by T W Powell
“What do you mean Chinese State Security?”
“Look, The Collective is a disorganized rabble, but the Chinese are shrewd, thorough, and methodical. A damned CSS man was snooping around the airport tonight. You must assume that everything you are doing is being scrutinized by CSS.”
“Mr. Smith, we are indeed fortunate to have your assistance. Perhaps, I could issue a memo stating that we must protect the integrity of the test kits and vaccine by protecting them from contamination.”
“Keep talking Ho…”
“Maybe I can even post some signs about stressing the need to protect the integrity of those materials.”
“Bravo! Hide what you are doing in plain sight. You’re OK, Doc. So, we won’t get sick and no one here at the Center will get sick. That still leaves us with 1,000 Typhoid Marys down at Round Mountain who will be unleashed upon America. Those bastards did it back in ’20 and they plan on doing it again.”
“Yes, and we will be killing thousands, maybe millions. As health care professionals and Christians, neither I, nor my wife, nor Nurse Beth can do this.”
“There is another issue that affects my family…”
Dr. Ho filled Delvin in on The Collective’s new “Freedom of Sexual Expression and Identity Program.”
Delvin was incredulous, “We’re talking about pedophilia and bestiality. This is an all-time low, even for The Collective. You’re telling me, when this operation is completed and your family returns to Louisville, your daughter will be forced to take part in this program?”
Dr. Yen then began crying, “Please help our daughter, Mr. Smith.”
“Looks like you will all have to die, but only after the switcheroo.”
Doc Pham was confused, “Delvin, what is this switcheroo? I was born in this country and do not know this term.”
“Doc, what if we randomly infect 1,000 Chinese nationals with the live virus as they leave for China. We infect no children. We concentrate on Party officials, military, and CSS. Any leftover virus we spread randomly. Let’s say we infect 5% and give the other 95% the real vaccine.”
“That would be an epidemiological nightmare. Symptoms wouldn’t begin to show for a couple of weeks minimum. During that time, the virus would spread like wildfire among the Party Elites. Most of those arriving home from the PUS would show immunity. Investigators would conclude that the vaccine was generally effective, but a small percentage either got sick from the vaccine, or else the vaccine didn’t protect that small percentage.”
“So, we must switch out green vaccine for red vaccine and vice versa. This must all be done right under the nose of CSS. I guarantee they will be around, both seen and unseen.”
Dr. Yen was very troubled, “But we will still be taking life.”
“Yes, you will. You will be taking the life of your enemy to protect your fellow countrymen and your daughter. All soldiers have this moral conflict.
“Dr. Ho, Dr. Yen, Nurse Beth, can I count on you, not as doctors, but as soldiers of the Resistance?”
All three members of the Team solemnly answered, “Yes.”
As he departed, Delvin shook their hands and whispered, “Sempre Fi.”
Dr. Yen and Beth were puzzled, “Ho, what does that mean?”
A strange peace, almost a smile, came over Dr. Ho Pham’s face, “Semper Fidelis – Always Faithful. Mr. Smith is a US Marine. We are in good hands.”
Battle Mountain
It had been a long cold journey. Junior and Bobby Ray were running low on both food and water. Their freight was stopped on a siding as a short train of hopper cars pulled out of a barite mine in Dunphy, just a few miles east of Battle Mountain.
Before the Green Edicts, this region produced barite, a very heavy mineral with specific gravity four times that of water. Barite was used as a weighting agent in drilling muds. Barite from Dunphy helped fuel the “Shale Revolution” which propelled America to energy independence early in the 21st Century. Most of the barite mines were now either closed or operating on a skeleton crew. The small volume of barite still mined made its’ way to Chinese drilling projects. One of the largest Chinese controlled oil fields was located in what had been the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge on Alaska’s North Slope. Since gaining independence in 2029, The Indigenous People’s Republic of Alaska had leased that land to Chinese oil companies.
“You know Bobby Ray, it’s dark, we’re stopped, and it’s only a few miles to Battle Mountain. According to this map, the Humboldt River is less than a quarter mile north. Let’s get off right here, go down to the river, get some water, build a fire and get warm.”
