Warlords

by William H. Weber

  “I thought we already settled this months ago.”

  “Just seems like you’re in the habit of taking things that don’t belong to you.”

  Now Brandon was starting to get angry. “We helped defend the cabin too, don’t forget. And do I need to remind you that my dad was killed raising the alarm when the Chairman’s men attacked us?”

  Gregory shook his head. “It just isn’t fair. I’m just saying that it shoulda been me he taught all that stuff too, not you.”

  “He musta shown you some stuff over the years,” Brandon replied, but quickly saw he was barking up the wrong tree. John had taught his son some survival skills, but Gregory felt Brandon was his dad’s favorite, a protégé of sorts. If that were the case, then nothing Brandon said would convince him otherwise.

  They walked on in silence until they spotted an old sports car from the sixties racing up the highway in their direction. It screeched to a halt when it reached a handful of people walking a few hundred meters ahead. A moment later, it continued in the boys’ direction. When it braked next to them, they saw two men in desert camo military uniforms. The one in the passenger seat was broad-shouldered and mean-looking.

  “Our train was attacked...” Brandon began.

  “Save it,” the mean one cut him off. “We know what happened. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “I don’t know,” Brandon replied.

  The brawny passenger turned to the driver. “We got a comedian on our hands, Olson. A regular Jim Carrey. How old are you boys?”

  “I’m fifteen,” Brandon said. “And Gregory here is twelve.”

  “Twelve and a half,” Gregory amended.

  “And a half?” the passenger noted, amused. Three chevrons on his shoulder told them he was a sergeant. His name tag read Burns. “Well, I need you and Mr. Twelve and a Half here to head to Dyersburg State Community College.” Burns threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Keep following the 51 and then make a right on Lake Road. It’s a mustering station for new recruits.”

  Brandon nodded, swallowing hard, but doing his best not to betray the fear inching into his heart. Maybe on account of his age, Gregory wasn’t nearly as good at hiding it and his voice squeaked as he thanked them.

  “Don’t thank us yet, little man,” Burns shouted as the sports car pulled away.

  •••

  An hour later, after following the sergeant’s directions, they arrived. The green space hugging the campus along Lake Road was dotted with artillery and anti-aircraft positions. Men and women in army fatigues of all sorts were manning the weapons, scanning the horizon and digital readouts for signs of approaching enemies.

  It had been a while since Brandon had seen a computer display screen that was anything but black and lifeless. Cutting across the lawn, they headed for the main building, protected by layers of sandbags and gabions.

  A single thought kept racing through Brandon’s mind. When John found out what they’d done, he was going to kill them. If the Chinese or Russians didn’t get the job done first, that was.

  But surely John would understand why they’d been motivated to serve, whether or not they were the proper age to do so. Hadn’t John told Brandon about the thousands of soldiers who’d signed up for all branches of the military after 9/11? They’d wanted to do whatever they could to serve their country. Many of those same volunteers had filled the ranks of the unit John served with, so if anyone should understand, it would be him.

  Inside, the building was dimly lit with emergency lighting, presumably powered by diesel generators outside. Figures darted past them at dizzying speed. Everyone knew their job and what they should be doing.

  “New recruits?” a soft female voice asked.

  Brandon’s eyes widened when he saw her. A shock of red hair under a marine’s cap, alabaster skin. She was beautiful, if out of place. Not that he had much right saying so. At least she was of age.

  “We came to serve however we can,” he answered. “But our train was attacked...”

  “Yes, we heard. I’d say I’m sorry, but you’re gonna see more of that sooner than later.” She glanced from her clipboard to Gregory. “This one’s too young for combat. Desperate as we are, even we have limits.”

  Brandon spotted her name tag and rank. “PFC O’Brien, where are you gonna send him?”

  She fixed Brandon with a stony glare. “Trains from the east have been pouring in all day long. If I had a nickel for every prepubescent boy who stowed away to play soldier I’d be a rich woman.”

