Barone stood now, taking his normal towering posture. “We swore an oath to defend our country. I go back to what it means, our country. To me, it means the people, but most importantly, our families. What have I accomplished if I go and attempt to fix what can’t be fixed? I accomplish nothing. The traitors to their own people are the fools who listen to orders that do more harm than good. So I ask those who have challenged me, would they have gone and allowed their families to starve? Really? If a man knowingly leaves his family to die, he is not a man of honor but a mindless fool,” Barone said. “I know you didn’t want to go through this again, but I have never given anyone except those few the true time line and reasons why we are where we are.
“After I thought that day, I attempted to contact someone of higher authority. Because of the attacks and the catastrophic failure of all the infrastructure nationwide, I couldn’t reach anyone but a general at an Air Force base in Oklahoma. I knew then the sheer damage done. Gentlemen, my decision has created many different consequences, some bad; but overall we now have our families next to us.”
Barone paused and looked at his men, all still staring wide-eyed at his openness. “Many people, specifically civilians, think of us as robots, that we are somehow emotionless and only listen to commands and mindlessly obey. When I joined the Marines many years ago, I did so because I wanted to defend my country. I ask again, what is country?” He looked at each man’s face, seeing if somewhere in their expressions they were processing this question. “Gentlemen, I feel vindicated after having seen with my own eyes the damage and chaos in San Diego. If I hadn’t made that tough decision, we’d be spinning around our anchors off the coast of Virginia. Now we are sitting off the coast of Oregon about to take another turn in our new lives. Out there offers us a chance to rebuild a country and to help those Americans who want to join us. The old way is gone, taken from us. We didn’t ask for it, but it happened.”
Again he paused. This time he looked back at the map on the wall. On it he saw a new world for him and his men. Turning back to face them, he drew his speech to a close. “Men, I will finish my little explanation by telling you something that I’ve never mentioned before. When I spoke to that Air Force general over seven weeks ago, he explained to me what had happened and commanded that we follow standard operating procedures by departing Afghanistan and heading back east. I asked him about our families out west and what was being done to help them. He explained that he wasn’t sure about our families back in California because a lot of communications were down and almost nothing was working.
“I wasn’t satisfied with his answer, so I again stressed the point about finding out about our families. He then pointed out what he called the ‘fact’ that we were Marines and our obligation was to our government. I paused when he said that, ‘our government.’ No, I thought, our obligation was to our country. I could hear the frustration in his voice, and this is where he made everything clear to me. He said, ‘Colonel Barone, the priority right now is not taking care of the people, it’s government continuity.’ This statement told me everything I needed to know to make my final decision.”
He grabbed the chair he had been sitting in and put it back. The room was very still. He took his place in front of the room again and said, “Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s dive into the briefing.” His tone had gone back to his typical professional and direct tenor.
The briefing went on for approximately thirty minutes as he explained that his recon Marines had located safe mooring for all the ships. He covered in detail his plans for incorporating the civilian leadership at some levels, but they would not have any real operational control.
He then discussed with them his long-term plan of making their way to Salem, the capital. There he wanted to establish his own seat of government. The task ahead would be tough, but Barone knew exactly the advantage he had. Even though he had lost a significant percentage of both battalions along the way, he had been able to replenish a lot of the losses from all the bases back in the San Diego area. His force now stood at more than four thousand combat-tested Marines with more than twelve hundred naval personnel. He had tanks, dozens of light armored vehicles, dozens of helicopters, half a dozen jump jets, over one hundred Humvees, dozens of artillery guns, thousands of rifles, millions of rounds, and tons and tons of potable water and food. Barone had a force to be reckoned with and he knew it. The two MPS ships they had taken from Diego Garcia were not included in the count. Once they landed in Coos Bay they’d be able to see what bounty was hidden in those ships’ hulls.
Barone assured his men that no harm would come to civilians unless they threatened his force. He knew that in order to establish a new country he would have to win the hearts and minds of the people. As he paced the room answering his men’s questions, one was posed that many hesitated to ask but all wanted to know the answer to.
“Sir, what are we prepared to do about the remnants of the U.S.?”
Barone stopped pacing, looked directly at the Marine who’d asked the question, and responded forcefully, “We mean them no harm, so if they wish to do us harm we will defend ourselves. I have to admit, though, it’s now over seven weeks since the attack and I can’t imagine what force is left of the U.S. that can be effectively deployed. Some of you who went ashore saw for yourselves the chaos and anarchy. Where was the government, much less the military? They’re hunkered down taking care of themselves. So what we’re doing is no different than what they’re doing. I don’t expect much resistance now from what is left of the federal government. I hope that answers your question, Captain.” Barone finished and looked at the young officer, who nodded back. He looked at each face; these would be the faces he’d create a new country with. With no more questions to be answered, he closed the briefing with one final statement. “Men, before I dismiss you, I want to say thank you. Thank you for believing in me, thank you for letting these ships reach our families. Together, we will make Operation Rubicon a success and build a new country.”
