Rebecca had a vague notion that the crowd was emptying as dancing partners left the floor befuddled with how to dance to the song.  Around and around the two of them spun, and Rebecca noticed the depressed look had gone out of the young Staff Sergeant's eyes, replaced with the bright eyes of an intelligence young man.

When the song came to an end, he released her back and gracefully sidestepped as she had seen so many times on Dancing with the Stars, before raising the hand he still held and kissing it lightly.

At that point, the sudden applause from the crowd broke their eye contact and both looked around self-consciously.  At some point the floor had emptied and a light had shown on them.  She had been so lost in the feel of his arms and the scent of his skin that she had missed it entirely.

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Reynes."

"Oh no you don't," she whispered in his ear, "You don't get to dance like that and just walk away.  You owe me another one."

"As you wish."

The crowd refilled with dancers as the band struck up a livelier tune which Rebecca didn't recognize, but which the young Staff Sergeant at her side seemed to know as well.  In fact, he seemed to be singing along with the music at times.

When that dance finally ended, she took her leave, promising she would be right back.  She needed a breath of air before their next dance.

Lisa followed her into the Lady's room with the biggest look of shock on her face Rebecca had ever seen.  Granted, Lisa was hard to shock, so that wasn't actually saying much, but it was still amusing to see.

"Oh, my, God.  What was that?"

"What was what?" Rebecca asked, a little too innocently.  She didn't need to look in the mirror to know she was smiling from ear to ear.

"That dance.  How did you know to do that?"

"I didn't, he did.  I just followed his lead."

"Wow.  He was fantastic."  Lisa appeared to think for a moment.  "You know this means he is probably gay right."

Rebecca spit the glass of water she had been sipping all over the mirror.

"What are you talking about?"

"All the really good dancers are gay.  You know that right?"

"That is as absurd a stereotype as Asians can't drive cars and black people are lazy.  Come on Lisa, you are better than that."

"If you say so…" Lisa was clearly still skeptical.  "Besides, I thought you weren't coming here to find a boyfriend.  Something about the LSAT's and not having time."

"I can change my mind," Rebecca replied, "Lady's perogative."

Lisa's laugh followed Rebecca back out, where she watched a young woman in blue dancing with the Staff Sergeant.  When he caught her eye, he gave her a smile that said he wanted to dance with her again.

As soon as the dance was over, he politely took her leave and strode back over to Rebecca.

"You know, Staff Sergeant, you know my name, but I do not believe you have told me yours yet."

"My apologies, Miss Reynes.  I am Jason Forrester."

The couple danced for the rest of the night, and Rebecca could feel the daggers the other young women in the hall were looking her way.  As they stepped into the chill of the night, he helped her don her coat and held the door open for her.  It was, unusual, she thought.  And yet the deference he was showing her made her feel like a real young lady.

"Staff Sergeant, before I go, this is my phone number."  She wrote it on a slip of paper, folded it, and slipped it into his hand.  "Call me please, and don't wait three days."

"My pleasure Miss Reynes."

After her car drove off, Jayce stood looking at the slip of paper in his hand until his mother pulled up with her car.  He needed to buy a new car, he realized.  His was still in North Carolina, parked in front of the bachelor NCO barracks at Camp Lejeune.

"Did you have a good time?" his mother asked.

Jayce nodded and slipped the phone number into his pocket.  "Yeah, I did."

Chapter 3

Blackout: Chapter 1

Previously

From the Journal of Jason Forrester

19 September 2012

I believed in this war once.  When I enlisted, I asked for Afghanistan.  I thought we were helping people rebuild their country.  When I enlisted, it looked like we were winning this war.  Now, It feels like it is already lost.  Too make matters worse, the information coming out about what happened in Benghazi last week is as ugly as it can be.  The politicians back home have lost this war out from under us.  Word just came in of yet another Green on Blue attack.  At this point, I just want to come home.

Afghanistan

3 October 2012

"Staff Sergeant, welcome to Second Platoon."  Lieutenant Harolds reached out to shake his hand.  It was unusual in his experience, but Jason had only just pinned on Staff Sergeant today.  For all he knew, this was normal.

"Thank you, Sir.  Happy to be here."  It was a lie, but it was a polite lie.  Jayce would rather have been in A Squad, 1st Platoon, his home platoon and squad, but 1st Battalion, 8th Marines needed a new Staff Sergeant in 2nd Platoon, so that is where he went.

"Glad to hear it, your previous Lieutenant had good things to say about your skill as a Fireteam Leader, and I hope he was not wrong.  I am placing you in command of B Squad, your Fireteam Leaders are Corporal Scott and Lance Corporal Jaimes.  Don't let me down Staff Sergeant."

