Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star

by Nobody, Joe

  “Yeah,” he replied after a short pause, “I do kind of like the guy… despite that corny sense of humor.”

  Diana smirked, finding her boyfriend’s understatement funny. “Oh, let’s not admit you two were thick as thieves. Let’s not mention that you two fought side by side. He is just a nice guy that you wish was around now and then – right?”

  Nick appeared to study the floor for a moment, his gaze off in space. He inhaled and tilted his head so that his sad eyes met hers. “What’s killing me is that I haven’t had a spare second to work on clearing his name. It’s all I can handle just keeping our militia together. I’m not sensing the commitment from them that I had before. The guys are unsure… asking a lot of questions... hesitating.”

  Diana brightened for a moment, standing quickly and moving to her desk. “Speaking of clearing Bishop’s name, an Army messenger delivered this today. I’m worse than you are; I almost forgot.”

  She handed over a folder, thick with documents and pictures. Nick immediately opened the file, briefly flipping through the various pages and photographs. “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I’ve got an early meeting with the salt crews. Our demand is outstripping production. DA Gibson wants me to show my face up at Fort Stockdale. She’s worried about rumblings from some of the town’s leading citizens and thinks my presence may reassure some of the residents there.”

  Nodding, Nick’s face softened as he checked her expression. “Sounds like a full day for sure. Would you mind if I assigned a couple of the guys to provide security for you? I want to go up to that canyon where the massacre occurred. Poke around a little bit.”

  Diana frowned, “But, Nick, I was looking forward to spending the day with you. We’ve hardly seen each other at all.”

  “I know. I feel the same way, but I’ve got to help Bishop. I gave my word. Besides, the sooner we get them back, the sooner we can start moving things forward again. We might even get to spend some time together. If the US Army doesn’t invade, that is.”

  Alpha’s mayor wrapped an arm around his shoulder, burying her face in his neck. Sighing, she relented. “Okay. I’ll let you off the hook this time, but please don’t assign me one of those talkative types. I want to use the travel time to get some work done.”

  “How about Sheppard? He’s pretty quiet.”

  “Sure, that will be fine,” she sighed, and then added with a teasing tone, “Besides, he’s kind of cute.”

  Chambers Canyon, Texas

  July 25

  They missed the lane leading to Chambers Canyon the first time. It was Moses who spotted the dirt path after Nick turned around.

  Both men had said little on the drive from Alpha. Both had recently lost friends, and both believed the valley they were about to explore held the key to explaining what had really happened.

  Moses was obviously still mourning Deke’s loss. Not only had the recent mission to Memphis taken the life of his team leader, his best friend hadn’t returned either. After hearing all of the details, the big Darkwater operator had been as suspicious as anyone regarding not only the massacre, but also the circumstances surrounding Grim’s decision to remain in Memphis.

  Moses was now, by default, in charge of the six remaining Darkwater contractors. While he had made every attempt to fill the vacuum left by Deke’s demise, it was a job the man clearly didn’t relish. Grim had always filled the role of second-in-command, and now both of the leaders were gone.

  Nick parked the truck well short of where the Army camp had been. While the military claimed they had examined the entire area for evidence, Nick didn’t buy it. There was little in the file to prove that assertion.

  There was a shortage of investigative material within the folder; however, photographs were in abundance. Dozens of 8x10 images were included. Some had obviously been extracted from video while others appeared to have been taken with a single frame camera. Nick sensed something was off with the Army’s account, a perspective fueled by his belief in Bishop. He hadn’t detected even a hint of dishonesty in his friend’s story. Something different had happened here that night – someone had killed a lot of unarmed men and women just to make Terri look like the wife of an assassin. Clearly, someone had intended to impugn the credibility of the young Alliance. Only one entity would benefit from such an act – The US Federal government.

