America- The Eagle has Fallen

by Gordon Ballantyne

  “Yes sir. He is right next door as a matter of fact.”

  I was ushered into the next room over where the head of FEMA was meeting with his staff. There were charts up on the wall dealing with everything from caloric intake to sewage disposal. The staff looked haggard. The general introduced me to Mr. Killmer who was a tall academic type with long grey hair tied into a ponytail and small round eyeglasses. He reminded me of the ET professor from the movie Independence Day. He shook my hand and I was pleasantly surprised to encounter a calloused hand instead of lotion.

  The general made the introductions. “Mr. Killmer, this is Mr. Robertson, who is a part of the reconstituted state government. He speaks with the authority of the Governor.”

  “Hi Mr. Killmer, it’s nice to meet you,” I began. “I’ll be brief. The good news is we are shutting you down, the bad news is the emergency is ongoing. Do we have any data on the 100,000 souls you are administering? Our goal over the next hour is to classify everyone in this camp into four categories. Anyone who has ever worked for Boeing as an engineer, machinist or mechanic, anyone who is an electrical engineer, oil and gas engineer, a county judge, food processing managers, logistics managers or rail line managers, anyone who can drive a bus and anyone who is ambulatory who will be further subdivided into groups of thirty keeping any family and extended family units intact. Can you process my request?”

  “Sir, what is the plan?” asked Mr. Killmer.

  “We are going to move Mohammed to the mountain instead of vice versa,” I replied.

  “You do know that has been tried don’t you?”

  “I do but 10% survival is better than 0% don’t you think? These people are dying, they just don’t know it yet. We will be better coordinated, better prepared and God willing, luckier than the Midwest and the Mississippi Delta. They tried to save everyone while we are only trying to save those that have already shown the ability to survive.”

  “You will have your request processed immediately. If there is one thing we are good at, it’s data. Where are the refugees headed?”

  “Go east young man, go east,” I said with a laugh. “As soon as the data is ready we can do some algebra, I’ll address the crowd and we’ll get this show on the road.”

  I went back into the other room and saw old man Stutz and the captain still at the conference room table.

  “Do you two still have your uppermost extremity inserted into your anal orifices?” I asked.

  “Fuck you Robertson,” said Mr. Stutz. “I have already “liaised” with the Montana boys who are driving some of their herds west. They have threatened to personally castrate me with a rusty knife if your whacky combine program doesn’t work and the grain isn’t delivered. The Idaho boys also want in on your rent a geek program and have offered five tons of potatoes for every potato harvester they get working. I can’t help it if you are slow.”

  Mr. Bujacich also chimed in. “Smitty is already headed up the Columbia with a gun boat to see what we are up against and sent an insertion crew to get me the Norwegians out of Seattle. We also need to get the Westport fish processing factories back up and running since; It is more defensible from land; already has the infrastructure in place; is closer to the Columbia and a better plan than your dumb shit Steilacoom wet dream. Besides, we all want to hear your Braveheart freedom speech meets “I am Spartacus” to the masses,” as he started humming Go tell it on the mountain…

  “You two are assholes,” I said. “What’s next on the immediate agenda?”

  “The Cities, sir,” said the general. “The warlords and despots are gaining strength and the local militias will not be able to hold them back much longer.”

  “General Holcomb and Major Harrison, we would have to defer to your expertise in this area. What is our intel?” I asked the military men.

  “From South to North, here is our intel as it stands now. There is a large gang in Olympia that came out of the Port. They are following a gentleman calling himself the Prophet. They are the group that took over the Governor’s bunker and that is now their base of operations. They are a satanic cult who have brought back human sacrifices and are reported to partake in cannibalism. There are two gangs in Tacoma, one based at the Emerald Queen Casino run by drug dealers who sent the kill squad to Gig Harbor and another at the Bass Pro Shop in North Tacoma who were a biker gang and following a gentleman calling himself the Reaper. Seattle has three gangs: One in the north; the south and the east. Bellevue has one gang based out of the Bellevue Square Mall and Kirkland has another based out of Carillon Point. Everett has a group occupying the port but they are a minor gang of longshoremen and lumber mill operators. Strategically it makes most sense to pacify the Interstate 5 corridor first then work the I-405 loop to I-5 interchanges second.”