"Yes Sir, don't worry sir.  I won't let you down."

"Dismissed Staff Sergeant."

Jason saluted and turned smartly, to find Lance Corporal Jaimes waiting for him.  "Staff Sergeant, if you could come this way."

Afghanistan

4 October 2012

"Mount up, it's time to roll out Marines!"

Most of his squad was already in their vehicles, with only his RATELO, Lance Corporal Jameson, out of the vehicle fixing a problem with the central M-ATV's antennae and radio.  Closing the door, his driver shifted the large diesel vehicle into gear and followed Fireteam Alpha's truck out of the Forward Operating Base and into the rock garden.

They stopped in two small, roadside towns and his RATELO had turned out to be fluent in the dialect of Pashtun spoken here.  Benefits of being a Mormon Missionary he claimed.

"I thought Afghanistan didn't allow proselytization?"

"They do after we invaded them.  I spent two years in Kabul under armed guard as I went door to door.  And then I volunteered to return as a Marine.  Turns out, they don't hate us as much as they hate prostelytizing Christians.  I am actually safer as a Marine."

The first village said they had seen nothing in the area.  By the looks of the Saffron plants the Kansas National Guard had convinced them to plant, this village was going to be razed to the ground once they left.  The drug lords who raised money for the Taliban's war machine had placed a bounty on the head of any farmer who abandoned Poppies for Saffron.

From the look of things, it would be the next village over which razed the saffron growing ones to the ground.  They were growing poppies in the next village.  They warned the Marines that they had seen a number of suspicious vehicles moving through the ravine to their west.

"We need to check that out.  Jameson, radio command and tell them we have intel on possible hostiles and advise them we will be investigating."

"Wilco, Staff Sergeant."

As they drove towards the ravine, the Marines in both the lead and rear vehicle visibly on edge and ready for a firefight, Jayce could only hope nothing was going to happen.

Thirty minutes later, B squad pulled into the ravine.  The machine guns on the lead and rear vehicle covered the left cliff face, while the automatic grenade launcher on his own command vehicle covered the right face.  Glancing out the corner of his eye, Jayce could watch the screen of his weapons operator as he manned the remote weapons station.

Jameson's call of "RPG!" jerked Jayce from watching the weapons station as twelve lines of smoke converged on the lead M-ATV and detonated.  The fireball was almost too bright to watch, but this much was clear, Jayce had just lead them all into a trap.

Jameson jerked the wheel to the left as the rear door of the M-ATV popped off and spun past the command vehicle.  The passenger doors had been blown off, and one of them was sticking up at an odd angle from the left face of the ravine.  A wheel had been blown off, and it rolled down the hill, burning the half-melted hydrocarbons in the rubber.

The machine gun on the rear vehicle opened fire as the weapons operator spun the automatic grenade launcher around and opened fire with a stream of 40mm Grenades.  Just below the chatter of machine gun and grenade launcher fire, Jayce could hear the sound of 7mm Russian rifle bullets and cartridges slamming into the vehicle.  The occasional ricochet on the hood sent sparks dancing across the hoof.

Just as they were about to pass out of the ravine, an explosion sent an avalanche of rocks to block the road.

"Turn around!" Jayce commanded.

Jameson had already done so, and the car slid through the 180 degree turn.  Jameson gunned the engine.  As they passed the M-ATV which had once been the lead vehicle, Jayce could see that the Marines who had ridden it were twisted with agony and flame.  Looking in though, he could tell they had been dead as soon as the rockets hit.  Lance Corporal Jaimes was missing his head.

An IED detonated in between the two remaining M-ATV's, and a hastily fired RPG round detonated against the wall to his right.  As they neared the exit, a five ton truck emerged from nowhere and swerved to a stop, blocking the road.

"Oh, shit!"  Jameson cried out as the twin PK Machine Guns built onto a pintle mount opened fire.  One of the Mujahedeen with an RPG opened fire, rocking the M-ATV as it slammed into the right wheel.

"OUT!  GET SOME COVER!"

The entire squad bailed out, heading for ditches on either side of the road.  That was when things went from bad to worse.  A pair of old 37mm Spade Mortars hidden in the shoulders of the wall opened fire.  With a sustained rate of fire well above 10 rounds per minute, his entire unit was going to be slaughtered.

"Jameson, get in touch with command.  Tell them we need air support ASAP."

"Beirut actual, Beirut actual, this is Beirut Bravo-Two-Bravo.  We are in contact with the enemy and need close air support ASAP.  Over."

Jayce lined up his M16A4 on target, and opened fire on what he thought was human movement on the cliffside above.

