Jim nodded. With so much confusion – and law and order a thing of the past in large parts of the country – there were too many bandit gangs out there. Now that communications were being re-established, it wouldn’t be long before law and order followed – although Jim was not entirely sure that that was a good thing. He appreciated living in a country dominated by the rule of law, but they’d watched as the rule of law became the rule of whimsy, as police forces became more powerful and carried out the whims of political leaders who had no connection to their people. What sort of moron believed that organic farming was intrinsically better than using inorganic methods? Jim didn’t know…but they seemed to dominate parts of the government. At least all of those concerns had gone by the wayside. The need for food was greater than the government’s needs to soothe wounded feelings.
The thought made him smile. It was perverse – he had been, after all, living in New York – but he couldn’t help wondering if the disease might have been a blessing in disguise. It had wiped out the core of the inner cities, the ones that absorbed billions of dollars of taxpayers’ money without getting anything in return, and had shown the population the importance of law and order. These days, very few people would want to return to a primitive lifestyle, now they’d experienced it firsthand. The food, water and medical shortages were only the tip of the iceberg.
“We’d better double the patrols,” he said, thoughtfully. They did have four people on permanent guard around the farm, but they would be only able to give some warning if a group of bandits showed up. Standing orders were always to take a weapon when one went out of doors, yet not everyone obeyed. He made a mental note to remind everyone at dinner and checked his own pistol. It was ready for action. “Did they give any specifics?”
“None, but they may not have many,” Brian said. “I’ll give the Sheriff a call later today and see if he can give us some more accurate information.”
Jim recognised the dismissal and walked down through the farm, passing the stables and hearing the horses whinny as the boys fed them after mucking out their living quarters. They’d grown much more careful about keeping up with their chores these days, he noted with some relief, and the manure they removed from the stables became very useful fertiliser for the farm. It could also be used to make gunpowder, although it would be a long time before Jim was desperate enough to try. He knew how to make it – in theory – but in practice he might well do himself an injury.
Linda was talking to the girls, encouraging them to talk about themselves and Jim stopped to listen. The younger girls were happy to talk – like most young children, they adapted quickly to changes in their lives – but the older girl was less keen to talk. She’d been dragged out of her environment and now had no idea if she was coming or going…or even if Linda intended to throw her out after a few days. Jim had no intention of doing anything of the sort – he could forget about sex or anything else if he even jested about such a thing – but he could understand Stephanie’s concern. Her life had been turned upside down.
Dinner that evening was a relatively subdued affair. Jim had warned the other children on the farm that they had better behave themselves and welcome the newcomers to the farm, or else. The younger girls on the farm rapidly made friends with Karen and Nancy, although Stephanie was somewhere in-between; too old for the children and too young for the adults. Part of Jim’s mind reminded him to keep a sharp eye on the boys – Stephanie wasn't that young and they hadn’t seen a girl who wasn't related to them for a long time – but he pushed the thought aside for the moment. The only pause in proceedings was discovering that the girls didn’t know how to say their prayers.
Afterwards, when the children had been shown to their beds, Jim and Linda relaxed in front of the television. The news was bad – as always – but there were a few signs of hope. Mecca had been liberated by the Iraqi Army – Medina had followed soon afterwards – and the Iraqis were already stating that they intended to claim the two Holy Cities and Jeddah for themselves. The news had provoked riots in Jordan, with the King of Jordan threatening to send his army over the border to reclaim Mecca by force. Jim was amused to discover that the President had warned that if they tried, the might of the USAF would be turned against them and there would be little left for the Iraqis to destroy.
He shook his head at the thought. His own brand of religion admitted of no one, even a preacher, between himself and the Almighty. He didn’t understand how Catholics could follow the Pope – not after the endless sex scandals following the Church around the world – or, for that matter, how Muslims could respect the Holy Cities. It struck him as odd that anyone would waste their time fighting over them, although perhaps it would keep them busy for a few decades. He’d been in New York on 9/11 and had no sympathy for those who killed in religion’s name.
The news about the American cities was less hopeful. There had been riots at some of the refugee camps, caused by the army’s decision to confiscate all firearms to prevent injury or death within the refugee camps. Jim wasn't too surprised. A person who had to rely on a firearm to survive took a different view of them from someone who wouldn’t even dare touch such a weapon. The military had stated that all confiscated weapons would be returned once the person owning the weapons left the camp, but until then they would be held to ensure safety. Jim doubted that that would work and wondered who had come up with the idea.
There was a long piece about how thousands of refugees had found themselves filtered into the countryside and put to work by their lodgers. Jim smiled as he saw lawyers and bankers digging ditches and helping with farm chores, wondering just how many of them would survive their time away from the big cities. The United States couldn’t support so many lawyers and bankers – two professions Jim held in low esteem – now Henderson’s Disease had ripped through the country. Who knew – perhaps some of the lawyers working for a living were among the ones who had filed suit against the federal government, preventing it from hunting down the terrorists who threatened America. Now that, he decided, would be poetic justice.