“I’m with you Junior, better than jumping off a moving train in the middle of town.”
Junior and Bobby Ray climbed off the train and walked a few hundred feet to the Humboldt River. Along the way they gathered broken wood pallets and dry driftwood. In no time they had a fire going. They had enough rations for supper and breakfast the following morning. After about an hour, they finally thawed out. They kept the fire low and had a good night’s sleep. At dawn, they finished off the rest of their rations and headed out.
Junior continued to peruse his map, “Bobby Ray, we can just follow the river to the southwest for a couple miles keeping out of sight from I-80. Then we will cross under the interstate and head south along the base of those mountains. There are some ranches along the way. Should be some rabbits and maybe desert quail or chukar. If they’ve been grazing in alfalfa fields, they’ll taste pretty good. We better pick up any firewood we see along the way, at least enough for a cooking fire.”
The barite mines in the area may have fallen on hard times, but the numerous heap leach gold operations were in high gear. All the gold mines had been nationalized by The Collective and now operated as Racial Reparations Mining Camps.
“Bobby Ray, we need to be cautious. The slave labor camps around here are run by the Chinese and guarded by Peoples’ Militia. Keep that slingshot of yours ready to bag us some supper.”
About two miles further southwest Junior and Bobby Ray took a frontage road that crossed under I-80. A couple of miles due south of I-80 Bobby Ray saw his first irrigation pivot.
In the arid West alfalfa is grown as cattle feed. Alfalfa is a perennial and sinks its’ roots deeply to find moisture in dry climates. Alfalfa is a very nutritious forage crop. Cattle ranchers in Nevada grow alfalfa and bale it as hay. The alfalfa supplements the sparse high desert forage and is the primary cattle feed during the cold winter months.
“Bobby Ray, pick some of the tender new shoots and chew them up really good. It’s highly nutritious, like eating salad.”
Bobby Ray had a million questions while talking with his mouth full of alfalfa shoots,
“Why are the fields round, like green circles in the desert?”
“Those are irrigation pivots. The ranchers drill a well, then water is pumped through a long string of irrigation pipes with spray nozzles. The pipe string is usually about a quarter mile long and driven by an electric motor at the end of the string. See the big wheels on the end of the string?”
“Junior, the sprinklers just came on and the wheels are slowly moving.”
“They move very slowly. It could take the string an entire day to make one revolution.”
A large desert hare, spooked by the pivot motor, hopped erratically out of the field.
“Do you see him, Bobby Ray?”
The Skipper already had slingshot in hand and loosed a shot, “Got him Junior.”
“Nice shot. These hares can be a bit stringy and taste a wee bit gamey, but if he’s been eating these alfalfa shoots, he should be OK.”
Junior proceeded to gut the hare and hang him from his walking stick that was now slung over his shoulder. Then Bobby Ray let another ball bearing fly. This time he got a cottontail.
“That should be some mighty fine eating, nice shot Mr. Skipper.”
The sprinklers suddenly stopped, and the pivot wheels quit turning. An old beat-up pickup truck came
from around the right side of the pivot.
“Just keep walking Bobby Ray, we’re just on a hike.”
Two Members emerged from the truck and started replacing sprinkler heads on the irrigation pipe string. Junior snuck a quick peep back at the Members. They were still busy with the sprinkler heads, but Junior saw them discretely giving him and Bobby Ray the once over.
“Bobby Ray, best get ready with the biggest ball bearing you got.”
“Don’t know if I have any big ones left.”
Junior was relieved, “False alarm, Bobby Ray, they’re packing up and leaving.”
The sprinklers came back on and the water started spraying again.
“For a moment, I thought you were going to have to make your bones this morning Bobby Ray. You’re sure you can make a head shot. Right?”
“Trust me Junior.”
Junior gutted the cottontail and now had both the rabbit and hare hanging over his shoulder, skewered on his walking stick.
About an hour later, Junior saw another dust trail headed in their direction, “Bobby Ray, trouble is coming our way in a big, damned hurry.”
An open top Land Cruiser was heading their way through the desert scrub.
