The Future War t2-3

by S. M. Stirling

  Reese nodded. "What's going on here, Corporal? Where are you taking these people?"

  "They're centralizing supply distribution," the driver said. "So we're taking people to a relocation camp where there'll be food and medical care."

  Made sense, but… "I haven't heard anything about this,"

  Dennis said.

  "I wouldn't know anything about that, sir. I just pick people up. But I guess they're doing things as best they can."

  Reese considered that. If the army was cooperating with the National Guard, there would have to be a considerable amount of improvising and no doubt certain things would fall through the cracks.

  "Would you care to come with us, sir?" the corporal asked.

  "It's a bit crowded back there, but I think we can still offer you a lift."

  "I'll take you up on that," Reese said. "Just let me tell our friend back there what's going on."

  "He can come, too," the driver offered.

  "I'll tell him," the lieutenant said, "but I doubt he'll leave his truck behind. Where's this camp located?"

  "The Germantown fairground," the corporal said.

  Reese nodded and went to tell Gruder.

  "Somethin's not right here," the old man said, glaring at the transport.

  "Nothing's been right since the bombs fell, sir. You're invited to come with us if you like."

  "I'm not about to abandon my truck, young man!"

  "That's what I told the corporal," Dennis said with a grin.

  Then he turned serious. "But if they're centralizing supplies, then they won't be delivering any to this area. That means when you run out, there won't be any more."

  " Then maybe I'll look for this camp of theirs." Gruder scowled fiercely. "Think my daughter will be all right, then?"

  "I'm sure she will, sir."

  "All right, then. I guess it makes sense to do it this way."

  Gruder shook his head. "Just wish they'd told us first."

  As Reese and the sergeant walked to the transport, the old man turned his Chevy and drove off.

  "Think he'll be all right?" the sergeant asked.

  "As all right as any of us." Dennis glanced over his shoulder at the disappearing truck. "Yeah. He's a self-sufficient old coot.

  He'll be fine." He hoped that his father was all right. He hoped he'd be able to find out soon.

  BRITISH COLUMBIA

  When they arrived at the camp Balewitch instructed the guards to direct the buses and the first two trucks to the women's section and the others to the men's. The guards nodded, eying the military uniforms of the drivers warily. She looked up and saw Ore coming out of his office, a grim look on his ascetic face.

  The camp itself resembled photos she'd seen of Nazi concentration camps, or even the American concentration camps where the Japanese had been imprisoned during World War II. Barbed-wire fences and large, stark buildings, guard towers, and klieg lights on tall poles left an impression on the mind. The movies usually didn't include the gray, sloppy mud and the sour smell, though.

  She knew that most of the inmates were horrified at their first glimpse of the place. It always took a degree of happy talk to calm them down and endless assurances that this was only temporary, that they'd be moving on in less than ten days.

  Balewitch nearly split a gut when Ore said, "You should see the look on the Jews' faces when we offer them a shower."

  She and Dog got out of the truck and it drove off. It was amazing how quickly they'd gotten used to that. Well, she supposed it was easy when you were in no danger yourself.

  "What's going on?" Ore asked them quietly when he got close.

  Balewitch handed him a copy of the lieutenant's orders. He read them quickly and looked up at her, astonishment in his eyes. She nodded and he smiled slowly.

  "This should speed things up nicely," Ore said with satisfaction.

  "I assume that Ron hasn't neglected our other holiday camps,"

  Dog said.

  Ore shook his head in wonder. "I have no idea. Let's go ask him." He turned to lead the way to his office and the computer that still connected them to the mysterious "Ron Labane."

  "Wait a minute," Balewitch said. The young lieutenant had hopped down from one of the trucks and was approaching.

  "Sir, are you in charge here?" the young soldier asked, his boyish face crunched into an expression of concern.

  Ore nodded and smiled. "Sam LaGrange," he said heartily, and stuck out his hand. "And you are?"

  "Lieutenant Ron Goldberg." He gestured at the camp. "This place…" Words seemed to literally fail him.