  “What’s pretusesent?” Gregory asked.

  “It means brave,” Brandon lied.

  “Oh.”

  “We might be able to squeeze you in,” she said, “but your little brother’s gonna have to head back on the next transport east.”

  “Please,” Brandon pleaded. “We’ve come this far. There’s nothing left for us to go home to.” That last part was a lie, of course, but helping at the front sure beat Gregory being killed on the way home by a Chinese gunship.

  O’Brien didn’t look convinced.

  “There must be something he can do.”

  Her eyes fell to a stack of thirty-pound ammo cans by the entrance. “If your brother can lug those cans around, then there might just be a job for him at the front.”

  Chapter 25

  The Chinese pilot sat handcuffed in the Oneida sheriff’s department interrogation room, looking defiant, face smeared with dried blood from the crash.

  John, Moss, Vice Mayor Ray Gruber and a handful of others stood in a darkened room, behind a two-way mirror.

  “What about the gunner?” John asked, studying the prisoner’s grey jumpsuit, which was torn but nondescript. As startling as it was to have an enemy combatant as his prisoner, that wasn’t what surprised John the most about his new guest. The biggest shock had been that the pilot was a woman.

  She’d been unconscious when Moss and his men had gone to retrieve her and she’d come awake less than an hour ago.

  “We found the gunner still strapped to his chair, dead. Looks like a broken neck from the impact, but we can’t be sure.”

  “Doesn’t really matter,” John told him. “Where’d you put the body?”

  “Left it at the coroner’s office, boss,” Moss replied. “There ain’t no real way to keep it on ice, so we may end up burying him within the next day or two. I think the real problem we have is the crowd that’s gathered outside. A bunch of ’em are calling for a trial and a hanging.”

  “Not that you can blame them one bit,” Ray added. “I’d be tempted to do the same myself.”

  “But you’re the vice mayor,” John reminded him sternly. “And you’re expected to lead these folks with your head, especially when they’re being pulled by emotion.”

  “I was just saying that I can see why the crowd wants blood.”

  After a moment of tense silence, John’s attention returned to the pilot. She had pale, soft skin and a round face. Her hair, which was long and dark, was tied back in a pony tail, a curious contrast to how dishevelled the rest of her looked.

  “Has she said anything yet?” John asked.

  “No, boss. None of us have been in to see her yet. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to ask. I’ll be more than happy to get in there if you want.”

  John smiled. “I’ll keep you posted. I know you have a thing for Asian girls. First, bring me something to eat.”

  “You didn’t have breakfast?”

  “Not for me. It’s for her. Sometimes getting the information you need is easier with a smile and a warm meal than it is with a fist.”

  Moss left with one of his men. When the door shut, Ray turned to John.

  “What’s the plan, John? Don’t you think we’re endangering the town by holding this prisoner?”

  John shook his head. “What do you think will happen if we let her go? Besides, Moss has some of his people clearing away the wreckage. We may be able to salvage some of the weapons onboard. The 30mm chain gun as well as the knockoff
Hellfire missiles.”

  Ray cocked an eyebrow. “Knockoff?”

  “Don’t be so shocked. Most of the aircraft design has been lifted from other platforms. Namely the Italian Augusta attack helicopter. I suppose it’s one of the ways they’ve been able to keep up. America and other Western countries do most of the innovating and China steals the plans.”

  “I was about to say that imitation is the best form of flattery,” Ray began. “But I suppose this is a case where it’s bitten us in the rear.” He paused. “Have you figured out what you’re going to ask her?”

  “I’m working on that.”

  “U.S. intelligence would surely like to get their hands on her.”

  “They will, Ray, but not until we’re done.”

  Moss returned with a plate of rice, canned ham and a plastic cup with filtered water. “I figured you two would have a big laugh over how bad this looks. See, I know they like rice, but I couldn’t figure out what meat to throw on. We don’t exactly have crates of orange beef or General Tao hanging around.”