Junior could make out three Peoples’ Militia in the vehicle, “Bobby Ray, duck behind that brush over there. I’ll take out the one closest to me and you take out the next biggest threat with a head shot. Then we’ll both deal with the last one. Pray that we luck out again.”
The Land Rover stopped, and the driver got out and walked over toward Junior.
Junior pulled up his bandana and went into his old Black gentleman routine, “Good morning Member. What can I do for you gents?”
The driver asked to Junior to waive his right hand across a portable scanning device. A huge Militiaman stepped out of the passenger’s side of the Land Cruiser armed with an AK-47 and wearing full body armor. The third Member remained in the rear seat preoccupied with reading a map. Bobby Ray marked the giant as his target.
“Yes sir, Mr. Militiaman, sir. Just give an old man a few seconds.” Junior was stumbling toward the Militiaman as if he were 90 years old.
Bobby Ray looked into his ball bearing pouch and was out of luck, no more large ball bearings. Then he spied two roughly ¾-inch diameter jagged chunks of Rhyolite on the ground at his feet. Rhyolite is a hard, igneous rock common to Nevada. Bobby Ray scooped up the Rhyolite and emerged from the brush, slingshot in hand,
The armored giant took a glance at Bobby Ray, pointed his finger, and broke out laughing. Bobby Ray glanced toward heaven, took aim, pulled back on the slingshot with all his might, then let the Rhyolite fly. The jagged rock struck the giant square in the forehead. He took a couple of steps toward Bobby Ray then fell face first to the ground, stone cold dead.
The driver fleetingly turned his head to see what in the hell was going on behind him. This was Junior’s opportunity. He slung his staff around and smacked the Militiaman upside the head with the rabbit and hare carcasses, then finished the job with his survival knife.
The remaining Militiaman pulled a .22 revolver as he scrambled to get behind the wheel and make his escape. Bobby Ray ran toward the Land Cruiser as the Militiaman pulled the trigger. A .22 caliber bullet whizzed past Bobby Ray’s head. Then Bobby Ray let the other chunk of Rhyolite fly from point blank range. This shot hit the third Militiaman in the neck, severing an artery. Blood was spurting everywhere as Junior applied the coup de gras with his staff.
“Bobby Ray, help me throw these bodies in the back of the Land Cruiser. We’ll drive a couple of miles further south, then drive up a canyon into the mountains. When we find a whole bunch of scrub and trees, we’ll hide this mess under that cover. From there it will only be a couple of hours’ hike to our rendezvous point.”
Super Huey Down
Jo continued flying the Super Huey back and forth between the front line and the Forward Operating Base. The two Medics onboard, dressed in full PPE, were kept busy stripping contaminated clothing off casualties and injecting them with atropine and pralidoxime. Jo’s chopper was flying just inches above the roadway as she jinxed the aircraft to and fro avoiding the Chinese AAA.
This was Jo’s sixth run of the day, having already rescued over 30 Coalition casualties. As the Super Huey neared a small farm area to the north of Highway 73, it was struck by 25mm AAA fire from a Chinese Type 95 self-propelled anti-aircraft vehicle. Luckily, Jo was literally flying inches off the ground. The chopper sputtered, lost power, and skidded to a stop in a recently plowed field.
Jo donned her helmet and gas mask, then pulled out her nickel-plated Colt .45 pistol.
“OK Sweet Peas, keep your heads down and follow me.” Jo jumped from the cockpit and ran towards the trees with the two Medics in tow.
Jo knew the terrain well. These trees lined the north right of way of Highway 73, the major east-west route in the Uruma City area. With a little luck they could cross the Highway, stick to wooded areas, and continue due south until they ran into friendly forces.
As they crossed the four-lane highway, Chinese infantry in the Ryukyu Glass Village parking lot opened fire with a Type 67 machine gun, killing both Medics and wounding Jo in the right calf. Luckily, the 7.62 mm round passed cleanly through Jo’s calf, hitting no bone.
Jo was bleeding like a stuck pig. She ducked into the trees on the south side of the highway. Jo took off her trousers and panties. She used her panties as a tourniquet and placed it around her right calf just above the wound. She applied pressure by twisting the tourniquet with a broken twig.
