Fallon’s voice weakened. “Is this your decision, or the General’s? Because you know it’s not wise to give in when someone wants violence.”
“By what other means do we end the violence, though? By laying on our backs? I agree with Alexander on this one. The solution is to cut off the head of the snake. The Marsdens have been terrorizing the people living on their turf, even before Ritter’s execution… We just have to.” He had run dry of ways to justify the matter. Fallon didn’t reply, and he feared why. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll come back alive, I promise.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” she said.
Tyson chuckled. “Are the little ones there?”
“Yes, sir. All four, reporting for duty. Careful with Paige, though. She’s been a little … terrified lately. Here’s your eldest…”
“…Hello?” answered the deep, yet gentle voice of Adrian.
“Hi, son. Keeping things clean in your neck of the woods?”
“As clean as residential areas get.”
“That bad, huh? You keeping your mother safe?”
“Well, she’s fine. Nobody’s tried to kill her yet. The problem is everywhere else. People are smuggling themselves through the perimeter by more ways than I thought were even possible. It’s almost like there’s no point in even having protected borders.”
Tyson shrugged, then switched the phone to his left ear. “Well, think of how bad it’d get without the fences and the barricades.” He sighed. “Speaking of barricades, I’m about to breach one myself.”
“I heard. Please tell me your odds of survival are better than zero.”
“I’ll make it, son. They never let the Colonel in the thick of the action anyway. At least we’ll have a dangerous leader in our custody by the end of it. Maybe the fighting will tone down, or evaporate entirely. You know, son, I’ve been thinking lately… You’re only twenty-one. Your whole life is ahead of you… Will you want to be doing security work a year from now? Three years from now? Because if you want to do something else, your mother and I–”
“I want to, Dad. It’s my duty. I can do it, which means it’s my obligation. The police appreciate my help, and at Mom’s office, well, I get to protect her. Most people would find it stressful, you know, switching between patrol and, well, being someone’s bodyguard. I like it, though. I feel like I’m contributing.”
“I’m sure your mother appreciates it. I couldn’t be more proud.” Tyson checked his watch. “I don’t have much longer. Put Tyra on the line.”
“Sure, Dad. Okay, bye. I love you.”
“Love you too, son.”
Then, he heard the voice of his fierce, intelligent eldest daughter. “Hi, Dad!”
“Hey, Dot,” he greeted. “How’s school going for ya?”
“To be honest, a mess. They’re stuffing kids of different ages, and reading levels, and math skills, all in the same rooms. Most of the rooms are so full that they’re making us work in the halls. And nobody can concentrate on their schoolwork. I mean, I’ve been taking it seriously, but it’s kinda hard when–”
“I get it, honey,” chuckled Tyson. “How about the boyfriend? He treating you good?”
“Dad… I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Good answer.” They shared a laugh. “Well, keep up with your studies. Things will get better soon. Everything will be back to normal before long.”
Tyra was silent on the other end for a moment. “Dad… Be safe out there. I mean, I know you always are, but, you know…”
“I’ll be safe, sweetie. I promise. So, who’s talking to me next?”
“Um… Looks like Connor wants the phone…”
Connor, who was thirteen, had been working on a particular science project in his spare time – of which he had a great deal of lately. When Connor took the phone, Tyson jumped to the topic of interest quickly. “How’s your project going?”
“You asked me that yesterday, Dad.”
“Oh, well, you know, a lot can happen in a day. Come on, how far are you?”
Connor, sounding irritated, answered, “I got a little bit done today. Almost broke the soldering gun when I dropped it in the sink.”
“What was it doing near the sink?”
“I was going to cool it down. I got bored working on it so I went to cool it down and I dropped it in the sink. It didn’t go in any water or anything.”
“You need to find that instruction book, one of these days. I know it’s just a clock, but I don’t think anyone can solder and program one all from memory.”
“But I’ve made like a bunch of them already, when we were giving them away. I know what I’m doing!”
Tyson smiled. “Whatever you say, son. I’m proud of you regardless. It’s almost time for me to leave, so can you put your little sister on?”
When it came Paige’s turn, Tyson felt the most vulnerable. Paige, who was ten years old – still so little, still so innocent – sounded nothing like someone who knew their father was about to risk his life. She never knew what was going on – a strict family rule, until she gained a few more years. Hearing her answer the phone, as it always had in the past, made him wonder if she would be able to heal and move on if he were to die in the field. “Hey, baby girl. How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you, Dad?”
“Well… I’ve been better. I’ve been worse, too. So, Mom tells me you’ve been really scared. What are you scared about?”
“I’m scared we’re going to die. Everybody’s dying now.”
How he wished he could say she’s wrong. He couldn’t lie, though. Tyson could never lie to his children – not about Santa Claus, about the hard facts of life, or anything in between. “Well, honey… Everyone dies someday.” Only after saying that did he realize it was extremely poor timing. “What are you talking about, though? What’s wrong? Do you feel someone’s coming to get you?”
“People are coming to get me. Everybody’s fighting. We were supposed to be a country. The ‘United’ States, right? I thought ‘united’ meant being together. Standing together.”