  “Our military doesn’t have the best record in dealing with urban insurgents, General,” I said.

  “That is true sir. Our military is set up for old school conventional warfare force on force. We are not set up well for urban fighting or guerrilla warfare. That is why we deployed the angel teams to covertly insert themselves into the population and are taking action against small groups preying on the local populations; much like the Major’s Rosedale Gardens action, knowing that a scalpel would work far better than a chainsaw. We also did not have the assets or the right enemy for full-scale engagements. These city insurgents of despots, fanatics and warlords have organized into groups of thousands holding sway over groups numbered in the tens of thousands.”

  “So, General, how would you deal with someone like the Prophet in Olympia?” I asked.

  The Major and General exchanged glances and the General nodded.

  The Major began. “The Olympia group are religious satanic zealots and are 1,000 strong under the leadership of a self-proclaimed prophet. They are terrorizing a population of around 50,000 with threats of becoming sacrifices and potentially food. Olympia is the center of a long term blue state government so there are not a lot of gun toting red necks running around town but winning hearts and minds, to quote Kennedy, shouldn’t be too hard. We need a symbol and a spark to draw out the cult leadership for some assassinations and the population should take care of the rest.”

  “Why didn’t the Governor go for this?” I asked.

  “The Governor wanted a chainsaw. He wanted us to consolidate a stryker brigade out of 30 angel teams, ride into the Capitol and rid it of the cult,” the general said. “We were in the process of sending out orders to do so when the bunker was breached. The Governor was the symbol of evil used by the cult to enhance membership. I counselled the Governor against this as the cult would just hide in the general population and it would be Afghanistan all over again.”

  “How long to plan, set up and execute your plan?” I asked.

  “It should not take more than a few weeks,” the Major said. “I think all we need is a man in a white smock carrying a cross; a full angel team of twenty men dressed as Templars who will burn a few cannibals at the stake while singing “Onward Christian soldiers”. That should bring the rats out of the nest. The good thing about prophets is that once you show them and their followers their own mortality via a few bullet holes in their heads, not a lot of others want to wear the heavy crown that leads. The 50,000 people will get a little stiffness in their spines turning lambs into lions and deal with the rest. The cultists were all branded on their foreheads in a Charles Manson looking brand after the bunker was breached so they are not exactly hard to find.”

  I looked at Mr. Stutz and the Captain who were both nodding. “Done!”

  “And Tacoma?” I asked.

  “Not quite as simple,” the general said. “We were thinking of setting the two groups against each other and let them kill themselves while we wait and clean up the mess. We can quietly open some escape hatches for the population to exit to here down I-5 and Hwy 16 to Gig Harbor while their attention is focused inward instead of outward. We wait for the victory celebration of the gang champion then drop a t
urd in the punchbowl.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “Just your Kennedy “Ask not what your country can do for you speech,” Said the Major.

  “Et Tu, Brute?” I said to the Major.

  “Just think of the audience as being naked,” he said with a grin.

  I asked Mr. Killmer to come into the meeting to present the materials I had requested. He already had a power point presentation. I introduced him to the group and Mr. Jackson came back up on his monitor.

  “Gentlemen. We have a current population of 97,769 in the camp. Of that number there are 1,203 Boeing representatives that fit your description, around 1,657 drivers with commercial licenses, 975 that fit your special category needs leaving us a remainder of 93,934 to be broken into 3,131 groups of 30 people. We currently have 200 FEMA busses on hand. I would suggest deploying them with your drivers to three local school bus depots we have identified where we approximate there are 100 busses in each depot. We can pre-load the busses with rations and cots and pick up passengers in an estimated time of eight minutes per bus. Based on the round trip bus time between here and Yakima we estimate it will take us 48 hours to evacuate this camp from the word go. We have already started sectioning off your special skilled groups and their families from the breakfast line as they come through.”

