by TW Powell
“Get some medics in here with food and water. Get the combat engineers in here too. We have to get these cell blocks opened.”
To the total amazement of the Paiute prisoners, the Mormons were setting them free.
The Making of a Man
“Lucy, Honey, you can’t go back to Fallon.”
“Blow it out your ass, Smith. I’ve got to get my Mom and the boys.”
“Sergeant Thompson, Captain Smith is right. According to the townspeople, The Peoples’ News Network announced your death on this morning’s news. You’re dead if they catch you.”
“I don’t need a Chinese piece of shit telling me what I can, or can’t, do. You were ready to blow my brains out last night.”
“Regrettably yes, I was. I would do anything to save my family. I know exactly how you feel.”
“Who’s going to save them? They will be denounced. They will be killed.”
Delvin placed his hand on Lucy’s shoulder, “I’ll leave immediately. I’ll have them back here before sundown.”
“No Captain Smith, you won’t!”
“Get with the program James. We gave Lucy our word.”
“Yes Delvin, we gave Lucy our word. You are not going to Fallon either. Your death was also announced on the morning news. You’re dead if they catch you.”
Delvin shook his head negatively, “Hold it one fucking minute. Do you honestly think I’m going to release a Chinese State Security Inspector who knows what you know?”
“Yes, you will.”
“Well, I do hold your family hostage…”
James laughed, “You can dispense with the con, my slick friend. We both know that you would not harm my family regardless of anything I may do. You are an honorable man.”
“James, a few days ago, I asked you if you were CSS, a Member, or an American. You replied that you guessed you were an American. Now are you telling me that you are also an honorable man?”
“I’m telling you that I am the only logical choice for this mission. As far as the world knows, I am still Inspector James Wu, Chinese State Security. I will drive to Fallon and rescue Lucy’s family. I give you my word.”
As James started his car and headed toward Fallon, Delvin yelled out, “Sempre Fi, my friend!”
The Cutman
Nurse Beth was busy triaging the wounded. Dawg would not be needing Doctor J’s services. Having been a Lander County Deputy Sheriff, Dawg wore his ballistic vest into battle. When things started going to hell in ’25, Dawg invested in Level IV hard armor panels that could be inserted into his vest. The 7.62 mm AK-47 armor piercing round that struck him in the chest did knock the breath out of him and slammed him to the ground with some badly bruised ribs, but his vest saved his life.
Bobby Ray was not as lucky. Doctor J immediately went to work on The Skipper. Doc Williams was assisting.
“Pastor (Doctor J always referred to Doc Williams as Pastor to avoid confusion in the OR.), that must have been some battle out there on the Highway.”
“I’m not a soldier, but I’ve seen several actions, and this was the worst by far. For a few minutes there I thought I would be meeting my maker.
“How bad is it J?”
“This boy is one tough customer. Get both the Phams in here right away. Better still, get Nurse Beth in here too. We haven’t much time.”
Bobby Ray was wounded in both legs. That bleeding had to be stopped, but Bobby Ray was also bleeding on the inside. Under the relatively primitive conditions of the Aid Station, Doctor J would have to open Bobby Ray’s abdominal cavity, remove any shrapnel, and repair any damage, if possible. If not, Bobby Ray would die.
Doctor J had already achieved sort of demi-god status among the Kingston populace, but Doctor J knew better. Despite all his skill, J was only a man, a fact he knew all too well. When Pastor Williams brought the Phams and Beth back into the OR, he noticed Doctor J’s face. The sweat was pouring off his brow. His eyes momentarily closed, while his lips silently prayed. Pastor realized that Bobby Ray’s life now hung by a thread.
Junior was just outside the Aid Station, pacing like an expectant father. But this was different. A father-to-be expects to hear good news. Junior’s tears told another story.
Meanwhile, down at Bowman Creek, Tom heard ol’ Max’s mournful howl.
“My Lord, Tommy, have you ever heard a more pitiful sound?”
Father & Son Jackson ran up the fan toward the Huey crash site. There, lying behind a large creosote bush, they found Lieutenant Josephine Parker, covered in blood. Max was standing guard right next to his friend.
