by Bobby Akart
While they were taking a break at mid-afternoon, Palmer studied the map with Cooper. They’d decided already to avoid major highways, and the route they were traveling along Highway 464 led them directly toward Great Falls.
They agreed not to rehash the multitude of threats they’d face as they entered a city of sixty thousand people. Everyone’s concern was for Morales’s well-being. Once they arrived on the outskirts of Great Falls, then they’d consider their options. In the meantime, they had to decide where to stop for the night.
Morales and Pacheco were pushing to stop now, although they still had a couple of hours of daylight. Cooper showed them the map and convinced them to travel two more hours so they could stop on the fringe of the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. In the morning, they’d get another early start and make their way to Valier, a small town about halfway to Great Falls. The area was sparsely populated and should be safe. The day after that, they’d get Morales some medical attention.
After some discussion, and complaining from Morales, the group saddled up and continued on their way. The day’s ride was uneventful, and that actually gave the rodeo kids some welcome relief as well as hope.
The first four days of the apocalypse had given them plenty of excitement, including Riley’s killing of a man. He showed no aftereffects of the shooting. He hadn’t brought it up, and his demeanor seemed unchanged from his usual wise-cracking self. During quiet portions of their ride, Cooper tried to psychoanalyze his brother and finally gave up.
Riley was unpredictable, to be sure. He also wore his emotions on his sleeve. If he had been scolded by his parents, he’d brood for hours. If angered, he’d lash out without hesitation. There was no filter on Riley. Cooper decided that the killing didn’t bother Riley in the least, as he showed no outward signs of being troubled.
Then the more he thought about it, the more he became concerned for his brother, who’d just killed a man and it didn’t seem to impact him. Cooper wondered if he were forced to kill someone, would he have the same reaction.
He really wasn’t sure.
Chapter 59
November 30
Red River Bridge at I-30
Oklahoma-Texas Border
Former Defense Secretary Montgomery Gregg, now a private citizen following his resignation from President Harman’s cabinet several hours ago, flew with newly designated commander of the Texas National Guard, Kregg Deur, and Gregg’s former aide-de-camp, Jackson Waller, to perform a border inspection where certain hot points had been identified.
“This is an incredible chopper,” said Gregg as the newly commissioned Piasecki X-49 rocketed across North Dallas toward their destination. The SpeedHawk, as it had been nicknamed, was a four-blade, twin-engine helicopter capable of cruising at one hundred seventy miles per hour. Equipped with two lifting wings and a large round ducted propeller at the back of the aircraft, the SpeedHawk was designed for quick takeoffs and incredible thrusts as it set on its journey.
Deur finished a conversation he was having with the pilot as he laid out their course. This was more than a nickel tour. Deur needed to show Gregg and Waller the challenges he was facing with his small group of newly commissioned deputies turned guardsmen.
The clearly identifiable waterway came into view. The water, a muddy, brownish color, meandered slowly along the Texas-Oklahoma border until it reached Arkansas. In times of drought, the river left a muddy base that could act like quicksand. During the winter, when rain was more abundant, the river still flowed at a steady pace and became too deep to cross at most points.
There were several major interstate bridges leading into Texas, with Interstate 35 being the busiest of the north-south transportation routes. Over the past forty-eight hours, nearly ten thousand refugees had amassed at the border. From the helicopter’s point of view, now hovering at two thousand feet, the mass of humanity pressing closer to the Red River resembled a large marathon beginning to start a race.
People were lined up along both sides of the interstate, engulfing the Border Casino and Truck Stop and the entire community of Thackerville, Oklahoma, a mile away.
“That’s more than ten thousand people,” said Gregg as he pressed his face against the window. “I’m amazed that you’ve been able to hold them back.”
Deur explained his methods. “We learned a lot from the debacle at the I-10 bridge at the Louisiana border. I immediately ordered more concrete barriers for this bridge and a total of four water cannons from Dallas SWAT to fire upon the crowd if necessary. Tear gas has been deployed as well.”
“And that combination has proven effective?” asked Waller.
“Yes, for the most part,” said Deur. “Occasionally, a group will attempt to swim across the river and we’ll fire warning shots to turn them back.”
“Have they killed anyone yet?” asked Gregg.
Deur hesitated and grimaced. “No, but I’m afraid that’s about to change.”
“Why?” asked Gregg.
“After last night’s speech by the president, the word apparently got out to the crowd. They’ve been unruly since. Plus, we’re starting to take on sporadic gunfire.”
“They’re shooting at your men?” asked Waller.
“Yes, from a distance, at least so far. None of our people have been injured, but they’re certainly unnerved. My concern is that as soon as one of these potshots finds their mark, our people will react and it will look like a slaughter. Many of our men are equipped with their own weapons, the majority of which are AR-15s.”
“America’s rifle,” muttered Gregg. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “The incident in Beaumont was not witnessed by the media. That will change now. They’re being flown in on charter aircraft from all over the world. All eyes are on Texas after secession was declared and the president drew a line in the sand. One misstep on our part, and world opinion will be clearly against our new republic.”
