“What about the ‘use of force’ orders,” Ed asked. “As far as I know, they haven’t been changed. It’s one thing when a governor orders National Guard units to disobey orders but you and I can’t. They won’t even let us use gunships.”
Phillips knew this better than anyone but he also knew just how thin the 42nd was stretched. He needed the Apaches. His men would die without them. “The orders have been changed with regard to helicopters,” he lied…again. “Collins set a precedent, one that we will follow.”
“And did that order come from on high?” Ed asked, warily.
The corps commander waffled at that point, and unfortunately, he had an awful excuse to terminate the call. “We’ll talk later on the subject. Right now I have to call Frank and give him the bad news.”
Frank Frazer went silent for a full minute when Phillips told him that the entire 82nd was now trapped in the Quarantine Zone. Phillips let the silence spin out; there were just too many implications to rush right onto the worse news.
“We’ll be resupplied properly?” Frank asked when he had run through a hundred nightmare situations in his mind.
“Yes, as will Hartford. It will take a few days for things to sort themselves out, but we plan on utilizing the full force of the military here.”
Frank possessed a keen mind and read more into the response than someone as hot-headed as Ed Stolberg would have. “Hartford…full force…what are you getting at, sir?”
“It’s been decided by the Joint Chiefs that Hartford will need to have a separate quarantine. A zone within a zone, you might say.” Again, Frank remained silent for a long spell, digesting these new orders. When Phillips had let it sink in long enough, he went on: “We believe there are close to three hundred thousand people within the walls of Hartford. When they find out there are zombies among them, they’ll attempt to break out.”
“They’ll do more than attempt,” Frank said, “they’ll succeed. I have just over eleven thousand men. It’s not enough.”
Phillips had expected this response. “You have just over eleven thousand trained men who have better arms and better communications than a mob of civilians. A ‘whiff of grape’ will disperse them.”
“And then what? Do you think my job will get easier when it’s a city of three hundred thousand zombies?”
“I hear you, Frank, but think what Connecticut will look like if we don’t secure the city. Where will this tremendous mob go in search of safety and what will they do to get it? They’ll attack other cities looking to get in and they’ll attack the state’s borders looking to get out. When that happens, how far will the infection spread? There are three and a half million people in the state. Think about that.”
Dutifully, Frank considered the effect that a third of a million people roaming the state would have. It wasn’t a pretty mental picture. “I will need the rules of engagement changed. It’s as simple as that. I will also need all the mortars and machine guns that I was forced to leave behind back at Bragg. And lastly, I’ll need massive air support at my beck and call.”
“Consider it done,” Phillips said.
Now, he had to come through with his promises. It wasn’t going to be easy with the president and General Heider glaring at each other with Marty Aleman between them, trying his best to placate them both.
“We are done here!” the president said, pushing back from the table. “And Heider, your days are numbered in Washington. All of this mess can and will be laid at your feet. You said it could be contained. You gave me promises.”
“I never made promises. I said the situation could be contained under certain circumstances and that I would need to have complete access to the full firepower of the military, which you denied me. As Commander in Chief, this will be all on your head. The voters are going to blame you.”
Talk of voters blaming him turned the president’s face beet red. “Wrong. With the massacres, I’m pretty sure I can prove that you couldn’t be trusted with the power you did have. You forget, I have the press on my side.”
“And I have the military on mine.”
The president suddenly went cold. “Are you threatening me?” he asked in a whisper.
Heider realized he had used a poor choice of words. “No, at least not physically, but if I say the word, every one of the Joint Chiefs will resign. And, I believe many of your top generals will, as well.”
For some reason, the other three men in the room turned to General Phillips as if to gauge his response. “I was already planning on tendering my resignation,” Phillips said. “I can’t fight this war under these conditions.”
Marty knew what a corps commander’s resignation at this juncture would mean. The press would be all over it and too many questions would be asked and too many honest answers would have to be given. It would be a disaster if the full scope of what was happening got out.
“You can’t quit, your country needs you.” Marty was a shrewd operator and knew that all these Army-types could be manipulated with patriotism.
Phillips chuckled, seeing right through Marty. “No, it doesn’t. My country needs my soldiers to have complete use of the weapons they were trained to use. I will stay only on the condition that the rules of engagement are changed. Otherwise I resign and I tell you that a number of divisional commanders will as well. No one wants to be saddled with this mess.”
“Maybe we can reach a compromise,” Marty suggested.
The president wouldn’t hear of it. “First they’ll want machine guns and bazookas, and pretty soon it’ll be tanks and artillery, and then it’ll be planes and bombs and napalm. It’ll be just like Vietnam all over again.”
Heider laughed: “It already is! Inept leadership in the White House is ruining our chances of nipping this in the bud.”
The president slammed his fist down on the table. “You are fired, Heider. And no, you won’t be missed. There are plenty of generals who can take your place. Snide generals are a dime a dozen.” He then turned on Phillips. “Your request is denied. We don’t need tanks when we have enough brave soldiers to do what’s right. I have already called up the Army reserve. Pretty soon you’ll have half a million men in the battle. That will be more than enough.”
