Standing in the Storm

by Webb, William Alan

  “Uh-huh.”

  Green Ghost left and Angriff, Fleming, and Walling watched the organized chaos of the task force disembarking. Various maintenance and supply crews immediately began servicing the vehicles.

  A few minutes later, Green Ghost returned with a man of medium height, wearing brushed animal-hide pants and a long, simple shirt dyed black. He wore Marine issue boots and had trouble walking in them. Soot smeared his face, while sweat left streaks at his temples and cheeks.

  “Saint Nick,” Green Ghost said, “this is Richard Parfist. We found him prowling around outside an old high school gym. A lot of people are being held captive inside, but he wasn’t one of the guards. Mr. Parfist tried sneaking up on us, but all he found was Neil—”

  “Neil?” Angriff said.

  “He’s a dummy we use as a diversion. Neil did his job.”

  “Maybe I should give him a medal.”

  “He would appreciate that,” Green Ghost said. “He asks for so little. Mr. Parfist wisely gave up when his situation was made clear to him. But like I told you, he’s been repeating the same story over and over. He’s pretty worked up about it. According to him, his family is about to be sold into slavery.”

  At the mention of the word slavery, all smiles vanished. As an involuntary reflex, Angriff rested his left hand on the butt of a pistol. He turned to Parfist and leaned forward.

  “Mr. Parfist, I’m General Nicholas Angriff.” He extended his right hand. “Do I understand this correctly, that your family is being held captive? How did this happen?”

  Parfist had been told in no uncertain terms not to say anything until directed by Green Ghost. Combined with his shock at seeing so many armed men in such an intimidating setting, the warning had left him too scared to do or say anything for fear of jeopardizing his last chance to save his family. Tentatively, he shook Angriff’s hand. He looked at Green Ghost for permission to speak. “You’re the general they told me about? Like the one in Prescott?”

  Angriff cut a quick glance at Fleming. “Not exactly, Richard. May I call you Richard?” Parfist nodded. “Thank you. My appointment comes from the United States Congress, before the Collapse. As you can see, we are a real American military unit. Whoever this so-called General Patton is, if he was once a part of the armed forces of this country, then he answers to me. If he’s a fraud, then he’s a criminal and that makes him my enemy. Does that help?”

  Parfist cocked his head. “What do you mean, before the Collapse? That was before I was born. Do you mean you all are left over from when there was a United States?”

  “That’s correct, Richard. How that happened will have to wait until we have more time; it’s complicated. At the moment, I need you to tell me about this slavery thing. What did Green Ghost mean when he said your family is about to be sold as slaves? Is that true?”

  “Yes!” Parfist said, excited that somebody was finally listening. His entire demeanor changed, despite Green Ghost’s warnings to stay calm. He began gesturing and licking his lips. “They’re all going to be sold to the Chinese! You’ve got to help me save them!”

  Angriff held up both hands in a slow down gesture. “Did you say the Chinese?”

  “Yes, the Chinese. They’ve got the fuel; who else would the General trade with?”

  “Richard, just so I’m clear, are you telling me this General Patton is going to trade human captives to some Chinese in return for fuel? Gasoline?”

  “Yes, of course.” Parfist wondered why Angriff asked about something so obvious. “That’s what always happens. It’s how they get their fuel. Everybody knows that.”

  Angriff ignored the last comment. “Do you know when this trade is supposed to take place?”

  “Not exactly, but soon. They can’t keep all those people penned up for too long or they’ll get sick, and then the Chinese won’t take them.”

  “How many captives are there?” Angriff said.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Parfist answered. “A lot.”

  “Have you learned your numbers, Mr. Parfist?” said another voice. They turned. Rip Kordibowski stood to the side.

  “Who are you?”

  “This is Colonel Kordibowski,” Angriff said. “He works with me, asking questions and helping me decide what to do. If he thinks we should help you, that will go a long way toward helping me make up my mind, so please answer any of his questions.”

