by Ryan King
The clouds had finally cleared and the bright moon cast calm light over the surface of everything. Joshua was staring at the blinking next to the bundle. “Maybe we didn’t completely interrupt them. The transmitter would have given them a longer range, but if someone knows what they’re doing, it might still be set off.”
Conrad leaned over again. “Yeah, that looks like a standard walkie-talkie. Might be set to go off if someone breaks squelch on that frequency.”
They all looked around at each other in sudden realization.
“Could be nothing,” someone said.
“Get the demo team up here!” screamed Conrad back towards the north.
Joshua was visualizing that bomb going off and killing all of them as tons of water washed downstream. A wall of water that would swamp, and maybe even flip, those flat barges carrying hundreds of soldiers at Decatur. It would be a catastrophe and signal possible defeat.
“No time for that,” said Joshua, handing his rifle to Conrad.
“What are you doing?” asked Conrad.
Joshua moved to the edge of the dam and looked down before lifting one leg over and then the other.
Conrad realized what he was planning too late. He moved forward to grab Joshua, but he now held a rifle in each hand. A lifetime of training kept him from dropping either weapon.
Looking down, Joshua saw the bundle and then slipped off. He plunged downward intending for his feet to hit the bundle and knock it off the wall, but he was too far to one side. Joshua grabbed a hold of the bundle, and he lay there suspended for a fraction of a second before the tape and wires holding the bundle to the metal support pulled away with a ripping sound.
Joshua hugged the bomb to his chest as he dropped down, plunging into the cool water and darkness of the river.
Chapter 18 – Bastion of Decency
It had been a very long time since Trailer had been inside what he would call a real home. Even before N-Day, he had lived out of the cab of his semi-trailer truck with the occasional vacation in a rundown hotel or rest stop. He hadn’t minded; it was the life and it kept him moving.
It was the pictures that got to him. Strolling around the small neat rooms of Reggie Phillips’ house he saw that they were precursors to larger stories, in a sense similar to covers of books promising tantalizing tales.
Simon and Jessica were in the living room talking to Reggie who had graciously invited them over for dinner after hearing of their ordeal from Nathan Taylor. Trailer stuck his head in and saw an elderly dignified man who looked hollowed around the eyes, as if he could use more rest. Simon and Jessica sat closer to each other than was strictly necessary on the large couch.
Trailer ducked back into the den chuckling to himself. He wished Simon and Jessica well, although it would be a miracle if either of them let their feelings be known to the other any time soon.
There was a small crash in the kitchen.
“I’m fine,” came a resigned and slightly disgusted voice.
Trailer stepped in to see Janice Phillips bending down awkwardly on her artificial leg to pick up a cookie sheet of cooked biscuits.
“Here, let me help,” said Trailer, closing the hot gas oven. He then grabbed a dishtowel and placed the hot sheet on the stovetop before gathering the hot biscuits.
“I’m sure they’re still fine,” said Janice, blowing off the biscuits and placing them back into the pan. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Trailer popped one of the hot biscuits in his mouth and crossed his chest.
“A man after my own heart,” said Janice with an approving nod. She placed a series of casserole dishes in the oven and set a timer. “Should be ready in a bit. How are you doing?”
The question made Trailer pause in his chewing. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him that question. He looked down on the small woman and saw that the question was sincere.
“Okay, I guess,” he finally mumbled. “You sure it’s not too much? Having us here, I mean? President Phillips has only just recovered from malaria, after all.”
“He’s through the worst of it, besides my husband thrives on human interaction.”
“I can tell,” said Trailer, looking again into the hallway.
“I saw you looking at those pictures in there,” she said.
Trailer nodded and felt strangely embarrassed, as if he had intruded onto an intimate moment.
She slipped her hand into his arm. “I’ll give you the grand tour, although it’s not too grand.”
They stepped into the dining room and the picture that was difficult to ignore. It was obviously an inauguration. A powerfully built man stood with his strong jaw thrust out, his hand on a large black bible held by a man in judge’s robes. In the background, a number of people stood expectantly with bright eyes. In the forefront stood Reggie Phillips.
“That was Governor Henry’s inauguration,” Janice explained. “Reggie was sworn in as lieutenant governor later in the governor’s library. I always thought that should have been part of the public ceremony as well, but the privacy of it suited Reggie just fine.”
Trailer moved to the right and stared at a man who had to be Reggie and Janice’s son. A beautiful woman, two girls, and a teenage son stood around him in a garden on a sunny day.
“Our son, Trevor,” she explained. “His wife, Shirley, and our three grandchildren. Connor is the oldest and the girls are Megan and Elise.”
Trailer saw the tears in her eyes, but couldn’t resist asking. “What happened to them?”
Janice shrugged and wiped her eyes. “We don’t know for sure. Trevor worked for the state department at the U.S. Embassy in the Netherlands. Europe got hit pretty hard from what I understand, but not the Netherlands. Brussels of course was crushed, being the headquarters of NATO and the European Union. The Hague is only a few hours away from there, so...”
Trailer nodded. “Lots of people made it. Nathan Taylor told me he lived between D.C. and Baltimore, and that area was supposedly leveled.”