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
“General Baxter, now is the time to continue forward with our mission to Portland. I will be leading it. Please put together a team and make all arrangements,” Cruz said to his secretary of defense.
Both men were relaxing in Cruz’s office, a large room built for the commander in chief to be used for just this type of circumstance.
“Sir, can I ask you what your thoughts are on the president’s status?”
Cruz chuckled then answered, “Sorry for the impolite laugh, but I had to laugh because of the coincidence of the question. You see, earlier today, the first lady asked me that identical question.”
Baxter just looked at Cruz; he didn’t respond to his comment but again asked a similar question: “Mr. Vice President, do you think he’s dead or alive?”
“General Baxter, at the moment, I don’t know how to be quite honest. Between you and me, I would say my friend’s chances are dimming with each passing day. This doesn’t say we stop looking. But we can’t hold off on his plan of going to Portland to get a new capital up and running. I agree with the president. We must show that the federal government is here and doing something. It’s time to leave the bunker and take some real action.”
“Agreed, sir. I’ll get working on that ASAP.”
“How long before we can be ready to depart?”
“Give us a week, sir. Our advance team is still in Portland in a secured location. They’ve made contact with the governor in Salem. So a week should be all I need to make sure your trip out there is safe.”
Baxter closed his leather binder and stood up, but Cruz stopped him. “Hold on, General.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down, please.” Cruz pointed back to the seat his secretary of defense had just been sitting in. “Do you drink at all?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I have to admit I haven’t really enjoyed a drink since the attacks last month,” Baxter said. He sat upright in his chair, a bit appreh
ensive.
“I have some quality sipping tequila, will that do?”
“Sure, that sounds fine, thank you.”
Cruz walked to a cabinet against the far wall. The furniture in the office was from the 1990s, the last time the bunker had been renovated. He opened the top cabinet door, pulled out a bottle, and grabbed two stemmed glasses.
“I have to laugh now because Brad gave me a hard time about all the luggage my family had when we joined him in Florida. I told him that I had some nonnegotiables. Plus, I didn’t know if I’d ever go home again. I wanted to make sure I had some things that I enjoyed and that reminded me of a different time. That’s this here,” Cruz said, holding up the bottle. “If you haven’t had it before, I can tell you, it’s magnificent.”
“I’m not familiar. What is it?” Baxter asked. He squinted to see if he could read the label as Cruz poured the tequila into the glasses.
“This is AsomBroso La Rosa reposado tequila,” he said as he handed the general a glass. Cruz then held his glass up, swirled it, and continued. “It’s aged over eleven months in French oak barrels used once for vintage Bordeaux. It’s one of the best, if you ask me.” He then brought the glass to his nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed. “Aah, perfection.”
Baxter watched Cruz’s performance. He’d never seen the vice president like this. It was interesting to him to witness what people found pleasure in. While he didn’t hold tequila in the same regard as Cruz, he did like a good drink. He too smelled the tequila, but he thought it smelled like any tequila. Without waiting another second, he took a sip. The liquid felt good against his lips and mouth. The slight burning in his throat was a welcome feeling. He instantly felt more at ease.
“It’s good, right?”
Looking at the glass, he answered, “Yes, sir, it is.”
“Good, good.” Cruz sat down after taking a sip himself. He relaxed into the chair and opened up on why he wanted to have this more casual meeting. “General, you’re aware of what happened before with Conner and Griswald. You see, I don’t want us to have that type of situation. Maybe we can prevent that collision of ideals if we really get to know one another. I took the liberty of looking at your personnel file. Very impressive, but I’d have to say that we as people are more than profiles or files.” Cruz closed the folder and tossed it on his desk.
Baxter didn’t know what to say. He looked at the glass he held, now resting on his leg. He took a quick sip to give him a few more seconds to think.
“Sir, I’m not much of a conversationalist, so I’ll tell you straight. I agree that we need to prevent another situation like before. If assurances are what you need from me, you have them. I’m on board with everything. I’m a dedicated officer and will give you my counsel when asked, but when given an order, I will comply,” Baxter finally said. When he finished he took another drink.
“Good, glad to hear that. Like you, I’m a team player. My family came to this country as immigrants from Cuba. I grew up seeing my parents go from struggling to prospering. This country saved me in many ways, and this is why I intend on saving it. I won’t just roll over and let her die. I will fight and do what is necessary to ensure she rises again. Knowing that you’re with me makes it easier. Our first step toward getting her back on her feet is to let the people know we’re still here.”
“Sir, sorry to interrupt, but what if we don’t find the president before you leave? What do you plan on telling the governor?”
“Aha, the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. What do we say about the president? For the moment, I think we should just keep it quiet. Say that he’s back in the bunker to remain safe.”
“So, just stick with the story we told him about why we never made it out there at first?”