  Parfist hesitated for a moment, but then gave up resisting. If these men did not help him, nobody would. “I don’t have much choice but to trust you. Yes, Colonel Kor… Kor…duhbosskey?”

  “Colonel K will do fine, Richard. So, have you learned your numbers?”

  “You mean, can I count? Yes, and I can read and spell, too. My father made sure that I could; he said it was important.”

  “Excellent, Richard. Your father is a wise man.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry. He was a wise man. Now think. These captives you told us about; how many are there? Guess if you have to.”

  “Like I said, a lot. When the General’s men attacked our village, they took about five hundred people, all those who couldn’t run away. But there were already a lot in the gym. I would guess there’s at least four or five thousand people gonna be traded to the Chinese.”

  The American officers went rigid.

  “Four or five thousand?” Angriff said. “Are you sure?”

  “No, General, I’m just guessing. It could be more.” Parfist’s eyes watered with tears and he fell to his knees, sobbing. “Please save my family, please! They aren’t big and important like you, General, but they’re all I’ve got! Please save them!”

  Angriff squatted in front of the man then lifted him by the arms. “Richard, you’re a citizen of the United States of America. You don’t need to beg for my help. That’s my job, protecting and liberating citizens of our country. No American will be sold into slavery while I’m around. I serve you, sir, not the other way around.”

  Parfist raked hair away from his face and tried to understand what Angriff had said. “General, I hear your words, but they don’t make sense to me. My dad told me I was a citizen of America, even made me learn to spell it, but I never figured out what it meant. The United States seemed like a children’s story.”

  Angriff gripped his shoulders and held his gaze. “The best way I can explain it, Richard, is that being an American citizen means you kneel for no one. Never… and if somebody tries to make you, that’s where we come in.”

  Chapter 13

  Let your blood flow without regret.

  Psalms of the New Prophet, Chapter 11, Verse 14

  New Khorasan (formerly Tucson, AZ)

  0637 hours, July 27

  Morning sunlight poured through windows ringing the upper deck of the old gymnasium, behind the last row of bleacher seats. Several shafts slanted downward through cracks in the ceiling. Torches and braziers lit the hallways and corridors, creating a hanging smoke pall below the rafters.

  Men filled the stands, most of them brandishing a rifle. Others ringed the upper walkway while the floor was standing room only. More than ten thousand men stood silent, listening to every word spoken by the man on the makeshift stage.

  “Life is pain!” yelled the Emir of New Khorasan. His audience, of course, knew him as Abdul Qudoos el Mofty, Superior Imam and Servant of the Most Holy Who Holds the Fatwa, the New Prophet. Atop the creaky platform in the decrepit high school gym, he swept his hand over the crowd. They stood where a shiny basketball court had once hosted a state championship game, but the plank flooring had long since dried out and warped.

  “While you live, you bleed. As you breathe, you ache. Misery is your daily companion, but you are blessed, my children! For the infidels, only death brings relief. But for you, my faithful warriors of the New Prophet sent by Allah, while you bend to the will of the Prophet, your life will be sweet. For you carry the new word of Allah in your hearts. You will still know pain, for that is the price Allah demand
s for living in his world. But for you, pain is an offering to Allah, because death is but a doorway to paradise. And while you are on Earth, Allah wants you, the believer, to hold dominion over his world and use its creatures to your best advantage! Only then will the world be cleansed of the stink of the infidels.”

  He paused and raised his arms. The congregation knelt and bent forward for the required ten seconds. His audience seemed hypnotized, or entranced, completely within the spell of his words. He was their leader, their Superior Imam, and their expressions were those of men who looked upon something divine. They would do anything he asked, including die for him.

