Standing Before Hell's Gate

by William Alan Webb

  “Hey, before you go, one more thing. I told your mother I want you both to see the doctor about those coughs.”

  “They’re just allergies, Dad.”

  “That’s an order, soldier.”

  The lower lip protruded even farther this time, but then she spun, wiggled her fingers goodbye, and headed out the door. As she left, she smiled at Dupree and Angriff noticed. Was she simply being polite? As her mother’s daughter, she’d learned to smile and greet many people at once, and how to make each person feel that she focused on them specifically, so when she extended her hand to Dupree, he extended his in return. Angriff was amused by the shy young man’s nervous smile. What surprised him was the grin she gave back to him. He’d seen it before.

  Oh, no, he thought, and understood his wife’s cryptic remark from earlier.

  #

  Chapter 3

  Coffee puts you to sleep, unless you drink it.

  attributed to various comedians

  Overtime Prime

  0109 hours, April 23

  “J.C.”

  Corporal Diaz appeared in his doorway within seconds. “Sir?”

  “I’m sorry, Juan. I forgot J.C.’s back in the hospital. How’s he doing?”

  “He overdid it is all, sir. He’ll be back again tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Good, good. Could you get me some coffee, please?”

  “Coffee, sir?”

  “I’ve got a watch, I know what time it is.” Angriff stopped himself and apologized. His close relationship with Sergeant Schiller had become second nature, but he couldn’t treat Diaz that way. The corporal was already intimidated by him. “Again, I’m sorry, Juan. Please make a note to schedule a call with General Schiller for 0530.”

  “Pardon me for saying so, General, but won’t you be getting ready to pull out?”

  “Yeah, but this is important. Wait, no, you’re right. I forgot the internal network is connected to Comeback. I’ll write him an email… but schedule the call anyway.” Leaning back, Angriff rubbed his eyes. Massaging them felt so good. “I can feel it again. It just started, but I can feel it. Swirling all around us.”

  “I don’t follow, General.”

  “Events.” Angriff made a twirling motion with his index finger. “They’re circling around us, faster and faster. I can see it in my mind, spinning like a tornado.”

  “Uh, yes, sir.”

  “You think I’m crazy.”

  Diaz shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t think any such thing.”

  “Then you’re in the minority. The few people I’ve told that to all think I’m delusional. But I get these feelings every now and then, usually before a battle, always have, with the most recent being right before the Chinese showed up.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Damn, damn, damn… something’s about to happen. I just know it.”

  Emboldened by having an unexpected personal conversation with the C.O., Diaz ventured to say, “Maybe you should cancel your trip to Creech?”

  “Because I have a feeling? No, I haven’t left this glorified tomb since last year’s battles. I need some fresh air, I need to put eyes on Creech to judge the man in charge there… I really need to see what we’ve got at Sierra. But mark my words, Juan, something’s coming.” When the corporal turned to leave, Angriff stopped him. “You’re doing a fine job, son. Like you said, Sergeant Schiller shouldn’t be out too long, and in his absence I know you’ll perform your duties well. And since Colonel Walling won’t be back to full speed for weeks, and Colonel Saw will be in charge of Overtime while I’m gone, he’s going to need your support. I know you can do it.”

  “Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”

  “Now… about that coffee?”

  #

  Operation Comeback

  0519 hours, April 23

  Colonel William E. Schiller settled into the desk chair that had once belonged to General Thomas Steeple. When he took temporary command of Operation Comeback and first entered the office, he’d removed the pillow on the chair’s seat. It had made the chair too comfortable, and Schiller believed a commander should forever be uncomfortable. But he had to admit that otherwise Steeple’s desk suited his tastes perfectly, with everything arranged in precise fashion and nothing extraneous on the polished wooden surface.

