Don Pendleton - Civil War II

by Don Pendleton

"I understand it," the troop commander said. "They terrorized us off the land, now we're going to terrorize our way back onto it. It's as simple as that."

  "So, the south is gonna rise again, isn't it," Hatfield said, grinning.

  "Yeah," Elliot growled. "It's going to rise about two feet. In blood."

  CHAPTER 5

  "Abe Williams ain't no Black Messiah!"

  "Well, hell, I didn't say he was." Phil Smart, Mayor of Kansas City, stepped to the window and let his eyes follow the gently rolling terrain clear to the horizon. "But goddammit, give the man credit. When the rest of us were laying around moaning and licking our wounds, he's the guy got this Omega Project to turning. He set up the communications links, he made the contacts with the government niggers, he got the towns organized and pulling together toward the common goal. It's been his show from the very beginning. A bunch of whining Johnny-come-latelys aren't going to stand up now and start telling him how to run things."

  The military commander, Warren Hutchings, rolled his eyes heavenward. "He still ain't no damn messiah! And I'm telling you a limited war never did work. Now I learned that in the mudholes of Vietnam. Where'd Abe learn his military stragegy? On what campus of what university in what protest demonstration? Huh?"

  "He knows what he's doing," Smart muttered. "General Bogan is not exactly anybody's damn fool, you know. A man don't get to be boss of the whole damn armed—-" "I don't trust that son of a bitch either!" Hutchings said.

  "He ought to know better. He fought in Vietnam, he fought in Laos, he fought in Thailand, he fought every damned limited war there ever was to fight. Once I'd like to hear about just one unlimited war he ever fought. I'm telling you, Phil, this plan is crazy. When an armed force seizes the initiative, then they've got to hang onto it. Hell, man, you don't break a charge in mid-stride!"

  "Abraham Williams says Phase Two only, and Phase Two only it's going to be," the Mayor said doggedly. "Now are you going to lead the KC forces or aren't you?"

  "I'm leading! I'm leading! But you mark my words, and you remember I said it three times, and I haven't even heard any cock crowing around here yet. Abe Williams ain't no Black Messiah!"

  CHAPTER 6

  The council of war was underway in the only Phase Three area of the nation. Present were Abraham Lincoln Williams, serving as unofficial Chief Executive of Black America, Army Chief of Combat and Commander of the Unified Town Militia; General Jackson T. Bogan, Tactical Air Command Chief; General Hawley Matthews, also representing the Military Airlift Command; Colonel Brownleaf, Troop Commander of the small army garrison at The Presidio in San Francisco and also special adjutant for the California State Guard; Norman Ritter, Intelligence Chief for the Omega Project; a Captain Toney, USN, Tactical Officer for the 12th Naval District; a Colonel Horace, Commanding Officer of the Special Reaction Group at Ford Grd; and a number of junior officers from the several services. Also present was Sam Danniger, a newly commissioned colonel in the black militia and in charge of the Oakland forces.

  The meeting was being conducted in the special war room at Oakland's Warhole, and Abe Williams was presiding.

  "Now listen, I want no goofs," he told the assembled brass. "When I say a limited Phase Three, that's exactly what I mean. How's our timetable, Jackson?"

  "Looks good," the old soldier reported. "Colonel Horace sees no problem with the airlift By the way, I've got Bob Donaldson manning the war room at the Pentagon. He's a sharp boy, and he's going to be right on top of the show throughout the night. We have the dummy wargames board up and running, with the press and all invited to observe. So far no takers, the nation lost interest in wargames several crises ago. But just in case something slips and someone gets the idea that a lot of troops are moving about. . . well, we've got the cover."

  "Fine," Williams said. "Let's run through our timing once lightly. Forgive me if I'm belaboring, but this entire operation hinges on split second timing, complete discipline, and absolute intimacy with the battle order. Colonel Horace—if you will."

