Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  “This is unacceptable!” She pounded on the desktop. “We’re in a battle for our nation and our way of life, and everyone acts as if this is one of the little foreign brush wars people forget about after a day of news coverage.”

  “I’m afraid many people don’t see Texas as a villain. They’re doing a good job of making their case to the world media.”

  “Even after that attack on the Atlantic Fleet? Even after the raids in New Mexico and Louisiana?”

  “Actually, the public doesn’t know about the Holloman raid. We covered it up, remember?”

  Layfield scowled at Cantrell. “If not Texas, then how about Edens? Surely people see the danger in that evil plague.”

  “They do, but I’m afraid we’ve done our jobs too well.”

  “How so?”

  “The Edens are mostly out of sight now, removed to detainment camps. Before, everyone was scared of getting the disease from their neighbors, but not anymore. It’s not something they have to worry about, so it’s not something they feel they should have to make sacrifices for or fight against.”

  “Fools. Sheep. Fat lazy idiots.”

  “Are you talking about all civilians, or just our citizens?”

  “Careful, Miss Cantrell,” said Layfield, eyeing her critically. “I’ve grown rather fond of you recently, but everyone is replaceable.”

  “My apologies, ma’am,” Cantrell said without change in facial expression. “It wasn’t my intent to give offense.”

  “I can’t believe we don’t have other tactical nuclear weapons.”

  “There are stockpiles in Europe and the Far East,” Cantrell said. “We could have them shipped here, but we can’t keep that secret, like we did with the Holloman stockpile. Like we should have, that is.”

  “Yes, someone’s head will roll for that failure.” Layfield frowned and paced for a few seconds before looking back at her. “Speaking of Holloman, have we learned anything new?”

  Cantrell shrugged slightly. “Not much. Security footage has identified five of them by name, all former American citizens. Edens.”

  “So, we know who they are?”

  “Not exactly, ma’am. The Security Service database pings on their pictures, but their records have been wiped clean.”

  “Wiped clean?”

  “Someone on the inside must have done it.”

  “Texas infiltrators? Sympathizers?”

  “Possibly. But I’ve spoken with the Director, and he believes it’s Free Communities operatives.”

  Layfield looked at her in shock. “You mean to tell me Daniel Markis and his band of freaks dared to invade the United States and attack a U.S. Air Force base?”

  “That’s what it looks like. Of course we initially assumed it was part of the Texas rebellion, but our sources there tell us the Texans knew nothing about it. Neither in the governor’s office, nor on the military side. They didn’t even find out about it until yesterday.”

  Layfield gritted her teeth. “I want those Edens found and confined to one of our special facilities. I want to know everything they know. I want them picked clean before we send them back home in tiny little boxes.”

  “I’ll pass on your instructions, but we have to find them first,” said Cantrell, taking a note.

  Layfield’s eyes glazed. You’re next, Daniel Markis. Probably think we’re too busy to deal with you right now, but your time will come.

  Cantrell waited for her boss to come back to the here and now. It took a long minute. “So what do we do now?”

  “Get me Harold Mason.”

  Within fifteen minutes, the U.S. Secretary of the Defense joined her on a secure video link. “I’m rather busy, Prudence. What is it?” he said.

  “We’re all busy, Harold. It’s just that some of us aren’t busy being effective.”

  Mason sighed. “What can I do for you?”

  “All of your ground assets are in place, correct?”

  “You know they are.”

  “It’s time. We hit them now. No point in waiting until they are more prepared.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Are we talking about Operation Lincoln?”

  “Whatever the hell we’re calling it, yes. Full-scale attack on every front. The sooner the better. Do it.”

  “You don’t have that sort of authority.”

  Layfield’s teeth showed, though none would have called it a smile. “Of course not. The President will call you within the hour. But in the meantime, you can use that hour to get the ball rolling. Don’t let me hear you sat on your ass.”

  “Prudence, I’ve said this repeatedly: we could use more time. We still need to stockpile fuel, ammo, and parts. Many of the units are in the middle of training or pre-combat unit checklists. Some of our vehicles are combat ineffective. Many of the units are understrength from desertions or Eden losses. Ground combat divisions are complex things.”

  “There’s no more time,” insisted Layfield. “It’s not like these divisions have to be shipped halfway around the world. All they have to do is get in their tanks and drive to the border of Texas. Remember, I’ll be the first to proclaim you as the nation’s savior when you’re victorious. If you’re not…”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means there’s always more room in the camps, and not everyone there’s an Eden. Do not fail me.” Layfield hung up the phone.

  “That went well,” Cantrell said.

  Layfield glanced sharply at her. “Do we have official contact with Markis’ people?” she asked.

  “The Colombian Embassy is handling everything for them, since we don’t recognize them as a national entity. I can reach out to them there.”

  “Do it. I want a video teleconference with that sicko freak as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll get right on it, ma’am.” Cantrell departed.

  Layfield picked up the phone and called the President’s office. “This is Prudence Layfield. I’d like to speak to the President.”