  Upon sitting, and despite the 40-inch computer monitor having a digital holographic clock in the upper left corner, Schiller checked his wristwatch and felt disgust with himself. The precise time he wished to be seated for the day’s work was ten after five in the morning. Reveille was 0400 every day. After ablutions, he ran for fifteen minutes, showered, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, and dressed at precisely the same time every day. This would all be accomplished by 0500 hours, which allowed him to be at his post by 0510. Taps was 2000 hours.

  But today he was nine minutes late. That was unacceptable, regardless of having gone to bed after midnight. Work had to be done for as long as it took and fatigue was not allowed.

  However, everything else was correct. His Army Combat Uniform had the crispness he expected of himself, put there personally with an old-fashioned iron. After-shave lotion, part of his personal baggage allotment, stung his freshly shaved cheeks. Despite the late start, everything else proceeded on schedule and as expected. Earlier in life, a Lucky Strike cigarette would have burned in an ashtray on his left, and he still felt the cravings. The morning’s first cup of coffee cooled on the desk by his right elbow, as it always did, and he would take the first sip right before opening the morning’s email messages, as always.

  That is, until he saw the message outlined in red on the first email, and the sender’s name, General of the Army Nicholas T. Angriff.

  Effective 0320 hours, April 23, 2077, Colonel William Emerson Schiller is elevated to the rank of acting Major General in the United States Army. General Schiller will continue as commander of the facility known as Operation Comeback until such time as General Angriff relieves him of this duty or he is re-assigned by General Angriff. In this capacity, he is solely responsible for the assets and personnel assigned to his command. His acting rank will be reduced or made permanent solely at the discretion of General Angriff.

  In addition to duties outlined in previous communications, General Schiller will prioritize the earliest possible deployment of Operation Comeback’s allotment of Fairchild Republic A-10 Thunderbolt II aircraft. His authority to place these aircraft into service includes any and all necessary requirements, including but not limited to requisitioning any materials and equipment, ground crews, pilots, or other personnel deemed by him to be essential to the completion of this mission. Additionally, he may request any materials needed to construct an airfield from which these aircraft will operate.

  Extraordinary measures taken to complete either of these missions are approved in advance, excepting any measure which impacts upon missions given other 7th Cavalry assets by General Angriff, including but not limited to Operation Overtime. For all purposes including the chain of command, Operation Comeback is to be considered a separate command organization reporting solely to CINCUS, ergo, General Angriff.

  Schiller blinked and read the first part of the message again. With a trembling hand, he reached for his coffee and spilled some on the desk. He didn’t notice. Nor did he feel coffee dripping onto his ACU blouse. He put the coffee to his lips and drank from sheer reflex, not blowing on it twice per his daily habit, nor even tasting the dark liquid. All he could do was stare at two words in the message… Major General.

  After a career of loyal service, helping lesser men achieve higher rank, he’d finally made it. When he closed that email, another one outlined in red was next in the queue. He had a brief panic that maybe General Angriff had changed his mind. But a far more prosaic message awaited him.

  It took you long enough. Congratulations!

  J.C.

  #

  “Corporal Duglach!”

&nbs
p; Mikhail Duglach had barely managed to beat his C.O. into the office and worried he’d overlooked something. General Steeple shared a lot of personal similarities with Colonel Schiller, but Steeple didn’t expect his staff to be on duty until 0800 hours. As far as Duglach was concerned, 0500 was the middle of the night.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Schiller’s lean face wore a stunned expression the corporal hadn’t seen before. The blue eyes seemed watery and unlike his usually precise manner of speaking, his response seemed distracted. “Good morning, Corporal. Please request a full set of major general’s insignia from the Fabrication Shop.”

  “Major general? May I ask, is this for the colonel?”

  “Yes, it is,” Schiller said with a faraway look. “It is.”

  “Then let me wish you congratulations, General. And I was about to tell you that you have a call from General Angriff at Overtime.”

  “Thank you, Corporal.” He had changed his mind, Schiller thought, but at least he had enough class to call and break it to him personally. Schiller waited for Duglach to leave before picking up the receiver. “Schiller here. Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning, Bill. Call me Nick. Have you read your mail?”

