“I don’t think so Sergeant. Its mass is much larger than any class four I’ve seen.”
“Oh, so in all your vast experience, you’ve observed a lot of class fours, have you? Why don’t you try reading your daily status update first before you give your professional evaluation?”
Jones, obviously embarrassed by Evan’s comment, replied, “Sergeant, I did read the latest evaluation. It does say it’s a class 4 and it also says that expected re-entry is expected over the Atlantic Ocean, near Greenland. But if you take the SRSC readings, it’s comparable to a Class 7, which to me, shows it can’t be anything but an ELV (Expendable Launch Vehicle) in one of its stages. And sir, it appears to me that it’s being maneuvered. The corrections are minor, but corrections are being made. The altitude is presently 479 kilometers. That’s an awfully high orbit for a satellite that’s supposed to have a decaying orbit.”
Evans grabbed the data from Jones’ hands. He read the data and immediately went to his computer terminal. Suddenly, a panicked look came over his face. He picked up the phone and immediately called for Major Alex Branson.
Evans and Branson immediately started comparing computations.
Jones suddenly yelled over to the Major, “Sir, it just made another minor correction.”
Branson verifying the data, immediately called Commanding General Rivera. After a brief conversation, he then gave the order for an “All Station Alert.” He pulled the projected flight path onto the main facility monitor, which was a 40’ x 20’ screen, spanning the wall of the room.
The monitor was showing a simulation of the earth and the trajectory of the suspected ELV. Continuous minor corrections were being shown. He then pulled up its orbital speed and altitude.
General Rivera walked onto the floor and looked at Major Branson. He only said one word. “Well?”
Branson pulled up a map of the United States, “Sir, it’s presently orbiting at 479 kilometers. With its present trajectory, it will be crossing U.S. airspace, initially over Maryland. That will take it directly over Washington, D.C.”
The General immediately picked up the direct line to NORAD.
The Commanding General of NORAD ordered an alert level of DEFCON 3, then picked up the phone, “I need to speak to the Secretary of Defense.”
Johnson Farm
Kim and I were both in the kitchen cooking a larger than normal dinner. It was 5:46 pm and Tag had called at 5:00 pm saying they were passing Higginsville, Missouri.
I was hoping we could roast a turkey but being that it was frozen, Kim said that she would fix a pre-cooked ham that she bought. I ended up just getting into Kim’s way. When we have turkey for Thanksgiving, I usually roast the turkey and Kim does everything else. Being ham, I really didn’t have anything to do.
“Will you just get out of here? I can handle this. Why don’t you go relax?”
Kim had been laughing at me. She said I was acting like a kid getting ready to open my presents at Christmas.
“Do you realize that I haven’t seen these guys for…., well, too many years to think about? Even longer with Tag.”
She laughed, “Yes dear. You just said that a couple of hours ago.”
“I know, I know, I know. I’ve told you this before when we watched the video a couple of years ago, but it’s hard to explain to someone that hasn’t been in the military. You have a certain few that you form a direct bond with. It’s been all these years but talking to them on the phone…, Well, it was like being back with them, or like it had only been a year since I saw them. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”
She grinned and nodded her head “I think I understand. Listening to all your stories over the years, it’s like I already know most of them. Tag, Red, and Wit, you talked about a lot. Mo is the only one you didn’t mention as much. What’s his real first name again?”
“Calvin. The reason I haven’t talked that much about him to you is, I usually only tell you the fun stories back in the barracks. When in Garrison, Mo was always playing basketball. So, when we were off duty, I didn’t see that much of him. He invited me to play several times, but the guys he played with was on a completely different level than I was. The team they put together could’ve beat a lot of college teams. In the field though, we were always together. I even made him my gunner on my track. I could depend on all the guys, but Mo was one of the best.”
“Well, I think I’ll call all of them by their first names. I’m sure that’s what they’re going by now. Let’s see. Of course, Mo is Calvin, Red is Kevin and Wit is Greg, right?”
I nodded my head while biting into a piece of ham. I was just reaching for another piece when she slapped my hand down, “Hey, leave that alone.”
I smiled sheepishly, grabbed another small piece, and ran away from her.
“You know, I’ll probably go ahead and call Tag, Tag. I’ve heard so much about him; he’s Tag to me. Plus, his name being Michael, with Mike here also, it may get confusing otherwise.”
Tag was sitting at the dining table that Mo had built close to the driver’s seat. MO’s wife Angela and Lulu were in one of the small bedrooms, double-checking their appearance.
The GPS had just given the command of “In five hundred feet, turn left.”
Mo turned the bus left onto the gravel road. “Where the heck does he live?”
“How the hell do I know? You got the directions from him. Vince always said he was going to get a farm way out in the country. I’d say he found it.”
“Well, he said that once we turned on the gravel road, it’s about ¼ of a mile on the right. He says there’s a flagpole and a soldier statue out front,” Mo said with a look of worry, hoping he didn’t meet any oncoming traffic.
“There it is. I see the flag flying.”
I was just walking back into the kitchen when we heard a large vehicle slowing down in front of the house. Suddenly, we heard a loud horn that sounded like a semi-trucks horn. I looked out the bay window.