The final segment of the news focused on American forces in Saudi Arabia. The Marines and the 3rd Infantry Division had joined hands near Riyadh, the capital city of Saudi Arabia. The American military had cordoned off the city and was gathering its forces for a final charge into the city, or merely to keep it sealed off while waiting for the enemy to starve, or drop dead of Henderson’s Disease. Jim had to admit there was a certain irony in the enemy’s own weapon slaughtering their people. It was the whole suicide bomber syndrome, writ large.
“Turn it off,” Linda said, tiredly. “Do you think that their father is among those men?”
Jim shrugged. The file had identified Karen and Nancy’s father as being a Douglas Mann, but it hadn’t gone into detail about where he might have been stationed. The military wouldn’t give that information out unless they had a good reason to know, and he doubted that they would accept any reason he gave. They might accept that the girls had a right to know, but it would take time – weeks, perhaps – to get it through the bureaucracy.
“I don’t know,” he said, and reached out for his partner. Over on the other side of the world, the final clash was about to begin, and all they could do was watch. “I just don’t know.”
“They’re good kids,” Linda said, firmly. “They’ll fit in well here.”
“Of course,” Jim said, puzzled. Linda had been the one who had wanted them in the first place. “I think they’ll do fine.”
“And I will have time for them,” Linda continued. “They won’t suffer at all.”
Jim frowned. “Linda…?”
“Men,” Linda said, with a laugh. Her face suddenly split into a grin. “Do you remember that time in the orchard, a month ago?”
“Of course,” Jim said. It had been pure whimsy, prompted by the fact they were alone and that she had been wearing a short dress, shorter than usual. He’d tumbled her there, underneath the apples. If the boys had seen, well�
��somehow, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind at the time. “I…”
He understood, suddenly. “You’re pregnant?”
“It would seem that way,” Linda agreed. “You’re going to be a father again.”
“But aren’t you too old…”
“Typical man,” Linda said. She made to slap him and he twisted away from her. “I’m young enough to have one more child.” Her voice softened. “Do you see what I mean, hubby? Life goes on.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
There is an Arab joke that goes something like this; my grandfather rode a camel and lived in a tent, my father struck oil and built a palace, I lived in a palace and swam in money…and my grandson will live in a tent. Oil is, of course, not a renewable resource. Once it is gone, it is gone.
-Ambassador Andrew C. Madsen
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Day 57
“Sergeant Douglas Mann, I presume?”
Doug laughed, tiredly. The 3rd Infantry Division – backed up by the 4th Infantry Division and associated units from allied powers – had made a sweep around Riyadh as soon as they had reached the city limits, sealing off all escape from the enemy-held metropolis. The Marine BCT had circled the city from the other direction, meeting up with the infantry at Highway 65. The long period of heavy fighting as the American troops had cleared the smaller towns and villages near Riyadh was almost at an end, now the heavy forces were in position. Riyadh was completely sealed off from the outside world.
“That’s me,” Doug said, with a tired grin. “Gunnery Sergeant Dean Burtis?”
The Marine laughed. He looked older than Doug had expected, his features marking him out as a man who would remain in combat arms until he was killed in combat, or retired by the military. Even after retirement, he would be involved in veterans’ affairs and coordinating military-related events in his hometown...if he had a hometown left. The last Doug had heard, New York was being evacuated and the gangs were being left to starve, or drop dead of Henderson’s Disease.
“It’s a pleasure,” Burtis said. “And now...what do we do about the city?”
They shared a long look, one that sergeants from all over the world would have recognised. The strength of a modern army was dependent upon its NCOs, who provided a bridge between the enlisted men and the officers – and gently steered newly-minted officers from making mistakes that would cost them lives, and their chances of a future career.
The American military had not attempted to take the city by storm, but there had been some heavy fighting in the nearby Al Madinah As Sina’iyah Industrial City, to the northeast of the highway. The infantry – a combination of Airborne and Marine soldiers – had pushed into the industrial area after taking heavy fire from emplaced artillery and mortars, only to find themselves caught up in heavy street fighting. They’d been ordered to withdraw from the area and American artillery had opened fire, using counter-battery radars to track and destroy the enemy guns before they could be moved. The enemy seemed to have gotten the message after several dozen guns had been silenced, along with their crews.
To the east, the 4th Infantry Division had engaged and destroyed the final known Saudi armoured brigade, after two hours of heavy fighting. American helicopters and combat jets had pushed in, slaughtering the Saudis and the foreigners backing them up, although the enemy hadn't broken until they’d been almost annihilated. The American reluctance to take prisoners had probably helped, although several dozen enemy fighters had thrown down their weapons and attempted to flee. They’d been shot down by their own side.