  “I have, General… uh, Nick. I appreciate your confidence in me.”

  “Any questions?”

  “Questions?” he said, unable to keep the confusion out of his voice.

  But instead of demoting him back to colonel, Angriff laughed. “Yes, questions. Why did you think I called, to bust you back to bird?”

  “Ha-ha, no, sir… ummm, no, Nick. So do you still want me to ask you about any significant decisions?”

  “As long as we’re in contact, yes, it can’t hurt to keep things coordinated. But if something happens and you can’t get me, do what you think is best. Your orders should cover any situation that might arise. Oh, and you need a strong second, so be thinking about that. Let me know who you want.”

  “If I may, Nick, I already have a candidate in mind. Major Iskold.”

  “Alexis Iskold? Norm Fleming’s deputy? Sorry, no can do. She’s the acting S-3. Anybody else?”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Naidoo.”

  “Astrid… good choice. She’s the acting S-9 while Colonel Minokawa is working in Prescott, but she’s got excellent organizational skills. All right, you’ve got her. I’ll have her orders cut right away. Anything else you need before I leave?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No, Nick.”

  “No, Nick. Except thank you again.”

  “See you when I get back.”

  #

  Chapter 4

  I love the smell of carbon monoxide in the morning.

  Apocryphal, sometimes attributed to George Patton.

  Operation Overtime, Motor Bay D

  0523 hours, April 23

  The noise of powerful engines echoed through the cavernous space of Motor Bay D, their exhaust fumes sucked away by powerful fans. Colonel Bob Young stalked among the hundreds of vehicles assembled, preparing to depart in less than 37 minutes. As commander of the 2nd Mechanized Infantry Regiment, he couldn’t show the men and women of his command that this was anything more than just another mission. But in truth, Young grinned through worry. A long-range drive through unsecured country with known hostiles on the loose was dangerous, and while he had a lot of confidence in his regiment’s ability to adapt and overcome once in the field, his biggest concern was being tied down by the supply column they were escorting all the way to Creech.

  Still, he’d led them through the Battle of Prescott the previous year and earned the personal praise of his C.O., Nick Angriff, a man Young had never thought much of in the past. He’d always been a protégé of Tom Steeple. Along with that distinction went a built-in dislike for certain officer types and even a few officers in particular, with Nick Angriff at the top of the list. But Angriff’s handling of that battle, and his subsequent praise of Young’s regiment, had modified his feelings. The regiment was his first major combat command and it changed his views on everything.

  Surrounded by his staff, Young eyed each vehicle even as he waved to his men and wished them good luck. One Stryker commander gave him a thumbs-up and Young paused for a second of banter, something he’d learned from Angriff.

  “You loaded up with ammo?”

  “Every round we can cram in here, Colonel.”

  Young smiled and patted the armored vehicle’s side. “Go get ’em.”

  His executive officer, Major Dieter Strootman, was standing by the regimental M1130 command vehicle near the head of the column. Right behind that was an identical one for the commanding general, who was accompanying the regiment as far as Creech Air Force Base. It was Strootman’s job to oversee the details of such an immensely complicated move.

  “How we lookin’?” Young asked.

  Strootman didn’t look up from the sheaf of papers clamped on his clipboard. “We’re good to go. The only glitch is a flat tire on one of the HEMTTs.” Heavy Expanded Mobile Tactical Truck. “But that should be fixed before it’s time to move out.”

  “Excellent.” He paused for a few seconds and turned around, taking in the whole environment. “I’ve been in the army a long time, Dieter, but during all those years I never really understood the smell of a large-scale operation.”

  At that, Strootman looked up. “I guess I never thought about it.”

  “Exhaust, gas, sweat, grease… it all combines into something unique. I understand General Angriff much better than I did a year ago. Speaking of whom, have we heard from the general?”

