It Can't Be Her

by Darrell Maloney

  She was sickened to hear the unmistakable sound of a padlock being placed into a hasp and slammed closed.

  Still, she struggled to get free.

  What else did she have to do?

  -8-

  As Tillie and Hero continued their journey toward Junction she wondered about the mysterious convoy of Army vehicles.

  They appeared to be headed to San Antonio.

  But why?

  In the Alamo City, many others wondered the same thing.

  In downtown San Antonio the Army parked their vehicles in an abandoned parking garage between the old United States Post Office and the now-shuttered San Antonio Express-News office.

  They were billeted in a high-rise luxury hotel just north of the Alamo. The hotel had long enjoyed a reputation for being haunted, but nobody cared.

  After living in the hell the blackout had created for the past two years, dealing with ghosts would be a piece of cake.

  The soldiers had to occupy floors five through twelve, since the lower floors were already full of squatters.

  But they were in shape and apparently well-fed.

  Climbing several flights of stairs to get to their beds shouldn’t be a problem.

  They looked upon climbing the stairs as just another form of mandatory fun. The Army, it seemed, was still big on physical training or “PT.”

  As for why they were there, that was a source of great speculation among the locals.

  On their commander’s orders the soldiers made over a hundred posters, which they taped to the corners of buildings all around the downtown area.

  The posters were nothing fancy. They were done by hand, using heavy paper the soldiers had pilfered from a local printer. The printing was made by using wide black and blue-colored felt-tip markers.

  MAYOR JOHN RODRIGUEZ IS PROUD TO ANNOUNCE THE ARRIVAL OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY TO ASSIST IN OUR RELIEF EFFORTS.

  PLEASE JOIN US IN ALAMO PLAZA AT TEN A.M. ON TUESDAY FOR MORE INFORMATION.

  The signs didn’t explain much, but at least everything was spelled right.

  Beyond making the public announcement the city government was being very tight-lipped.

  That created a lot of problems.

  As well as a lot of unanswered questions.

  Some bordered on ludicrous. In a world where watches and calendars were largely considered obsolete many asked, “How do we know what day Tuesday is?”

  Told by the soldiers Tuesday was four days away, the invariable follow-up question was always, “Well, how do we know when it’s ten o’clock?”

  The troops were told to instruct the citizens, “Watch for us. We will assemble in front of the Alamo when it’s time for the mayor to speak.”

  It was a rather silly way to run a government, but under the circumstances there was probably not a better way to do it.

  In the four days between the posting of the signs and the scheduled briefing rumors ran rampant.

  Like the questions, some bordered on lunacy.

  In any crowd there are an inevitable number of conspiracy theorists.

  Among San Antonio’s survivors there seemed to be an extra large contingent.

  “Nothing good could possibly happen with the military being here,” some said. “They’re probably here to confiscate our crops or our land.”

  Others said the Army was there to round up the survivors and put them in concentration camps to make it easier to feed everyone.

  Still others spread a false rumor the federal government mandated two years of military service for all able-bodied men, and the soldiers were there to register people for the draft.

  The city government could have spread the word that none of that was true, but they remained mum instead.

  And worried citizens evacuated the downtown area in droves.

  -9-

  But not everyone left the downtown area.

  Many had an inclination to, either because they half-believed some of the wild rumors that were going around.

  Or because they had a general mistrust of the federal government.

  The problem was everyone’s curiosity was piqued.

  Everybody wanted to know what in heck the Army wanted.

  And if they were to boycott the mayor’s speech and get out of downtown and into the suburbs, they’d have no way of finding out.

  The newspapers, television and radio stations were still shut down.

  Indications were they would be for a very long time.

  Maybe even forever.

  Sometimes, when the city had critically important information to pass out, the few working police cars would cruise up and down the streets, using their public address systems to get the word out.

  No one knew if the Army had that capability, or whether they were inclined to use it if they did.

  No one knew what the Army’s mission was.

  They didn’t even know who was in charge anymore.

  They thought it was possible they were there by orders of Washington, to declare martial law and to take control of city government.

  For all they knew, Mayor John Rodriguez would give his speech on Tuesday in handcuffs, and then would be shot by firing squad.

  Probably not, but hey… who really knew?

  For every person who left downtown for the suburbs, three or four more made plans to come in to take their place.

  Word had gotten around about the Tuesday meeting, which was of course by design.

  With a shorter lead time fewer people would have time to hear about the meeting and make plans to be there.

  By dawn on Tuesday morning the area immediately outside the world’s most famous mission was crowded.

  Shoulder to shoulder crowded.

  At an hour before show time, when the troops poured out of the Emily Morgan Hotel to form up at parade rest there was too little space for them to do so.