  “I used to work in aerial reconnaissance back in the day,” Moses began. “While the drones came after my time, I bet most of the basics still apply. Angles can play tricks with perspective. We used to do battle damage assessment after air strikes had hit our target. What we found on the ground was often quite a bit different than how things looked from the air.”

  As the two men ventured further into the valley, the formations of surrounding rock became almost vertical. Nick, glancing around at the steep walls, suggested, “Why don’t we start at the beginning and try to recreate Bishop’s steps?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “The early photos were taken in daylight. He was preparing to hit the camp. He told me he was on the south wall, peering down and scouting for sentries. He also said there weren’t any guards. He thought that was odd.”

  “That would be my expectation as well, especially for a unit that was getting ready for an attack.”

  Holding a photograph in his hand, Nick spent several minutes intently inspecting for something familiar in the surrounding rock. He finally identified an oddly shaped boulder and pointed it out. “There,” he stated, “That’s the same rock as in this picture. Let’s start there and see if we can work our way through.”

  The two men spent the next hour trying to match vague formations and unspectacular landmarks with the landscape depicted in the images. Their success was limited. His rising frustration was clearly evident in Nick’s voice by the time they finally took a break. “Why can’t we pinpoint Bishop’s exact position for every one of these photos? I thought it would be easy to follow the breadcrumbs.”

  Moses nodded, his own mind posing the same question. “I’m with you. This is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. Maybe one of us should go up to the rim and see if the elevation helps. These were all taken from above, so it might help align the perspective.”

  “Okay, you check around here while I do a little climbing. It looks like most of the shots we have are from the south. Give me ten minutes to get up there.”

  Moses watched as Nick began climbing, tracking his progress while scanning the area for anything the Army MPs might have missed. Before long, the small radio squawked with Nick’s voice. “You were right. This gives a completely new perspective. Move about fifty feet north of where you’re standing. I want to check something out.”

  The contractor did as he was told. Again, the radio guided, “Four more steps to your 3 o’clock… Almost…. Just one more… Hold it!”

  Moses stood idle, waiting on the next instruction. Instead, Nick’s voice sounded puzzled. “Now that’s weird. I can only see your feet and legs, yet that’s exactly where Bishop was standing. That tree over by the creek is blocking my view of your upper body, yet it’s in the picture. How could that be?”

  “Huh? You mean the angle is lower on the picture?”

  Nick didn’t respond for a moment. Finally, “Stay right there for a minute. I see a ledge below me. I going to climb down and see if it fixes the problem.”

  “Okay by me,” Moses replied with a chuckle. “Hurry though; this is tough work down here.”

  “Fuck you,” sounded the tiny speaker, Nick’s laughter carrying across the airwaves.

  After a few minutes, the former Green Beret again transmitted. This time there wasn’t any humor at all. “You better come up here. I think I’ve solved the mystery… or maybe I’ve made it worse.”

  It took Moses a little longer to accomplish the climb. Bishop’s .308 round from months ago had eliminated a lot of muscle, along with some of his mobility. He’d been running every day for a m
onth, trying to overcome the handicap. Climbing was a different story.

  Nick pretended not to notice the struggle, ignoring his partner’s slight limp as he cleared the last hold and stepped down on the ledge. Inhaling more from the pain than the exertion, Moses said, “Okay, Here I am. Now, just what’s going on?”

  “Look at this,” Nick instructed, pointing toward the ledge. “In the middle of this deserted territory, here’s a footprint on this ledge, and it wasn’t made by an Army boot.”

  “Huh? Let me see.”

  “Not only that, but I will bet my next meal that this is where most of those photographs were taken. Once I climbed down here, I could see you clearly. You were in the exact spot Bishop was when this shot was snapped. I don’t think a drone would orbit along these cliffs. There had to have been someone up here with a camera. From the looks of the tracks, maybe more than one person.”

  Moses nodded, pointing to indentations marring the thin layer of sand covering the flat rock. “Look at these prints – someone had a tripod… right here.”

