Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  Anson reached out to grasp her ankle, swinging her under and onto the next platform. The momentum twisted her leg out of his grip, and then he followed her down. He saw her lying stunned, eyes open and staring at the bottom of the wooden floor above. “Are you okay?” he asked, cradling her head.

  She licked her lips, and then slapped his hand away. “Don’t expect some kind of thank-you. We’re Edens, remember. I would have healed just fine...and I’m still going to beat you.”

  Rolling out of his grip, she staggered to her feet, stepped toward the side, and jumped.

  Anson scrambled over to the edge to see her falling the remaining twenty-four feet to the ground, where she did a tuck roll and came up to her feet.

  Rachel looked up with a smile, flipped him the bird, and then raced off toward the monkey bars.

  He hesitated only a second before he leapt off the platform after her.

  Chapter 18

  General McAllister was late, and he hated being late. Some might call it a general’s prerogative to keep others waiting, but he’d always found it rude and arrogant to waste his subordinates’ important man-hours. His time might – technically – be more important than theirs, but it seemed bad practice to rub it in.

  “Sorry, people,” he said walking into the conference room as men and women in uniform jumped to their feet. “I got held up in Galveston. Please take your seats.”

  The people sat as he made his way to the front of the room and took the cup of coffee Sergeant Major Crouch handed him. He then looked at the screen and the briefer in front of him, waving for him to start as he sipped.

  The intelligence officer, Colonel Monroe, cleared his throat and brought up a slide, showing overhead surveillance. “Sir, this is open source commercial satellite imagery of the Joint Readiness Training Center at Fort Polk, Louisiana. What we have seen in the last two days is a giant spike in activity. Other sources of information indicate that the 101st Air Assault Division is there now.”

  “Kind of large for a training exercise,” said McAllister.

  “Yes, sir. Normally exercises there are no more than brigade level at most due to available maneuver space. The 82nd Airborne is clearly mustering at Bragg and Pope, along with 18th Airborne Corps headquarters and enough airlift for brigade-strength airdrops. Furthermore, II MEF in the Atlantic has also been brought to full readiness, and one of its reinforced Marine brigades appears to be assembling near New Orleans.”

  “Amphibious assault?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So now we have three very mobile formations within striking distance of our borders.”

  “Yes, sir. Between an amphibious assault along the coast, airborne drops from the 82nd and a deep airmobile penetration by the 101st, they could hit three very widely separated objectives at the same time.”

  “What about to the north. Still the same?” McAllister asked.

  “Yes, sir. The 4th Mechanized Infantry Division is on alert at Fort Carson and a brigade of the 1st Armored Division and another mechanized brigade of the 2nd Infantry Division are mobilizing in Fort Riley, Kansas. We’ve also gotten intelligence that Striker brigades from Fort Lewis and Fort Drum are on railcars headed to Fort Sill, Oklahoma.”

  “How long until they arrive and can deploy?”

  “The end of the week,” answered Monroe.

  McAllister sighed. “So, by my count we have a heavy division and five heavy brigades on our northern border, and the equivalent of three light divisions on our eastern flank.”

  “That’s not all, sir,” said Monroe.

  “Oh, by all means, brighten my day.” That brought a few chuckles.

  Monroe brought up a slide showing northern Mexico. “There are sixteen Mexican divisions along our southern border. It is uncertain yet if these will only serve to keep the border closed or actually plan offensive action.”

  General Clemens snorted. “I can’t imagine the United States would want, or even allow, a foreign power to invade Texas. They’re just there to keep us distracted.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” said McAllister. “I think the Unionists would do just about anything to keep us from winning, even sanction a Mexican invasion.”

  “There are also some indications of U.S. mechanized elements gathering in northern Mexico,” Monroe added.

  “How much?” McAllister asked.

  Monroe shook his head. “Not sure, sir. The reports are sketchy, but given the amount of headquarters elements, logistical movement, and radio chatter we’re guessing it could be as much as a brigade, all told.”