“You’re right. That is what it means. Still, there will always be bad people in the world. Sometimes bad people become very powerful, and we have to lock those people up…” Or, kill them, he thought, but couldn’t dare to say.
“Did you call Mom because you’re going to go lock someone up?” asked Paige with fear and concern.
Tyson paused a long while. “Yes, love. I’m going to come back, okay? You believe me, right?”
“Yeah…” she said with obvious reluctance. “I want to be a doctor when I grow up, so I can take care of people when the world ends. All the other doctors might die.”
“Don’t talk like that, sweetie. Hey, can you put your mother back on the phone?”
“…Okay.”
“I love you!”
Paige never said it back. A moment later, Tyson heard Fallon’s voice again. “Hello?”
“How long has she been talking like that?”
“Since this morning. Something came over her. I don’t know, I think she heard something over the radio, or maybe one of her siblings told her something they shouldn’t have.”
From below his feet, Tyson heard someone calling to him, banging against the ceiling he was sitting above. They were telling him it was time to leave, and he could hear the rustling below. “Honey, I love you. Talk to Paige for me, okay? Encourage her. I don’t want her talking like that, or feeling that way.”
“You got it. Be safe, okay?”
“I will. See you when we return.”
–––––––
Tyson sat in the back of the cargo bed, nearest the driver, and his vehicle was fifth-to-back of the convoy. Their destination was a short four miles away, but first, they needed to survive the four miles. Malachi Thompson, First Lieutenant and personal friend to the Colonel, sat beside him. While their comrades joked around to keep the mood light, Tyson and Malachi conversed little to none. Not until…
> “A smoke for the happy couple?” asked Carter, a Major. He extended a book of cigarettes toward the two, but both denied. “Tough crowd. I’d think you’d be happier if the war’s about to end.”
“Don’t they always say that?” Malachi rhetorically asked. “Can you base such a vague prediction from a single event? Win or lose, this could escalate the war.”
Tyson looked Carter dead in the eyes. “Did you hear, Major? The news we just received?”
Carter paused, shaking his head.
“How have you possibly not heard? We lost a battalion, all M.I.A., including Colonel Sager.”
Their talk caught the attention of the other troops present. Some stared at Carter with disappointment, but he had infinitesimal concern in his expression, which stirred some suspicion in Tyson.
“Sager moved all her troops to the Fairview neighborhood,” said Malachi. “…Never came out.”
“Well, then why are we here instead of there?”
A call came through the radio. The troops quieted themselves as Carter answered. The shaking voice said, “S-sir? Where’s Colonel Corwin?”
Carter scowled in confusion. He handed the radio to his commander. “This is Colonel Corwin.”
Then, a different, completely unfamiliar, voice came through. “Are you a betting man, Colonel?” she asked.
Normally he would make sure, but it seemed only one outsider could access their communications and speak with such arrogance. “Ms. Krohn… Where are my troops?”
“They never left. They’re right where you left them.”
Some pause later, Tyson asked, “Where is Colonel Sager?”
“I’m looking at her right now. She’s alive, but I’m sure you know what I’m going to say next…?”
Tyson said nothing.
“I control Fairview now, along with Rockwood and Centennial. If Alexander ordered Sager to take Rockwood, my home and principal turf, and then to take Kershaw in Fairview … then, it only makes sense he sent you to take the Marsdens in Woodstock. Am I correct?” Again, Tyson didn’t answer. “I’m sure I am. Well, Colonel, let me make you a deal. I am over five-thousand strong. When the rest of Kershaw’s supporters learn that she has allied with me and why, I will have possibly thousands more. Here’s my offer: Leave us the fuck alone, and we’ll do the same with you and yours. You have five minutes to give us an answer.”
It cut out. Tyson immediately checked his watch. Then, he looked at his fellow soldiers. “The mob… It’s never been a threat like this. We were certain the Marsden clan was the only threat.”
“What’s happening, Colonel?” asked a Private. She carried fear in her voice, but hid it well.
“The Krohns have Rosalind Kershaw’s supporters. They’ve been radicalized.”
“What should we do?” asked the same Private.
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“Terrorists, sir?” interrupted Malachi. “Mob or not, these are Americans we’re talking about.”
“Foreign or domestic,” Tyson began, “It’s our duty to protect Americans.”
“Kershaw must still be alive. It’s unlikely her supporters would change allegiance to her killer. The Krohns need her. Kershaw is looking to the mob for strength. They can do what she can’t. Sir… this is a demand for independence. The Krohns conquered no one. They’re Kershaw’s last resort. We can’t antagonize them.”
A rather astute assessment in such a short period of time, but accurate nonetheless. “Allow the Krohns total rule over their territory?”
“Temporarily. I’d recommend that, sir,” said Malachi. Others agreed, though one or two disagreed.
“Alright, then. I have no intention of spilling more American blood. This can wait.”
When the radio alerted, Tyson answered and Lilith’s voice once again came over. “What’s your answer, Colonel?” she asked immediately.
“I didn’t consult with my superiors, but only because it would waste time. If you leave Sager alive, we swear we will not interfere in your affairs for the time being.”
“No, permanently,” demanded Lilith.
“I cannot promise you permanence.”
