Kingdoms of Sorrow

by JK Franks

  “I don’t know, life . . . it just used to be so much simpler.” He sat back into the cushions of the chair with an audible sigh. “The problem—well fuck, the problem is that the Catalyst plans may be right. Scott . . . probably is right. It all just seems so goddamn heartless. I just can’t condone those callous bastards. Things are tough enough right now without them adding to everyone’s misery.”

  Jack put his hand on Todd’s arm. “Cap’n, look, neither of you have to be wrong for the other to be right. Most people are backed into a corner now. No one’s riding in to save anybody. Even we have limits to what we can do, but Scott’s made more effort than anyone to reach out, make friends, set-up trade partners, and help you keep this community afloat,“ Jack smiled broadly.

  “Very funny,” Todd said, looking out the ship's windows to the deep green waters below.

  “Yeah, I just crack myself up,” Jack said with a laugh, trying to clear the tension. “All I’m sayin’ is, don’t dismiss something the guy says just because it’s coming from him. None of us have all the answers right now, so we make decisions based on our best guess. With that in mind, Scott’s guesses have been spot-on more often than not. Don’t forget that.”

  The conversation was broken up when Angel knocked. “Chief, Scott’s looking for you. He heard back from his friend in DC.”

  “On my way,” Todd replied.

  An hour later, five of the council were in the AG’s chart room looking over the various maps of the Gulf of Mexico. DeVonte had circled the coordinates as Scott read them off. “Shit,” Todd muttered. “Could they have picked a less accessible spot?”

  “Tahir seemed pretty convinced this would be the one,” Scott said. “The chatter indicated it was once a large oil rig. The platform would have to have been heavily modified to become a floating bio-facility. It’s certainly big enough and isolated as you say. It’s in deep water about . . . here.” He looked up to meet Todd’s gaze. “What?”

  “How did your friend come up with this? Do you trust him?” Todd asked.

  “I do trust him, but I don’t know how he does what he does. I believe he has some of their encryption keys, but honestly, all he has to do is check radio traffic. No one else out there would be broadcasting, much less tapping into satellite, for web access. If it is a research facility, the bandwidth alone would probably stand out like a beacon.”

  “And is it stationary? Not possible that it’s on a vessel?”

  “Todd, it isn’t moving, and yes, I suppose it could be on a ship, but look at the location.”

  “I know what’s there, I don’t need to look. It’s called Devil’s Tower. Up until a few years ago, it was the largest oil rig in the world. That thing is a monster. If Praetor forces took it over and converted it into a lab, it’s likely home to serious defensive measures. I’m not sure even the Navy could take it out.”

  Todd gathered the info, intending to take it to the radio room. “Let’s push this off to Garret, see what he and his Navy brains have in mind.” He glanced at Scott expecting an argument, but none came. Scott had voiced his concerns, and in retrospect, they were valid. He would pass them along to Garret along with the lab location. He gave Scott a nod and left the group to make the call.

  Angel sat for a few moments, then said, “Is that it? I mean is that all we needed to do on this, or is there more we need to discuss? I need to check on the galley crew and make sure the late meal is on schedule.”

  “Only one other matter,” Bartos said. “We’re beginning to pick up something on radar. Looks like an early season tropical storm down in the southern Gulf. If it heads this way, we may be getting it in the next two weeks. I suggest we recall all ocean operations and let the farmers know that the weather could get nasty.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Scott nodded. “Any chance someone will be able to forecast a directional track in the next day or two?”

  “Maybe. Your radar’s top-notch, and there’s an onboard forecasting system, but the telemetry connection to the radar’s not functioning.”

  Scott nodded again, his mind clearly working. “DeVonte, could you see if you can get that working, or possibly enter the basic data manually and see if you can plot a track?”

  “You bet. I’m on it.” The grinning boy winked at Angel as he left the room. She shook her head and smiled.

  “That kid is hopelessly in love with you,” Scott said fondly in his wake.