  "Yeah, it's pretty raw," Ore said. "But then it went up in an incredible hurry and it's just a temporary refuge. A staging area before these people will be sent on to Canadian towns and cities for a more permanent arrangement. As you know, the Canadians suffered less than the U.S. did."

  The lieutenant still looked uncomfortable with his surroundings, but he was clearly making an effort not to show it.

  "Come to that," Goldberg said, "Alaska didn't get hit as hard as the rest of the country. Why couldn't we just leave people in their homes?"

  "We're expecting an early and extremely harsh winter because of all the dust in the upper atmosphere," Ore explained. "Canada is advising all of its citizens in this area to move south as well. As you might expect, heating oil is going to be scarce this winter."

  "Ah," Goldberg said wisely. "Of course." He shook his head. "I still can't believe it really happened."

  "I honestly think it was an accident," Balewitch said.

  "Well, whatever happened, I guess I'm more or less on permanent assignment to this mission. Where do these people go from here?"

  "Various places," Ore said. "I haven't had time to compile statistics yet. We just take 'em in, move 'em out."

  "Roll, rope, and brand 'em," Dog said. They all laughed, leaving the lieutenant confused. "Old TV show," Dog explained.

  "Ohhh," Goldberg said, smiling politely.

  Ore raised a hand and a guard trotted over. "Please escort the lieutenant and his men to the guest quarters when they've disembarked their passengers," he said. "That's building nine in the east quadrant." It was the newest building, so far unused, and far enough from the other parts of the camp to isolate the soldiers from the civilian "guests."

  "You can park your vehicles in that area, too, Lieutenant."

  "Thank you, sir," Goldberg said. He saluted and Ore returned it without missing a beat. "I look forward to working with you."

  "Likewise," Ore said. "I'm sincerely grateful for your help."

  The three Luddites smiled warmly at the lieutenant in the manner of people waiting for someone to go away. Goldberg smiled, waved awkwardly, and followed the guard in the direction the trucks had taken.

  Ore turned and led them to his office. When they were safely inside he turned to them, an expression of wonder on his austere face. "He's perfect."

  "He is that," Balewitch agreed. "I am looking forward to working with him."

  "Let's relay our congratulations to Ron," Dog suggested, "and see if he has any more surprises for us."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ALASKA

  John hugged his mother, feeling the hard muscle over the delicate bones. She was heading to South America to organize shipments of food and supplies. Their contacts there had confirmed that most countries below the equator had survived very well by comparison with the United States. That didn't mean there wouldn't be plenty of danger for his mother to deal with.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her face for a long time. The gray light of morning made her look older than she was…

  But we're not getting any younger, any of us, he thought.

  And if we're being completely truthful in here, I'm a little scared. She's been my tower of strength all my life— even when I thought she was completely crazy. Even when she was crazy and I had to call her on the let's-kill-everything stuff…

  "You be careful," he said ster
nly.

  "Spoilsport," she said with a grin, thumping his chest lightly.

  "I was planning to party my way down the Pan-American Highway."

  He laughed. "I'm gonna miss you, Mom."

  " 'Course you are," Sarah agreed. "I'll miss you, too. But you don't need me." She looked up at him, pride shining in her eyes.

  "I'll always need you, Mom." He put his arm around her shoulders and walked her toward her motorcycle. "A guy needs his mom." He gave her another quick hug. "Don't get killed," he warned.

  "Back atcha," she said.

  Then she turned to Dieter. They'd said good-bye last night with an almost desperate passion. It might be years before they saw each other again. He gave her a sad smile and opened his arms. She walked into them and hugged him around his trim waist, leaning her head against his chest, listening to the firm rhythm of his heart.

  "I love you," she whispered.

  He cupped her head with one big hand. "I love you, too."

  She reached up and brought his head down for a kiss. When it was over they gazed into each other's eyes like young lovers. She smiled.

  "It's not forever," he said.