“Yes, no need to panic them any more. Just tell them after the attack on the president we feel it’s better to keep him here.”
“That’s easy to do for now, but you do know that eventually we’ll have to make a decision the other way.”
“Don’t remind me. I think about it all the time. Right now, it’s not critical that we inform anyone of anything. Let’s just keep moving forward with his plan and keep the hunt for him active.”
“Yes, sir,” Baxter said, then took a final swallow of his drink.
“Here, have another,” Cruz offered.
Holding his hand out to cover the top of the glass, Baxter said, “I’m good, but thank you. I still have a few more hours left on the clock.”
Cruz smiled and poured a bit more in his glass.
“If that is all, sir, I need to go.”
“Sure, you’re excused.”
Baxter stood up holding his binder and headed for the door. As he turned the handle Cruz asked a final question.
“General, do you think the president is still alive?”
Baxter turned and answered, “Yes, sir, I do.”
Unknown military installation
Gordon couldn’t find the appetite to eat the MRE he had been served. He had only gotten as far as ripping open the thick plastic bag and removing its contents. Laying before him were cardboard packaged “food-type” products. It had been years since he had eaten one, and his memory told him it wasn’t a pleasant experience. He picked up the largest packet and read the box it was in: “Spaghetti with meat sauce.” His stomach ached with hunger, but the slight depression he was experiencing prevented him from opening the container. As he glanced around the room, the waning sun’s light made it hard for him to make out each person’s face. By a rough estimate he counted almost forty people. People like him, imprisoned by Rahab. He asked himself how each one of them had ended up here. How did they fall prey to this man? Were they just looking for food and came into contact with him? Were they attacked like he was?
Whatever the reason, they all had the same purpose, escape. Rahab had done a good job at segregating everyone. Gordon knew there were women because he saw them working on the base too. However, that was as far as contact came with them. The women slept and ate in different locations. He already knew the outcome of the children, sent to live with Rahab and his inner circle; there he assumed they were being brainwashed and indoctrinated.
When the guard asked for volunteers for the working party, Gordon promptly raised his hand. He wasn’t sure what to expect or what type of work he’d be doing, but if it meant he could find critical information, he was up for it.
One of the guards instructed Gordon and the other volunteers to line up against the wall. Gordon made sure he stood next to Derek. The guard came by, tapped each one, and gave them a location. When he tapped Derek’s shoulder the guard asked, “Latrines?”
“Yes, sir, I know what to do,” Derek said.
“I’ll help him,” Gordon spat out.
The guard nodded and proceeded down the line.
The guard didn’t say a word as they trekked across the darkening base to the makeshift latrines outside the male barracks.
One of Gordon’s unfavorable memories from the Marine Corps was doing latrine duty while on a training operation outside of 29 Palms. After leaving the Corps, he never imagined he’d be handling large quantities of human waste beyond changing diapers. The smell of feces filled his nostrils, causing him to cringe with disgust.
“So what do we have to do?” Gordon mumbled from behind the hand that covered his mouth and nose.
“Here,” Derek said, offering him a surgical mask to wear.
“Thanks,” Gordon answered, quickly placing the mask on his face. His first breath through the mask introduced him to the smell of lavender.
“Before you ask, during another working party I found some body sprays in a locker. The lack of decent hygiene has made this stuff come in handy. It especially helps for this duty.”
Gordon looked around; the sun’s rays were quickly fading behind the mountains to the west. He swiveled his head in all directions to look for the guard. Only he and Derek were there now.
“Where did the guard go?”
Gordon looked in that direction; the female barracks was similar to theirs.
“They’re over there having sex with the women?”
“If you want to call rape sex, then yes,” Derek said as he opened a hatch to expose a fifty-five-gallon drum cut in half. He put on a pair of work gloves and carefully removed the drum.
The sloshing of the contents made Gordon feel nauseous for a moment. Once the drum was removed, Derek stopped and looked at him.
“Get over here and help me.”
A handle had been cut out near the top edge of the drum, making it easy to carry. Both men picked up the drum and started to walk very slowly toward the runway. Just ahead of them were two structures that resembled large Xs. Gordon had seen them the day before and was curious about what they were. They stood more than six feet tall with a three-foot separation between them. They were constructed with an almost black stained wood resembling railroad ties. At the top and bottom of each arm of the X were leather straps. Seeing those straps, Gordon knew they were for restraining people. He wondered if these had anything to do with Rahab’s ceremonies.
The sight of structures and their presumed use added to Gordon’s somber mood. They both walked slowly and steadily down one of the short runways toward the southern berm of the base. Gordon hadn’t been this far out, so taking advantage of the diminishing light, he looked around. Once they reached the berm they stopped next to a large pit and dumped the contents of the drum.
“Now you can see why I asked you to volunteer,” Derek commented.
“Yeah, I can. No one is around, and this gives us a chance to get a better perspective of the base.”
The Long Road - A Post Apocalyptic Novel (The New World) Page 12