  John burst his bubble. “Those are Chinese-American creations.”

  “Well, here ya go. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, she’s lucky to be getting anything at all.”

  John made his way to the door before he stopped short. “You’re a real charmer, Moss. Don’t go far. If the nice-guy routine doesn’t get her talking, I may need someone to play the bad guy.”

  The guard posted outside the interrogation room nodded to John and opened the door as he approached.

  The prisoner glanced up, watching John as he entered and sat down across from her. Apart from the fact that her lips were drawn into a thin line, it was difficult to detect any real emotion coming from her.

  “Are you hungry?” John asked, sliding the food over to her. Her gaze fell to the plate and then rose back to him.

  Silence.

  “If I were you, I’d eat, since this may be your only meal of the day.”

  John brought his hand up to his mouth, trying his best to demonstrate what he figured was the universal sign for eating.

  Her expression didn’t change.

  “Do you speak English?” John asked. Mandarin was the most common dialect in China, but finding someone in Oneida, Tennessee who could speak it was more than a long shot.

  More silence. The food didn’t seem to interest her either.

  “Well at least you can tell me what unit you’re with. The Geneva Convention allows for that.”

  “Name, date of birth, rank and service number,” she replied in broken, but surprisingly good English. “I am required to give you nothing else.”

  She was right, but more importantly, John had just learned that she spoke English.

  “Then let’s start with your name.”

  “Huan Wei,” she replied after a small delay.

  “Huan,” John said. “Your name means happiness.”

  Her eyes fluttered, betraying the first hint of emotion. “I know what my name means.”

  “And your rank?” he asked in as calm and soothing a voice as he could muster.

  “Lieutenant.”

  “So am I.”

  “You’re in the military?”

  He shook his head. “Not anymore, but I was.” He looked down at the food and was beginning to think she either wasn’t hungry or that it wasn’t quite to her taste. “I wish we had something else to offer you besides rice and whatever that meat is.”

  The pilot stared at him blankly.

  “Your English is quite good. Where did you study?”

  “Cambridge,” Huan replied.

  “In England. How nice.” The truth was he was disappointed in her answer. He had hoped she’d studied somewhere in America. Berkeley or NYU. That would have given them more common ground, helped to break down barriers and weaken her resistance.

  Either way, John felt the time had come to take his questioning up a notch. “Listen, Huan. I want you to tell me why you were flying over Oneida. What was the purpose of your mission?”

  “I’ve already told you what information I’m required to give.”

  “Yes, and I heard you. You should know, however, that there is a large group of angry people in this town waiting outside who would love nothing more than to hang you from the closest tree for what you’ve done.”

  A crack in her armor was starting to appear. “I’ve done my duty. Nothing else.”

  “Maybe you have, but that’s not the way we see it. You’ve come to our home, killed and imprisoned innocent people.” John felt his own blood pressure begin to rise and tried to calm himself down.

  “I’ve told you already that wasn’t me.”

  “Yes, but do you think the people outside are going to listen to you? I’m giving you options. Behind door number one is the easy way where you tell me everything I need to know. You’ll be given food, medical attention and a safe place to stay. Behind door number two is pain and discomfort. Trust me, I’m not thrilled about hurting a woman, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people close to me.” John let out a deep breath. He wanted his words to have a moment to settle in. “So, what’ll it be?”

  “I’ve already told you what information I’m required to give,” she repeated, like a mantra.

  John sat up straight, laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles with a series of loud pops. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but Huan’s defiance meant it was time to bring Moss in to encourage her in other ways.

  Chapter 26

  The observation room was cleared except for John and Ray. Through the two-way mirror, they watched as Moss and two others waterboarded Huan, a mild form of torture which involved holding a person on their back, placing a cloth over their face and dousing them with water. Although it wouldn’t leave any lasting physical effect, the sensation of drowning would be overwhelming.