  “Just a moment, Miss Layfield.” This new, Unionist-vetted secretary was so much easier to deal with.

  “Prudence, this is Paul Milligan,” said the chief of staff.

  “I need to speak to the President, Paul. It’s urgent.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s in the air headed to Camp David right now.”

  “I know you can get in touch with him.”

  “I can,” said Milligan.

  “Enough games. We don’t like each other and that’s okay, but I have to believe we both want what is best for this country and want the President to succeed. Correct?”

  She heard Milligan take a deep breath. “What’s this about?”

  “I need the President to initiate Operation Lincoln.”

  More silence. “I’m not so sure about that, Prudence. That’s a big step, and a decision he’s not going to want to make quickly.”

  “It isn’t a decision he’s making quickly. He made it weeks ago when he started moving units into position for this. Since then it’s not been about if we will attack, but when. I’m telling you, the when is now.”

  “I’m not sure I feel comfortable with this,” Milligan said.

  “You don’t have to be comfortable with it. It’s not your decision; it’s his.”

  “He’s just going to say no. It’s a waste of his valuable time.”

  “Again, not your call.”

  “Actually, it is. That’s what a chief of staff is for: to screen out what can be handled at a lower level, to make sure the President isn’t overwhelmed with demands on his time.”

  Layfield controlled herself with difficulty. For the moment, she had to put up with this piss-ant gatekeeper. “Do I have to point out the obvious, Paul? The Unionist Party is in control of Congress. It’s already declared Texas to be in rebellion and has authorized all necessary measures. All that remains is the order to attack.”

  “The Unionist Party,” said Milligan with disgust. “Two years ago you didn’t even exi
st, and now you believe you own the President?”

  “Your party could learn from our connections and appeal with the common man.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘fear-mongering’?”

  “Paul, do your job. Do you want it known after the fact that during this nation’s biggest crisis you prevented the President from receiving critical security communications from his National Security Adviser?”

  “I’ll make the call, damn you. But I’m sure he’ll say no.”

  “If he does, he’ll regret it. Tell him that.”

  “Oh, I’ll tell him all right.”

  “Thanks, Paul. Always a pleasure.” She hung up before he could respond.

  Cantrell had been standing at her door waiting for the conversation to end. “The video link you wanted is ready when you are.”

  “Good, patch it in here now,” she said turning to the large screen in the corner.

  There came several seconds of grainy static, and then the unmistakable picture of the Antichrist himself.

  “Daniel Markis. I never thought we would speak.”

  “Prudence Layfield, I presume. This is a quite a surprise. Nice to see we can establish official dialogue between our two entities.”

  “Oh, this is not an official dialogue. This is not the establishment of relations. The Free Communities is not a legitimate government and will never be anything more than a terrorist organization. As a matter of fact, this entire conversation is off the record.”

  “Because you’d never speak to a terrorist organization.”

  “Not officially.”

  Markis smiled. “Sort of a personal call then, I presume?”

  “You could say that. I wanted you to know that we’ve discovered the origin of the recent attack on our Holloman Air Force Base and captured the perpetrators.”

  “Congratulations,” said Markis. “I’m all for law and order, but not sure what that has to do with me.”

  “Very good. You’re extremely convincing. I could almost believe you knew nothing about it.”

  “Are you making an accusation?”

  “Let’s not play games. We both know the Eden commando team that destroyed our...munitions...came from your band of terrorists.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. The intent of my call was to give you a warning.”

  “A warning?”

  “Yes. Any further terrorist attacks will be interpreted as an act of war and we will retaliate with overwhelming destructive power.”

  “An act of war? I thought you said we’re not a nation. Will this be another pointless ‘war on’ something? Poverty, terrorism, drugs, porn, homelessness, alcoholism, corruption…the list’s pretty long already, and you haven’t won any of those.”

  “It will be war against the countries that are sheltering you. We’ll start by dropping a nuke on Bogotá and see where it goes from there.”

  “If you’re joking, it’s in poor taste. If you’re not, you’re even more evil than I expected. Good day.” Markis appeared to reach for the cutoff.

  “I suggest you listen. You and your kind are a scourge that must eventually be wiped off the face of the Earth. What is the death of a few millions to save our species?”

  “You’re insane,” Markis said. “Edens don’t threaten humanity. Edens are humanity, only better. That’s what frightens you. If everyone were an Eden, you and your fascist party would never hold power. And if you use nuclear weapons against innocent civilians, I’ll make sure you’re tried and convicted of genocide.”

  “What you think about me doesn’t matter. I’ve given you my warning. There will not be another.” Layfield disconnected the line and shuddered in the grip of overwhelming hatred and disgust. Edens could seem so normal, and that was what made them so dangerous. She rose from her chair and went to wash her hands.

  She felt dirty.

  ***

  Markis looked from the blank screen to Spooky and Cassandra, sitting out of sight behind it. “It is true? Did we raid Holloman?”