  “Are they exercising or training with the Mexicans now?”

  “Not that we’ve seen, sir. They appear to be setting up company-sized bivoucs.”

  McAllister thought for moment. “That implies any attack won’t be a combined Mexican-American effort. They’ll probably use the numerically superior but far less mobile Mexican divisions to keep us bottled up while the U.S. forces attack across the thinly held border when the time comes.”

  Monroe said, “Sir, that’s all I’ve got for the overview. My staff is preparing detailed order of battle updates for regular distribution. Are there any questions?”

  “Lots of them,” McAllister said, “but not regarding your briefing. Thank you.”

  The intel officer sat.

  McAllister looked around the room. “I think it’s becoming apparent that the United States is in the midst of preparing for a massive combined assault into Texas. The question is, what do we do about it?”

  “Hit them first,” said General Clemens. “We drive north and strike at Sill, Carson, and Riley just like Lee did when he invaded the Union. Seized the initiative.”

  “Sir, I’d remind you that didn’t work out so well for Lee,” Colonel Gervais said. “Most historians agree that Gettysburg spelled the doom of the Confederacy.”

  General Clemens waved his hand. “The strategy was sound. Lee’s generals failed to execute properly. They could have won the war and so can we.”

  “They’ll tear us apart,” objected General Weston. “Right now they can’t attain air supremacy because of our robust air defense umbrella. The best they can achieve is a brutal air war of attrition. But those defenses are not mobile enough to cover any ground attacks outside of Texas. Once we move out from under, their air assets will chew us up with impunity. Don’t forget they have satellite intel we don’t have, too.”

  “We’ll cover our attacks with our own air forces,” retorted Clemens.

  McAllister shook his head. “We don’t have enough tankers, electronic warfare aircraft, or other support assets. Most of our aircraft are a generation behind theirs. I might be a ground-pounder, but I went to Air War College. Air power is synergistic, and we’re simply too fragile, too thin in our roster. Our outnumbered planes would have minutes on station before they had to turn around, while theirs are flying from nearby bases. If – when – our people get shot down, they’ll eject inside enemy territory and be lost to us. Additionally, we’ll be operating inside their air defense umbrella. In short, we’re strongest on the defense.”

  Clemens crossed his arms. “So I guess we sit back and wait for them to attack us, is that the plan?”

  “Actually, that’s pretty close to what I was thinking,” said McAllister.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to yield them the initiative, especially as the longer we wait, the better chance they’ll come up with a counter to our new EMP weapon.”

  McAllister held up a hand. “We’ve talked about General Lee and the Confederacy, but there’s actually a more suitable historical comparison: the late Western Roman Empire.”

  “Sorry, sir, but they also lost the war,” said Gervais.

  “Thank you,” said McAllister giving her an annoyed look. “They did lose, but not for hundreds of years. They had a huge border to defend with not enough troops and a series of invaders that constantly outnumbered them, but they consistently beat them back.”

  “How?” a
sked Weston.

  “With a grand defense-in-depth strategy. I believe we have no choice but to do the same. We can’t defend the entire border, as our enemy can strike anywhere and achieve a local numerical advantage. When we face those heavy elements we need to be able to meet them with our own massed forces. We blunt their assault, fix them in place, pressure them from the flanks, and force them to withdraw or be surrounded.”

  Clemens glowered. “A counterpunching strategy would mean letting them drive deep into Texas territory. That won’t set well with our people.”

  McAllister nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s true, but we’ll fortify all the major cities. The invading elements will bypass resistance as they did in Iraq, or they’ll bog down. In fact, I hope they do commit to attacking a big city like Houston or Dallas. With native Texans willing to resist to the end, it would turn into a Stalingrad.”

  “But they probably won’t.”