  “Well gentlemen,” I said. “This is either going to end in a full-scale riot or an orderly evacuation. Do you have a plan Mr. Jackson?”

  “We do. So many of the farmers are screaming for pickers since the migrant population did not arrive this year. Your people will be distributed amongst temporary worker housing, churches, granges and commercial grower complexes. The temporary worker housing is actually very nice and sanitary since after the recent immigration crackdowns, farmers had to compete for workers by offering them better and better accommodations. We will grab whatever transportation we have working and help distribute your people from Yakima. We have sent every available runner to every town and rung every church bell in eastern Washington so we can get your people where they are needed the most, putting them under expert guidance. This is a real shot in the arm for our farmers and is giving them real hope for the future.”

  “OK gentlemen. I hope that history is kind to us. Are we in agreement?” I asked and was answered by nods from around the room.

  “OK Mr. Killmer. Let’s play the national anthem, I’ll give a speech and if we can find a pastor in the next five minutes, we’ll close with a prayer,” I said.

  A microphone was set up in the conference room and we all stood for the national anthem. Mr. Killmer introduced me as the new Governor of the State of Washington and I began speaking from my heart.

  “Good morning my fellow Americans and people of the State of Washington. It is with sadness that I bring you news of the death of our Governor Franks, he was killed by a cult of religious fanatics in Olympia. I am the acting Governor until such time as the immediate emergency has ended and proper elections may be held. First I will be honest with you and tell you the bad news, this camp is running out of food and only has a 30 day supply of rations. There is no resupply. I ask you not to despair as the seeds of our salvation are at hand should you have the will to rise up to the challenge and opportunity I give to you today. Each of you that embark on this journey with us will be granted the proceeds of 20 acres of harvest to feed yourselves and your families. The crops are already grown and ripe for harvest in eastern Washington. We need your help bringing in your harvest. Each of your forefathers had a dream of prosperity that brought each of you to where you are today. We need you to embrace the ideals of your forefathers to take a journey with us to create your own destiny in the world we find ourselves in. Our country is founded on the principles of freedom and manifest destiny. You have the freedom to choose your own path. I can only offer you the opportunity and tools for your own salvation. I am not going to sugar coat it, the path will be hard work but you will be working for yourselves and hopefully, God willing, you will enjoy the fruits of your own labor. The people of eastern Washington will welcome you with open arms and are prepared for your arrival. You will be supplied with 30 days rations per person and a roof over your heads at the other end of your journey. There are two options for everyone hearing this message. You may make your own way or take the opportunity we are providing to secure your own future with the assets we can make available. There is no third option. I would ask you all to stay calm and to follow the directions of the FEMA organizers. God Bless and Godspeed. I would like to turn the microphone over to Reverend John who will lead us in prayer.”

  “Please bow your heads. I beseech you O Lord to look out for your faithful people of Washington who embark on a journey like the Israelites before them to reap the rewards of your bountiful gifts in this your kingdom of heaven. Please give them the strength to persevere and honor their spirit in these trying times and rejoice in their dedication to your service. I ask this in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  “Ok, you two asshats, Bujacich and Stutz have some Boeing engineers to talk to in the auditorium and I’ll take the special projects crew after that.”

  “Good speech Robertson, I’m still sporting wood,” said Mr. Stutz, clapping me heartily on the back.

  The Captain chimed in with, “Nice touch with the preacher, I felt like Noah there for a minute and was looking for some lumber to build a boat.”

  The general pulled out a hip flask and offered it to me. “You know son, the first time I had to do that I tossed my cookies all over my dress uniform afterwards.”

  “Well,” I said taking a swig of bourbon. “At least I got to do it in here and didn’t need to picture them all naked. I sure as hell hope this works. Any chance you have a little coffee, some aspirin and chow, General? My arm is throbbing like a son of a bitch and I would have tossed my cookies if my stomach had anything in it.”