Marty added the cherry to the top of the cake: “And we would need someone to run this army. What do you say to that?”
I would say that’s quite a bribe, Phillips thought. They were offering him command of a fighting army—his dream job.
He sat back, his eyes straying to the map where the outline of the Quarantine Zone stood out sharply in red. With half a million men, the Zone could be held, easily. The reservists would come in dribs and drabs over the course of a couple of weeks, but that would be okay. If he gave Ed Solberg permission to retreat to Highway 6, that would buy time for the 10th to get into place and then he could begin the arduous task of rearranging his forces.
Or not. He could wait until the first reserve division was ready and lift the 42nd out of the line completely, which would allow…
“Phillips, take the job,” General Heider said, “but don’t allow these morons to run you or the operation. Do what is necessary, militarily, not politically.” He started heading for the door, speaking over his shoulder: “I’ll let myself out.”
He didn’t make it out of the room before a young man with a sharp part to his hair and an obviously brand new suit hanging on his lanky frame came bustling in. “Excuse me,” he said in a rush and then, much to Phillips’ amusement, bowed toward the president. “Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Aleman said to come to him personally if there were any more developments.”
When the young man didn’t go on, Marty asked, “And?” The word hung in the air as they waited for him to spit out what he had barged in to say.
“Newark is under attack!” he cried out.
Although each person there knew exactly where Newark, New Jersey was, they all immediately yanked their heads around to stare at the map.
It sat smack dab in the m
iddle of the most densely populated area of the country. Twenty million people lived within a ten mile radius of the city.
Suddenly, an army of half a million soldiers seemed dreadfully small—too small to deal with this. But it was all they had. “I’ll take the job,” General Phillips said. “And I’ll take the tanks, too.”
Chapter 15
1—1:51 p.m.
The Hartford Quarantine Zone
Suddenly, there were two Quarantine Zones. Three actually, if the not-yet-begun siege of Hartford counted as a separate zone.
Chaos reigned in all three.
The Governor of New Jersey immediately recalled every police officer, state trooper and national guardsman he had lent to New York. This represented about a third of the forces making up the 42nd Infantry Division. This move began a legal and political battle that raged in Washington, Albany, and Trenton, as everyone with any say in the matter claimed the soldiers and law enforcement officers as their own.
General Ed Stolberg knew he was in trouble when, instead of ignoring calls from grasping politicians, he had to begin ignoring calls from greedy lawyers.
Regardless of who eventually won, the governor’s order had the unfortunate effect of leaving General Ed Stolberg in a terrible position as he tried to withdraw back to Highway 6. Many of the Jersey units found the move a prime opportunity to simply leave. Their family and friends were in danger and little was going to stop them from going home.
When they left, they carried off as much ammo as they could carry in as many trucks as they could steal.
The logistics quagmire became logistics hell. Units ran out of ammo in the middle of battle and suddenly the entire southern border disintegrated. Stolberg tried to regroup at Highway 6 as planned, but so many units just kept running past the new border that he could think of nothing better to do but let them run, knowing that they would tire eventually.
Air power alone stopped the majority of the zombie horde north of Highway 6. General Phillips stuck to his threat of resignation and received certain concessions which included the use of helicopters since they could be “snuck” in, buzzing at treetop level. He was also promised machine guns and mortars which could be dropped in by C17s.
Tanks, bombers, and artillery were ruled out as being too conspicuous. Although, General Heider— his “firing” forgotten by all—wanted to argue for more, Phillips took what he could get and ran with it, at least as far as he could.
The lack of fuel paired with the new logistical and reinforcement demands spread him perilously thin. Thankfully, he was able to scrape together enough fuel to sortie fifteen Apache gunships. The Apaches, with their undercarriage mounted 30mm chain guns and their Hydra missiles, were some of the deadliest machines ever devised. He threw them in wherever the line was close to being overrun.
Dr. Lee had no conception of the full extent of the turmoil her Com-cells were causing. She only knew that it was imperative for her to report to the highest authority figure she could find and divulge everything she knew concerning the Com-cells and Anna Holloway. Finding a place of safety was secondary to this, although, thankfully, the two goals seemed to go hand-in-hand.
With the 101st forming a new barrier to finding the governor of Connecticut, Hartford appeared to be the only logical destination. “Back to Hartford,” she ordered Jerome.
“Why? They won’t let us in,” he groused. “We should try heading south and taking a boat out of this ridiculous state.”
Courtney snorted: “You think no one else has thought of that idea? I guarantee that every boat that can float has been taken already and if there happens to be a few left, I bet the Navy and Coast Guard are patrolling the coast, night and day.”
“They can’t be everywhere,” Jerome countered. “The navy is tiny compared to what it used to be. We only have a couple of hundred ships and they’re spread out all over the world. We should be able to slip by with no problem.”