Deur issued a suggestion. “I can beef up our men and issue rubber bullets to them. We could treat this as a riot-control situation.”
“That won’t stop them from shooting across the river,” said Gregg. “We need to draw them away and shut off their access to the bridge.” He continued. “Naturally, I’ll have to clear this with the governor, but it’s a twofold plan. First we’ll create nonlethal chaos on the other side.”
“What does that look like?” asked Deur.
“I’ll call in a humanitarian airlift of food and water. We’ll drop packages of emergency rations and bottled water about half a mile back toward the WinStar casino. This will draw them away from the bridge entrance. Any who remain, we’ll blast with the water cannons.”
“Then what, Monty? Won’t they just come back?” asked Waller.
“There won’t be anything to come back to. I’ll call an airstrike on the interstate on the Oklahoma side, effectively obliterating their access to the bridge. When a true recovery starts, the highway can be rebuilt easier than the bridge itself. With the crowd pushed back onto terra firma, we can build fortified gunner stations to stop the swimmers from trying to cross without fear of our people being shot. Further, it will send a clear message to the crowd that we’re prepared to use overwhelming force to secure our borders if need be.”
“I like it,” said Deur. “I believe the governor will sign off on it. She’s going to want assurances that we’ve minimized loss of life.”
“We’ll do our best, but border conflicts have a history of brutal internecine warfare. By nature, the actions required to protect your country will be destructive to both sides. Our goal is to minimize the destruction to ours.”
PART SEVEN
Thursday, December 1
Chapter 60
December 1
South Korean Naval Base
Incheon, South Korea
Duncan didn’t expect the South Korean Navy to welcome them with open arms, a basket of fruit, and a bottle of wine. He just hoped they didn’t gun them down while they stood on the bow of the North Korean patrol
boat with their hands held high. Sook, on the other hand, was disappointed in their treatment. Unknown to the two escapees, there were larger forces at play, which prevented them from being as well received into the South as they’d hoped.
It was after midnight and the two were being held in adjoining holding cells at a South Korean Naval Base near the airport at Incheon. As they were en route to the base, they quickly concocted a story. They would claim to be married so they wouldn’t be separated, and that Sook was now an American citizen by virtue of their marriage.
Further, they would tell the South Koreans they were on a United Nations’ mission and a fishing boat they were riding on began to capsize. The North Korean patrol boat stopped to pick them up, but when they became hostile, Duncan defended his wife and threw the men overboard.
Duncan knew this concocted story wouldn’t hold up under further scrutiny, but his continued insistence to speak to a member of the United States military or an American consulate representative bought them time from any interrogation.
Sook finally fell asleep on a concrete bench, but Duncan remained awake, trying to consider all of the possibilities as he waited for any representative of the United States government. It was two in the morning when the main door into the holding area opened with a loud clank. A uniformed naval officer carrying an iPad approached Duncan’s cell, escorted by two South Korean soldiers.
“My name is Lieutenant Daniel Stallcup with the United States Embassy and Consulate. I apologize for the delay in my arrival. Your name, please, place of birth and social security number.”
“Duncan Armstrong Junior. Borden County, Texas. 645-48-0887.” Duncan chose not to volunteer any other information at this point.
The lieutenant typed in the data and then presented the iPad to Duncan. “Press your palm onto the screen, making sure that your fingertips are registered.”
Duncan followed the instructions and waited for a reaction. The lieutenant typed in several fields on the iPad and then information began to appear on the screen, including Duncan’s picture. After a moment of scrolling through the information provided to him, the lieutenant raised the iPad over his right shoulder so the South Korean soldier could read it.
Puzzled, Duncan studied the man. He raised his eyes to look at Duncan’s bearded face, and then he glanced at the iPad once again.
“He’s one of ours,” the South Korean soldier said in perfect English without a dialect. “We’ll take him to Yongsan for a debrief.”
“What about the girl?” asked the lieutenant.
The South Korean soldier, who, Duncan now realized, was probably with the agency, asked, “What is this girl to you?”
“She’s my wife,” Duncan quickly replied.
“No, she’s not. You’re off to a bad start. What is this girl to you?”
“She’s a defector who saved my life. She does not want to be used by the South for propaganda purposes because she fears for her family’s safety.”
The man walked over to the cell where Sook was now sitting upright and awake. He returned to Duncan.
“We’ll cover for you and this bogus story, for now,” he whispered through the cell. “There’s a lot to talk about, Armstrong, and you better be truthful.”
“Not a problem.” Duncan was willing to say anything to move out of South Korean custody, but he certainly didn’t appreciate this guy’s attitude. Park had died and he’d risked his life for his country. He wasn’t gonna put up with any crap.
The man stared Duncan down one last time and then nodded to the other soldier. “Tell them we’ll take these two into our custody. Lieutenant, advise USFK command of this development. We should be at Yongsan Garrison within the hour.”
Duncan thought to himself, Saddle up, cowboy. Your ride is just beginning.