Tommy slowly approached the Shepherd, “Take it easy boy, we just want to help Miss Jo.”
Max quit howling and cocked his head. Then he once again chomped down on Jo’s jumpsuit and began pulling her back towards Kingston. He pulled her a few feet, then stopped, sat on his haunches, looked straight at the Jacksons, and cocked his head once again.
Finally, those stupid humans got the message. The Jacksons took turns fireman’s carrying Jo back to Kingston. Max led the way, constantly barking and looking back at the Jackson boys, not allowing them slow their pace in the slightest. By the time they made it back to the Aid Station, all the medical personnel were busy in the OR. When Junior saw the Jacksons carrying Jo into the Aid Station, he broke down sobbing.
Miss Stormy had kept vigil beside Vince, who was now alert and in good spirits. Stormy was also tending to Gabby, whose recovery would take more time.
When the Jacksons brought Jo into the tent, Vince instantly got up off his cot, “Thomas, lay her down here.”
Stormy went to work tending to Jo’s facial wounds and gave her a broad-spectrum antibiotic.
“Would you men please step outside.”
Stormy slipped the bloody clothes off Jo but did not mess with the shards of chopper rotor embedded in her shoulder. She mumbled to herself, “Thank God that crap hit your shoulder, not your neck.”
Junior was just outside, down on his knees in deep despair.
Then he turned to his one friend who had never deserted or forsaken him, “Lord, I know you are in charge. I know we all must die sooner, or later. I’m not going to ask you to spare my friends. All I ask is that you comfort them and welcome them into your presence.”
The Rescue
James carefully thought things through on his drive over to Fallon. He stopped close to Fallon, over by Grimes Point, and telephoned his immediate supervisor using a public phone.
“Good day, Comrade Commandant, Inspector Wu here.”
“James, I thought you were taking care of some family business.”
“Yes, Comrade, I am working out some marital difficulties.”
“Women can be most difficult.”
“I just wanted to let you know that I will be back on the job on Monday, wife or no wife.”
“That is very considerate of you, Wu.”
“Thank you. If we can’t work things out, she says she’s going to take the kids and leave.”
“We could track her if you wish.”
“No, that will not be necessary. I say, if she wants to leave, then piss on her.”
“That’s the spirit my boy. Say, if your wife does leave, perhaps I could arrange for you to meet my nice young niece.”
“We’ll know by Monday. Perhaps someday I will call you Uncle.”
Both men began laughing. Then the Commandant hung up the phone.
James now knew his CSS identity had not been compromised. He could now continue over to Lucy’s Mom’s place on Keddie Street.
As James approached Mom’s house, he saw two Peoples’ Militia sitting in lawn chairs under a large shade tree in Mom’s front yard. James took a page out of Delvin’s playbook and made a sharp left turn. There was a liquor store only a few blocks away. James picked up an ice-cold six-pack and returned to Mom’s place.
“Good afternoon, Members! My goodness, it’s sure hot out here today.”
A tall, thin Black Militiaman stood up.
By the lyrical nature of his voice, James figured he was from the Caribbean, one place or the other.
“Yeah mon, but it a dry heat.” Both Militiamen broke up laughing.
James joined in the laughter as he reached into his car and pulled out the ice-cold six-pack.
The shorter White Militiaman broke his silence, “Man, now you’re speaking our language.”
James tossed them each an ice-cold beer, then quickly flashed his badge, “Inspector Chang, Chinese State Security.”
The two Militiamen were not impressed with the badge but appreciated the cold beer.
The White Militiaman dryly relied, “What can we do for you today, Inspector?”
“I understand you are guarding an old woman and two teenage boys.”
“They’re right inside. Member Fallon Security Coordinator thinks they may be in some kind of danger, so we’re here.”
“Guess wha mi tink Mista China Spy Mon?”
“What do you think Mister Jamaican Babysitter Man?”
The tall, black guard broke up laughing, “Lawdamercy, mi neva kno China mon be suh cool. Mi be tinking no bad assed White soldier mon gi a shit bout dem deh tree.”