  “That kid is just plain hopeless. But he is a sweetie,” Angel returned Scott’s smile.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Several hours later, Todd and the original group of friends were meeting again. “Garret has gotten back to us. They’re already planning a raid on Devil’s Tower.” Scott went to say something, but Todd cut him off. “It’s not an all-out attack. They know the risks and understand your concerns that the lab and the work they’re doing may be concerned with finding a cure. Garret is calling in some of the Special Forces squads, SEALs I suppose, to get covertly onboard and secure the facility with as little damage as possible. He didn’t share any actual details . . . they’re probably still in the early stages of planning it.”

  “When they gonna do dis?” Bartos asked.

  “No idea, sooner rather than later, I imagine, but that is still somewhat, hmmm, fluid, as they say. There’s something else, though. It involves us.” Todd paused and looked around at his three closest friends. “First, Scott, he wanted you to know how much he appreciates you and your friend’s work in getting the coordinates. They’ve crosschecked them with some of their intel and are in agreement it is the most likely spot.” Scott nodded slightly, still unsure of his enthusiasm for this mission.

  Todd looked down at the notes he was holding before reluctantly going on “Scott . . . the commander has requested something else from you. He wants you and me to be a part of the mission.” He said it in one breath like he was ripping off the bandage all at once. Scott just looked at him without understanding. The statement seemed to make no sense.

  “You are the only person who can identify DJ on sight. The only person he might trust . . . other than Kaylie, but, well, we aren’t even considering that.”

  Scott thought for a moment before accepting the logic. “Why you, then?”

  “I can’t let you do it alone. We’re a team.” Todd grinned. “We may not be on the same page with some of this stuff, but we trust each other more than we trust anyone else out there. I’ll be there to watch your back, brother.”

  Scott smiled and met Todd’s offered fist for a quick bump. “Kaylie will be thrilled to know she may be with DJ soon,” he thought out loud.

  Todd looked pained, “Yeah . . . about that. We’re not to let any of this out of the room before we get orders to go. I’m surprised they even told us this much, but they know by now we understand operational security. Once they give us the go, we will have between twelve to twenty-four hours before we head out. We can tell her then. Until then, we have to stay close to base. We won’t be going in with the SEALs, but once the facility is secure, we will be brought in to help separate the friendlies from the unknowns.”

  “Dat’s a li’l fucked up, Cap’n. I mean, seems like they’re just using us . . . using you guys,” Bartos said. “Why get any of us in the middle of this fight?”

  Jack nodded in agreement with his Cajun friend. “I gotta agree with the retard here,” he said, motioning to Bartos, “It is a bit fucked up. I mean, we all wanna see Kaylie get her boyfriend back, but as I recall, he’s the one who made the choice to stick with the Catalyst people. He felt his work was important—that was his decision.”

  Scott kept quiet, obviously facing this with mixed emotions, but knowing what his niece would want. Todd spoke up again. “It is fucked up, friend, I don’t disagree. Despite what Garret says, it will also likely be dangerous. I think we need to be on this mission, though, as we may have a better grasp of what is really at stake than anyone else. If we can secure the lab, DJ, and the other researchers on the
team, then perhaps we can help them save all of us from whatever is out there. This is happening whether we go with them or not; this way we can try to contain the damage, temper the attack with common sense and maybe get to the bottom of some things.

  “Garret did offer one other enticement for our assistance . . .” Todd picked up his coffee cup and took a sip before continuing slowly. “Their intelligence says the Messengers could possibly head this way.”

  “What the fuck!”

  “Shiiiiit . . .”

  “How—”

  The three men all began to talk in unison.

  “Why?

  “How do they know?”

  “Why wouldn’t you begin with that?”

  Todd sipped a bit more of the strong, black brew and let his friend’s frenetic questions slowly die down. “It’s not definite, and nothing’s for sure yet, but they have been monitoring the growth of the group the last few weeks. The front of the group has been based near Little Rock as we had expected, but it now appears they are moving on Memphis. The Navy feels confident that will not go well for them. The Messengers are about to run into an immovable object in the shape of a massing Praetor force.