Chapter 61
December 1
Raven Rock Mountain Complex
Liberty Township, Pennsylvania
“Any discussion of targeting North Korea with our nuclear arsenal is delusional and should be taken off the table,” started DHS Secretary Pickering. “We’ve been warned by our allies and the DPRK’s chief allies—China and Russia. The humanitarian, economic, and environmental consequences would be devastating, and not just within North Korea’s borders. Our allies insist we’d be putting them at risk of nuclear fallout as well as a likely nuclear counterattack by Pyongyang.”
President Harman was under tremendous pressure to craft a response to the EMP attack that had devastated the nation. The impact assessments continued to come into Raven Rock, and the news was not good. The supervisory control and data acquisition control systems, known as SCADA, used for utility systems’ infrastructure and coordination, were permanently damaged. In addition to computers, SCADA was damaged due to fused power lines and lost data, requiring a complete replacement and reprogramming of the systems.
The EMP Commission had warned Congress that the costs from the detonation of an EMP over Washington, DC, would exceed seven hundred seventy billion dollars. The entire country was facing an infrastructure expenditure of hundreds of trillions of dollars.
The Federal Aviation Administration provided the president a death toll from the aircraft impacted by the EMP attack. Hundreds of flights fell from the sky, killing those on board and unsuspecting persons on the ground below.
Now, on the seventh day after the power grid’s collapse, grocery stores and home improvement stores had been emptied either through purchases or looting. Health care had been reduced to its most rudimentary level, as medical personnel made do without their complex diagnostic equipment.
Transportation was nonexistent except for older automobiles that did not rely upon modern-day electronics to function. However, as society became more and more lawless, those fortunate Americans who owned one of these vehicles had to stay vigilant. With the total breakdown of the rule of law, an operating vehicle was an asset worth killing for.
Finally, law enforcement and first responders were completely overwhelmed, and most had opted for protecting their families rather than lose their lives for a lost cause. Gangs immediately began to form, tearing through communities like bands of marauders, virtually unopposed by police.
Fires were raging out of control across the nation, but more so in the northern states, where fires were being built inside structures to stay warm. Early warning devices, fire-control systems, and available first responders had all failed to meet the people’s needs.
The estimated three hundred million plus weapons in the United States began to be put into use. Many weapons were used for hunting and self-defense. Others, especially in the big cities like Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, and Philadelphia, were used by thugs to take anything of value from their fellow man.
Turf wars broke out in the inner cities. Police no longer controlled the streets, and the president’s Declaration of Martial Law did little to stem the tide of violence. Soon, military commanders within the FEMA regions declared certain areas as so inherently hostile as to be unsafe for their troops. Those who lived in the cities were on their own.
President Harman surmised that near-term recovery could prove difficult because of the nation’s reliance on transportation and electricity-powered infrastructures such as the internet and telephone.
Against this backdrop of distracting domestic consequences of the EMP attack, the president realized it would be difficult for the U.S. to organize a coherent retaliatory strike against the DPRK and, based upon their best evidence, the Iranians.
President Harman took another sip of coffee and then addressed the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who was overseeing the nation’s military operations from Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado.
“Admiral, prior to Secretary Gregg’s resignation, he assured me the military was ready to initiate a first strike against our aggressors. During our many cabinet meetings, Secretary Gregg continued to reassure me our defensive capabilities were second to none. I take it you’d agree with the former secretary’s position.�
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“Yes, Madam President,” said United States Navy Admiral Terrence Top Gun Dasanti. Admiral Dasanti was a highly decorated pilot, starting his career at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. He’d earned his bona fides when he excelled in the U.S. Navy Strike Fighter Tactics program at Naval Air Station Fallon, an hour outside Reno, Nevada.
Admiral Dasanti continued his thought. “It would be game on if the DPRK were to fire a missile at us or any of our allies. This is a game of minutes, but our initial detection of a missile launch by the DPRK would occur in seconds. Our retaliatory strikes would be so swift that our missiles would pass theirs in mid-flight before our defensive capabilities would strike their ICBMs down. The entire flight time from North Korea to the U.S. mainland is less than forty-five minutes.”
The president interrupted. “Admiral Dasanti, in 2017, one of my predecessors authorized his national security team to act immediately to defend us if a North Korean missile was headed toward Guam, Hawaii, or, of course, the U.S. mainland. President Billings rescinded that order on the day he was inaugurated. He thought the decision to retaliate should come directly from the Office of the President. I agreed with him at the time, but the situation is much more precarious now. Do you think I should turn over that authority to you and the personnel within Cheyenne Mountain?”
“I do, Madam President,” replied Admiral Dasanti. “When any missile is launched from around the world, it produces a plume and heat signature that is quickly picked up by our satellite network. Within seconds, this information is transmitted to NORAD as well as USSTRATCOM. We quickly assess where the missile is going and whether it is a credible threat to our interests, allies, or military installations.”
“Admiral, if I entrust this responsibility to you, I need to have total confidence in your abilities.”