  “Today we leave for the west, where we will avenge our fallen brothers, killed by the infidels who fight for this General Patton. For years, in our mercy, we have allowed them to live in peace, because ours is a religion of peace, and the words of our blessed Caliph dictated that it be so. But no more! When they attacked our brothers, Paco Mohammad and his men, who were on a holy mission, they forfeited any right to peace and instead sowed the seeds of war! And if it’s war they seek, it is war they will get!”

  As one, thousands of men leapt to their feet and cheered, pumping their fists and jumping up and down. The Emir let them go on for half a minute, then quieted them.

  “We leave today for our holy mission. Not only to spread the glory of Allah’s newest prophet to new lands and new peoples, but to extend our Caliphate. Thousands of your brothers left days ago, walking through the burning desert because the fire in their hearts burned hotter than the sun. You have been chosen to ride. This privilege is yours because you have proven yourselves loyal servants of your Emir and your god. On this journey you must be a shining example with your bravery and your willingness to obey unto death. Go now into the unknown, and find your glory!”

  As he stepped down from the stage, the audience chanted his name.

  Chapter 14

  Thus says the LORD:

  See! I rouse against Babylon,

  and the inhabitants of Chaldea,

  a destroyer wind.

  Jeremiah 51:1

  1649 hours, July 27

  Rip Kordibowsky was grim as he entered the Crystal Closet. After nodding to each officer sitting around the rectangular table, he took the remaining seat. Angriff sat at the far end, facing the large flat-screen monitor on the wall. To his right was Norm Fleming, then Walling, Kordibowsky, and, on his left, Bill Schiller and Dennis Tompkins.

  Angriff started the meeting. “It goes without saying we are going to rescue those people in Prescott or die trying. That means we’re going to attack, and we’re going to do it soon. The planning starts now. Rip, the floor is yours.”

  “Gentlemen,” Kordibowsky said, “we now have a good idea of this so-called General Patton’s rifle strength and weaponry. We also have a date for this exchange of prisoners for fuel, and none of it is good news. Our two prisoners are part of his best troops, the ones he calls LifeGuards, or just Guards. By our standards they are poor soldiers, but they have had some military training and are loyal to this Patton character.

  “For planning purposes, you may assume each one has an automatic weapon in the category of an M16 or AK-47. Some of them also have sidearms, and they have a variety of grenade-type explosives. They wear surplus Marine uniforms because there was a warehouse full of them in Prescott. Based on our prisoners, these guys will be tougher than we might have thought. They genuinely believe they are in the United States military and are carrying out legal orders from a legitimate general. Put another way, they think they’re us.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Angriff said.

  “Exactly, sir. And unless we can convince them otherwise, they’re going to see us as an enemy.”

  “Are you suggesting we try to convince them we are not the enemy?” Fleming said.

  “No, General, nor do I think that would work. They believe anyone who defies the authority of this Patton person is an outsider. Outsiders do not deserve protection and should either be destroyed or enslaved. Fuel, guns, ammo, there are a wide variety of commodities supplied by the Chinese in exchange for human slaves. The Guards see it as helping America as they know it. Patton claims the New Republic of Arizona is the rightful successor to the United States. To them, everything beyond the immediate Prescott area is foreign territory.

  “Moving on to his order of battle, besides his Guards, Patton—”

  Angriff interrupted him. “We have got to find something else to call him. It’s a disgrace to the memory of George Patton to have this clown mentioned in the same breath. Call him… I don’t know…”

  “That’s what his people call him,” Fleming said.

  “Yeah, but I don’t like it. Somebody think of something.”

  In the silence, Colonel Schiller cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Colonel?” Angriff said.

  “General, as your S-4 I took it upon myself to do a deep search for potential supply or equipment depots in this region. I was searching for anything that could be useful for the brigade. As it turns out, there was an Army National Guard depot in Prescott, as well as a Marine storage warehouse. That unit kept its records updated, even after the Collapse began. We have an inventory of what was on hand there months after other units quit reporting to Washington—”

  “Thank you, Colonel, that’s useful,” Angriff said. “Excellent work. Please make copies of that inventory list and give them to Colonel Kordibowsky and General Fleming—”

  “Yes, sir, I will, but I discovered something else, too.”