Four minutes later, with only 2nd Fireteam's Automatic Rifleman and his RATELO left alive, a pair of AH-1W SuperCobras  roared over the cliff to their back and opened fire.  A pair of Zuni rockets destroyed the five-ton truck blocking the road, as 70mm Hydra-70 Rockets and 20mm Gatling 

Cannon fire tore into the hillside from which the weapons fire was coming.

Behind them, a pair of Seahawks deposited members of the Battalion's QRF dropped in and established a perimeter around the wounded.  Two medical corpsman rushed over to Jameson to staunch the bleeding from his left arm, as the QRF provided covering fire to get Jayce and the Automatic Rifleman, Private First Class Reynolds, into the Helos.

Reynolds was asleep before the Seahawk even left the valley, Jayce was uncertain he would ever manage to sleep again.

Afghanistan

9 October 2012

Jayce just stared at the door for a moment, uncertain if he was going to enter the room beyond.  Seven days ago, he had stepped in there as a newly minted Staff Sergeant, ready to take command of a squad for the first time.  Now, now he was entering to kill his career.

Finally, he worked up the courage to knock.  "Come in."

Lieutenant Harolds was doing paperwork when Jayce opened the door, and his mixed feelings on seeing Jayce walk in was written plain across his face.

"Good morning, Staff Sergeant.  Have a seat.  Is there anything I can help you with today?"

Jayce took a deep breath, "Lieutenant, I want out."

Harolds looked like he had been slapped, "I am sorry to hear that Staff Sergeant.  Is this about the ambush?"

"Yes, Sir, it is."

"The board of inquiry cleared you on all charges."

"I am aware of that, sir.  But I left a man behind.  Four of them in fact.  A Marine never leaves a man behind."

"Staff Sergeant, they were dead instantly.  You did the right thing, trying to keep your men alive."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me, sir.  But for some reason it rings false.  I should have stopped to help them.  It's what a Marine does.  And on top of that…"  Jayce trailed off, uncertain at that moment.  How much should he actually tell the Lieutenant.

"Bad dreams, Staff Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you talked to the counselor?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what did he tell you?"

"Colonel D'Artesia says it is too early to tell if this is just a short term problem, or if I have PTSD.  The Colonel says I need to wait another few months before I can be diagnosed."

"Christ.  This is not something they train you to deal with at Annapolis."  The Lieutenant stood and turned to face the window.  "What did Colonel D'Artesia recommend?"

"Wait and see, Lieutenant."

"What do you want me to do, Staff Sergeant?"

"I want you to sign off on a discharge, sir.  I left a man behind, I am not fit to be a Marine."

The look on Lieutenant Harolds' face was one of frustration and pity.  Jayce could see it plain as day in the window's reflection.  "Let me talk to the counselor myself.  I am going to have to kick this up the chain either way."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Don't thank me yet Staff Sergeant, I would rather have you here.  Do you remember what you said to me when I first arrived three months ago?"

"Yes sir, 'Just remember your training, don't ignore your senior NCO's, and keep your head down.  The fact you bothered to ask a lowly NCO shows you are wise beyond your years.'"

"That is why I don't want to lose you, Staff Sergeant, you are willing to cut the Mickey Mouse bullshit if necessary.  I hate to lose you, Forrester."

"Thank you sir, but I think it is best for everyone."

"I will talk to the Captain, you are dismissed Staff Sergeant."

Jayce saluted and turned smartly.

Chapter 2

The Science behind Blackout

Today, my grandmother remarked to my mom, "Is it okay that I don't understand what Eric is writing about?"  This brought to my attention how obscure the whole topic of Coronal Mass Ejections is.  As such, I will try to explain it as best I can.


A Coronal Mass Ejection is, for all intents and purposes, a massive Solar Flare.  The difference here being that the average Solar Flare is a relatively small event (the average size is roughly that of the Moon) whereas a Coronal Mass Ejection is results in a mass up to a quarter the size of the sun lifting off and flinging itself through space at a very high percentage of the speed of light.

This is about the only thing Nicholas Cage's movie Knowing got right.

While a CME does contain a massive amount of energy, by the time it reaches the Earth it covers an area roughly twelve times the size of the Sun.  As a CME is a large cloud of charged plasma, the Earth's Geomagnetic field (generated by the rotating core of liquid Iron), is usually able to deflect it away from the planet successfully.

However, this peels back layers of the field and forces them to stream out behind the Earth.  As they are stripped back, large amounts of charged particles follow them down through the gaps at the North and South pole.  This is what causes the Northern and Southern Lights (Aurora Borealis and Auror Australialis).  During a CME however, the amount of charged particles which are able to enter the atmosphere and affect our planet.