“You would be correct if it were just ships we had to evade,” Thuy said. “They also have planes and lots of them. No, going by boat might be the most dangerous thing we can do, especially during the day. No, we will go to Hartford. Their walls were the largest and they had the most people patrolling them. First, we need to get you two changed and we need to commandeer a new vehicle, one that fits the role we will be playing.”
Jerome’s eyes narrowed as he asked: “What role are you talking about? They’ve already seen us. Are we going to put on fake mustaches?”
“They haven’t seen us,” Thuy countered. “A few people on the other side of the city saw me. But as for mustaches, you’re on the right track.”
Thuy took them shopping in the suburbs of Hartford, where everything they needed was just sitting there. The fact that is was all sitting behind locked doors was becoming less of an issue for them.
Windows were broken with little fanfare and zero remorse. In no time, the three were “suited-up”. Jerome and Courtney looked like the squeaky-clean, smartly turned out, young go-getters who always seemed to hang around up and coming politicians, which Thuy assumed the role of.
They ditched the Ranger for a black Yukon Denali they “found” at a dealership, and just like that, they were transformed from three desperate refugees to three people who were “with” the governor’s team. Thuy assumed the role of chief of staff and cautioned the others to stick to their roles—Jerome as driver/bodyguard, and Courtney as personal assistant.
A new access point was chosen into Hartford and Jerome sped the Denali right to the wall that sat across Highway 2. As before, guns were pointed their way. This time Thuy ignored them completely as she strode up and announced: “The governor has sent us. We need to talk to the mayor.” She hoped that the generic terms “mayor” and “governor” would suffice as she didn’t know their names.
“About what?” called down a woman with a cascade of brown hair and what appeared, from Thuy’s angle, to be a wide shelf of a nose.
“About things that shouldn’t be discussed in front of so many people,” Thuy replied glancing left and right at the hundreds of faces staring down from the wall.
The woman with the wide nose turned to a man next to her and hissed something. They had a conversation that consisted of a lot of whispering and shrugs and many bewildered looks. The building of the wall had been a spontaneous event and there was no one who could be called a leader among them.
They dithered as they tried to come to a decision. The governor represented authority, which they craved; however strangers represented danger, which they feared.
Thuy worried that the fear would win out and that they would be turned away and so she used their own fear against them. “I have been sent to discuss important matters with the mayor. Matters of life and death. Likely, your life and death,” she said, speaking directly to the woman.
“Like what?” the woman asked, her voice rising.
“Your mayor will have to decide whether or not to inform the people of Hartford. My job is simply to deliver the information to him and him alone. If I cannot do that then, I’ll have to go back to the governor, I’m sorry.”
This hint of doom was enough to override any other fear. Ropes were cast over the side of the stacked cars and in minutes the three of them were pulled up to the supposed safety of the walls.
Even as Thuy thanked the “Warden of the Wall” as she thought of the woman with the wide nose, a mob of grizzled and grey-haired zombies from the SunRise Assisted Living facility, descended on a four-story brick apartment building. Although the rebooted zombies had been feeble in life, in their undeath they were wickedly strong. Doors were battered in and screams filled the air.
People tried to escape through a back door, but Jaimee Lynn Burke was waiting to ambush any who came that way. She knew the picking would be good and that the big people would be focused more on running away than fighting. She let three men go by because they seemed too large for her pack to handle. A woman laden down with two children was a different thing
altogether.
Her pack rushed out from their hiding places in the bushes and dragged the woman down. Of course, she screeched but no one stopped to help. The others speeding from the building ran in a wide circle around her and her two children.
Jaimee Lynn ate the slower of the children. It was so soft and sweet.
Six miles away, Thuy was oblivious to any of this. She asked the warden to accompany her to the mayor’s office and an awkward moment occurred when a car was found and the woman asked: “Where is it? I’ve never been to the mayor’s office before.”
“Downtown,” Courtney threw out in a moment of panic.
Thuy’s smile went thin at what she thought was a poor answer. “We rarely have dealings with the mayor and when we do, he comes to us, not the other way around. We’re going to have to ask for directions, I suppose.”
They headed downtown where the streets were practically deserted. No “one” was about, but there were plenty of “things.”
The warden was slow to catch on that they were zombies. One of them, a limping horror that was naked save for tennis shoes and the remains of a pair of pants that were fouled up around one ankle, came roaring out from an alley, making the woman swerve to keep from plowing over it, nearly crashing the car into a lamppost in the process.
“What the hell?” she cried out. It was the first of its kind she had ever seen close up, and in her fear she had pissed out a few drops into her underwear. “How are they in the city?”
“This might explain the soldiers we saw to the east,” Courtney remarked.
“And why the governor has fled her capitol,” Thuy added. “We should deliver our information and get out of here as soon as possible. Ma’am? If you could get back on the road, we stand a better chance of escaping.”
The warden had tried to make a U-turn and hadn’t quite got all the way around and was now barreling up a sidewalk that only just fit the car. At the first opportunity, she drove off the curb and sent them bouncing back onto the street.
The Apocalypse Crusade 3: War of the Undead Day 3 Page 22