  Horace was a man in his mid-fifties with the rock-jawed hardness of the career combat soldier. He stepped up to the chart and tapped a thick finger on the marker at Ford Ord. "In line with the dummy wargames, we're lifting off twenty-two troop copters at 2200 hours, I will be in the lead vehicle with a special reaction team to be placed at the disposal of Mr. Ritter. The other carriers will be lifting five rifle companies, a special weapons company and command vehicles. These will be dispersed to the Presidio, to the state guard facility near Sacramento, and to various other points in Northern California, where they will be joined by motorized units from Parks and Davis. I will remain at the Presidio, where I will join Colonel Brownleaf at Command, and where Mr. Ritter will take charge of the demolition team." The Colonel spread his hand across the northern area of California. "All these assignments have been carefully selected to completely neutralize any reaction capability the whiteys might try to throw up. Each of the twenty-two choppers will be released in sufficient time to rendezvous here at Warhole for the 2330 hours liftoff."

  Williams smiled and said, "Thank you, Colonel. Swift and concise, that's how I like it, and that's the way I want it to go tonight."

  "It will, sir," Horace assured him.

  The militia commander, Banniger, was the next man up. Quite young, but all business and obviously very sure of himself, he picked up the battle order precisely where the other man had left it. "Colonel Horace's choppers will begin arriving here at Waxhole at 2330 hours. Oakland Armor will be in embarkation order and we begin loading immediately. By 2330 all twenty-two choppere will be on the ground and receiving. At midnight on the dot and in consonance with command units out of Presidio, Able Company lifts off and proceeds directly to target. Succeeding departures are spaced at two-minute intervals, and the first wave will be clear of Warhol© by 0045 hours How much of this do you want, Mr. Williams?"

  "Just take us through Able Company, Sam."

  "Yes, sir. Able Company will arrive at the State Guard Central Motor Pool at the Southwest edge of San Francisco—-in the beach area—and land inside the compound. This area will be secured no later than 0030 hours, and there is to be no gunfire whatsoever. The stationkeeping force of whiteys will be quickly and quietly subdued. They will then immediately begin servicing the vehicles which the Department of the Army, has been systematically stacking there since 1997."

  General Bogan chuckled and told Danniger, "Thank you, son, for that nice detour around the word 'stealing.' I just saw a communication last week from Governor Raleigh asking what in blazes did the State of California want with all these hundreds of war machines. I'll bet he won't be asking that tomorrow morning."

  "Yes, sir." lie young militiaman was not to be deterred from Ms report. Soberly he continued. "These minimally-mothballed transport and armored vehicles will be placed on the line with all speed, special priority going to 60 troop carriers, 42 weapons carriers, and four of the 87 jeeps. These specified veMcles must be serviced and on their way to the Warhole no later than 0200 hours. They will travel in traditional military convoy fashion, and they will proceed through the city of San Francisco and into Oakland via the prescribed route. Any civil authorities attempting to either aid oar interfere with this convoy will be discreetly disposed of. The convoy must arrive at the Warhole no later than 0300 hours. Embarkation of the Oakland Rifles will then commence immediately. Meanwhile, the armor brigade will continue servicing the combat vehicles at San Francisco motor pool. This will include 32 of the M-60 tanks, and 57 of the lighter units, including also six armored scout cars for unit commands. All armor will be fully serviced and on the line at 0500 horns, at which time this armored column will depart for rendezvous with regular army elements from Presidio and Mission. Rendezvous point is at the head of Market Street, just below Twin Peaks."

  "Very good, Colonel Danniger," Williams complimented the youth. "You keep it just that tight and we'll see a bright tomorrow. Colonel Brownleaf?"

  The Presidio Com
mander stepped up to the chart and glared at the enlarged area of San Francisco for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued the recital. "We'll, uh, have our light armor moving down Lombard Street, and well have taken positions at Van Ness Avenue, at Geary, and in the Fisherman's Wharf area. Bayshore elements of the regulars will have entered the city via the Bayshore Freeway, and they'll be in position along lower Mission, lower Market, and along the Embarcadero." He glared at the intelligence chief. "Did I understand Mr. Ritter to say there will be over two hundred thousand tourists to contend with?"

  Ritter jerked his head in a bounding nod and replied, "You did. That's a standard weekly count of whiteys flocking to their fabled city with the golden streets."