The PLA didn’t follow her. Jo figured that the ChiComs probably thought the area was contaminated with CVX. That fear was verified when Jo heard a commotion up in the trees. Several birds were thrashing wildly about, then started falling to the ground. Jo was rarely afraid, but now she knew true fear.
She was in deep trouble, Chinese to the rear and invisible death all around. She knew that her biggest enemy was panic. Jo regained control, but she had already lost a lot of blood.
Not far ahead, Jo spotted a clearing and a house. She dared not call out, the enemy could be inside. She fell to the ground with her Colt 45 in hand as she kicked in the front door with her remaining good leg. Her vision was blurring, and she felt dizzy. Jo didn’t know if this was due to blood loss or CVX exposure, then she realized it really didn’t really matter, either could kill her.
Luckily, the house was abandoned. She ran into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water actually came on. Jo stripped and got into the shower and lathered up all over. She washed for an eternity. Some men’s clothes were hanging in a wardrobe, so Jo put them on. What was left of her uniform went into a plastic trash bag. A bottle of sake sat on a shelf. After taking a couple of stiff gulps, Jo washed both the entry and exit wounds with the sake. The pain was excruciating. Some bed linens made a good bandage. That’s when Jo passed out and fell to the floor.
US Marines had regrouped following the CVX attack and were once again advancing northward. Lieutenant Delvin Smith’s rifle platoon was ordered to clear this small, wooded area in the center of the line and then advance to Highway 73.
As 1st Squad approached the house in the clearing, a grunt yelled out, “Sergeant, we have a blood trail leading into the house.”
On Okinawa, whenever possible, an English-speaking Japanese Marine accompanied each US platoon. The Squad Leader and Japanese Marine immediately made their way to the doorway. They saw the door had been kicked open and the blood trail continued inside.
The Squad Leader shouted, “US Marines, US Marines!” This was followed by the same announcement in Japanese.
Once inside, they found Jo lying unconscious on the floor. They initially thought Jo was a Okinawan civilian, but then they saw the dog tags around her neck and her wounded leg. Lieutenant Smith immediately called in a Medivac helo.
For the briefest of moments, Jo regained consciousness and saw Delvin looking down at her, “Hey ‘Slick’ am I ever glad to
see you. You obviously ain’t no Chinaman.”
Looking at her dog tags, Delvin almost broke up laughing, “No Josephine, I’m not.”
Someone in 1st Squad yelled out, “Slick, that’s your war name Lieutenant.”
The whole Squad started softly chanting, “Slick, Slick, Slick…”
Delvin smiled and took a bow. That nickname stuck with Delvin ever after, and he was proud of it.
Mill Creek
Junior and Bobby Ray camped a couple of miles further upstream from the now abandoned Mill Recreation Area. There were a couple of shuttered gold mines further up Mill Creek Road at Mill Creek Summit. This was cold, high country. They made camp in an old prospector’s shack at about 6,000 ft elevation.
There was plenty of fresh water and firewood. Junior had a field day catching rainbows and brookies in the cold clear Mill Creek snowmelt water. Bobby Ray bagged quail and rabbits with his slingshot. Both Junior and Bobby Ray needed these couple of days rest and recuperation,
Each day they would hike about a mile downstream to a vantage point overlooking NV 305 and the desert playa below. At noon on their third day at Mill Creek, Junior was munching on some leftover rainbow trout while keeping watch through his binoculars.
He hollered out when he spotted riders coming up the canyon, “Bobby Ray, we got company. Looks like three riders leading three spare horses coming our way. Hold it. Make that three riders leading two spare horses and a loaded pack mule.”
Bobby Ray grabbed Junior’s binoculars, “Let me take a look!”
“Gimme those back, that’s rude taking a man’s field glasses!” Junior was slightly perturbed.
Bobby Ray stiff armed Junior and continued gazing through the binoculars, “Jesus Christ Almighty, there’s three real ‘yippee ki yay’ cowboys coming up the road.”
Junior finally managed to recover his binoculars, “Yes sir, we’ve got three mounted cowboys, two saddled riderless horses, and a loaded pack mule coming our way.”