“Oh my God! Kim, look at this. He said a school bus, but I was expecting a normal sized school bus. That’s almost the size of a Grey Hound Bus.”
Mo had bought one of those flat front-end school buses that are 40 feet long and were made to carry 77 passengers.
Nationwide
After the President’s press conference, the stock market completely tumbled. The dollar that had already been devalued drastically, finally collapsed.
Gold jumped to $12,600 an ounce, and with gold becoming so expensive, many buyers switched to silver, causing its price to rise to $565 an ounce.
Even though oil should’ve gone down with the stock market, it didn’t. It jumped up to $348 a barrel. This caused gasoline to rise to $23.04 a gallon at the pump.
When the San Francisco earthquake hit, and there was a fear that California was about to have the big one, oil prices crashed just like the market did. The thinking was that the oil demand would drop significantly if the population of California wasn’t buying gasoline. But as people evacuated, oil rose significantly. Then you add the nationwide riots; the fear was the refineries were going to be attacked by the large group of radicals.
Within minutes of the President’s speech, there were runs on the banks. People had demanded their money before they closed. Many closed on their own because they ran out of cash. As soon as the Federal Reserve sent down the order to the banks, the rest of them closed. People by the hundreds stormed the banks, crashing out the windows and demanding their cash.
Many were killed, as stabbings, fights, and gunfire broke out at the banks. Law enforcement in smaller towns couldn’t handle the mobs. The law enforcement agencies in the larger metropolitan cities were already overwhelmed and couldn’t send any officers to assist.
All credit card and debit transactions were immediately stopped. Since most people don’t carry much cash on them, no one could buy fuel.
Since most people only keep a weeks’ worth of food at the most in their houses, there was, of course, runs on the grocery st
ores but the majority were unable to buy food because they didn’t have the cash. Violence broke out at the grocery stores, gas stations, and even mini-mart type stores.
The President and his party had always wanted social justice, where the poor and rich were more equal. He had achieved this. Most of the rich didn’t have access to their money. They were in the same boat as the poor. Maybe worse, because they didn’t know how to survive on little food and many of them had little food in their homes in the first place as they were used to going out to eat and some had their food delivered.
In the last few days, it was the groups that were a part of Socialists United doing the rioting. Then the gangs started their looting and robberies. But now it was the common citizen panicking because they couldn’t buy food, fuel, or supplies. They were not able to access their own money.
Most believed what they had been told, that something like this couldn’t happen. That the system had safeguards to prevent it. They were taught to trust the government. Even with all the warnings about having a deficit of twenty trillion dollars, most people didn’t care. Everyone just seemed to be wrapped up in their own lives; many didn’t even pay attention.
The new generation, called “Millennials,” had grown up with everything handed to them. Many of them felt that everything was owed to them. Housing, food, cell phones, the internet, and healthcare.
As Bill O’Reilly put it; many of this generation believes in Nihilism, which means they believe in nothing but his or her own desires. They have no loyalties and no purpose outside of their own gratification.
Ft. Riley, Kansas
Red had just hung up from talking to Tag. Wit noticed he was writing down directions to somewhere.
“Hey, they somehow found Vince Johnson. He lives on a farm just southeast of Kansas City. They’re heading there now, and he wants us to head that way also,” he said to Wit.
“No way! How did they find him?”
“Mo found his wife’s Facebook page.”
“So, we’re going, right?”
“Hell yes. I’d love to see those S.O.B.s,”
“Well, we have full tanks of gas, and we have everything packed. Let’s get out of here. Were those the directions you were writing down?”
“Yeah. He told us to avoid Kansas City altogether. He said that Vince told him the area was like a war zone.”
Wit stared off into space and then grinned, “Well, if that’s the case, I want to run by my storage locker to pick up something. It may come in handy,” He looked at Red with a big grin.
When driving to the storage facility in Junction City, they drove by one of the banks. They had a hard time driving through as it was just stacked with cars and there was a large mob outside the bank.
“What the hell is going on there?” Red asked over the radio.
“I don’t know, but it isn’t good. We need to get out of here. Something bad is going on and I don’t like it.”
They both drove up to the sliding door of his storage building. All it had in it was a large toolbox, a storage bin, some old bed rails, and a tarp thrown over, what looked like some boxes. Wit went right over to the tarp and pulled it off. It was covering a special black case and several ammo boxes. He unlocked it and flipped the latches. When he opened it, Red’s mouth fell wide open.
“Oh, my God!”
“Yep, I smuggled it home from Iraq.”
The last I saw Wit, he had the rank of Specialist in the Scout Platoon. After Desert Storm when he decided to reenlist, he had it put in his contract to obtain a secondary MOS of 68 Whiskey-Combat Medic. He loved it and stayed with it throughout his career and retired at the rank of First Sergeant.
“I originally got this by an oversight. We picked up a Specialist who was a victim of an IED. This was his weapon that we threw into the Humvee. We transported him to the Aide Station in it. The poor bastard didn’t make it. He died in surgery.
Later, when the driver was cleaning up the Humvee, he noticed the weapon and asked me where to secure it as he was going back out on patrol. I told him to throw it in my tent, and I’d take care of it. I got busy and forgot about it for a while.
