“Okay,” John said after a long pause.
“Hey, where’s Linny and—”
“They’re at the Homestead, sugar,” Caitlin answered.
“This is our last field op,” Tex said. “Me and Caitlin are going to settle down a bit. Heal up. Besides,” he walked up and rubbed her stomach, “she’s going to be laid up from fighting soon.”
Caitlin almost popped her soon-to-be husband in the nose and instead turned it into an ear slap. Tex laughed. John turned, his mouth gaping open.
“Yeah, medics confirmed it,” Tex said with a grin. “The news is almost as good as getting new guns and stuff to blow things up,” then he let out a rebel yell.
After a second, it was chorused by both Smith and John’s men. A smile tugged at the corners of Michael’s mouth, remembering King’s words about the Homestead and why it was necessary to leave when they did.
“I didn’t know that’s why you were switching jobs,” John said. “I figured you were going to…”
“This lunkhead,” Caitlin said pointing one perfectly manicured nail at Tex, “ruined my announcement. I was going to tell folks after we take down the bunker and get the absolute proof the president is requesting.”
“How many men is it going to take to get that equipment back to the Homestead?” Michael asked, nodding at the different colored pallets, changing the subject.
“We’re sending a short squad. They’ll have friendly territory to travel through,” Smith said, “and reinforcements until they get back to Kentucky. Ones who can keep quiet.”
King nodded. Blake’s family home had been attacked or harassed from everything, including roving gangs, thugs, criminals, National Guard units, regular military, and then Apache gunships. How it was still standing was anybody’s guess, and he knew having all their artillery tasked with them would leave them vulnerable… unless Sandra had held some back. Or gotten reinforcements from somewhere else…
“How long to plan our entry?” Smith asked. “Not that I’m going in, myself.”
“Let’s take a day or two to figure things out,” John said. “I need to study these plans, and I’m sure we have some charges to prep in advance if your door key doesn’t work,” he said nodding at the pile of uniforms.
7
Colonel Grady looked at the stack of papers the president had sent. He’d been avoiding one in particular, as he didn’t want to take over communications and get in touch with Sandra yet. The president wouldn’t act until he moved, but in the meantime, he had other matters more pressing than assuaging the ego of the most powerful man on earth. He had a chance to do some real damage to a larger force moving in from Mexico. Available air assets were scrambled, and long-range bombers had been loaded and filled to capacity with fuel.
Both North Korea and the advancing Jihadis were about to feel the wrath of the United States. The memo he had in front of him had only been seen by two other sets of eyes: the lieutenant who had brought it to him and the president. In it was a detail of the uranium used to make the crude nuclear device that had detonated in Washington DC. In it, it described how every batch of uranium had a unique quality and could be traced back to the reactors it was enriched at. This uranium had come from a reactor that the North Koreans had just shut down within the last eight months. Add that to the fact that US Special Forces and Ops had taken North Korean prisoners working as advisors in ships attempting to land on US soil… They had all the proof we needed.
“Sir, the president has asked you to take a call from Ambassador Lin,” his secretary said from the doorway to his office in the bunker.
It startled him, and he almost spilled his half-forgotten coffee on his stack of papers.
“What does he want?” Grady snapped back, wishing his tone hadn’t come out so harsh.
In truth, the president or the other ambassadors were dealing with other foreign dignitaries and not men like Grady who ran the actual machinations of war. Then again, these weren’t normal times, and there wasn’t anything normal about these circumstances.
“Sir, the Chinese Ambassador is concerned about aircraft takeoffs on Okinawa and the USS John C. Stennis.”
“Patch him through, and Celia, shut the door for me would you?” he said motioning to his open door.
This was not going to be a pleasant conversation, he mused as the door swung shut and his phone started ringing.
“Ambassador Lin, Colonel Grady here. What can I do to help?”
“Sir?” Celia said at the door a few moments later, “The president is trying to get through to you. Both of your lines are busy.”
She had opened the door a crack and saw Grady with his head in his hands. He brought them together, palm to palm and recited something so softly she couldn’t hear it. His phone was lit up, all lines flashing, and after another ten seconds he turned and looked to his secretary.
“Send him to line three in a moment,” Grady said. “I have to get someone off the line.”
“Yes, sir, I figured it was something like that.”
When the door closed, he turned and picked up the handset and hit the extension for his second line first.
“I want another air drop. We’re resupplying units here,” he said reading off coordinates. “Yes, I know that’s Kentucky. Drop it on those coordinates, and I’ll have forces on the ground ready. Yes, make the loadout what I said even if you have to borrow from other units. I know, I should have my men in Supply doing this, but this is for something that is time sensitive, and I don’t have enough of it to fill out all the forms. I’ll send those to you shortly. Yes, wheels up as soon as possible. Once up, radio silence until the drop is made. Thank you.” Grady hung up that line and hit the button for number three.