  "I've seen them," Brownleaf said. "Well, so our timing will have to be perfect. We'll want to accomplish the deployment before the city awakens. They're going to find their sightseeing suddenly greatly enhanced by the dawn's early light. But we'll have road blocks at all critical points, just to assure non-interference from the early risers."

  "So far, so good," Williams commented. "This moves us through Phase One, seize the means, and Phase Two, seize the city. Before we go into Phase Three, let's hear from Navy and Air Force.

  The navy captain remained in his chair and mildly declared, "No naval problems. We will continue our normal convoy operations for the merchant fleets, outbound only and through noon tomorrow only. All inbound shipping will be turned back at the twelve mile limit, and we seal the bay as of 1200 hours tomorrow. We could catch a bit of guff from the whitey Coast Guard, but we're bigger and meaner, so I see no real problem from that direction."

  General Matthews also remained seated for his report. "We'll have two squadrons of fighters alternating in the airspace above the Bay area from dawn until you call us down. We are also going on Continental Alert for the duration, just in case some of our hungry neighbors get sudden ideas to exploit this operation."

  General Bogan added, "And of course, we are leaving Automated Defense Command in full operation. Our black brothers in Africa and the yellow ones of Asia are beginning to get frantic. Some idiot might try to capitalize on this internal dispute and try to join the act. Don't worry, they won't."

  "Give us the Phase Three wrap-up, Jackson," Abe Williams suggested.

  "Okay. Norm Ritter will have the demolition boys out at Golden Gate Bridge. Phase Three begins at precisely zero six hundred hours, when the old bridge will splash into the drink. I'll hate to see that, just between us brothers. But ... everybody agrees that war is hell. So the bridge has got to go. It's a symbol, and that's what we have to go after. Anyway, the explosion will be heard all over the city. Hell, all over the Bay area. This will be the signal for all elements to commence the assault upon San Francisco. Element leaders, using the armored scout cars, will have to mix it up with the whiteys and stay down in there to reconnoiter potential trouble spots. Direct the armored units accordingly. Keep our foot soldiers out of trouble. You never can tell what half a million whiteys might decide to do. You have to respect those people, even if they don't respect us. But remember, this is a limited Phase Three. We're not going in there to kill. We just want to tear down some of their beloved symbols, wake 'em up, let 'em see beautiful black faces behind weapons of destruction, let 'em know what we could be doing if we had a mind to.

  "The civic center element will raise as much hell as possible in a thirty minute period. Other elements are primarily screens, except for the Embarcadero units, and they have a few walls to breech along Market. Does that about cover it, Abe?"

  Williams replied, "I guess so. But I want to emphasize, and I want all your people to clearly understand, that the Phase Three mission is simply to wake them up. No more killing than absolutely necessary. We want to shock them. We want them to be frightened. But we do not want them all dead. We want them to be helpless, to be at our mercy, and to know that they are."

  "Yes, I think that's pretty well understood," Bogan murmured.

  "Okay. Uh, Colonel Danniger ... would you care to give us a quick scan over the hinterland section."

  "Yes, sir." The militiaman rose halfway out of his chair and turned about to address the junior officers. "As a quick scan ... the first wave from Warhole covers Bay Area targets only. Then the copters return directly to Warhole and embark the hinterland elements. The second wave will place Oakland Rifles and Armor Brigades in a fan-shaped pattern from Redding to the north to Sacramento east. The third wave covers the coastal area between Eureka and Sausalito. Succeeding waves will blanket our part of the state from San Luis Obispo up."

  "Thank you, Sam," Williams said. "That's it, gentlemen. Needless to say, every place that's worth it in California—and every other state on the mainland—will know what Phase Two means by early tomorrow morning. All eyes, of course, will be on us, here in California, because we have the only three Phase Three cities. So let's follow the battle order. And ... for God's sake, let's watch it. We don't want to destroy this country. It's our country too, you know. And this is probably our very last chance, the final forlorn hope for tomorrow for the American Negro. We've tried everything else, and none of it worked.