  "No," she agreed briskly. She picked up her helmet. "Just longer than I'd like. Take care of yourself."

  "What was it you said? Back atcha."

  Sarah grinned and mounted the Harley, an older model they'd fixed to run on alcohol. They'd figured that would be more available than gasoline. And when worse came to worst they could manufacture the stuff. She kicked-started the big machine and with a wave started off. Sarah didn't even try to look behind; the helmet would hinder her visibility and she didn't feel like spoiling her exit by falling off the damn bike.

  Maybe with me gone, John will find himself a nice girl, she thought. Or a bad one. She understood his grief and guilt at losing Wendy, she really did. But it wasn't right for a healthy young man like John to show no interest in the opposite sex.

  Maybe a bad girl would be better, then; there'd be less resistance to slipping between the sheets.

  John's so honorable, that could stop the whole program. I raised me a good man there.

  Though Sarah feared it was some subliminal fear that his mother would put the evil eye on his sweetie. Which might be because she was feeling some residual guilt over her treatment of Wendy. Given the way things turned out. So, maybe with her out of the way, the emotional logjam would break and the next time she saw him he'd have a girl beside him with a baby in her arms.

  Sarah examined the mental image, not sure how she felt about it. I don't think I'm ready to be a grandmother, she thought. Then an image of Dieter laughing uproariously at these absurd musings popped into her head.

  God! But she was going to miss those two.

  MISSOURI

  Captain Yanik pulled the paper from the machine and read the dispatch. His eyebrows went up; good news for a change.

  From: CONUS CentCom

  To: Captain Charles Yanik, Black River Relocation Camp Subject: Rogue Trucks

  Faults in rogue vehicles due to "noise" overriding computer's internal command structure causing vehicles to engage in random, but lethal manner.

  While correcting problem technicians have devised method of making self-driving trucks function w/o drivers. Currently reduced traffic makes S/DTs more efficient than human drivers.

  Once route is programmed into computer truck will safely deliver any cargo in least time over best possible route.

  Complement of fifteen trucks en route to Black River Relocation Camp. Freeing troopers for other duties. END

  MESSAGE

  Such as what? Yanik wondered, looking around at the raw pine boards of the command shack.

  Though he suspected that they'd be put to police work.

  Regular police forces were overwhelmed. Now that the cooperative citizens were in the camps, the criminal element was having a field day breaking and entering, burgling, and committing arson.

  Who the damn fools think they're gonna fence a TV to is beyond me. If there were any fences still operating out there, they were probably more interested in full gas cans or cases of soup. Bet you can keep your diamonds, though, Yanik thought, smiling.

  He glanced through the open door and almost ran for his office when he saw Lieutenant Reese coming. He forced himself to stand and wait. The man was only coming to see if there were any orders waiting for him. Which there never were.

  "Sir," Reese said smartly, giving a crisp salute.

  Yanik returned it, less crisply. "There's been no change, Lieutenant. And the no-personal-messages-allowed orders still stand."

  Reese looked taken aback. "I'm not trying to send a personal message, sir. I'm just trying to get assigned to where I'll do the most good. I'm wasted here."

  "I disagree," the captain told him. Reese might have talents that could be used elsewhere, but he was a very good officer and he most certainly wasn't wasting his time. "You've been an asset here, Lieutenant. And I've sent your query up the line. They know where you are and what you can do, and when they want you they'll tell you. In the meantime, I'm in need of competent officers."

  Reese lowered his eyes. "Yes, sir."

  Yanik studied him from under lowered eyebrows. "Probably they've hardly even begun the assessment phase of things, Reese.

  It may be months before they'll need your training." He dropped the message in his hand onto a pile to be filed. "Don't worry, you'll have your weeks without sleep. In the meantime, I'm told that some of the inmates have set up a still somewhere. In the interest of keeping the peace and keeping them from poisoning themselves and others, I'd like you to find it and get rid of it."

  "Yes, sir." Reese paused. "They'll only set up another one, sir."

