Collapse Fiction: RACE WARS: SEASON SIX: Episodes 31-36: A Time For Choosing

by D. W. Ulsterman

  EPISODE THIRTY-TWO:

  Colonel William Jones found himself blinking several times at the man who stood before him inside his Shepherd Field military base office. Shepherd Field was a smallish Air Force facility located in the northeastern tip of West Virginia.

  Colonel Jones had received a coded shortwave communication in the early morning hours from General Meyers that someone very important was on his way to the base and that the Colonel was to take every precaution to ensure both the guest’s safety and to keep his identity a secret.

  The colonel wasn’t prepared to be looking back at the former Joint Chiefs Chairman, though, a man believed to have been killed in the recent attack upon the Camp David compound.

  As for General Reg Thompson, he was more concerned with finding out in very short order if the colonel was a man to be trusted or not, despite General Meyers’ assurance that he was.

  “At ease, Colonel, I’m here to follow your orders more than you are mine.”

  General Thompson took the few seconds it took to take one of the two seats opposite the colonel’s desk to continue to size up Colonel Jones.

  The forty-nine year old Will Jones was just over six foot, with a narrow, almost bird-like build matched by an equally narrow face. His brown eyes held a whisper of toughness in them, an indication that despite his slight frame, the colonel was not a man to be easily trifled with. He had been the military base’s commanding officer for the last nine months.

  The base itself was the property of the West Virginia National Guard, of which Colonel Williams was a member, but it had a long history of working alongside the U.S. Air Force as well and the colonel had in his twenty-seven year career with the National Guard, developed strong relationships with some of the highest ranking officers in the Air Force.

  “You’re not dead.”

  The general’s brows rose upward slightly as he grunted.

  “That would appear to be correct, Colonel Jones.”

  The colonel felt like an idiot for making such an obvious statement and silently scolded himself for doing so. General Thompson sensed the younger officer’s embarrassment and quickly moved the conversation to the reason for his being there. The dire circumstances of the world outside provided no time to be wasted upon verbal pleasantries between military men of action.

  “General Meyers tells me you are part of a resistance against the current Martial Law authority, is that correct?”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the possibility the general was in fact a spy. General Thompson noted the colonel’s suspicion and approved of its presence.

  His suspicion and hesitation to respond means he’s more likely to be trusted.

  The colonel cleared his throat, folded his hands in front of him while they rested upon the top of his dark, cherry wood desk, and said nothing, instead choosing to wait to hear more of what the general had to say.

  The general in turn sat in silence as well both men staring at the other, waiting for the other to finally concede that a leap of faith would be required if anything substantive was to follow their mutual mistrust.

  It was the colonel who finally conceded.

  “General Meyers might possibly be correct in his belief there is a growing resistance within the military rank and file, yes.”

  General Thompson gave a thin smile and then folded his arms across his chest and shrugged.

  “If that’s true, Colonel, neither one of us has the time to waste playing top secret, am I right? I’m here to help in whatever way I can. I assume my presence as part of this resistance might sway others to join the cause. It’s my hope we get enough personnel ready and willing to march on D.C. within the week.”

  The colonel’s eyes widened slightly as he realized the general had no idea of the events that had just taken place in the nation’s capitol. General Thompson’s head tilted to the left and his mouth hung partially open as he wondered what was troubling the colonel.

  “What is it?”

  Colonel Jones placed both his hands upon the silver framed, wide-screen computer monitor that dominated the upper left corner of his desk and turned it around so the general could view it. He then opened the desk’s top drawer and retrieved a keyboard and proceeded to pull up a video footage file he had received just two hours prior to General Thompson’s arrival.

  The general’s mouth fell completely open as he watched the aftermath footage of the gas explosion that had completely decimated the White House, and partially destroyed much of the Capital Building. When footage of the damaged Pentagon flashed across the screen, his stunned shock was so great he flinched.

  “My God…”

  General Thompson looked up to see a grim-faced Colonel Jones staring back at him.

  “The President?”

  The colonel shook his head.

  “Dead, as are nearly half the members of Congress. Admiral Briggs is said to have barely escaped the attack on the Pentagon. Current estimates have the death toll approaching twelve-hundred, almost all of them directly affiliated with the current government. Widespread riots are taking place throughout D.C. with similar riots spreading throughout several other primary urban areas. Admiral Briggs is said to be in the process of relocating Command and Control to another part of the country.”

  General Thompson glanced at the video footage and then looked back at Colonel Jones.

  “Where?”

  The colonel shook his head.