“Sandra, listen, I know Blake doesn’t want to, but he needs to know that… I know. If you’re sure. Yeah, I figured as much,” he said smiling into the phone. “Listen, I have a delivery inbound. Don’t be alarmed. Yes, watch for chutes.” He read off the coordinates and held the phone back as she cursed. “I know that’s the field that Gerard’s… Yes. Trust me. Yes. After today I may not be able to help you. No, I’m not doing anything stup—”
Extension two started to ring, and Celia poked her head in. “Sorry, three was still busy. The president sounds upset about something.”
He waved her off and walked to his door, closing it and turning the bolt, locking her out.
“After today, nothing is going to be the same. Hunt some cover if things get too hot. I have to go. You too, kid.”
He hit the button for the second extension.
“Mr. President, Grady here.”
“I can’t get through to my own men, how can I fight a war?” the president asked, his voice raised and higher in pitch.
“Sir, I still have Ambassador Lin on the phone. You gave the word for me to deal with him while we bomb a country on his southern border.”
“He’s still harping on you? Get him off the line and come to the command room.”
“Yes, sir.”
The line went dead. Grady hit the first extension and cleared his throat before speaking, “Ambassador Lin, listen, something has come up that is time sensitive. Can we continue this conversation in another hour or two when the current crisis has passed? No, we do not plan on entering your sovereign air… Yes, we do have flights that are passing the manmade islands… Yes, our Carrier Battle Group is near… No, sir, China has nothing to worry about. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Thank you.”
He hung up the phone and grabbed a handful of tissues to wipe his brow. Standing, he stretched and wondered how long it would take for word of what he’d set in place to reach the president. Would he have Grady executed? Firing squad or hanging? Detention? Gitmo? No matter what happened, his actions would give the civilian militias the ability to defend themselves from enemies, foreign and domestic. He just hoped that what he had done was enough.
“Sir?” His secretary was knocking on his door and wiggling the handle. “Sir, the president is
on the line and insists you hurry up.”
One of his final acts ready to execute, Colonel Grady walked to his door, unlocking it and pulling it open so fast that Celia almost fell into him. He stepped back to make sure he wasn’t going to be fell upon. When she got her balance back, she stepped back, and he walked out.
“Celia. You understand a closed door is meant for privacy? That the person behind the door does not want to be disturbed?”
“Yes, sir, but the president…?”
“Yes, I am going to go deal with him, but first I have a question for you. How long have you been my secretary?”
“Sir, uh… sixteen years the first time around until your retirement. Six months now.”
“And do you have another three and a half or four more years in here?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, a frown tugging at the corner of her mouth on one side.
“Good, then you can draw retirement, yes?”
“Sir?”
“You’ve been a nosy pain in my ass. How about you put your papers in, effective today, and save me the trouble of having to fire you?”
She blanched, but his words hit close to home. She had been nosy, and it wasn’t the first time he had found her lurking outside his door. Initial investigations done quietly had shown she was a spinster with no outside contact for much of her life. She was just nosy and felt the need to be in the middle of everything. Knowing he might be dead after today and finding her at his door again, it felt good. Maybe trite, but good.
“Sir?” she asked, looking around at the other secretaries who helped run the lives of the officers they worked for.
They were all staring at them both.
“Goodbye, Celia. Don’t be here when I come back,” he said aloud. If I come back, he finished in his head.
8
“Khalid, our contact in the base has the codes,” Hassan said, ignoring the hustle and bustle of what was happening around him as aids and radiomen coordinated with Khalid.
“Good. Give me one moment, we are trying to—”
“Sir, Mohammad’s ship has been hit as they were unloading in Mexico,” one man said, running up.
“Excuse me?” he said, his voice cracking.
“Sir, they… it’s a bombing run,” another voice said and then went silent, holding a hand to his ear. “Multiple ships have just been sunk. No missiles, our men think there're submarines out there.”
Khalid cursed. He’d banked on most of the subs being in the seas around Korea and China and the Atlantic, where the mercenary forces he’d hired had tried to land and tie up and overtax the east coast’s defenses.
“If we get control of the United States Nuclear arsenal, we can stop all of this,” Hassan said.
Everyone in the room went silent, and Khalid turned to his cousin. “I thought we could only cripple their capabilities?”
“Is that even possible?” one of the aides asked, a shocked expression on his face.
“Everything is possible if you put your faith in Allah,” Hassan said.
“Sir,” Jamaal, one of the aides said in a hurry, running up, “the American president has just launched against our allies in North Korea. We are getting reports… Sir, I do not understand. My contact was suddenly cut off, and I cannot reach them anymore.”
“It would seem to me,” Khalid said looking at the stunned room, “that the Americans have started the retaliation all over again. Let us hope that most of their assets are still focused elsewhere. It won’t be long before even the military that’s not yet made it back to the mainland will be too late to help.”
“Hassan, how long would it take for us to be ready to move on to the missile silos?” Khalid asked after a long pause.
“If you take into account the time of travel,” Hassan said scratching his head, “I think we can be ready within thirty six hours, but our forces are awaiting resupply. Not all agents in that bunker are with us sir, and there is a contingent of NATO to work around. A week is more realistic.”
