by David Weber
“Grandiose?” Dvorak repeated.
“Yep.” Jeffers shook his head, brown eyes gleaming with something suspiciously like admiration. “Our Judson’s not content with just ‘usurping’ the office of President from such an august personage as myself. He’s got bigger plans, starting with unification of what’s left of us and Canada into a single country.”
Dvorak’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen the need for something like that coming, but he hadn’t realized Howell was that far along with the process. After all, they still hadn’t put the United States back together again!
“Starting with unification with Canada?” he said.
“Starting,” Howell confirmed, and there were no smiles in evidence now. “We can’t stop there, and right this minute I’ve got the stick to make it happen, thanks to the combination of the Puppies’ industrial base and Vlad and people like Pieter and Jasmine. I control all access to that industry, which means I decide who gets to use it—and survive—and who doesn’t, so I could beat just about anybody into signing on the dotted line if I wanted to. But what we need to build won’t work if all I use is a stick. It won’t have legitimacy, because every other potential political type out there will figure he only agreed to it under duress. And that means it won’t have the staying power it needs. I need somebody who understands that, and who can help me build something that will have legitimacy. And I’ve decided the somebody in question is you. So, how do I go about convincing Sharon to not shoot both of us when you finally surrender to the inevitable and accept the office?”
. VI .
KEY WEST, FLORIDA,
UNITED STATES
“End of the line,” the driver said, stopping the car.
Major Daniel “Longbow” Torino, U.S. Air Force, glanced through the windshield and sighed as he inspected the empty space the Seven Mile Bridge should have filled to the west of Marathon, Florida. Several spans of both the new bridge and the old one had been dynamited since the last satellite pass. The destruction of infrastructure—by humans—was an all-too-frequent problem in the aftermath of the Shongairi. Don’t like your neighbors? Knock down the bridge connecting you. Problem solved. Want to set up your own little fiefdom? Just isolate your community and proclaim yourself the new ruler. In the post-apocalyptic nightmare of the months following the Shongairi retreat, if you had the guns to back you up, you could probably get away with it. Longbow was just glad he wasn’t in charge of infrastructure. Whoever got saddled with that chore was going to have their work cut out for them.
Longbow shook his head. Unfortunately, this was more than a case of bad neighbors. The people who’d likely dropped the bridge—and who waited five miles west—were the bad neighbors, as evidenced by the crudely drawn signs his eyes could see in the dark at the end of the bridge. The skull and crossbones motifs indicated quite well what you could expect if you continued.
The contact forces had heard stories for a while about missing fishing boats and pleasure craft. After the invasion, the fishing boats had continued to work the waters, at least as long as they had fuel—people had to eat, after all—and, with increasing frequency as time went on, many didn’t return. Similarly, there were rumors of civilian pleasure craft that had left ports on the East and Gulf coasts—their owners trying to flee to the islands to get away from the Shongairi—who’d never called back to report arriving at their destinations. To hear the locals tell it, the Bermuda Triangle was operating at peak efficiency. Garbled messages sometimes gave an indication of something being wrong, but the Shongair prohibition of human aircraft precluded any sort of aerial search, and by the time surface rescue craft reached the area, the vessels had simply disappeared. It didn’t matter what type of ship—fisherman or pleasure craft—if it went to sea by itself, all too often it vanished without a trace.
Longbow Torino didn’t believe in the Bermuda Triangle any more than he believed in the goodness of people’s hearts; he’d suspected foul play, even before he’d seen the satellite photos of the missing ships in port. He motioned for the trucks loaded with supplies to begin the slow process of backing down the highway to where they could turn around, then got back in the car with another sigh. Although he’d been able to use the carrot with most of the communities he’d contacted, he suspected Key West was going to need the stick.
* * *
“HELICOPTER APPROACHING KEY West, this is Key West Tower on Guard. You are entering restricted air space. Turn around now or you will be destroyed.”
“What the hell is that?” asked the pilot, Captain Jim “Boot” Hill, as he looked over his shoulder into the back of the Florida Army National Guard HH-60M Black Hawk.
“Those are our new friends,” Longbow replied, switching the cabin radio to 121.5 Mhz—the international distress frequency, or “Guard.”
“Doesn’t sound like the way any of my friends talk to me.”
Longbow smiled. “Maybe that’s because they don’t know how charming I am, yet.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it.”
Longbow switched the wafer switch to VHF and transmitted, “Key West Tower, this is Rescue One, flight of four Army Guard helicopters for landing at Key West.”
“Rescue One, you do not have authorization to land at Key West. Remain clear of our air space or you will be destroyed.”
“And how exactly do you propose to do that, Key West?” Longbow asked.
“Stand by.”
Longbow switched back to the intercom. “This is starting to piss—fuck!” he yelled as a gray blur rocketed past the formation in the post-sunset twilight.
“What the hell was that?” Boot asked, scanning the sky for more aircraft.
“An F-18,” Longbow replied, also searching for more. “The recon sats said they have at least one hangered here. Problem is, they might have two. We’re not sure about that bit.”