“I know,” she said and took a deep breath. “I imagine them out there somewhere. Still alive...but regardless, we’ll never see them again.”
Trailer didn’t have to ask what she meant. With the evaporation of governments and total devastation, getting a transatlantic flight or cruise from Europe was as likely as teleportation.
She steered him by the arm to the next photograph that needed no explanation. “Our wedding day. My daddy wouldn’t come because Reggie had refused to tolerate his bullying. My father wasn’t a bad man, but he was used to getting his way in everything. He was the county sheriff for nearly thirty years before he was killed in a silly drunken brawl out at the Hilltop Bar. Reggie, even as a young man, was respectful. He didn’t back down. The first time I saw him stand up to my father, something I’d never seen anyone do, I suppose I fell in love with him.”
Trailer turned to look into the living room at the man. Even in his own home he wore a coat and tie. Trailer glanced down at his worn pants and shirt and felt the need to go freshen up.
“He’s a good man,” said Janice from far away, “but he’s worn thin. It’s not in him to turn away when he can help, but there’s not much left I’m afraid.”
His eyes caught on the sharp piece of iron sticking out of the corner of the ceiling. “He might just surprise you.”
She chuckled. “I see you heard that story. In fact it did surprise me. Surprised the hell out of me if you’ll forgive me for saying. I thought he had killed that man. Might have killed those other two men who were guarding him. I never heard and never thought to ask, but I know my husband. We’ve been married for a long time and I’ve never seen him this worn down.”
“Maybe he should take a break.”
“I would love that.” She smiled. “So would he, I think, but who is there to replace him? I know I’m biased, but my husband is special. He has a gift and that gift is getting people to put aside their petty differences and work together. There are plenty of men wh
o are smarter or better leaders or even wiser, but I don’t think there’s anyone else who can do what he does.”
Trailer stared at the man on the couch. He was listening carefully to something Jessica was saying. Reggie Phillips would have looked at home giving a university lecture or as a courtroom judge, not someone who could nearly beat a man to death in his own home with a fireplace poker.
“We’ve lived here most of our life other than the six years in Frankfurt before...well, before.” She sighed. “We raised our son here and played with our grandchildren. I suspect we’ll die here.”
“We all die somewhere,” Trailer said. “There are worse places than home to do so.”
“Indeed. So much has been lost in the last two years, but here...in the JP...so much has been saved. People are still neighbors. We have families, community, but people are scared and near the breaking point.”
Trailer thought about the places he had been and the things he had seen. The depravity and desperate measures people had sunk into. He looked around at the electric lights and clean carpet. Janice smelled like shampoo and lotion instead of the typical sweat and fear that had become the standard scent of humanity.
You all are living in a fantasy world, thought Trailer. It’s nice, but it’s a mirage. Hot water and ovens that work and even clean drinking water straight from the tap. This little oasis can’t stay this way forever; eventually the real world will get in and then where will you be?
Janice was staring at him expectantly when the oven timer began making a ringing noise. She clapped her hands together and turned towards the kitchen. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”
Trailer looked around the room at the pictures and all the clean surfaces and the nice furniture. The extra tall ceilings where he didn’t even have to duck were even better. He mentally contrasted this with what he knew was just outside on the borders, mere miles away.
Going anywhere? Good question...am I?
Is this the last bastion of goodness and decency or a sinking ship?
He turned to look at the gentleman in the other room. The one who had made him feel at ease and important at the same time. So much rested on those thin old shoulders.
Janice carefully walked in carrying a large platter with a cooked ham on it, and Trailer grabbed it from her and set it on the table.
“Thank you, dear,” she said before turning to the living room. “Dinner’s ready, everyone. Come enjoy it while it’s hot.”
Come enjoy it while we still can, thought Trailer.
Reggie turned and looked at him with his hollow, knowing eyes.
Chapter 19 – Running the Course
General Nathan Taylor walked into the hastily assembled headquarters northwest of Redstone Arsenal. Couriers ran in and out of the building, carrying messages back and forth to the field units. The busy room became still as weary eyes and dirty faces fixed upon him.
Nathan saw a sergeant major sucking in breath to call the room to attention.
“As you were, people,” he said, and some of the tension seemed to leave the room. Nathan walked over to stand beside Luke Carter and stare at the map board. He already knew what he would see, but much of being in command was about presentation and show.
“We’re in a good spot,” Nathan told him loudly enough for others to hear. “Resistance was heavy, but we’re where we need to be.”
Luke nodded. “The Huntsville forces have pulled back to here, here, and here,” he said while pointing to positions on the map. “They’ve abandoned their outer perimeters, and much of the city suburbs are in our hands, but that means urban warfare.”
Nathan didn’t have to ask what that meant. Street-to-street and house-to-house fighting. Enemy snipers killing from a distance and then falling back to repeat the process. Booby traps and explosive tripwires in doorways. The sort of warfare that caused an inordinate amount of civilian casualties and made atrocities from frustrated and tired soldiers all the more common.
“The whole northwest outskirts”—Luke circled and area with his finger—“are in flames. We’ve pressed the civilians into service to help put it out. We’re not sure if the retreating enemy started the fires to slow us down or it just happened.”