  “Probably not. More likely, mechanized and armored forces will blitzkrieg deep, trying to strike a decisive blow against our rear, but they’ll be outracing their logistics. They’ll also become more vulnerable to our air assets operating close to home. Then, when they’re exhausted and strung out, we turn and meet them at a place of our choosing.”

  “Like Sam Houston,” said Weston.

  McAllister could have hugged the man then. It couldn’t really be called running if the Texas icon had done it. “Exactly. Just like Sam Houston. We’ll draw them in, and then destroy them.”

  Gervais raised a hand. “It’s fairly obvious that the heavy forces will drive south in a concerted assault. But we have no way to predict where the three expeditionary divisions will go. The Marines will likely conduct an amphibious landing, but the others...who knows?”

  McAllister replied, “Neither the 82nd nor the 101st will likely conduct air insertions until they achieve at least local air superiority. I believe their primary roles are to be threats and distractions. They’ll try to make us waste forces defending everywhere. The real threat is the heavy divisions.”

  “But we do have to defend against their expected targets. Airfields especially, with runways long enough to bring in reinforcements on heavy transports. Landing’s a lot more efficient than airdrops.”

  McAllister turned to Weston. “You and the Texas State Guard will have to fortify the cities, towns and key airfields. Organize the local citizens to assist and fight if needed. It means you’ll end up fighting outnumbered and outgunned until our regular forces can rush to help, but it will be vital to keep the enemy busy.”

  Weston nodded. “Yes, sir. We won’t let you down.”

  “Thanks,” said McAllister, now turning to the Texas National Guard Commander.

  “What about my boys?” Clemens asked. “Are we going to be part of the big counterattack?”

  “Not immediately,” said McAllister patiently. Clemens was clearly wishing for a more offensive role, but that wasn’t the best use of National Guard forces with their older equipment, no matter how well motivated. “We need you to form reserves in the center of Texas, and secure the southern border. You’ll face down the Mexicans and beat back the U.S. forces there when they attack. Keep them from getting a foothold in Texas. Don’t worry, Buck. Your forces will be the ones coming to the rescue.”

  Clemens appeared to be trying to decide if he were happy with the mission or not. McAllister figured the mention of Sam Houston before had made him think about history, and the idea of being a second Sam Houston, beating back an invasion from Mexico, appealed to his glory-seeking side.

  “Consider it done,” said Clemens, slapping the tabletop.

  “Thank you. I’m going to need all your aviation assets for our counterpunching, but...” he held up a hand to forestall the objection he saw, “I’m going to give you three Regular towed artillery brigades out of Fort Bliss. Those will tear up any assault by masses of Mexicans, they’ll allow you to interdict the U.S. forces, and they’re light enough to move to where they’re needed.”

  The general reluctantly nodded.

  “Good,” said McAllister. “This is going to be a tough pill for everyone to swallow, and to make it work, we need to keep it as secret as possible. The evacuation and abandonment of large tracts of land to the invaders will have to be presented as an emergency plan. Let the ranchers and other folk know that they’ll need to evacuate to the nearest fortified town or city at a moment’s notice, where they’ll fight or hold out together until the danger passes.”

  Gervais said, “Not all of them will go. They’ll want to stay and defend their land.”

  “They can’t defend it against tanks and armored fighting vehicles. And if they’re Edens, they’ll likely get shipped off to some death camp in the U.S.” McAllister stood and looked around at everyone once more. “I want to remind everyone again, our strategy needs to stay secret as long as possible. Does everyone understand?”

  Heads nodded soberly.

  “Sir,” asked Gervais, “has anyone decided to stand with us?”

  “No one new. Alaska will do its best up there, and the Free Communities are sharing intelligence and have promised all the support they can, neither is likely to do us much good in the short run. For now, we need to beat the enemy on our own.”

  “If we can,” McAllister heard a voice mutter in the back. He decided to ignore it. The words only stated what everyone else was thinking.

  “God bless Texas.”

  The staff echoed McAllister as he left.