“That’s exactly what I told my boss, but anyway, here I am.”
The White Militiaman was enjoying the encounter, “Pop a beer and join us, Inspector Cool. You must be hot in that leather coat.”
“A cold beer would hit the spot, but my boss is not so cool. Actually, my friends, you probably shouldn’t be drinking those beers out here for all the world to see. Some dedicated Member might just denounce you for drinking while on duty.
“Why don’t you fine gentlemen just take the six-pack someplace cool and take a break. I have to question those three and I’m going to take my damn sweet time doing it. I don’t want to drive all the way back to Frisco tonight.”
“Mista Cool, show mi yuh badge again.”
Once again, James flashed his credentials.
“Him OK. Cum wi guh.”
“Inspector, we’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“See you then.”
“Are you here to protect us?”
James once again flashed his badge, “Inspector Chang, Chinese State Security. Ms. Thompson, you and your two grandsons must do exactly as I say if you want to live. Resistance assassins are on their way here, right now!”
“No, you don’t have time to pack. We’ll bring you back home when the danger passes.”
At that very moment, a large concentration of Peoples’ Militia was gathering in Fallon at the Churchill County Fairgrounds, just west of US 95 and south of US 50. Not only were Peoples’ Militia gathering at the Fairgrounds, some very heavy firepower had rolled into town earlier that morning.
The Hawthorne Army Depot was once billed as the “World’s Largest Depot”. Covering almost 150,000 acres with over 600,000 sq. ft. of storage space in over 2,400 bunkers, the HWAD was designed to supply ammunition and weapons after the initial month of a prolonged conflict. HWAD was about an hour’s drive south of Fallon on US 95.
In early April 2026, immediately after the Peoples’ Revolution, the civilian contractors running the depot melted away. The small Army managerial and security contingent received orders to sabotage as much heavy equipment as possible. Remnants of National Guard units from across the region spirited away much of the equipment back to Idaho, Arizona, and Deseret. Within a couple of days, hastily organized Peoples’ Militia Units from the radicalized Bay Area and Southern California arrived and secured whatever remained.
James did the right thing at the wrong time. To avoid the center of town, he took Sheckler Road. Sheckler Road became Wildes Road east of US 95, then ran just north of Top Gun, and finally hit US 50 a few miles southeast of Fallon. As he drove eastward along Sheckler Road, around the Fairgrounds, he saw several hundred Peoples’ Militia.
James was not a military man, but all CSS operatives were well schooled in military hardware identification. The two M1A1 Abrams tanks were unmistakable. They were the apex predator of armored vehicles. Parked alongside the two tanks were two M2 Bradley fighting vehicles. The Bradleys are tank/personnel carrier hybrids. Armed with a 7.62 mm machine gun, a Bushmaster 25 mm chain gun, and two TOW antitank missiles. In addition to a crew of three, the Bradley can carry six fully equipped infantrymen. The Bradley’s armor is not nearly as impervious as that on the Abrams, but much tougher than the armor on the LAV-25 that Junior faced at Bowman Creek.
James played it cool. He drove slowly eastward along Sheckler Road, stopping several times to allow Peoples’ Militia to cross. As the Members crossed, James would waive and flash them a thumbs up. When he stopped at a crosswalk by the Fairgrounds, he rolled down his window.
“Good afternoon Members, looks like you are getting ready for some summer maneuvers.”
A nondescript young Hispanic woman casually responded, “Wish it were just maneuvers. The homies been talkin’ smack about going out there and kickin’ some Mormon ass.”
James made a mental note, then flashed a thumbs up and continued on his way.
The gears in James’ mind were turning. That force assembling at the Fairgrounds was heading to Austin. His family was in Austin. The die had been cast.
As he neared Top Gun, James hung a right turn onto Pasture Road, then drove a couple of miles south and made a left turn onto Churchill Avenue. He rolled his window down as he stopped at the Main Gate.
James flashed his badge at the gatekeeper, “Inspector Chang, Chinese State Security.”