  Nick nodded, a sick feeling forming in his gut. The two men continued searching the ledge until they had thoroughly scoured the small area.

  Nick leaned back against a rock, unhooking the canteen from his belt and pulling a swallow of water. “So someone was up here the night of the massacre, taking pictures with a tripod-mounted camera. But why have a man stationed up here in the first place?”

  Moses scratched his head, frowning in concentration. “It doesn’t make any sense. I could see an observation post… even sentries. Buy why the camera? And why didn’t they try to help their unit when the shooting started? I mean, it’s not like a massacre is a photo op or something.”

  Nick grunted, “I asked the good general why there was a drone overhead. He gave me some mumbo jumbo about standard operating procedure. So not only did they have a sophisticated observation unit overhead, the camp was being filmed… or photographed from up here. Was this some sort of fucking documentary for National Geographic or some shit?”

  “They knew Bishop was coming,” Moses declared. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. They set him up with that story of assassination teams and then waited, hoping he would attack.”

  “He said as much,” Nick noted. “But he swears he didn’t fire a shot. So, who did?”

  “You can lead a horse to water,” Moses mumbled, “but you can’t make him drink.”

  “So what? You drain the water and then claim the horse is to blame? So when Bishop didn’t take the bait, someone just shot up this unit only to incriminate him?” The expression on Nick’s face became dark. “Those were Americans down there,” he said in a low tone. “Who the hell does such a thing intentionally? Who murders a bunch of National Guardsmen?”

  “No unit I was ever in would execute such an order,” Moses replied. “We killed our fair share, but never non-combatants… never Americans.”

  Nick’s face grew more troubled. “Bishop said something about the guy in Memphis being a former intelligence operator or some shit. You don’t think…”

  “Not even the spooks would do this,” Moses responded quickly. “I know some of those guys. Yeah, they pulled some crazy shit, but not this. If we were talking about a village of insurgents that had been wiped out, then sure – I could see that. But not here.”

  “Unless they think of the Alliance as insurgents. Are they that desperate?”

  Moses didn’t answer, Nick’s question raising a dozen possibilities in his mind. “Someone with an M4 went down there and killed a bunch of Americans. I think our answer lies in Memphis, not here.”

  Texas – New Mexico border

  July 25

  The couple rested, fussed over each other’s injuries, and tended to Hunter. Bishop strung his survival net between the truck and camper, fashioning a hammock, and then used his rain poncho to create a sunshade. They both enjoyed a short nap before the day grew hot.

  Bishop tried everything he could think of to free their chariot. His first idea was to use the tire jack, but the soil under the front wheels was too soft to maintain a foundation.

  Next, he attempted to shift the load further to the rear of the bed, but the fulcrum was too far forward.

  Digging would take weeks, even if the people under the overpass would loan him a full-sized shovel. With his entrenching tool, he was looking at months before success. He would have to tell Terri the truth soon.

  While Terri and Hunter slept, Bishop grew bored with his watch and decided to explore the burned out truck stop. The open terrain and proximity ensured no one from the overpass could get past him to bother his family.

  His mind was occupied with freeing the pickup from its trap as he half-heartedly kicked around the property. Scouting for anything that could possibly help, he brushed aside blackened timbers and casually glanced inside the dust-covered cars and semis. It was obvious the area had been thoroughly scavenged.

  His attention then moved to the overpass, quickly becoming fascinated with how tin, wood, semi-trailer parts and other materials had been combined to construct the very intricate structure. He could discern windows, doorways, a large fire pit, and even a worn pathway to what were probably the restroom facilities on the far side of the interstate. Amazing. A few faces turned his way, most of the residents staying inside.

  “They’re probably as afraid of us as we are of them,” Bishop whispered to no one.

  The man calling himself Cole appeared. The local nodded at Bishop, and then stared for a few moments as if pondering what to do.

  Bishop waved the man up, deciding it wouldn’t hurt a thing to talk. Maybe local knowledge would provide a solution to his problems.