Boot gave him the very speaking glance of someone who, for some reason, felt he had been insufficiently briefed.
“Rescue One, Key West Tower. I understand you are now aware we could destroy you at will?”
“Tower, we understand your warning,” Longbow replied. The fly-by hadn’t given him the opportunity to see if the aircraft had been armed—which was probably intentional—and he wasn’t ready to concede the point. It did, however, prove they had at least one operational fighter jet, which was more than he had at the moment.
“Good,” the tower replied. “Turn around and vacate our airspace immediately.”
“I can do that,” Longbow replied. “But if I do, I’m going to come back with a flight of four F-22s, and we’ll see who owns the sky.” Two could play the bluff game.
“I don’t believe you can,” the tower replied. There was a pause and then the voice asked, “What is it you want?”
“Rescue One would like to land and talk to whoever is in charge. I am a representative of the legitimate national government,” Longbow replied. Well, mostly legitimate, anyway, he added to himself.
The pause was even longer this time, and Longbow knew he was making progress if the controller had to go talk to someone higher in the chain of command.
“Rescue One,” the voice eventually replied, “you are cleared to bring one helicopter to Conch Republic International Airfield. Do not attempt to land at Boca Chica Field, or you will be destroyed. The other three helicopters in your flight must turn around now, or all four of you will be destroyed.”
“What is it with this guy?” Boot asked. “He’s got a bad case of ‘or you’ll be destroyed.’ Sounds like somebody with a Dalek complex!”
“No idea,” Longbow said, “but at least we have clearance to proceed. Send the other helos back while I talk to him.”
He switched back to the radio.
“Copy all, Tower. We are proceeding to the international airfield and sending three back to base.”
He saw the other helicopters peeling off and turning around, and he felt a sense of unease pass through him. While he was pretty su
re he could survive a helicopter crash—heck, he’d “spacewalked” without any protection through hard vacuum from a stolen shuttle to take the Shongair flagship—still, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Nor did he particularly want to try it to find out. Then there was the crew to think about. They certainly wouldn’t survive it, and that made him feel something else he hadn’t felt in a while … uncomfortable. He’d never liked losing people under his command.
“You sure about this?” Boot asked, probably feeling the same way.
“Yeah, just get me on the ground, and I’ll work it all out.”
“I’m sure you’ll be good when we get there,” Boot said. “I’ve heard … stories … about you. My co-pilot and I, though … We’re a little more … vulnerable to enemy fire, if you take my meaning.”
“We’ll be fine,” Longbow replied. Although his voice sounded sure, deep down, he was decidedly less so. What exactly was this whole “vampire thing”? Did it have limits? Did it have an expiration or a damage limit? He’d been shot and survived, but what if he got blown out of the sky? Could he survive that? If so, would he still be in one piece?
He didn’t have the information on any of that. He’d wanted to spend more time discussing the limits of vampirehood with Vlad before the captured dreadnoughts had headed out on their mission of vengeance, but they’d never quite gotten around to it. Oh, Vlad had made the chain of command abundantly clear to all of them, left them with a stack of admonitions about things they were forbidden to do, and given Longbow and Pieter Ushakov a separate list of things to watch out for, but all that had left little time to explore the physical limits of what a vampire could face and survive, which left him somewhat in limbo. He knew he was more than human … but how much more? Would it be enough?
He shrugged and put the questions aside, compartmentalizing his fears as he’d learned to do long ago as a fighter pilot. Worrying about things you couldn’t affect was distracting and not conducive to mission completion. He had clearance to the airport, and he was en route. He’d make it work.
“Look out the port side,” Boot said, interrupting his reverie.
They were passing the former naval air station on Boca Chica Key, and he could see the flashing lights of an F-18 landing.
“I see it,” he said.
“Suppose that’s the one that buzzed us?” Boot asked.
“Probably. I can’t imagine they have too many of them. If there’d been a squadron deployed here, I doubt they would’ve escaped the loving attention of the Shongairi.”
“Looks like the Hornet has missiles on its wingtips. He might have been able to shoot us, after all.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Longbow replied. “They always have Sidewinders on their wingtips. I think it helps their aerodynamics. No idea whether those missiles are live or just training rounds, though.”
“Fair enough. I’m just saying, let’s try not to do something where we find out, okay, Sir?”
“Sure thing,” Longbow replied.
“Huh,” the co-pilot, Captain David Packer, said a few seconds later. “You should see the marinas we’re about to go past.”
“Why’s that?” Longbow asked.
“They’re full. And not just with a boat in every slip. The entire tidal basins are full of ships at anchor. They’re packed in like sardines.”
“Might be some of the missing boats,” Boot added. “There’s certainly a bunch of them.”
“Yep, that’s them,” Longbow replied. “We confirmed their identities with the overhead imagery.” He didn’t have long to deliberate over it further as they reached the international airfield another minute later. A truck with flashing lights and a “Follow Me” sign was waiting for them, and Boot followed it to the ramp in front of the terminal building and a parking spot surrounded by klieg lights. A ground crewman took it from there, landing them and then having them shut down the helicopter as several trucks arrived carrying men with rifles.