  Kordibowsky cringed for the colonel. Interrupting Angriff never ended well.

  “I may have discovered the identity of this General Patton person.”

  Angriff’s face turned red and he opened his mouth, but then closed it. Kordibowsky knew his commander had worked hard on restraining his impulsive temper.

  “Colonel,” he said, “I want my subordinates to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But please don’t interrupt me again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Schiller said, unpertubed.

  “Now, do you mean his real name, not this Patton bullshit?”

  “That’s correct, General. The data storage for Overtime Prime goes way beyond anything needed for our operations. We literally have every report ever digitized in the history of the United States armed forces, right up until the end. Apparently we are a repository for the archives of all five branches of the armed forces.

  “While searching for lost depots, I found reports of every conceivable nature, from OERs to ammunition expenditure at Fort Bragg in 1987,” Schiller continued. “There’s so much, it’s nearly impossible to sort through it all, even with advanced search functions. But one of the last reports ever received by the Pentagon is a change in command at the Prescott National Guard Armory. It seems the colonel in command was relieved for cause by a lieutenant named Lester Hull. What that cause was is not specified. I scanned Hull’s personnel file and he was twenty-two at the time. Moreover, his OERs showed he was insubordinate, hard to get along with, and thought he should be in charge of every situation. If this is our man, he would be in his early seventies, but trained by the pre-Collapse Army.”

  With that, Schiller passed out copies of a one-page synopsis he had written of Hull.

  “Colonel, that is one damned fine piece of research and initiative. Is there anything else I should know?”

  Schiller hesitated, his blue eyes looking everywhere except at Angriff. “On their last inventory list, the Prescott Armory listed a number of artillery tubes and heavy machine guns, some Bradleys and Humvees, and six M1A1s, retired from active service.”

  “Six Abrams,” Angriff said. “They had armor?”

  “Yes, sir. I can’t say whether they still do or not, but they did.”

  “Rip, what are the chances Schiller is onto something here?”

  “With Patton’s real name or the tanks?” Kordibowsky said.

  “Both.”

  “I do not know offh
and,” Kordibowski said. “But during our interrogation of Busson, he certainly believed they had tanks. If you recall, he said he felt them through the ground. As for the name, I’ll move it to the front burner in case there is anything we might glean from his OERs.”

  “Damn fine work,” Angriff said. “Damned fine. All right, Rip, you said this… Lieutenant Hull, was it?” He turned back to Schiller.

  “Yes, General, if he’s our man.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I prefer calling him Hull instead of Patton. So Lieutenant Hull has about a thousand of these Guards. Tell me again what else he has.”

  “He’s got a second class of… soldier is not the right word… follower. They are not trained like his Guards, and not as dedicated, but he still trusts them with weapons. They are called Security Police. Busson was one of these.”

  “These are the ones we likened to the SA in Nazi Germany?” Angriff said.

  “That’s right, sir. In a firefight, they might or might not stand and fight. I doubt they would stand long against armor or artillery. After that, he has militia, but mob is probably a better word. For the most part, I would expect those people to scram at the first opportunity.”

  “So the bottom line is that we’re facing urban combat against at least a full battalion of heavily armed men who are highly motivated and willing to die fighting?” Angriff said. “And they are supported by irregulars who might or might not stand and fight? Plus, we can expect thousands of militia getting in the way? Right so far?”

  “That sounds about right, sir,” Kordibowsky said.

  “On top of that, they probably have anywhere from one to six M1A1s, an unknown number of Bradleys, and we can assume the usual assortment of IEDs and Molotov cocktails, correct?”

  Kordibowsky nodded. “Artillery is unknown, General. I would not be surprised if they had mortars, but ammunition could be a problem. After this long, it may have degraded too much to use.”