During a borderline CME in March of 1989, charged particles knocked out power to the city of Quebec for 9 hours.  The sheer amount of static electricity in the atmosphere caused a transformer sub-station to explode.

During a large CME similar to the one which struck in 1859, the sheer amount of energy in the atmosphere would be attracted to the power grid like an antennae and would cause the entire global power grid to shut down.  With enough warning, portions of the grid would be able to shut down their systems in time to prevent a total loss of the electrical infrastructure, but it would still take close to a decade to get the rest of the system back up and running.

If the damage was complete, as it is in my novel, it is doubtful the national grid would ever be recoverable.  Estimates show that, with no societal collapse and all available energy resources supplying the production of transformer sub-stations, it would take a minimum of 10 years to rebuild every transformer in the network.

As civilization is only nine meals deep, this is not only highly unlikely, it is downright implausible.  The good news is that we are only in danger for another 20 years or so.  The bad news is that we are currently entering a Solar Maximum (an anemic one similar to the Maunder Minimum granted, but for the sake of a good story, pretend its a bigger one), with a second one coming in eleven years.

Fingers crossed!

Blackout: Prolouge

From the journal of Jason Forrester

2 December 2013

Looking back, it should have been obvious what was coming.  People liked to talk about how dependent we were upon gasoline, but it was electricity which had really entrapped us.  Everything was run off electricity, and we had moved away from physical to digital copies of everything.  If we could have gotten rid of travel and replaced it with teleportation or telepresence entirely, we probably would have.

I am not saying technology is evil, in fact it was great for us.  Our civilization had moved from "I need to eat more calories in order to survive the winter" to "I am too fat, I need to cut back on the calories."  It was only possible with electricity.  Though humanity had allowed technology to move us more distant from one another, it also allowed for greater communication.  It was a singularity, with all the problems and benefits it brings with it.

When the grid went down, it wasn't the loss of electricity which really killed us.  It was that we allowed our selves to become dependent upon it.  We forgot so much because we no longer needed to know it.  It was the loss of hope that really killed us.

London

1 September 1859

Richard Carrington could not believe what he was seeing.  Ever since he had built his home solar observatory, he had observed amazing things.  Ever since he had read Gallileo's solar observation logs, he had wanted to track them himself, and now he had that opportunity.

These last four days had been absolutely incredible.  He had checked and rechecked the solar spot logs and still, he had found nothing like it.  His telegrams to other observatories around England showed others were seeing the same thing.  The sheer number of sunspots, and the size of them, was just amazing.

Today was another great show.  Reflected on his sketch pad was a sunspot the size of which he had never seen before.  Most of the time, he needed magnifying glasses to be able to sketch the detail of the sunspots.  But this one was so large, he needed to draw it to a smaller scale.  The average sunspot was the size of Jupiter.  This one was at least ten times that size.  To make matters even weirder, it looked like a spiral of some kind.  Like a sunrash or something.

He had just finished the sketch when the light from the sun picked up immensely.  Richard yanked the piece of sturdy paper out of the sun's reflection as it began to darken, fearing it would turn to fire or be ruined by the sheer number of magnification lenses between the sun and the board.  The light was so bright, he could see it reflect off the tile floor of his observatory.

Five minutes later, the lights vanished abruptly, as if it had never been there in the first place.  He squinted at the sun, hand shielding his eyes in awe, as he wondered what this meant for the times to come.

Boston

2 September 1859

Arthur Williams was at work when things began to get weird.  As a telegraph operator for the American Telegraph Company's Boston to Portland line, he had the swing shift, working from 12:00 am to 8:00 am when the day shift workers would start to show up to relieve him.  At roughly 1:00 am, the lines stopped working properly.  The keys started reporting gibberish.

"Joseph, are you getting anything here?"

"No, its all just noise.  You?"

"Just a lot of noise."

"Wow, would you look at that?"

Arthur turned and looked out the window.  A strange, blue fire was gathering along the lines leading out of the building.  There was no smoke, no sign of burning.  Just a dancing blue fire around the copper wires.

"I heard sailors talking about this, but I didn't think it was real."  David's mouth was almost slack.

Arthur turned to him, "Really, what do they call it?"

"St. Elmo's fire.  They say it appears before storms or when they encounter a heavy dust cloud near the deserts."

"Really?"

Arthur was about to ask another question when the sound of Joseph crying out in pain caught his attention.  Turning, he was surprised to see his friend on his back, rigid, with a scared look in his eyes.  The batteries powering his line, the one which connected Boston to DC, were smoking as well, as if a fire had started.

