by Ryan King
Chapter 11 – The Coming Storm
General Clarence Anderson stared hard at the map spread out on the large table in front of him. Acetate plastic sheeting covered the map and there were red and blue magic marker sketches showing the locations and dispositions of their forces and those of the WTR’s. At least as best we can guess, he thought.
He swore in disgust as much at what he was looking at as at his own lack of planning. What have I been thinking? Did I really think this day would never come? Actually, I thought it would, but not so soon. We've made great strides, but we're not ready.
One of the biggest problems was they didn’t know exactly what they were facing or where to focus. The JP had a general idea of the WTR’s forces which were forming along the border, but they didn’t know exact composition, disposition, or intentions. Anderson couldn’t risk sending patrols across the border and spark an actual conflict if Sampson’s intention was only intimidation. They should have been working earlier on an intelligence network similar to what the WTR obviously possessed in the JP.
The other major problem, stemming from the first, was that they did not know exactly where they needed to defend. The JP had to array its forces in order to respond to any incursion along the entire southern border. He had decided to pull all his guard troops back and keep them in reserve to respond using transport trucks when, and where, needed. Anderson hated the idea of using the precious fuel, but if there was ever a time for it, that time was now.
The Hickman, Graves, and Calloway County Regiments formed thin screens along the border and their mission was simply to harass, slow, and report on any attack until the guard forces could arrive. It would have to be an elastic defense in depth. Some key strongholds were ready, but not enough to hold up a general advance.
The electrical outage caused a number of unforeseen problems. One of the biggest was the lack of communications. They had relied upon the land lines and cell phone towers, which all required electricity. Now everything was communicated through runners and bicyclists, causing serious delays. They had a few satellite phones, but not enough. General Butch Matthews had thankfully brought back many old sets of TA-312 army crank telephones and bundles of wire from Fort Campbell, but you couldn’t just run a hundred miles of wire across the entire border. The phones helped, but mostly at the tactical, small-unit level.
Thinking of Butch made Anderson look at his watch and wonder when he would return. He had sent him to their consolidated supply warehouse in Paducah to bring back every single mine of any type they could find. If they were lucky, they would have time to lay them along the border and if they were even luckier they could use them to channel Sampson’s forces into narrow areas, possibly negating some of his numerical superiority.
The lack of information, and ability to communicate, was so damn frustrating. It made Anderson think of books he had read about the First World War, when they had carrier pigeons, and even in some cases trained messenger dogs. Too bad they didn’t have any of those, although it might not be a bad idea to try to train some if they ever got out of this spot, thought Anderson. Intel had been a problem back then too and the great need for it actually led to the birth of the air corps. Those little biplanes had initially been nothing more than platforms to view enemy dispositions, similar to hot air balloons during the Civil War.
Anderson caught his breath with a stunning idea. Would it work? At least worth a try, why not?
He grabbed one of his staff officers at random. “Take my car and go to the nearest airfield you can find. Find a pilot from anywhere and get up there as fast as you can. I want a detailed report on what forces we face out there, and what they are doing from the Mississippi to the Cumberland River. But don’t cross the border, stay on our side. Do you understand? Any questions?”
Lieutenant Beau Myers looked a little overwhelmed by the instructions. “But sir, do we even have fuel left for planes?”
Anderson nodded. “Possibly, airplane fuel is different from regular gasoline. I think it still works in automobiles, but maybe someone at an airport saved it or forgot about it.”
“Sir, I don’t know where to find a pilot!” the man said with alarm, but then stopped, thinking. “Well, maybe I do at that,” he said as a thought came to him.
“Good,” said Anderson. “Get up there and get me information as fast as you can. I need the information to be accurate; but I also need it quickly, so don’t stay up there all day. Make one trip up and down and then back to me, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Beau.
“Then get after it!” yelled Anderson and then remembering something else, called him back. He scribbled an order on a piece of paper and gave it to him. “This is in case anyone gives you grief about using a plane or fuel. Better yet, take two armed soldiers with you, and if you get any trouble, take what you need by force. This is very important.”
Beau nodded again and took off at a run.
Anderson knew the odds were strongly against them, but there was always a chance. It was then that he noticed the grey menacing clouds along the horizon. That could be trouble for the plane he thought to himself. He hoped they could at least get some information before the weather turned bad.
He looked back into the sky and saw how the grey clouds swirled together, but there was almost no wind at ground level. Everything had also gone eerily silent. Anderson had seen this sort of weather before; as a kid it would have caused his family to go to the cellar.
There's a bad storm coming, for sure, he thought.