“Fucked if I know,” Doug admitted, peering over towards the towers in the distance. The intelligence officer who had briefed them had claimed that many of the skyscrapers had been built by the Bin Laden construction firm, which was owned and operated by the same family that had produced Saudi Arabia’s most infamous child. Several of the buildings had been knocked down by American fire, but others remained intact, creating a strange vision of a city caught between east and west. “No, I do know...”
He smiled, thinly. “They should sent over a couple of hundred Big Ugly Fat Fuckers and carpet-bomb the city until there’s nothing left, but rubble,” he said. “How does that sound?”
“We may not need to go to all that trouble,” Burtis pointed out. “How many of them are going to die from Henderson’s Disease?”
Doug shrugged. They’d recovered several bodies after a series of short, sharp engagements with Saudis who had clearly been pushed into coming out and launching a suicidal human wave attack on the American positions. The battalion medics had examined them and warned that they’d been suffering from Henderson’s Disease; indeed, the American soldiers who’d killed them had probably done them a favour. If they’d been infected, it didn't take much of a leap of faith to realise that the entire population might be infected, which suggested that in a couple of days the defenders might be too weak to put up a fight when American armour rolled into the city. The irony struck him as amusing, but he was too tired to laugh.
“It doesn't matter,” he said, remembering Lindsey. He still hadn't heard anything from her or about her, even though he’d been firing off emails every day. It might have earned him a reprimand from the battalion’s communications staff, but he was well past caring. At least the girls and their babysitter were fine, he knew; they’d been taken in on a farm in Virginia. They’d probably love it. They’d been horse-mad since the family had taken a holiday on a ranch down south. “The only thing that matters is smashing the bastards down and making damn sure they never get up again.”
“Amen, brother,” Burtis said. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and held out a cigarette to Doug. “Would you like a smoke?”
Doug hesitated. He’d smoked as a teenager, but he’d given it up for Lindsey and the kids. It had struck him as absurd to worry about smoking when he served in an occupation that could get him killed, yet the kids deserved a smoke-free home. Now...now it no longer seemed to matter. He took one of the cigarettes and allowed Burtis to light it, before the Marine passed the pack around the platoon.
He shook his head and looked up at the city, and at the American planes high overhead. If someone in the high command was thinking straight, all they really had to do was sit put and wait until the enemy dropped dead. It was sound thinking.
Of course, if there was one thing often lacking in the high command, it was sound thinking.
***
“The city has been sealed, General,” the aide said. “We have the better part of three divisions dug in around it now, with the enemy population either cleared out or transferred into camps. Nothing is going to get in or out of Riyadh.”
General Brent Roeder scowled. No military man with a fraction of concern for his troops liked the idea of sending them into an urban meat-grinder. In Riyadh, which intelligence estimated was populated by over four million people, the American advantages would be worn down quite badly. The relaxed ROE might make up for the shortage of manpower – any building used as an enemy base, no matter how important it was to the locals, would be targeted – but he doubted it.
He’d served in the 3rd Infantry Division during the famous Thunder Runs into Baghdad, but it was clear that that tactic wouldn't work in Riyadh. The enemy had been turning the entire city into a strongpoint, using weapons and experience that Saddam and his henchmen had never even been able to dream about obtaining for their own forces. The SF teams – including some Israeli commandos – who had been inserted into the city had reported that the Saudis were clearly spoiling for a fight. It was Brent’s job to ensure that the fight they got wasn't the one they were expecting, but there was little room for tactical manoeuvring in a city. They would have to crash into it, clear it room by room, and hope for the best.
Despite the media’s exaggerated claims, there had been only a tiny handful of civilians in Fallujah when the Marines went into the city. Riyadh, on the other hand, was teeming with civilians...all of whom would have be
en exposed to Henderson’s Disease. The remains of Saudi TV and hundreds of independent stringers from various media outlets were still broadcasting from the city, daring the Americans to commit mass slaughter on global television screens. The irony was that if he held off, as they wanted, the population would die anyway, long before the food ran out. Their own weapon would destroy them.
“General,” the USAF liaison officer said, “the leaflet bomber is flying over the city now.”
Brent’s scowl deepened. They had been unable to make contact with anyone in the city, not even the American Embassy, which had apparently been stormed by the mobs. The President’s orders had been to bombard the city with leaflets, giving the Saudis one final chance to surrender – or die. Brent understood why she wanted them to surrender, but he rather hoped that they would refuse. The US forces in Saudi Arabia simply didn't have the capability for coping with so many prisoners, or the humanitarian crisis unfolding in the stricken city. And besides, leaving them to die at the hands of their own weapon held a certain pleasure for him.
“Good,” he said, tightly. “Who knows? Maybe the horse will learn to sing after all.”
The Coward's Way of War Page 46