Longbow slid out of the helicopter, keeping his hands where the men—now pointing the rifles at him—could see them. “Let’s go,” one of the men said, motioning towards the closest truck with his rifle.
“What about them?” Longbow asked, nodding towards the two helo pilots.
“They can stay here,” the same man replied. He gave Longbow an evil grin. “Don’t worry; nothing will happen to them … assuming you’re a good boy, of course. Now get in the truck!”
Longbow got in the back of the truck, and it roared off down the ramp and onto Highway A1A. After a couple of minutes, they pulled into a set of luxury condos, and he was led to a room on the top floor. The leader of the group knocked, and the door was opened after a few seconds by a woman wearing … not much of anything. Longbow guessed it was a bathing suit, but the amount of material she wore could have functioned as a Band-Aid. For a very small cut.
She walked past them with her nose in the air and headed in the direction of the pool, so Longbow decided it actually was a bathing suit. One of the thugs pushed him in the back, and Longbow turned to glare at him.
“Go!” the heavy said. “Stop looking at the governor’s girlfriend.”
Longbow decided an object lesson would be lost on the Governor if he didn’t actually see it, so he ignored the man and walked into the room, where he was greeted by another woman wearing something similar to what the first woman had worn. He shrugged; maybe it was some sort of a uniform. This woman smiled and pointed to the balcony.
“The governor will see you on the veranda.”
Longbow snorted—a hotel balcony was hardly a veranda—but walked out to find the governor seated, looking out at the Gulf of Mexico across the street. He took a sip from a fruity drink and waved Longbow to the seat on the other side of a small glass table from him.
“So,” he said without any introduction, “you’re some sort of representative from the government?”
“I am,” Longbow said as he sat. Two of the thugs followed him out onto the balcony and stood behind his chair, making the balcony seem crowded. “I’m Major Daniel Torino, U.S. Air Force, and I’m here to talk with whoever’s running this little operation.”
“Little operation?” the man asked. “You wound me. I’ve put a lot of effort into it, and we’ve got a nice thing going on here. It may not be as big as we’d like yet, but it’s growing every day. Drugs, piracy … we may even dabble a bit in the sex trade. We have big dreams.”
“And you are?”
“I’m Paul Beach, governor of the Conch Republic.” He cocked his head. “What government are you from, exactly?”
“The government of the United States of America.”
“I didn’t think that existed anymore, just like your Air Force. The Shongairi got rid of both of ’em.”
“That may have been true for a while,” Longbow said, “but we got rid of the Shongairi, and we’re putting the United States back together. The leadership has bigger dreams this time around—”
“—don’t we all,” the governor interrupted.
“I’m sure you have visions of taking advantage of the anarchy the Shongairi brought about—”
“—Where there is anarchy, there is profit,” the governor quoted, interrupting again.
Longbow frowned. “Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?”
“Actually, no, I don’t,” the governor replied. “We’re quite happy here with the government we’ve established. People bring us their toys—” he waved at the lights of ten sailboats anchored offshore “—and we turn them into drugs or cash—whatever we need—and purchase the imports we need. All things considered, we have it pretty good here right now, and we don’t need any government up north telling us what we ought to do or how much of our money we ought to be sending them.”
The governor turned back to Longbow and smiled. “I do thank you for the gift of your helicopter, though. It’ll make our logistics a lot more manageable going back and forth to Cuba.”
“I see.” Longbow stood, ignorin
g the thug behind him and the pistol leveled at the back of his head. “I take it this is your final position, and you aren’t interested in what I have to offer?”
“Anything you offer will have strings attached. We here in the Conch Republic don’t like strings.” The governor made a shooing motion with his hand. “Now, run along. I’m sure we can find some transportation for you so that you can take my message back to your government.”
“I can’t do that,” Longbow said. “What I neglected to mention was that my offer is non-negotiable. You can take it … or I’ll kill you and find someone else who will take it. We will put a government together, regardless of how many criminals we have to execute to make it happen.”
“I don’t like the way you’re talking to the governor,” the thug who’d pushed him earlier said, holding his pistol to Longbow’s temple.
Longbow turned so the barrel was between his eyes, and he was looking around it at the thug. “Are you trying to frighten me? Because if you are, you’re going to have to try harder.”
“Are you kidding me, man?” the thug asked. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you right here, right now!”
“Nope. Still not buying it.”
“Why’s that?” the governor asked. “Because you think someone’s going to come save you? Maybe some special forces from that government you mentioned? You’re wrong. Maybe you think we’re afraid of your pretend president, or whatever he’s calling himself? Well, we’re not. We’re the Conch Republic now, and you’re on our land.”
“No, I’m not afraid because I could kill all of you if I wanted to, and there’s no way you could stop me.”
“What?” asked the thug. “You think you’re some kind of karate master?”
“No,” Longbow replied, holding up a hand, “I’m a vampire.” Jaws dropped across the balcony as his fingertips lengthened and the nails grew into claws.
“Fuck me!” the tough yelled.