Long story short, they must’ve thought it got destroyed in the explosion because it never came up.”
“But how did you get it home?”
“I stored it with the medical equipment when we were leaving the country, and since I did the inspection, it slid through the system.
I never told you about it because for a long time I was a little scared and felt guilty. I went ahead and stored it and then the times we talked, I didn’t even think about it. As I was approaching my ETS date, I started buying ammo. Hopefully, we can get it all in the trailers.”
Red laughed, “Oh, we’ll get it in the trailers, even if I have to leave my clothes behind.”
As good of friends as Tag and I were in Germany, that’s how Red and Wit were. They were best friends and stayed in touch after Red got out of the Army.
That’s how they both ended up with identical motorcycles. When Red got out of the Army, he used his VA benefits to go to a great automotive technician school and afterward opened his own automotive repair center. Through dealings with a parts company, he found a matched pair of Classic 1972 Harley Davidson Electra Glide Police Editions that were in almost mint condition.
Wit, at some point, had watched the movie “Electra Glide and Blue” with Robert Blake and fell in love with the movie. So, when Red was offered the bikes, he immediately called him, and they partnered up and bought them. They were also pulling trailers that they had painted to match the bikes.
“How long do you think it will take to get there?” Wit asked.
“With the detours we need to make to avoid Kansas City and Topeka, I’m guessing about four to five hours. Of course, that’s if we don’t run into any trouble and another thing, we’re going to have to find a gas station on the way. With the trailers loaded as heavy as they are, our gas mileage isn’t going to be up to par.”
Wit then opened his saddlebag and pulled out his 9mm Beretta and slipped it under his shirt. Red, being a good Texas boy, was already carrying his Springfield XD .40 caliber.
“Let’s go to Missouri,” Wit said over the radio as they drove off.
Instead of taking Interstate 70 straight east to Kansas City, which would’ve been much faster in normal conditions, they had to take 177 South down to 56 East and then using a combination of small roads; it would take them directly to Harrisonville. It adds several miles to the trip and would be slower but a lot safer. The smaller towns they were going to drive through wouldn’t be having the problems that the larger cities would.
The drive was very peaceful, driving through mainly farm territory.
“I’m starting to see the attraction Vince always had for living in this kind of country. It’s peaceful,” Wit commented.
“Yeah, I have to admit, it’s nice up here and a hell of a lot greener than southern Texas.”
“We need to find a gas station open as soon as we can. I’m not sure how far it is, and I’m getting a little low.”
As they approached Vassar, Kansas, which was on the southwest corner of Pomona Lake, they found a combination convenient store/gas station/bait shop that appeared open. Next to it was a small motel with only about seven rooms on the front side. They pulled up to the pumps, one on one side and one on the other side of the same pump. There was a written sign on the pumps, which read, “$8.37 a gallon. 10-gallon limit. Cash only. Pay in advance.”
“Son of a bitch! I just can’t get used to these prices,” Red said disgustedly.
“Be grateful we even found a station open.”
“I’ll go in and pay for it, but you have to pump it. I know how you military sorts don’t make much money.”
“That’s no shit. Anyway, you being a rich independent businessman, you should be paying for the whole trip.”
“Yeah right, … you forget I have a wife and two kids. I don’t get to keep any of my mone
y.”
Red walked through the doors and saw a man in his late 60’s sitting behind the counter talking with, what looked like a local fisherman. At first, both men acted like they were on a little bit of alert, checking Red and Wit both out.
“How you boys doing?” the man behind the counter asked.
“Good. Good. We’re glad to find a place actually open.”
He walked up to the counter and opened his wallet pulling out a $100 bill and set it on the counter. The man seemed to relax a bit when seeing the cash and reached over and turned on the pump.
“Where you boys coming from?”
“Ft. Riley. My friend out there just retired from the Army.”
“Oh, a military man. I was stationed at Ft. Riley several years back,” the fisherman said smiling.
Both men completely relaxed at this point. Red noticed the man behind the counter was setting a sawed-off shotgun back on the shelf.
The man noticing Red’s observation, said, “Sorry, you just can’t be too careful these days.”
“I hear that! That’s why we happened to come this way. We wanted to avoid Topeka and Kansas City.”
“You guys were smart. I hear downtown Kansas City is just burning down and Topeka isn’t much better.”
Wit, hearing the pump come on, filled up both bikes. He only had to pump 6 gallons to fill both tanks. Just as he was setting the handle back into the pump, he could hear the pounding from the bass of a car stereo approaching.
The man behind the counter said, “Looks like $50.22,” while picking up the hundred and giving Red the change.
“Thank you, sir! You don’t happen to have a restroom, do you?”
“Yes, right back there in the back.”
“Thank you! I need to make that a priority.”
“Seems like a nice guy. Well, I guess I ought to go cook me a couple of the fish I caught. See you later,” the fisherman said and then left and walked over to his motel room.
Wit walked into the store, “How ya doing?” The man behind the counter smiled, “I hear you just retired from the Army. Thank you for your service.”
Apocalypse Coming Page 14