  They had to form on the steps of the old U. S. Post Office across Houston Street from the plaza.

  Standing at parade rest on the tiered steps made them appear more imposing and threatening than they would have been at the same height as the crowd.

  It wasn’t what they wanted, for their commander wished to convey an air of “we’re here to help you” more than an air of “do what you’re told or pay a heavy price.”

  For the first time the Army displayed their unit flags, and several in the crowd in the know were surprised to see the proud flags of the 8th Army and the 2nd Infantry Division.

  A few grumbles went through the crowd.

  “These guys are imposters,” some said. “Those units are assigned to South Korea. They shouldn’t even be here in the states.”

  There were several odd things about the assembled citizens which one might have missed with a casual glance.

  Upon further examination, though, one would notice no one was armed.

  One of the more pervasive rumors was that the Army was there to take everyone’s guns away. That the federal government had decided that was the solution to people killing one another. That they decreed the Army would swoop in, seize all the arms, and make people resort to fistfights or knives to resolve their disputes.

  As a result, virtually all the attendees either hid their weapons or left them with trusted friends before hiking downtown to see what the ruckus was all about.

  The other thing missing was children.

  There was a lot of concern that whatever was to happen wouldn’t be pretty. Either people would be handcuffed and hauled away to concentration camps, shot on sight as instigators, or beaten for whatever reason the city government deemed appropriate.

  No one wanted their children to witness such carnage, nor to fall victim to it.

  All the children were left back.

  In some cases, they were put in charge of guarding the weapons until their parents’ return.

  At the appointed hour the Honorable John Rodriguez stood behind a wooden podium adorned with a seal which read:

  MAYOR OF SAN ANTONIO:
<
br />   AMERICA’S GREATEST CITY

  The mayor had a working microphone, attached to a series of wireless speakers spread throughout the crowd.

  Some thought that to be quite an accomplishment and assumed some electronics wizard employed by the city was able to repair the damage the EMPs did to the system.

  In reality it didn’t even belong to the city; the Army brought it with them.

  Good morning fellow citizens. For those of you who do not know me, I am the mayor of San Antonio. My name is John Rodriguez.

  I am here this morning to answer your questions and to dispel some of the wild rumors which have been flying around the past few days.

  “Let’s see, what are some of the wildest ones I’ve heard? Maybe that you’re all going to be drafted and hauled away to boot camp. Or even worse, concentration camps or farm labor camps.

  “Absolutely none of that is true. And the Army is not here to take your guns and ammo either. Or your first born children.

  “I have spent a lot of time with the Army leaders the past few days going over the city’s needs, and I can assure you without reservation, the United States Army is here to help us.”

  -10-

  But alas, two-plus years of living through hell had not only hardened the population. It had created a severe distrust of the federal government.

  As well as its offer to help.

  As the old saying goes, the natives were restless.

  The voice of a naysayer rose from the back of the crowd.

  “Bullshit! The government never does anything to help. And the military is a pawn of the Washington scum!”

  “Not true,” the mayor countered. “These men have placed themselves at our disposal. We owe them a debt of gratitude, not insults.”

  Another man yelled, “Then why did it take them two years to get here?”

  “Unfortunately they suffered like everyone else. I’m told the survival rate among military members was only about fifteen percent. The survivors were given the option of continuing to serve or to leave and take care of their families. As a result less than half the survivors are left.

  “The sad fact is with limited personnel and a limited number of vehicles, it’s taken them this long to get around to us.”

  A third man, who’d once served in the Army himself, climbed atop an abandoned car and shouted, “These men are imposters. How’d the 8th Army get all the way here from Korea?”

  That one stumped the mayor.

  “I don’t know, sir. But the man standing next to me should be able to answer that question.

  “He is Brigadier General Thomas Pope. He is in charge of the Army contingent. He will explain to you why they are here and what they expect to do for us.

  “He will also answer any and all questions you have for him, and has promised to remain here in front of you until you’re all satisfied they are on your side.

  “Please, I’m asking you as your mayor and as a fellow San Antonian. Please give the general and his men the courtesy and respect they deserve and show him the kind of welcome we’ve always shown our honored guests.”

  It seemed as good a time as any to introduce the general.

  “Without any further adieu I’d like to introduce our new friend, Brigadier General Thomas Pope.”

  The mayor stepped aside while raising his hands in the air and applauding.

  He tried to generate what he saw as a suitable welcome, but the crowd’s response was half-hearted. A few people followed the mayor’s lead and applauded. But there were just as many people who sneered or jeered.

  They either wanted to display their distrust of the general outright or were adopting a wait-and-see attitude until they heard what he had to say.

  As for General Pope, he took the negativity in stride.

  He’d been through more or less the same scenario dozens of times in the previous year and a half, in cities all over the middle of the country.