  “Memphis has a safe zone—Scott’s original research showed the location. It is one of the largest and now seems to be the most protected. They’ve seen scores of aircraft and troop recalls all heading back to that location. We know how good the Praetor troops and equipment are. The Messengers have the numbers, but when you get down to it, they will be no match for an organized fighting force. Once they realize this, they will need to retreat or redirect: north, and they’ll run into harsh terrain and few resources. Back the way they came will be the end of them; they already consumed everything that way. That really only leaves the south . . . toward us.”

  “Well, that just brightens up my whole day,” Scott shook his head and jumped to the obvious question, “What is Garret offering?”

  “Protection for us, the AG, and possibly the farms around us. They can’t fight a sustained land battle, but they can offer us air support, armament and assistance should we find ourselves on the Messengers’ radar. They don’t have an accurate count of how large the group is, but get this. They expect upwards of 20,000 marching on Memphis.”

  “Jeezus,” Bartos was rattled. That didn’t happen often. “So, if we believe dem’ Navy guys, we gonna have tens-o-thousands of very pissed off religious nut jobs comin’ our way in the next few weeks.”

  “’Fraid so, Bartos. Well-armed religious crazies at that. I think we knew at some point we would have to face them, but none of us expected the main group to head south. Maybe the Grayshirts will wipe them out . . . who knows?” Todd scratched his beard as he thought about it. “We can’t deal with those numbers, but we have to prepare for the worst. The AG will be too big a prize for them to ignore. They’ll lay siege to us and just wait us out. We have to have support. That’s really why I said yes to Garret.”

  Scott looked at his friend. “Good call, Cap. Tough choice, but I’m in. I do suggest we start making plans of our own for defense here immediately, though. We can’t assume anything, and when the Navy gets what they want, they may just forget about us.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too.” Todd flipped to another page of notes. “We need to get some things in place quickly. When Scott and I are gone,” he looked to Bartos and Jack, “you will be in charge. If anything happens, you need to have multiple plans for defense and possible evacuation. I have a list here. Scott needs to look it over as I’m sure I have forgotten things. This ship is going to be everyone’s bugout, so we need to make room for everyone in the area, take in as many resources as possible, and get the control systems working in case we need to move it. Bartos, we need you to finish securing the stores from the train cars. Scott and DeVonte will work on the ship’s systems. Preacher, I need you to start warning the farms and your trade partners about the threat. Any of them in the area may want to start thinking about bugging out temporarily, here or wherever else.”

  Jack nodded grimly. “Crops are just going in the ground. Many of the farmers aren’t going to want to leave . . . If that storm heads this way, then maybe I can convince them to come shelter here.”

  Todd looked puzzled, “What storm?”

  Bartos filled Todd in on the radar image of the tropical storm.

  “Well, damn, this gets better and better,” Todd said with a sigh. “Okay, we all have a lot to do, let’s get started. Let’s stay in close contact over the next few days. Scott and I will need to stay here to discuss how to get the ship best ready for attack. If you guys are out, we will get word to you when the mission is a go. Until then, we keep it quiet. Just use the storm warning as the primary reason for all our activity for now. No need to mention the Messengers until we know more.”

  Heads nodded in agreement as they rose to get started.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Eastern Arkansas

  Hawley considered his options. Michael had mapped out the strategy to take the federal camp near Memphis, but the Messengers mostly moved on foot. Some had motorcycles, others rode horses, and a few, like him, had Humvees or Jeeps. This meant they couldn’t all reach any desired destination within the same timeframe—or with the same ease. Thus, the motor convoy he was attached to was sitting here out in the open on Route 70, only fifty miles from Memphis. He spat his chew at the feet of the man giving the report.