  After breakfast I was escorted over to the auditorium to watch Old Man Stutz in action. The room was packed with Boeing representatives. Stutz was behind the podium in the center of the stage.

  “OK. Listen up. I want all the eggheads on the right side of the auditorium, the grease monkeys on the left and the gear grinders in the middle to stop the monkeys from giving the nerds wet willies. Figure out the most senior amongst you and send the sacrificial lambs down front.” The whole auditorium started moving around and reseating. Two gentlemen and a lady came to sit in the three chairs provided. “Good. The Chinese fire drill portion of our program is now complete. Here is the mission. On the screen behind me is a picture of a modern combine. No, you don’t have to make it fly. Your mission is to make it work and no, you don’t have to fabricate and build it. The modern combine has two elements: The engine and the hydraulics that make the magic happen. The good news is once it is running there is only an on and off switch so all the threshing gears are either working or not working. The only adjustment is to raise and lower the front teeth depending on the height of the crop. The bad news is that all the brains of the machine and the engine ignition and electronic carburetor were wiped out by the EMP. I have loaded up the full blueprints for a typical machine you will find in these ten laptops for the eggheads. There are around 200 combines in eastern Washington and we only have a week to get them all up and running. You and your families will be flown from here to Fairchild Airforce Base, probably in a plane you built and sent to the John Deere combine manufacturing plant in Spokane. No pressure or anything but if you can’t get the combines working then around a million people will die and I’ll lose my nuts to a bunch of Montana cowboys. This is bush fix time boys, I don’t need the air conditioning and GPS to work. I figure if you boys can make shit fly then something that mows and threshes corn and wheat should be a walk in the park. You people are the most technologically advanced and capable on the planet. Your country, State and my ball sack need you to be at your best. Questions? Yes, I see many hands in the air. Please ask these three down here because I would
not understand the question or be able to provide the answer. First plane leaves in an hour so figure out who your best people are and get them on that plane.”

  Mr. Stutz watched the groups slowly coalesce around the team leaders each offering problems, solutions, potential issues. A few arguments were breaking out.

  “Listen up fucktards,” yelled Mr. Stutz. “Get your shit in one bag and get moving. You three team leaders pick five people each and get on a god damn plane. Get your hands on a combine and have a workable solution before the second plane lands. Now move!”

  The auditorium emptied out quickly with a few wild-eyed glances at Mr. Stutz. Next in were the electrical engineers as I took the podium.

  “Welcome gentlemen. Our asses are in a crack and you are the enema. You are going on a boat ride to the Grand Coulee dam. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to power up select facilities in our State if possible. If not possible then we need to know what you need to make it possible. We will stick with primary users. Is anyone in the room familiar with hydroelectric power and its distribution?”

  Two gentlemen in the crowd stuck their hands up.

  “OK, you sir,” I said pointing to one of the gentlemen. “Quick resume please.”

  A short bespectacled balding gentleman stood up. “I am an electrical engineer and was the distribution manager at the switching station coming off the dam.”

  Another older gentleman stood up. “I worked on the turbine flow switches and step up transformers on the dam.”

  “Thank you gentlemen. Let’s start at the beginning with you, sir,” I said pointing to the second gentleman. “Please come up here and using the whiteboard give us a brief description on how the dams work.”

  “Well sir, the Grand Coolee is the largest hydroelectric plant in the United States. Water built up behind the dam is sent through large pipes to twelve turbines that turn and generate alternating current electricity. The electricity is created by turning magnets around a wire coil, invented by Faraday who you might have heard of, and run through what is called a step up transformer into high energy transmission lines. The alternating current and transformers were created by Tesla who you might have heard of as well. The high energy lines are used because it reduces friction as electricity passes through three hot power lines that is phased at three different frequencies. The high energy lines are run on those big steel transmission towers you see and there are four wires, three phases of electricity and one common ground wire. It is then run to distribution hubs or substations where the power is stepped down through transformers and distributed through the grid where it is dropped off at high voltage primary three phase users and further stepped down to lower voltage users like homes. Those are the cylinders you see on power poles and the green ones you see around town.”