His boss, Mr. Jameson cried out, "Get the sand, put that fire out now!  Disconnect the batteries!"

The crew rushed around the station doing just that, desperate to prevent a fire from starting and taking the entire city down with it.

After the batteries were unhooked, Arthur sat down at his station and slumped back, relieved.  "Arthur, I need you to contact Portland and warn them about what is happening, tell them to disconnect their batteries.  We might still be able to send traffic if David is correct."

"Will do."

Arthur gingerly touched his finger to the key, nervous about the possibility that it was still charged in some way.  After touching it a few times and yanking back his finger with no ill effect, he started sending his message.

Boston: Please cut off your battery entirely from the line for fifteen minutes

Portland: Will do so

A few moments later, the reply came back

Portland: It is now disconnected

Boston: Mine is disconnected, and we are working with auroral current.  How do you receive my writing?

Arthur turned to Mr. Jameson, "Auroral current?"

"Yeah, we missed it earlier but there is a massive aurora filling the sky right now."

Portland: Better than with our batteries on.  Current comes and goes gradually

Boston: My current is very strong at times, and we can work better without the batteries, as the aurora seems to neutralize and augment our batteries alternately, making currents too strong at times for our relay magnets.  Suppose we work without batteries while we are affected by this trouble.

Portland: Very well.  Shall I go ahead with business?

Arthur repeated the question to his boss.  "Tell him yes."

Boston: Yes.  Go Ahead.

Sullivan Island, North Carolina

2 September 1859

Bridget O'Mulrain stepped out of her house.  It seemed like the dawn had come very early today.  She had only just gotten back to sleep - or so it seemed - when the light filled her window and roused her from her bed.  Her husband had groaned and rolled over, but she could hear him stirring as she put on her robe and stepped downstairs.

Something stopped her as she stepped out the window though.  The dawn didn't look right, and the light was shifting in very odd ways.  Looking to the sky, she gasped in shock and fell to her knees.  The sky was as red as blood and looked to be rippling like the ocean waves.  The sea was red as well, and the shells looked like burning coals on the beach.  It was like a scene from Revelation, and it shook her to her core.

Fingering her rosary, she fell to her knees and began to pray, "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.  Amen…"

Colorado

2 September 1859

Jeddah Hemingsway was just about to get back to sleep when the sky broke red.  He had only just woken up, and was about to fall back to sleep for another four hours.  Maybe, he thought to himself, I was so tired I just slept for eight hours.  It was a weird thought, but he heard it was common in some European countries where they lit the cities at night, so it was possible.

Rolling out of bed, he started to brew a cup of coffee before walking outside.  It was odd, there was no newspaper.  He lived close enough to town that he got the morning paper before dawn.  Sighing, he went back inside.  It was then he noticed something seemed to be wrong with his clock.  It showed it was 11:00.

"That can't be right," he muttered to himself.  It was obviously nowhere close to noon, so it must still be night.

Clipper Ship Southern Cross

Off the coast of Chile

2 September 1859

Midshipman Rourke looked to the sky in shock.  Red lights were dancing in the sky all around, as if some great naval battle was being wages just over the horizon.  A battle so great, even the sky was reflecting its hellish light back to earth.  Calling out, he roused the ship to the lines, fearful they were sailing into a battle.  One of the junior officers agreed with him, but van der Whal, an aged sailor with dozens of trips through the Straits of Magellan under his belt disagreed.

"Nay, sir, that is no battle.  It is the aurora.  Same as the one four days ago, but much farther north.  We must be within two or three days sail of the equator, and I have never heard of them coming this far north or south before."

"Aye, it is an aurora alright."  The First Officer was standing at the helm, looking visibly displeased.   "The compass is swinging wildly, just like the aurora we saw on the horizon the other day."

"My God, what could cause such brilliant light?" Rourke asked.

"Aye, you named it there.  Only God can cause a light show such as this, this be his handy work my boy, have no doubt about it."

"But what does it mean?" Rourke asked.

The Lieutenant scoffed, "Mean?  It doesn't mean anything.  It's just an atmospheric phenomena, nothing more.  It signifies nothing."

Van der Whal and the First Officer shared a skeptical look.  They had been sailors all their lives.  They knew that sometimes, you had to pay tribute to pagan gods in order to survive a voyage, and anything which made it more likely you would make it home was worth doing.

To call the crew of the Southern Cross superstitious was like calling water wet.  It came as naturally to them as breathing.  This new Lieutenant would learn soon enough, van der Whal was certain of that.  You did not last long on the seas if you did not appease the pagan gods of sea and fortune.

Chapter 1