  “So, what you’re saying is there’s no easy way to approach the camp?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir, but thass the gist of it. We don’ have an exack location, but we know iss likely in the valley. From wha’ we can see, theress only one road in. Tall hills block us on one side, th’other side’s a li’l easier, but we’d have th’river at our back. We’d be in a shootin’ box if it went down wrong, no way we cou’ retreat.”

  “Who in the fuck said we would need to retreat? Have you ever seen us retreat? We are God’s Army, soldier. We cannot lose.” Hawley would have slapped the man if it didn’t involve him climbing down the side of the Humvee.

  “Sir, I’m juss givin’ you the tactical overview. From a military perspective, is goin’ a be . . . a challenge.”

  Hawley nodded and dismissed the man. He knew he was right, but he had a plan for dealing with that: thousands of new converts he could put into that valley to attack from the river side while his main force flanked from the west. The hills might be a challenge, but he was confident they could take this Memphis base, assuming they could find it. So far, no one had gotten close enough to see what was there. He needed eyes on the encampment before he put the entire force at risk.

  Time to talk with his boss. He could see the brown and black luxury motor coach pulling up now. The Prophet’s own “Jesus Bus,” as he liked to refer to it. It was already past noon; Hawley figured His Holiness would be in bed; he always slept when they traveled. Hopefully, he wouldn’t lose his shit when he heard how much the delays were slowing the pending attack.

  The next day started badly and got worse. It was early morning when they heard the first of the attack choppers. The smoking outline of Memphis was close now, within ten miles, but they were not heading there. The deep thumping of the Cobra gunships echoed down the Mississippi Valley. The ground force, made up mostly of newly converted soldiers, was interspersed with Messenger elders to keep them all moving in the right direction. Scout teams of Judges and Marauders—their special weapons and tactics groups—were already encountering organized resistance as they made their way up into the hill country. While the Messengers had the numbers and ample weapons, they were finding this force to be formidable.

  Jimmy Solts had wanted badly to be named as a Judge. He liked the swagger and reputation they held in God’s Army. Instead, he was officially named Commander of one of the Messenger–Marauder crews: part of an advance team that had been covertly working their way into the deep valley. Originally from West Virginia, he knew this terrain and felt at home here. Wel
l, the machine gun fire from the ridgeline and the gunship choppers making strafing runs at them was new.

  “They must have FLIR, Jimmy, or some other kind of Thermal Imaging,” the man twenty yards to his left said. Only with heat sensitive cameras could they pick the soldiers off like this in the forest. They were easy targets.

  “My guess, too,” Jimmy yelled back. They had fired several RPGs at the craft, but it had climbed easily out of the way and then lined up for additional firing runs. Jimmy was currently ducked low behind a line of rocks and deadfall that offered some shelter. I haven’t heard or seen anything flying in months, and when I do, it’s trying to kill me, he thought.

  His Marauder crew was scattered over several hundred yards of the forest. They were pinned down by the choppers’ gunfire—unable to proceed—and he was still losing more men with each pass. He looked at the edge of a stream that meandered peacefully through the open glade ahead. He had an idea.

  He radioed new instructions to the squad. After the next pass from the chopper, the men broke cover and ran to the stream where they immersed themselves in the chilly water. They also soaked their dark Boonie hats and slipped down deeper into the water as the chopper made its next run.

  Jimmy was freezing, but he kept his squad there until the chopper made two more passes. Seeing no new targets, the gray Cobra gunship sought new prey farther down the valley, behind the Marauders. Jimmy gave the order to move out as he climbed from the cold, wet muck of the stream.

  His men double-timed it across the glade to the forest beyond. They were within fifty yards when they noticed a series of flat panels mounted on steel poles just inside the tree line. The panels appeared to be plastic or fiberglass and were colored in a forest camo pattern. The things looked like a radar dish, but they were not moving and were pointed horizontally at ground level. He took a knee, and the others did the same. Sending out two of his men to check it out, he watched and waited.