The sunglasses and face mask made it nearly impossible to match James’ face with the picture on his ID, so the slovenly guard just waived him on through. James parked his vehicle in front of the Admin Building, took a deep breath, and entered.
“Good day, Member Desk Sergeant, Inspector Chang. Chinese State Security.”
“How may I help you, Inspector?”
“Actually, I’m just checking on Resistance activity on Peoples’ 50 eastbound. I’m heading that way and would just as soon arrive at my destination in one piece.”
“This is your lucky day. You made a wise decision stopping here. Peoples’ 50 is closed at Austin. Fascist forces have temporarily occupied Austin.”
“Thank you for the heads up. Guess I’ll just head back to Frisco. Do you have any estimate as to when the road will reopen?”
“No, we don’t have any eyes on Peoples’ 50. Ever since those assholes blew up those aircraft back in April, all our air assets have been transferred down to Nellis pending the findings of a board of inquiry. We got no eyes and no teeth. We just sit around all day answering woulda, coulda, shoulda questions. Total bullshit.”
James smiled and nodded his head in agreement, “No comment, but thanks for all the advice. Oh, what is your name? I’ll make a post in your Database.”
“Member Sergeant Julie Prescott.”
Vital Signs
“Dr. Yen, how are his vitals?”
“Blood pressure up, heartbeat up, breathing regular.”
“Gimme numbers Yen, we aren’t pitching horseshoes.”
Doctor J was a professional and a perfectionist.
“Pastor, keep that suction going, I can’t miss a single fragment.”
“This suction keeps trying to shut down on me.”
Doctor J yelled, “Junior, get the Skipper boys up here now! Have them tend to that vacuum pump.”
J then turned back to Nurse Beth, “While they’re looking at that pump, get them both ready to give blood. I believe they’re both a match but double-check that.”
“Doc Ho, how are those legs?”
“Bleeding is under control. Wounds are cleansed, closed, and covered.”
“Numbers Yen!”
Junior continued praying as he ran to the Skipper’s shop, “Bobby Lee, Sid, we need you both up at the Aid Station to check out the vacuum pump.”
As the trio neared the Aid Station, Junior broke the bad news to Bobby Lee and Sid, “You men get hold of you
rselves. Bobby Ray’s on the operating table. He’s in bad shape. He needs you to keep that pump running and he needs your blood.”
Only a few yards from the OR, Jo was coming around in the Recovery tent. Miss Stormy had just finished doing all she could do. Jo opened her eyes and glanced at her left shoulder, “Mam, thanks for your help, but ain’t you forgetting something?”
“No Miss Jo. We can’t just go yanking all that mess out of your shoulder. We need Doctor J for that.”
“Then go get that SOB, I’ve got things to do.”
“He’s busy in the OR. Bobby Ray is hurt pretty bad.”
“What’s the kid’s blood type?”
“Miss Jo, I’m sure Bobby Ray would appreciate the offer, but you haven’t any blood to spare at the moment.”
Miss Stormy didn’t get any more back-sass as Jo lost consciousness.
Two hours later, Doctor J walked into the Recovery tent and looked at Jo’s shoulder.
“Nurse Beth, round up all the blood matches you can find, just in case.”
“Let’s get her into the OR.”
Doc Williams and Doc Ho carried Bobby Ray into the Recovery tent on a stretcher, then carefully transferred him to a cot.
“You Skippers stay close. He may need more blood.”
Bobby Lee finally got up the nerve to ask a father’s question, “Doc Williams, is my boy gonna make it?”
“He’s a tough lad, but he’s in the Good Lord’s hands now.”
Promises Made, Promises Kept
It was late afternoon when Puma 1 spotted Inspector Wu’s car approaching WestBlock in Austin. Slick, Vet and Porter were waiting there along with Lucy.
Slick smiled when he saw the passengers in the back seat, “There you go Lucy. Our man James brought Mama and the boys back to you.”
Lucy squealed with joy when she saw her family climbing out of the car.
“Well, former Inspector Wu, you are definitely an honorable man.”
“I am a practical man Delvin. Because I am a practical man, I must remain Inspector Wu, if at all possible,”