  “So we got off on the wrong foot,” Cole greeted as he approached. “If we had been introduced like two normal people in normal times, I’m sure things would have gone more smoothly… maybe even friendly.”

  Bishop smiled, “Most likely. How did you end up in this lovely corner of New Mexico?”

  And so Cole told his story. Bishop listened, glancing at the burned-out shambles while trying to picture the tale. When his host had finished, Bishop asked, “So the gasoline was gone before the electricity went out – but what about the diesel?”

  Cole blinked, unsure of the answer. “Ummm… I remember the guy at the register saying it was almost gone – that they were waiting on a resupply truck. We tried to syphon both tanks and only got air.”

  Bishop pointed at the diesel islands, the rusted, burned out pumps looking like industrial scarecrows. “But that truck was sitting there filling up when the power went out. The hose is gone, but the fill nozzle is still sticking in the tank.”

  Cole followed Bishop’s arm, and then shook his head. “That’s a good point. When I was turning onto the exit, someone had put a sign down by the entrance ramp, but it only said ‘NO GAS.’ I don’t remember it saying anything about diesel. It’s now part of a condo’s wall.”

  Bishop had an idea. “There might still be diesel in there. There’s normally a check value where the tank connects to the pump-line. My unused college degree might actually come in handy. Is there anyone here we can ask?”

  “Nancy was the café’s hostess. She’s still alive. Come on, I know where’s she’s at.”

  A few minutes later, the two men located Nancy. She and another middle-aged woman were washing clothes in a small tube of water. Cole asked Bishop’s question.

  “I don’t remember,” she initially replied, her brow wrinkling with effort to recall. “I know the gasoline was out before I showed up for my shift. My sister’s tank was low when she dropped me off, and I was worried about her making it back to our apartment.”

  “But no idea about the diesel?”

  Her finger pressed her lower lip, and then her eyes brightened. “I think there was a little diesel left. Fred came into the café, mad as hell. He’d been filling his rig when the electricity went out. I remember him ordering pork chops and mashed potatoes and hoping the j
uice came back on because he was behind schedule.”

  Bishop looked at Cole, “So there could be diesel in that underground tank. As least that’s what I’m hearing.”

  Cole shook his head, “But we tried to syphon both sides, gas and diesel. We tried with a garden hose, and all we got were fumes.”

  “Those tanks are huge, and often the bottom slopes away from the opening at the top. I can’t make any promises, but there might be some fuel still in that system. Not much, but enough worth checking it out.”

  Cole spread his hands, “But we don’t have any pumps or electric power. Even if we find some fuel in the reservoir, how would we get it out?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Bishop announced, a slight grin crossing his lips. “But before I try this, is there any reason why those trucks in the lot wouldn’t run if they had fuel?”

  Cole considered before answering, “Mine should if the battery was charged, and it had fuel. I imagine a couple of the others might as well.”

  Bishop’s head was still throbbing, every muscle in his body protesting and sore. He knew Terri wasn’t faring much better. “Today, I’m not going to do much but convalesce. I do have a question. “If I get one of those trucks running, it should pull my pickup out of that ditch without any problem – right?”

  Cole’s smile was extra-large, “No problem.”

  Chapter 5

  Camp David, Maryland

  July 26

  The staff meeting ended on time, the Colonel taking note of Mr. White’s lingering as the president’s advisors filed out of the room. He wants to speak to the Commander in Chief alone, he thought. Let him.

  He waited patiently, standing at ease beside the sole path leading to the guest quarters. The immaculate landscaping of Camp David provided his cover, a strand of oak surrounded by mulberry a convenient, hidden position.

  The Colonel reassessed this next move. He’d put out gentle feelers, trying to pick up any trail left behind by what he was sure was a false flag operation in West Texas. His gut told him Mr. White’s fingerprints were all over the op, but so far, there wasn’t a shred of physical evidence.