  Before Strootman could answer, a Humvee came toward them past the column of trucks and armored vehicles, with the familiar figure of Nick Angriff standing in the gunner’s hatch and waving at the troops. It pulled to a stop next to the general’s own command vehicle and the first person out was a black-haired female major, followed by Angriff and a petite corporal. Young couldn’t help noticing the puckered scar on the corporal’s throat and something about her name, Santos, was familiar.

  “Good morning, Colonel, Major. We ready to roll?”

  “Right on schedule, General.”

  “Outstanding. Gentlemen, this is Major Iskold; she’s Deputy S-3.”

  “We’ve met, sir. Nice to see you again, Major,” Young said. They shook hands all the way around. When they were done, Colonel Young pointed at the corporal. “Why do I recognize her name, General?”

  Angriff turned around, saw who he was talking about, and smiled like a proud father. “Corporal Santos won the Silver Star for her actions at the Battle of the Highway last year. She stood right beside me and kept fighting even after she’d been hit in the throat. Docs only cleared her for active duty last week, but that’s the kind of person I want in my headquarters. Believe it or not, she’s my bodyguard.”

  “If I may ask, sir, why the change in route of march? The map shows I-40 being a much more direct route, through Flagstaff and then directly west to Hoover Dam. The way we’re taking adds more than fifty miles.”

  Angriff shrugged. “We thought we could take I-40, but the civilian engineers found issues with some of the bridges out of the mountains, and rock slides blocked the road in multiple places. We couldn’t wait for them to clear the road and shore up the bridges. That’ll take weeks.”

  “It’s time to form up,” Major Iskold stage-whispered in his ear, loud enough that Young could hear.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Angriff replied. “And Corporal? Don’t take that comment about being my bodyguard literally. I had to promise Colonel Friedenthall you’d only be my driver.”

  Colonel Young watched him slide back in the Humvee, this time into the back seat. Now that he had a combat command, Young wanted to emulate the man that even Tom Steeple admitted had no equal in the modern army, down to the last detail. He even thought about smoking cigars, except he didn’t know how to get any, and besides, he hated the damned things.

  #

  As
the regimental commander, Colonel Young’s M1130 command vehicle led the column. Based on the Stryker armored personnel carrier platform, the M1130 variant had all the necessary equipment to run a large unit in the field and would double as Angriff’s headquarters while he was with the regiment. Directly behind Young’s vehicle came an M113 fire support vehicle to direct any combat the regiment might become involved in, followed by a Bradley filled with a squad of guards for the fourth vehicle, the Humvee carrying Angriff.

  The Humvee had been shot up during the Battle of the Highway the previous summer. While it was in for repair, the maintenance shop had fitted the interior with an armored cage, surrounding the occupants with an inch and a half of steel in the roof, doors, front, and rear, and three inches in the floor. This greatly increased fuel consumption, so they upgraded the capacity from 25 gallons to a 35-gallon self-sealing tank with half an inch of armor.

  Angriff sat in the back seat with Major Iskold. Santos rode shotgun with an M-16 across her lap and skinny Corporal Donald H. Imboden drove. While Santos had stood beside him during the Battle of the Highway, Imboden had manned the GAU-19 50-caliber Gatling gun mounted in the cupola through the roof. The gun’s mounting barbette interfered with Angriff’s leg room, but in his mind firepower always trumped comfort.

  For once he had nothing to do other than observe, which was at least part of his reason for coming along. If he was going to restore the United States, he needed to know what was left, and while he trusted his subordinates, there was no substitute for seeing things with your own eyes. Major Iskold sat beside him with microphone-equipped headphones slipped over her ears, papers scattered in her lap and on the seat beside her. She pressed down with her left thigh to keep the papers from spilling onto the floor.

  Engineers had spent the winter building a true road out of the western gate. Although unpaved, the low points where water might stand were reinforced with rock and crushed gravel. Bridges over deep arroyos cut time to the main roads leading south, and existing bridges had been inspected and reinforced. Angriff had gotten reports on the work’s progress, but that was no substitute for seeing it for yourself, and he was impressed.