  “It’s a real disgusting thing to do to a woman,” Ray said, arms crossed over his chest.

  Inside, John echoed those same feelings. Perhaps he even felt more strongly than that. “I wonder if you’d be saying the same thing if she were a man?”

  Ray looked at him. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

  “Woman or not, she’s a soldier, Ray. A soldier who may have important information our boys at the front can use. If she knows something that could turn the tide, would you still object?”

  Ray didn’t reply, probably because he hated admitting that sometimes horrible decisions needed to be made. In war, there wasn’t room for wishful thinking. There was only winning or losing.

  Some people in town saw Ray’s idealism as a sign of weakness, but truth be told, that was what John liked about the man and one of the reasons he’d made him vice mayor. He wasn’t looking for someone who would parrot his own views. Even a government the size of the one in Oneida needed some form of checks and balances.

  “Maybe you should be in there doing it yourself,” Ray jabbed.

  John frowned. “You think I’m being a coward, is that it? That I’m getting Moss to do my dirty work? What you’re forgetting, Ray, is that I’ve built a rapport with Huan. It might not seem like much, but once she’s been broken, it’ll make a world of difference. I’m the anaesthetic that will make all her pain go away. In a moment, I’ll rush in there and reprimand Moss for going too far, ordering him to stop, even threatening to arrest him. She’ll hate Moss for what he’s done and a tiny part of her will thank me for stepping in. I’ll make her feel safe. Not completely, but maybe just enough to open up.”

  John didn’t wait around to see if Ray had started to see the issue clearly yet. He left and burst into the interrogation room, performing the role of good cop just as he had described. Feigning anger and humiliation, Moss and the two men helping him stormed out, leaving John to remove the wet cloth over Huan’s face. He lifted her—discovering in the process that even soaking wet, she was surprisingly light—and sat her back on the chair, cuffing her hands to metal rings on the table. She fought to catch h
er breath, coughing and gagging.

  “I never meant for that to happen,” he lied. “I’d asked my colleague to question you vigorously, not torture you. We’re going to find you some clothes to change into.”

  Huan sat shivering before him, wheezing in and out. She resembled less a porcelain doll now than she did a wet cat.

  “I’m going to do my best to keep him away from you, but the longer you hold out, the less I can do to keep you safe.”

  There was a long, drawn-out silence before Huan cleared her throat, drew in a ragged gasp of air and spoke. “What do you want to know?”

  John nodded, trying not to show the slightest glimmer that he’d won. He was playing the reluctant interrogator who was only collecting information in order to keep her safe. It was a nasty game, no doubt about it. But if there was another way to get the job done, John had never found it.

  “Let’s begin with why you were flying over Oneida.”

  “Our mission was not Oneida. We were sent to scout and disrupt supply lines. There are not supposed to be enemies in Oneida.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Intelligence briefing told us that we controlled the town.”

  Suddenly it made sense. The enemy didn’t know the Chairman was dead. As far as they were concerned, Oneida and many of the smaller towns just like it situated in strategic locations were under their control.

  “Was attacking supply lines your only mission?”

  Huan shook her head just as a nurse from the clinic came in with a change of clothes and a fresh towel and placed both on the edge of the table. Huan reached for them before John stopped her hand.

  “A few more questions and then I’ll leave you to get dried off and changed.”

  Huan’s eyes flicked between the table top and the towel. “Secondary mission was to scout and report enemy activity at the Y-12 National Security Complex.”

  John’s ears perked up. “In Oak Ridge? Why?”

  “We were not told.”

  John’s best guess was that it had something to do with the nuclear work being done there, at least up until recently. Were the Chinese wondering if the Americans had enough parts to put together a crude atomic bomb? Chinese and Russian forces were stretched along the Mississippi river. Even if dropping a bomb or activating a missile silo was possible, the damage radius wouldn’t deal a devastating blow to the enemy.