“Sir,” one of the other aides said rushing up, “more of our troops in mainland Mexico are getting bombed as well, what are your orders, sir?”
Khalid cursed, and turned to his cousin, raising his eyes and eyebrows as if to ask a question.
“There’s nothing much we can do for them cousin,” Hassan said, “other than have them find cover and to join forces with us as we rid the world of the great Satan.”
“Where are our North Korean friends?” Khalid asked through pinched lips. “Other than a few technical units and advisors, where are their anti-aircraft batteries, what have they done other than providing us with that which we’ve paid for?”
“I do not have the answers right now, cousin, but we will find out.” Hassan said. “They are supposed to have several ships and submarines in southern California ready to help and assist.”
“Then go, find out what is happening, and get back with me as soon as you can,” Khalid told him. “And make sure we can move out in less than a week. Nothing else will be acceptable.”
The terrorists had overtaken a small town in Nebraska, not too far from their objective. There were less than twenty people left alive, the men murdered outright, and the rest of the residents had been given a choice: join them to convert or die. It’d been this way through much of the campaign through North America. Kelly did not expect many to go along and convert, and secretly he wasn’t as religious as he let on himself… But that was the way of the New Caliphate. Surprisingly, one out of five people would join. That’s how their numbers grew exponentially town by town, city by city.
Since the start of their campaign, their numbers and slowly swelled, despite the fact of the constant battles, the constant fighting, and John Norton’s group harrying them on their march north across the United States of America. Once the nuclear threat was neutralized or they had control of it, Khalid had planned on expanding eastward, not wanting to cross the Rockies so close to the coming winter. Taking out the heart of America, and its most populated cities, were high on his list of things to accomplish before the snow flew.
One of the other goals he had, and it was more of a personal goal, was to find the owner of Rebel Radio. Blake Jackson, aka. Backcountry J. The man who did an hour or two a day gave hope to the remaining Americans that could tune in and listen to his voice. Khalid never missed an episode and, from a strategic standpoint, he admired how Blake was able to work with the government and FEMA to get accomplished what he had at this point. Too bad for him, Khalid’s plan was bringing all that progress to a halt.
Walking out of the motel room that they’d commandeered for a command post, Khalid went to his own quarters. Instead of setting up tents, the officers had taken over a Motel 6. There was one thing the hotel had got wrong, their slogan was: “We’ll leave the lights on.” But how could they? The New Caliphate, with one stroke, had turned the United States of America into a third-world country and plunged them over 200 years back. Disease and starvation were his biggest partners in this campaign, but a little fear… Those were things he could help with. Those were what he was going to leverage to finish off the heart of the American spirit.
“Sir, I cannot reach our contacts in Pyongyang,” a frantic aide said, running in with a sheaf of papers.
“Let me see what you have…”
9
“… Excuse me? Col. Grady did what?” the president asked into his red phone. “Is the Colonel available? Well, he hasn’t made himself available to me yet…”
The president hung up the phone softly and sat at a perfect replica of the Resolute desk, which resided at the White House in the Oval Office. He put both hands together, his fingers steepled under his chin, which rested on his thumbs. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward, thinking deeply. Questions swirled through his mind, answers were elusive. Why would Col. Grady send anti-aircraft batteries, missile batteries, and enough resupply, to Kentucky? What did Col. Grady know that he hadn’t let the president know about yet? Even more importan
t, in whose interests was Col. Grady working for?
The big question, the one that had been keeping the president up with his stomach churning in nausea close to the surface, was one he was afraid to ask himself: was Patrick correct? Was the public’s perception of the president so bad that they were misunderstanding him? Or was he misunderstanding his own motives? His entire life, from community organizing through college, Senate, and now the presidency, had been about helping people. Yes, his views were controversial, especially for social justice and his economic policies. None of that mattered any more, though, because what was left of the country was largely in shambles and, to be fair, he didn’t see who other than the jihadists really wanted it.
A crisis in faith? A crisis of faith in himself? He reached for his other phone.
“Yes, can you find me Col. Grady please? He is? Good.”
The president waited a few moments, and there was a knock and his secret service detail opened up the door and Col. Grady walked in. The secret service agent looked at the president questioningly to see if he was needed, but the president shook his head no. The Colonel approached the desk as the door was shut behind him.
“Take a seat, Colonel,” the president said.
“Thank you, sir. I was just coming to see you as a matter of fact,” Grady told him.
“Yes? Was it in regards to the supplies you sent to the Homestead, Kentucky?”
“Yes, among other things, including your order,” Grady said with a slight frown marring his features.
“Well, okay then. Why did we send the supplies there when they could be used closer to our coastal cities? You have to understand how this looks from my perspective… knowing how well you know Sandra Jackson and have been pressed back into service. So what is it, old friend?”
“You’re under the assumption that I did something wrong,” Grady said sitting forward, his posture alert but relaxed, “but there could be nothing further from the truth, Mr. President.”
The World Counters: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 10) Page 4