  He looked sharp, in a freshly pressed battle dress uniform. Instead of embroidered blue stars, however, he wore a single silver star on each side of his collar.

  It was a deviation of Army uniform policy, sure.

  But he wanted to convey a look of confident authority.

  The thing about looks, though, is they’re sometimes deceiving.

  It would be up to his words and demeanor to either win over this crowd or continue to be viewed as an interloper.

  “Greetings, my friends. As the mayor said, I’ve spent the past few days with him being briefed on the problems plaguing your fine city and the various ways we might be able to help.

  “I know a lot of you distrust the federal government and I don’t blame you. I don’t like them very much myself.”

  He smiled broadly.

  Many of the people in the crowd seemed to get the joke and smiled as well.

  He was on his way to winning the hearts and minds of the locals.

  “I assure you we are only here to help. And we are all volunteers. We’re here because we want to be, not because we were ordered to do this.

  “I know you have a lot of questions, many borne of suspicion. If you’ll bear with me, and if you’ll hold your questions until I’m finished, I think you’ll find that I’ll answer most of them without your prompting. It’ll save us a lot of time.

  “But I promise you, if I don’t answer your questions during my briefing, I’ll stay up here until the sun goes down if I need to until we get them all answered. My goal here today is for each of you to leave this place convinced that we are on your side. And that we’re willing to do anything we need to do to help restore some normalcy in your lives.”

  The crowd grew silent, other than a few murmurs here and there.

  He had their attention.

  “First, a little bit of background.

  “The military knew the EMPs were coming. Government scientists have known for years. They testified in front of Congress dating back to the 1970s that the earth would eventually be bombarded with electromagnetic pulses which would wreak mass destruction.

  “Back then, we were just entering the computer age. Congress had no real concept of how bad the damage could be.

  “They thought it would be limited to a bunch of vehicles and television sets that would stop working.

  “Their solution was a classified directive to the Department of Defense to develop what the military calls contingency plans.

  “However, they allocated no additional funds to pay for such plans, so the military was limited in what they could do.

  “What we did, basically, was take a bunch of spare vehicles and other equipment and stash everything deep in the earth where they would be protected when the inevitable happened.”

  -11-

  At that point the general took a short break to sip from a bottle of water.

  He’d given this same briefing many times. By this point, early on, he usually had a sense whether the crowd was friendly and patient enough to hear him out.

  Despite everything they’d been through, the people of San Antonio were respectful and courteous.

  They were restless. But they remained quiet. They would give him his space and allow him to speak.

  “Every few years the plans were pulled out to see if they could be declassified and to ask for funds. Every time funds were refused, the “Secret” classification was renewed, and the plans were buried again.

  “Fast forward to 1991. Desert Storm was over and we had hundreds of millions of dollars in excess equipment we didn’t need.

  “Some of it was given to police departments and National Guard units around the country.

  “But there were some forward thinkers in the Pentagon at the time who said, ‘Hey! It would be stupid to destroy this stuff or let it rust. Why don’t we put it with the strategic reserves?’

  “So that’s what we did with the bulk of it. Thousands of vehicles and other pieces of equipment: radios, pumps, generators, you name it, were placed into salt caverns in south Texas and so
uthern Louisiana.

  “When the EMPs came and went we were happy to learn that everything still worked.

  “Our initial impulse was to get the equipment and disperse our people around the country immediately to help out where we could.

  “But the Joint Chiefs said no. The scientists were so worried that there would be a second wave of pulses they said anything we took out of the reserves would be destroyed.

  “So for five long months they had teams go in to retrofit each item with specialized wiring and linings to protect it from further damage.

  “I personally thought that was a waste of time but I was wrong. The second wave did come, just as the scientists feared it would. And if we hadn’t taken the time to retrofit everything we’d have lost it all.

  “Okay, that’s the history. And that’s why it took us so damn long to get started.

  “As the equipment finished with retrofit it was doled out to Army units, which were assigned to specific areas of the country to work.

  “I heard someone in the crowd yell that we’re not really with the 8th Army. That the Eighth was in South Korea.

  “And that was true, but not anymore. The Eight has been brought home.

  “It wasn’t easy. And it took awhile. The Navy had several classified ships which were built with EMP-protection. They picked us up and brought us home. There is no longer an American military presence in South Korea.

  “But that’s okay. After the first round of EMPs the north and the south realized they had more in common than they thought.

  “They are working to unify the Korean Peninsula and to become one Korea again, like East and West Germany did in 1989.

  “They saw it as essential for their mutual survival. It won’t be easy, because they’ve got a lot of ideological differences to work out. But I was in on the initial talks and saw the desire in their eyes. They are tired of their families being ripped apart and have a genuine desire to make it work.