The other end of the line cut out…
–––––––
Stopping meant reaching the checkpoint. When they were cleared to exit, entering no-man’s land, the troops were silent once again, and that is how they would remain until the fighting started. The Colonel left all communication with the rest of the company to his First Lieutenant, attempting to preserve his focus for the task at hand. Nearly half his subordinates – most of the Privates and Sergeants – had joined the military less than two years previous, and the other half had joined in just the last six months as volunteers to help combat the damaging effects of the Collapse. Comparatively, he was mobilizing a company of inexperienced personnel. They had all seen battle before, though, which was a slightly comforting thought.
“Ready the planes,” Tyson ordered Malachi. Part of the mission involved a precise airstrike. With resources so low, the pilots executing it were hand-selected by Tyson.
Their vehicle stopped. The cover was lifted in the back, and the hatch opened. “Sir,” said a Private standing out there in the pouring rain. “We are nearing the blockade.”
Tyson and Malachi exited, leaving the radio inside with the captain of that squad. Tyson informed the messenger, “Tell them I don’t want any of our transports to stop again. Move the artillery ahead of the rest and clear a path at all costs.”
Gunshots sounded around them. It wasn’t theirs. All personnel on the street crouched, but no one seemed to have been hit. One of the gunners atop a tank shot toward the source, likely having spotted the suspect immediately. Tyson kept near his transport. He got a good view of the blockade ahead, as was the reason he was outside to begin with. He found Malachi again.
“It doesn’t look heavily occupied. Move to the front. Lead the attack. You’re clear for full assault. Avoid civilians as much as possible, but even if they’re in the way, take the shot.”
Apparently disheartened some, the First Lieutenant swore, “We’ll clear it, sir.”
Tyson climbed back in to his transport. For one more minute, there was stillness, silence. Then, movement again. Tyson heard one source of gunfire, followed quickly by several, coming at them from every direction. The infantry was well-protected in their transports. Like he ordered, they remained mobile, which must have meant success for the time being.
They could feel the truck rolling over debris and sharply maneuvering as well. Only once did Tyson hear of a death, and it came from the scream of his comrades battling outside. Moments like these brought him shame; shame that he was deemed too valuable, simply because of his rank and experience, to help his comrades, and was therefore prohibited from aiding them. One death was too many, but he expected to hear more. There was always more…
He had the captain of the squad return his radio. He called in the airstrike. Only moments later, bombardment sounded in the distance, yet dangerously close to their transports. Then, he heard a voice call him over the radio. “The target is a three-story house. It is sealed in by fire, sir.” The man on the other end breathed, then added, “The airstrike has successfully prevented all reinforcements, and has prevented escape as well. No one in or out. We’re entering the Woodstock neighborhood now. We’ll be at the target in five…”
The vehicle stopped before the report finished. Tyson counted: Four, three, two, one…
No time to waste…
The cover was lifted, the hatch was opened, and the infantry poured out. Four squads of twenty emerged simultaneously. Tyson was the last to rush the property, which was a brown house secured by a chain-link fence that served as a makeshift reinforced perimeter. Over a dozen men dressed in black hooded sweaters and coats shot their array of automatic weapons from the windows. It wasn’t enough to hold them off, though. Like breaking past the road blockade, they never stopped moving.
A single
man armed with an RPG was their hope of breaking inside. He made it to the front door with the rest of them. All stepped back, pressed against the wall to remain in the hostiles’ blind spots, and the rocket was fired with textbook-perfect aim. The door exploded inward, taking out two of the many who stood behind it. All remaining infantry rushed in, subduing those in their path, who were completely inexperienced with their weapons compared to the battalion.
Once he heard ‘clear!’ he ran inside as well. At least three-quarters of the infantry remained in fighting condition, and every one of them searched the house, turning it inside-out, until finally, after a few more gunshots echoed, the Colonel heard cheering. The men and women were joyful, celebrating the success of the mission and the potential end of the civil war in the Portland area.
Carrie Marsden was led in handcuffs to the front door, where Tyson had remained. “Ma’am…” he greeted.
She spat at him. While Tyson wiped the saliva from his face, she said, “You killed three of m’boys. Now, I only got one!”
Malachi leaned in to Tyson’s ear. “She means her sons, sir. They were here, in the house.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Marsden. I promise we will recover every man and woman fallen today and hold proper funerals for them. For now, we will be taking you into custody, so please come with us.”
Though glaring, rigid, exasperated, and shedding tears, Carrie stood and allowed herself to be escorted out with no fuss.
This time, Tyson and his First Lieutenant sat in the front, between the driver and his bodyguard rifleman. Carrie was loaded in the back, where he had sat during the travel there. Wasting no precious time, the company pulled out. Some civilians emerged from their homes, or from between homes, and threw rocks and trash at the vehicles, but none seemed alarmed by it. Impressed that the driver, who looked so young, was unfazed by the protesters and wasn’t fearing getting ambushed by deadly projectiles, Tyson asked him, “Are you a Private?”
“Corporal, sir.”
“A Corporal? I thought Alexander simplified the ranks until our division took back control the region,” he said more to Malachi than to the driver.
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