  Yanik was studying another message. "Think I don't know that, Lieutenant?" He looked up. "We have to keep the civilians entertained somehow."

  BLACK RIVER RELOCATION CAMP CLINIC

  Mary Shea made a notation on a patient's chart and moved to the next bed; they were using a series of double-wides, together with sheds and tents and—she suspected—parts from prefabricated chicken coups, but at least they kept off the rain and had floors. Everything else in camp was gluey mud; the air in the clinic smelled better, of course. They were using bulk bleach salvaged from a cleaners as a make-do disinfectant.

  She inserted an old-fashioned mercury thermometer under the patient's tongue and took his pulse; the skin was a little clammy and moistly warm. It was a bit fast. His temperature was a hundred and one, down a bit. Unfortunately she thought it would go up again come sundown.

  The sanitation in this hastily flung together camp worried her—a lot. It was grossly inadequate for the number of people here, and for all they were supposed to be a supply center, the clinic was constantly running out of the most basic supplies. She suspected that this patient's illness was a water-related one, possibly cholera; the diarrhea indicated that—strongly—but they wouldn't know for sure until they got the results back from the lab. And the lab was in worse shape than the clinic.

  The nutrition wasn't very good either. Beans and rice, mostly.

  Sometimes she absolutely craved meat; it was like her teeth were begging her to let them chew animal protein.

  When the camp did get meat, the doctors and nurses insisted that a large portion of it be given to the hospital, before the rest was made available to the camp at large. The broths they made were a great help to the patients and they made sure that any pregnant or nursing mothers got a share of the meat.

  The smell of cooking soup or roasting meat actually made her drool. And coffee, God, if she could only have a cup of coffee!

  The next patient was an elderly woman with a very high fever, nausea, and very bad diarrhea. She complained of pains in her joints and headache as well. Dr. Ramsingh had gone to the HQ to talk to the captain about this. Two patients was hardly an epidemic, but these suggestive symptoms couldn't be ignored.

  The old lady looked up at her with fever-bright eye
s when Mary put the thermometer under her tongue.

  "Don' wann be a burthen," she said.

  "You're not," Mary assured her. "You'll be fine soon."

  She certainly hoped so. That there might be cholera in this camp was inexcusable. These people would be better off in their own homes rather than here, risking the spread of a deadly disease.

  Many people, she knew, had argued against these—no other word for it—concentration camps. She'd heard the army's argument that it was more efficient, but any place so badly constructed that a cholera epidemic threatened the population in less than a month was hardly a model of organization.

  Though to be fair—she patted the old woman's hand and moved on—if the pathetic trickle of supplies coming into the camp represented the best the government could do, then civilians on their own would quickly starve.

  The problem was there was no news available to them except what they got from the army. Mary couldn't help but feel uneasy at being reduced to one source of news; there was no way of crosschecking anything. Not that the government was giving them a very sunshiny outlook. To hear the army tell it, the world beyond the borders of the camp was a radioactive cinder. Which we can see with our own eyes isn't true. So why was the army telling them that?

  There was a commotion at the head of the ward and Mary looked up.

  "This is the hospital ward," the matron was explaining. "You have to take them to the clinic."

  "Don't tell us to take them somewhere else," a man was saying, shouting, actually. "Can't you see they're sick?"

  "Help us!" the woman beside him said desperately.

  Mary headed toward them. Oh God, she thought, it's children.

  One of them a babe in arms, the other about the size of a four-year-old. Her gut went cold. Cholera was very hard on the very young and the very old. Her eyes met the matron's and they made a mutual executive decision.

  "If one of you will stay with Matron and help her fill out a chart, I'll help the other put these children to bed." Mary put the tray on the desk and held out her arms.

  The man and woman glanced at each other, then the man held out the child he was carrying; a boy, Mary saw. She took him and led the woman down the ward toward a pair of cribs that Mary now thought insanely optimistic of whoever had put this place together. Just two, she thought sadly.