“Doesn’t matter too much at this point. Is all the power cut off?” Nathan asked.
“As far as we can tell. No electricity getting in from Wheeler Dam or the solar arrays at the botanical gardens, so that means our teams must have been successful. We secured the Decatur Dam this morning. They still have diesel generators, but that’s it.”
“Have all the teams reported in?”
“Not yet,” said Luke, “but that’s to be expected. Cell phones don’t work down here and our radio batteries are mostly shot. The best bet is that Joshua’s and Chris Green’s teams are okay. The fact that they were successful is a good sign. Green should be on his way back here, whereas Joshua’s orders were to secure and hold the Wheeler Dam facility.”
He imagined his son out there and prayed he was okay. Nathan thought of how angry Bethany would be if something happened to their remaining son, and then he remembered that she was dead. His stomach sank, but he kept his face neutral. It was frequently like this. The pain and the loss hitting him fresh, numerous times a day. He would think of a tidbit he would like to tell her, or something she would enjoy, and he would have to remind himself that she was no longer waiting for him at home.
“Sir?” asked Luke, seeing his faraway look.
“The shelling on the Decatur Harbor stopped, so I’m presuming we were successful in taking those mortars out.”
“We were. Seized six eighty-one millimeter mortars and hundreds of rounds. Ironically, all of it was from Milan.”
Nathan shook his head. “I imagine a great deal of what they are using to kill our people came from there.” He looked around the room to make sure no one was listening too closely before leaning over to whisper to his deputy. “What are our casualties like?”
Luke pulled a notebook from his pocket and whispered back. “About nine hundred wounded and two hundred fifty dead. Most of those were from that barge that took the direct mortar hit. Lots of drowning. I just went over to the field hospital an hour ago and Doc Frazier tells me that the death rate is going to go up fast. We just don’t have the medical staff or supplies to deal with this amount of casualties. He said for shattered bones in the arms and legs they just have to amputate since surgery isn’t an option and gangrene will likely set in.”
Nathan hissed, thinking of an old grainy photo he had once seen of piles of severed limbs outside a field hospital tent. “It’s like the damn Civil War for God’s sake. You’d think we could do better than that.”
“I don’t think so,” answered Luke. “We don’t have antibiotics any more. Infection sets in and they’re dead fast. It’s the only way to save lives.”
“This is going to be tough,” Nathan whispered, looking at the map again.
Luke nodded. “It will take weeks, maybe months to starve them out, especially if Lacert prioritizes rations to the soldiers. A full assault will result in significant casualties. The Creek are reporting mass desertions, but that is along the perimeter and mostly families just trying to get away. The key nut to crack is Redstone Arsenal.”
“Because that’s where they’re building the rocket.”
“Exactly. And every day that goes by without them being defeated is more time for them to finish and launch it at us, or even build more. It’s a poor long-term strategy for Lacert, since we’ll still starve them out in the end, but all the while he might be raining down rockets on the JP.”
“I’m not sure our soldiers would sit still for a long siege in that situation.”
“I don’t either,” said Luke. “The army would mutiny and either desert, try to make a separate peace with Lacert, or throw themselves against his guns senselessly.”
“So what do we do?”
“Take out the rocket for starters,”
Luke said, pointing to a spot on the map south of the Huntsville Airport and north of the Tennessee River. “That’s the hill from where they first spotted the rocket. It’s the best place for our mortars to range the rocket. We can probably destroy it from up there. Of course they can likely make more, but it buys us time.”
Nathan looked at all the territory between their current perimeter and the hill. “That’s a pretty deep advance. It will take us a while to get there.”
“Unless we throw everything behind it, hold everywhere else, and push hard in a narrow advance.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said a voice from across the room.
Nathan and Luke turned to see a young female staff officer with a bloody bandage around her upper arm.
“Yes?” said Nathan.
“We’ve got a man outside from Huntsville carrying a white flag. They seized him near Indian Ridge. Says he’s a messenger from Vincent Lacert.” She held up a heavy plastic trash bag with distaste. “He was also carrying these.”
Luke went over and took the bag and looked inside. He stared silently for several seconds before holding the bag open for Nathan to look.
Leaning forward, Nathan saw three severed heads. “Ours?” he finally asked.
His deputy nodded. “I recognize one as Sergeant Hayes. He was one of Green’s squad leaders.”
Nathan carefully closed the bag and handed it to a nearby staff officer. “Put these in a safe place for burial later.” Nathan turned back to the front of the tent, his face tight. “Show this messenger in.”
Grabbing Nathan by the arm, Luke looked around the room. “You sure you want to do this here? Maybe something a little more private would be better.”
Nathan shook his head, his lips tight. “The rumors are going to be flying anyway. Having the meeting out in the open will save us the trouble of having to clean up those false rumors afterwards.”
“Okay. Just realize whatever gets said is going to spread like creamy peanut butter before breakfast.”
A middle-aged man with waxy skin and premature gray air was pushed into the room by two sentries. His hands were bound together in front of him. He looked scared and tired, but was doing his best to project an appearance of calm.