  “There’s been nothing official come down from the chain of command just yet but most rumors indicate Cheyenne.”

  The general’s mind raced to try and assess the situation. He was of course familiar with the massive Cheyenne mountainside military complex but also knew that for Admiral Briggs to be fleeing to that location indicated the federal government was in danger of losing its control over the vast American population despite the declaration of Martial Law.

  “The gas explosions, you called it an attack.”

  The colonel nodded.

  “Someone was able to bypass all the protections within the system and override the pressurized safety protocols. An official NSA response suggests it might have been the work of the Russians.”

  The mention of the Russians brought an unintended smile to the general’s face.

  You clever son-of-a-bitch!

  “I don’t think it was the Russians.”

  The colonel leaned forward in his chair and stared intently at the general who sat just a few feet away on the other side of the colonel’s desk.

  “What do you mean?”

  General Thompson silently recalled hearing tales of a top secret military operation in the 1980’s in which American intelligence operatives successfully introduced a computer virus into the Soviet Union’s natural gas facilities mainframe and successfully had that system initiate what amounted to a self-destruction sequence that destroyed nearly nine miles of a critically important, newly constructed and highly pressurized Siberian gas line. The resulting detonation was estimated to be the single largest, man-made non-nuclear explosion in history.

  General Thompson was one of a very few still inside the U.S. military who knew that General Meyers, who was at that time a colonel and military adviser to the Reagan administration, was rumored to have been part of the covert military operation that ultimately helped push the then-Soviet Union into outright financial collapse.

  Thompson decided to keep that information to himself, though. He still wasn’t entirely sure the colonel was to be trusted.

  “Oh, nothing…just an old story I recalled. You said there were riots spreading throughout the militarized zones. Any estimate as to how widespread those riots are?”

  The colonel appeared intent on asking the general why he didn’t think it was the Russians who were responsible for the natural gas explosions but then thought better of it and instead proceeded to answer the general’s question regarding the riots.

  “New York, Boston, Chicago, Miami, Dallas, Los Angeles, Seattle�
��it’s a long list. I assume you noticed how few personnel are currently here at the base?”

  General Thompson nodded.

  “Yeah, if I recall this place is normally staffed at around fifteen-hundred, correct?”

  “That’s right. We’re currently operating here on less than a third of that. Most of my people have been relocated to D.C. to aid the soldiers there. But for every soldier trying to maintain order, there are a hundred or more civilians intent on doing the opposite. It’s getting ugly. The large urban areas are turning into death zones. We’re firing on our own people now – hundreds a day and at the rate we’re going, that’ll climb into the thousands and after that…”

  The colonel’s voice trailed off. The general knew well what that silence suggested.

  “Have you received status updates regarding food supplies for the city populations?”

  Colonel Jones’ already-grim face somehow managed to become even more so.

  “Last week I saw an internal report that gave an estimate of six to eight weeks before current food supplies reach critical stages in New York City. D.C. is about the same, some other urban areas are a little better, others worse.”

  The general shook his head slowly, stunned by how quickly everything appeared to be spiraling out of control.

  “What about foreign assistance?”

  Colonel Jones issued a disgusted grunt.

  “Not going to happen. The Russians are effectively blockading the Atlantic Coast, the Chinese are doing the same out west and even the Mexican government is repeatedly threatening us along the southern border. We’re the old injured lion and the hyenas are circling and waiting. Sooner or later, they’ll attack and we will be too weak to defend ourselves. The explosions in Washington D.C. obliterated most of our political leadership. The military is being stretched to the point of breaking. We simply don’t have the manpower to maintain order in the cities as well as hold off the growing foreign threats.”

  “What about our nuclear arsenal? Last I checked it was fully operational. We can still threaten with that, right?”

  The colonel shrugged.

  “That is the only thing keeping the Russians and Chinese from having divided us up already. If conditions continue to deteriorate, I have to think we will become desperate enough to sign away whatever it takes in order to feed our people. Either that, or millions die of starvation.”

  “Do you know of a Dr. Fenwick Sage and his influence in all of this?”

  The colonel shook his head.

  “No, never heard of him. Is he important?”

  The general took a deep breath and then stood up from his chair. He had long ago developed a habit of doing his best thinking while on his feet. His wife had once suggested it was the soldier in him, thousands of hours of assessing threats, forming plans, and giving orders while on the battlefield.

  “He might very well be the one most responsible for this mess. Do you know about Protocol X?”

  Again the colonel shook his head. General Thompson wasn’t surprised. That kind of information had been carefully kept as the exclusive property of only the highest ranking members of the former U.S. government.