  Spooky nodded. “I sent Repeth and her team.”

  “Why?” Markis asked. “I’m presuming you must have had a good reason.”

  Cassandra spoke. “We obtained intel that they were stockpiling tactical nuclear weapons at Holloman. Combined with the presence of B2s and F117s, both stealth bombing platforms, it was plain they were planning a nuke strike on Texas. Perhaps elsewhere too.”

  “How did they think they could get away with it?”

  “Every satellite in the world would spot an ICBM launch. Tactical nukes carried by stealth PGMs could be denied and blamed on terrorists. On us again, probably. We had to take them out. But it only buys us some time. They’ll retrofit or make more, eventually.”

  Markis sat back and looked up at the ceiling. “Okay. I understand, but any reason I had to hear about this from that vile woman?”

  “If you’d known, your performance would have been less convincing,” said Spooky.

  “I don’t think my denial made any difference with her,” Markis said.

  “Perhaps not, but the mission was the right call, and you said you wanted Cassandra and me to work together. This is one that we came up with together, agreed on together, and executed together.”

  Cassandra nodded. “Perhaps we should have told you, but you have a lot going on. This is what you pay us to do.”

  Markis stared at them both before leaning forward. “New ground rules, then. Counterterrorist ops, suppression of criminals, intel gathering, you can brief me after the fact, as needed. We attack national assets of another sovereign nation, you brief me beforehand. Period, full stop, no exceptions. Understood?”

  Both Spooky and Cassandra nodded.

  “Now, she said they captured our team? What are we doing about that?”

  “Nothing,” Spooky answered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It was a covert team with a covert mission. They knew the risks. Right now, we have no idea where they are, or even if they’ve actually been captured. If they were, they’d be deep inside a secure facility of some sort. Baiting us into sending a rescue mission might even have been the true purpose of her call.”

  “But we can’t just leave them out there. You both know as well as I do what happens to Edens they get ahold of. And if we start throwing our people to the wolves, pretty soon we won’t have any more.”

  Spooky drummed his fingers on the table.

  Cassandra spoke. “I’m fairly certain they don’t have them, actually.”

  “Why?” asked Markis.

  “Because either way, we’d have solid intel on their location. Layfield would have ‘slipped’ and told us, or we’d have been fed the information through a source. The goal would have been to get us to do something stupid, something she could use as justification for the nuke, or some other retaliation.”

  “What if we leak a recording of our chat?”

  Spooky shrugged elaborately. “They’ll claim we altered or fabricated it.”

  “But a lot of people would believe it.”

  Cassandra held up a finger. “Let’s put a pin in that idea for now. Such things are much more effective if they’re properly timed.”

  Markis said, “Okay. Back to Repeth.”

  “Reaper and her team will not be looking for us to come rescue them,” said Spooky. “They’re trained to escape and exfil on their own. Give them time. Our best hope is that they escape and contact us.”

  “And if they can’t?”

  “Then they are casualties of war,” Spooky said. “Sad, tragic, but necessary. They accomplished their mission and thereby saved millions of lives. Tell any of them that was the trade, and they’d say it was fair. They’d volunteer all over again.”

  “That’s unacceptable. We’re not leaving them behind.”

  Spooky sighed. “At heart you’re still a PJ, Daniel. Might I suggest you start thinking like a presid
ent?”

  “And might I suggest you start thinking like a human being?”

  “I know my methods and reasoning can seem cold and calculating at times, but that doesn’t mean I feel any less horrible. And it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

  “Regardless,” said Markis, “if we can locate them, we’re going to go get our people out. Damn the potential blowback. Work together on this. I want to hear options by tomorrow morning.”

  Spooky and Cassandra looked at each other, and then at Markis before nodding.

  “Good. Is there anything else you’re keeping secret from me that I need to know about?”

  They shook their heads in negation.

  “Then get your asses moving.”

  Chapter 26

  The last thing Anson or any of the other survivors wanted was to be part of some ceremony. All of them were still shook up about what had happened in Louisiana, and the Texas State Guard wasn’t sure what to do with the embarrassing survivors. The latest rumor was they would be split up between different units.

  He looked across the bus aisle at Rachel and felt his stomach turn over at this thought. She scratched under her collar, oblivious to his stares...or his growing feelings. In fact, all of the survivors of the raid were scratching at their skin beneath their clothing.

  When it had been announced they were to go to San Antonio to be recognized by General McAllister himself, the Texas State Guard realized that the teenagers didn’t even own dress uniforms. They’d dug up high-collared stiff wool monstrosities from somewhere.

  “Think they’ll feed us?” Rachel asked while sliding over to sit in the vacant seat beside Anson.

  “Don’t they have to? Might even be something nice like a cook-out or a BBQ.”

  “Yeah, that would be perfect,” she said sarcastically, pulling at the front of her uniform in an effort to ventilate it. “A big nice cook-out with music and games, and we’ll be passed out somewhere from heat stroke from wearing these things.”