  We tried humility, and they walked on us. We tried passive resistance, and they terrorized us. We tried the courts, and they weaseled us. We tried economic power, and they cheated us. We tried local violence, and they crushed us. So now we have to try open warfare. We have to try it. We could fail, you know. Let's make it work. I consign our fate to your hands, gentlemen. God stand strong in your presence, my friends. God ride with you all the way."

  Williams marched out of the room without a backward glance. The older ones would understand, but he did not want those young men to see the moisture in his eyes. To the young, leaders never cry.

  Immersed in his thoughts, he went directly to the old press box, high atop the Warhole, bit off the end of a cigar, and looked out upon the grimy inheritance of Black America. "Not my people," he murmured. "Thy people, Father. Let this cup pass from my lips. Dear God, take away the cup." But he knew the cup would not budge. There was no place for it to go. Abe Williams was stuck with it. His eyes swept toward the bay. Yes, and San Francisco was stuck with it also.

  CHAPTER 7

  Winston had been to the Pentagon and to the Bureau of National Labor Standards—and now, he was positive, he'd picked up a. couple of shadows somewhere along the way. A picture had begun to definitely focus in his mind back there at the Pentagon—nothing definitive exactly—but a fuzzy image crawling with all sorts of wild possibilities and insane conclusions. He had been trying like hell to shrug it all away when he became aware of the tail. Two guys, young, impeccably dressed, and doing their job with such skill that only another pro would have spotted them. But dammit they were there. And now Winston was wanting in the worst way to know why they were there.

  With his two shadows, he hopped the hover jitney to Capitol Hill, knowing that congress was not in session but hoping nevertheless to run into someone from the Senate Aimed Forces Committee. He found there nothing but an army of white tourists being led around by black guides, then he and his shadows took another jitney to the new Senate Office Building in Takoma Park. Here he located a senate aide who laughed nervously at every mention of mothballed war machines but professed complete ignorance of the subject.

  After some ten minutes of parry-thrust learn-nothing

  conversation, Winston stuck a cigarette between his lips and asked the aide for a light. When the guy brought the lighter up, Winston studied the hands and not the flaime, and found there the telltale clues he sought. The fingernails and the palms told it all, as he exhaled the smoke from his lungs, Winston asked the senate aide, "Is Senator Marvin aware that he has a Tom working for him?"

  The guy flushed and told Winston to go to hell. Instead, he tried some stunting from hovercar to surface taxi and back to airborne shuttle, and was satisfied at the third shift that he had lost the double shadow—then he proceeded directly to a downtown Washington hot
el which, by tacit agreement between the races, catered to those of light skin and tender sensitivities.

  He did not register, but went directly to a telephone turret in the lobby, closed the door and locked it, made himself comfortable on the lounge, and dropped his AMS card into the meter. A soft tone sounded and he placed the call in precise audibles, then sat back and folded his arms to await the connection.

  A feminine voice filtered up from somewhere beyond the meter to announce, "Mr. Waring's office."

  "This is Mike Winston. Is the Chief in?"

  "Oh. Are you calling from California, Commissioner?"

  "No. I'm in Washington, Becky. This is important. Put me through, eh?"

  "I'm sorry, Mike," the warm contralto declared. "He's gone for the day. Will you be staying overnight?"

  Winston recognized the tone accompanying that question. He let his own tone become more formal as he told her, "Maybe. Uh, look, this is pretty hot stuff. Can't you zot-spot him for me?"

  "I'll try," she replied, a hint of frost settling into her voice. "Just a sec."

  A barely audible click sounded and Winston was treated to a minute of soft music, then the contralto returned and the music vanished. "I found him," she reported. "He stopped off at CAC on his way home. Be there about another thirty minutes."

  "He still living in Silver Spring?"

  "Uh huh. But you could probably catch him at CAC."

  "Which CAC is this?" he inquired.

  "The Community Accomodation Center," she replied. "The white one, of course."

  "Uh . . ."

  The woman laughed through the connection. "Don't tell me you've never ... It's at the Federal Center, Mike."

  "Oh yeah. Okay, I'll try him there." His mind crawled, and he quickly added. "Do something for me first, Becky. Get me passkey codes for Central Computer, data retrieval on military weapons and munitions. Also demographic data on interurban and landflow characteristics."