  Chapter 19

  It wasn’t as hard to get onto Holloman Air Force Base as they feared. As a former Marine military police specialist, Reaper knew that during times of crisis, the heightened alert demanded of security forces quickly gave way to fatigue and shortcuts. Overtasked guards soon tended to focus on the things that seemed out of place, unconsciously ignoring what looked familiar and safe to them.

  Therefore, Reaper’s team bought well-worn Air Force duty uniforms from one of the military surplus stores just outside of base, along with appropriate patches and insignia. A quick trip to a nearby sewing shop run by a hardworking Korean-American seamstress got them all set up to perfect military standard, with a bonus for rush delivery.

  A fake base decal they’d brought with them went onto their van, along with a faked government license plate. When Reaper and her team rolled through the base’s front gate late at night with the usual banter, their forged ID cards hardly drew a second glance. Most of the security police were focused on searching civilian delivery trucks or cars, the obvious threats.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” said Livewire from the back as they rolled away from the gate.

  Reaper relaxed her hand off the suppressed pistol under her leg. “Don’t get cocky. The next part is going to be a lot tougher.” Pulling out the map Spooky’s people had given her, she had Hawkeye navigate them around to a secluded portion of the base, where they all got out and put on their gear.

  “The bunker’s over there,” Reaper said pointing to the glare of lights around the temporary nuclear storage facility, a group of bunkers and special trucks. “About a kilometer.”

  Hawkeye pulled out the specially designed high-powered air rifle and tranquilizer rounds. “I’ll have to get pretty close with these. Wish we could use SAM rounds.”

  “The SAM rounds won’t knock them out,” Reaper explained again. “You’ll wound them and they’ll alert everyone to our presence, even as they’re healing and becoming Edens. We need them to go to sleep and stay that way. You have to put them down fast, before anyone can call in the cavalry.”

  “With any luck I’ll get them all on the first pass,” said Hawkeye, testing out his night vision scope and body microphone. “Anyone who has guard duty at an isolated location late at night isn’t likely to be super alert.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Bunny.

  “I’ll let you know when I’m in position,” said Hawkeye, slipping into the darkness toward the bunker. The rest of the team spread out behind
him and began their infiltration across a series of dry ridges covered with desert plants. Over and over, they climbed ten feet up and slid ten feet down. If it hadn’t been for the bright lights from their objective, they might have lost their way.

  Fifteen minutes later, Hawkeye called on his secure, frequency-hopping radio. “Reaper, this is Hawkeye. I’m in position.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Four guards outside,” he answered. “They’re walking their rounds, talking when they meet. Probably at least four more inside the trucks, but they’ll be relaxing or sleeping.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “It would have been easier with two.”

  “Nobody else can hit shit with that air rifle. Just tell me if you can do it, or do we have to go in heavy.”

  “I think I can, but I’ll have to wait for the perfect setup. Be ready to come running.”

  The team reached its objective rally point, the final assembly location before moving forward.

  Agonizing minutes went by. Reaper was about to order the final approach to begin when Hawkeye called on the radio. “They’re down. Clear to move to the objective.”

  “Let’s go,” Reaper said, leading them forward into the darkness. When they arrived, they found three men and a woman lying sprawled on the tarmac in the glare of the generator-trailer lights. Mufflers muted the sound of the engines, but it gave them sonic cover as they rushed the boxy trucks that housed the on-site guards.

  “Shit,” she said as she realized the vehicles were armored, both the cabs and the rear personnel doors. Keypads locked them, and thick glass allowed those inside to look out. If the interior guards noticed their comrades were down, they would call for the ready reaction force and turtle up.

  “Bunny, put on the woman’s rig,” Reaper said, pointing at the fallen female guard. “The rest of you, pull the others out of sight.”

  Bunny donned the vest, helmet and headset, swapping out her suppressed submachine gun for the woman’s standard carbine. “Ready.”