  “It’s an emergency response plan that starts with the declaration of Martial Law but from there moves quickly into resource allocation. It is the excuse to kill millions if needed under the guise of maintaining order.”

  Colonel Jones’ eyes widened slightly.

  “So, it’s basically what we are seeing unfolding in front of us right now?”

  The general nodded.

  “Yeah, pretty much. I refused to sign off on its implementation. Shortly after, they took my family from me and blew up the Camp David compound thinking they were eliminating me right along with it.”

  “Your family is missing?”

  General Thompson closed his eyes briefly before responding.

  “Yes, I have no idea where they are. I hope to God they weren’t in D.C. when the gas explosions took place.”

  The colonel sat back in his chair while noting the deep concern that flashed across the general’s face when speaking of his missing family.

  “I can try and make some inquiries. Maybe someone knows where they might be. I’ve heard rumors of a large detention center somewhere out near Gettysburg. Twenty acres closed in with barbed wire fencing where several thousand people are being held for various violations against the Martial Law decrees.”

  General Thompson felt the rage simmering within him. It took every bit of his self-control to keep himself from shouting.

  “You mean a concentration camp?”

  The colonel avoided the general’s burning glare.

  “I imagine it’s something like that, yes. It’s not the only one, either. There’s more and more said to be cropping up throughout the country - twenty or thirty, possibly more.”

  The general’s words were a seething hiss of disgust and desired retribution upon those responsible.

  “Who is the officer in charge of the Gettysburg detention center?”

  Colonel Jones held his hands up open-palmed and shrugged.

  “Those detention centers aren’t military operations, General Thompson. It’s my understanding they’re being run by EPA officials.”

  The general’s jaw clamped down tightly upon itself as a series of curse words exploded inside of his head. At the same time the news of the EPA’s involvement brought him hope that the Gettysburg detention center might be where he would find his wife and daughters.

  “Colonel, how many men and women at this facility do you trust to participate as members of the resistance?”

  Colonel Jones straightened in his chair while still trying to determine if the general could be completely trusted.

  “If there’s to be a real insurgency against what is happening in the country, Colonel, it’s going to have to start right here and now with us trusting each other.”

  The colonel stood up and leveled his eyes at the general. The two men remained staring at one another for several more seconds before Colonel Jones relented with a single nod of his head.

  “Ok General, you have my trust. As for numbers available here at the base, I have intentionally held back the personnel from reassignment who I believe are ready and willing to participate in some form of military opposition. Including myself, we number two hundred and twelve.”

  The general didn’t manage to hide his disappointment.

  “That’s it?”

  The colonel’s half smile was more of a grimace.

  “That’s it. We have weapons though, and two older F-16 fighter jets I’ve kept secured in one of our hangars in the very back of the primary air strip.”

  Access to two fighter jets was unexpected good news for General Thompson.

  “What about fuel?”

  The colonel rose from his chair and peeked out between the slits of the closed blinds that covered the window overlooking the main entrance to the base. He noted the sun had been up for nearly two hours. Base personnel would be arriving soon.

  “I’ve skimmed a reasonable portion from our earlier fuel allotments. We’re good to go there, at least for a while.”

  The general’s mood continued to improve. He had an army, however small, but an army nevertheless. He was starting to feel like his old, confident self again.

  “I need you to single out ten of the most trusted among the other two hundred and eleven. Inform them they are to attend a meeting this afternoon. You can pick the time. It will be there I’ll introduce myself and we’ll begin the process of forming strategy for the release of the prisoners being held at the Gettysburg detention center.”

  The colonel’s mouth fell downward into a frown.

  “Why Gettysburg? All due respect General, but I don’t want my people killed so you can play the returning father and husband. This thing is much bigger than that.”

  General Thompson both understood and expected the colonel’s uncertainty.

  “I assure you it is, Colonel
Jones. The primary focus will be on the cities. We don’t have the strength to take on a place like D.C. yet. We need a series of smaller victories to build support, momentum, and give others in the military who have already grown sickened by orders that have them murdering fellow Americans, another option – to join us. Gettysburg provides us that opportunity. Its proximity is close and they won’t be expecting it.”

  Colonel Jones stood with his back to the general pondering the plan. The burden of the lives of those men and women he had chosen to participate in an as yet unformed rebellion weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

  He’s right. The destruction in D.C. has given us a window of opportunity that may quickly close and the Gettysburg facility would be, at least symbolically, a big win for the resistance.