The Tomb
"It's worse than I feared," Colonel Collyer observed from the copilot’s seat, looking over the frame of his aviators. "My God, the waves are practically splashing over it now. It will be submerged in a few short years at the current rate of sea level rise, if another typhoon doesn’t take it down first."
"It is bigger than I thought, sir," said Rescue Officer Klein, pointing over Collyer's seat to the concrete dome two hundred feet below their circling Phoenix 23 aircraft. "It appears intact."
"The only thing intact here is this place’s ability to destroy the Pacific as we know it," Collyer sighed, eyeing two individuals standing atop the center of the dome. He motioned for the pilot to land the plane. "Go take a seat Klein, its time to get down there and meet the idiots who built it."
Rescue Officer Klein and the pilot laughed.
"Don't ever tell anyone I said that," Collyer chuckled.
Phoenix 23, the Chinese built AG600 seaplane, the largest seaplane ever built, gracefully splashed down in the dazzling coral laden aqua and teal waters of the Enewetak Atoll, whipping up spray behind its four turboprop hydrogen engines. Colonel Collyer looked to his right and saw an immense crater submerged beneath the docile tropical waters no more than a hundred feet from the dome. It was not natural.
The plane slowed to a stop beside a newly built floating dock. Collyer and his team departed the aircraft and walked ashore. Much of the island’s foliage had been stripped clean by the typhoons storm surge.
"You know," Collyer said, walking beside Klein, "sixty years ago we would have been vaporized standing here. Multiple times. Between 1946 and 1958 the United States tested sixty-seven nuclear weapons here; 1.6 “Hiroshimas” a day."
"What were they thinking, sir? The environmental degradation to the islands must have been unimaginable."
"They weren't if you ask me, Rescue Officer. It was all intimidation wrapped in escalation. These islands and their natives were the unlucky few to be stuck in the middle of a power struggle that lasted over forty years. A waste of beauty."
The team rounded a sand dune and finally came upon the dome they had come to survey.
"There it is," said Klein nervously. "It's safe to be this close, right? I hear the islanders call it The Tomb."
"It is," Collyer said, "for now."
He waved to the two men standing atop the dome. They promptly waved back.
"Okay!" he shouted to his team. "You know your assignments. Get me some radiation measurements and begin sampling the dome’s structure. I want that ground-penetrating radar set up within ten minutes. Klein. Gerrard. You're with me. Lets go."
The colonel and his men began walking up the gently curving dome. They noticed numerous cracks that had not been visible from the air. Vines, even birds nests filled some of them. The beach around the north side of the dome was almost nonexistent, allowing some of the bigger waves to touch the edges of the dome.
At the top, Collyer shook hands with the waiting men.
"Colonel Mitchell Collyer, UNIRO Subgroup 4, Nuclear Cleanup Squadron 5," he introduced himself. "These are two of my rescue officers, Klein and Gerrard. We're from Base Gunyah. You boys must be with the DTRA."
"That’s right," said one man. "Anthony Owens."
"Greg Graham," said the other.
"It is nice to finally meet," Owens said with some agitation, "but was it necessary to actually meet… here?"
"Yes," Collyer replied bluntly. "You boys gave these islands this mess and you've been avoiding them ever since. It's about time you finally help clean them up... Or at least help UNIRO clean them up. You also helped to build this masterpiece of longevity," Collyer said, swinging his arm around over the dome. "Now we gotta fix that too."
"The United States government has fulfilled all its obligations to these islands. Any release of material would not significantly raise the atolls levels of contamination," Owens explained.
"Meaning to say this area is so contaminated any release would just be another drop in the bucket," Collyer smirked. "What a way to justify not doing anything."
Collyer took off his aviators and slipped them over his collar.
"Lets get something straight here, gentlemen," he explained. "UNIRO currently has twelve large-scale environmental projects across the world. How this place isn't on that high-priority list," Collyer laughed, "I don't know. But the Marshall Islands have appealed to the UN Security Council for help, which is why my team and I are here. We're going to determine what's really going on here and when the world knows just how badly you screwed up…" Collyer raised his eyebrows. "Well, lets just say it would look mighty kind on you boys if you were seen as…" Collyer turned to Klein. "Whats the word I'm looking for here? Uhhh… Oh yeah," Collyer said, snapping his fingers, "helpful."
"Colonel!" yelled one of his team members from the base of the dome.
"Yeah?" Collyer replied without stopping his glare at Owens.
"Its bad, sir! The typhoon has undercut the foundation. Even if it had a lining it wouldn't help at this point. I recommend we pull back immediately."
"Understood!" Collyer yelled down. He stepped past the two men and stared across the atoll’s lagoon. He imagined the hell the area must have been at height of testing. But the hell was still here, just scattered and buried; some of it eighteen inches below him in what had once been a smoldering blast crater itself.
"Radiation poising is a painful way to go," he said aloud. "I had several friends go that way in Korea. I guess that place isn't much different now than this one. But Korea hasn't been forgotten like this paradise. It's unlucky enough to be at the mercy of humanity’s two cruelest sins over two different centuries. Nuclear weapons in the twentieth and climate change in twenty-first." Collyer turned around and stared ominously at the two men. "As far as these islanders are concerned the world has already ended," he said, putting his aviators back on. "It's about time someone showed them it hasn't."