Standing at the Edge

by William Alan Webb

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re well away from Hawthorne.”

  “Don’t trust me yet?”

  “I don’t trust anybody ’til I have to.”

  #

  Chapter 57

  Sweat saves blood.

  Erwin Rommel

  Sierra Army Depot, Herlong, CA

  1152 hours, April 20

  The machine-gun position was stuck on the far northern edge of the base’s defensive line. Honey Lake protected their right flank and hundreds of ammunition bunkers stood at their backs. It wasn’t much protection for such a vital spot, but Colonel Aretha Lamar didn’t have much to work with. Her biggest concern was the exposed southern flank, which was where she’d put most of the few resources she had.

  “Why did you put the gun here?” she asked her grandson. “You’ve got a better field of fire from the hill over there.” Using her chin, she indicated a small rise forty yards to the right.

  “There’s no support. We’d be out there all alone. And the C-people could set up behind those little hills on either side, and we’d be cut to pieces.”

  A wall of sandbags circled a shallow pit where her grandson and a man named Horstler crewed an M240 machine gun. Along with a pile of neatly stacked ammunition boxes filled with belts for the M240, each man had a Carl Gustav with a dozen multi-purpose rounds in addition to his M-16. Colonel Lamar inspected the position for a few minutes, squatting to see the sight lines through the firing slits, checking the security of the ammo storage from direct fire, and suggesting where to place each weapon for faster access during a firefight.

  “It’s good work, men. This is a strong position. Well done. Do you two have any questions for me?”

  “How come we didn’t set up in the old prison?” Marcus asked.

  Federal Corrections Institution Herlong had once been a medium-security prison between the base itself and Highway 395 to the west. The building remained structurally sound even five decades after it had been abandoned.

  “We don’t have enough boots, Marcus. Even counting the women, there’s less than one hundred of us. Whoever I put out there might hold the Chinese off for a while, but eventually they’d be surrounded and killed. It’s a suicide mission and I won’t allow it.”

  “But—”

  “No!”

  Marcus and Horstler exchanged a glance, each one prodding the other to speak up. Horstler was much older than Marcus Lamar and finally voiced the question they both wanted answered. “Colonel, ma’am, we’re not getting out of this, are we?”

  “I don’t know that’s true,” she said, thinking about each word before she said it. “Junker Jane and her friends have hurt the Chinese badly and delayed them by several days, so we’re not alone in this fight. And Jingle Bob rode south looking for the American army that is said to be down there somewhere near Phoenix. If he rode fast, he could almost be there by now, and for all we know help is on the way. So don’t give up hope. There aren’t many of us, but we’ve got a lot of firepower.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Horstler said. “Thank you.”

  She smiled her most grandmotherly smile. “Don’t you worry, Private. We’re going to be fine.”

  #

  Once Colonel Lamar was out of earshot, Horstler turned to his companion. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

  Marcus Lamar lay back against the sandbags and threw pebbles at a target only he could see. “Royally.”

  #

  Chapter 58

  It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Operation Overtime

  1202 hours, April 20

  “Thank God you’re back,” Angriff said as Norm Fleming entered his office.

  Normally Fleming would have had a sardonic comeback, but not this time. He sat in a chair instead of the couch and leaned forward, all unusual behaviors for him. Angriff knew and turned away from his computer.

  When Fleming said nothing, Angriff prompted him again. “Did you bring the fuel tanks for the Blackhawk?”

  “Yes. Green Ghost is overseeing their installation.”

  “He’s not an aircraft mechanic.”

  Fleming shrugged.

  “What else is wrong?”

  “Amunet.”

  “She still missing?”

  Fleming nodded. “Yes. We searched everywhere, but didn’t find any kind of secret door or tunnel.”

  “So no idea where she went?”

  Fleming shook his head. “None.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I have no idea, but Amy’s a conniving woman. She was tied to Steeple and might have thought she was next to be arrested. Whatever her motive, I doubt it bodes well for us. She’s not a Nick Angriff fan.”

  Angriff rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Terrific. I needed something else to worry about.”

  #

  Amunet Mwangi rushed through the blackness of the tunnel, guided only by her flashlight. She’d never anticipated needing an escape tunnel, but she couldn’t risk arrest, either. If Angriff had tossed Tom Steeple into a cell, then their allies needed to know. It changed everything.

  She’d been walking for hours and cramps in her hamstrings hobbled her, but there was no turning back now. The tunnel exited into a natural cave on the north side of the mountain, some three miles from the main entrance to Operation Comeback. The cavern narrowed until Mwangi had to squeeze through a muddy passage less than two feet high. Closer to the end it widened to more than thirty feet before ending in a slope leading to the desert. And right where she’d expected it to be was a big square object she could barely see over, zipped into a waterproof covering.

  In the dim light and slippery footing, it took her ten minutes to remove the heavy cover and reveal the brand-new Joint Light Tactical Vehicle beneath. This one had been specially fitted with extra fuel tanks to double its range, but even so it wouldn’t come close to taking her where she needed to go.

  The JLTV started on the second try and she drove out into the desert, speeding away without caring about the dust cloud boiling in her wake. They wouldn’t be looking for her outside the base yet, but they would be soon and she needed to be gone.

  The satellite phone sat on the passenger’s seat, as expected. A private satellite still in orbit and functioning would relay her call for help. At least, she hoped it worked that way, but wouldn’t know until she tried it. She’d wait until she wasn’t driving cross country to do that. If it didn’t work, though, it was a long walk to North Dakota.

  #

  Angriff saw the self-blame in his friend’s frown. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Norm. She can run, but she’ll just die tired.”

  “Forgive me if I’m not as sanguine as you are. Do you want some good news?”

  “If it’s really good news, yes, but if you’re being sarcastic…”

  “It’s really good news. Comeback lists some pretty impressive hardware in their inventory.”

  “Like the A-10s?”

  “Those are the tip of the iceberg. There are all kinds of exotic and experimental things. One of them is a backpack MOF, which stands for metal organic framework. Get this… it synthesizes water out of the air, even desert air.”

  “Does it work?”

  “I don’t know, but if it does and we can replicate it… but even that’s not all. There are all kinds of gadgets. Tracked, unmanned gun platforms, like miniature drone tanks, experimental ammo… you name it. But here’s the best part. There are literally hundreds of single-mount hovercraft.”

  “Hovercraft? I knew they were working on something like that. I wonder how much training it takes to use them?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s a potential game-changer. You could ferry a whole company over a river and never need a bridge. There’s so much more, too. Phosphorous anti-tank rounds for a fifty-caliber machine gun.”

  “Looks like I sent the ri
ght man to replace you.”

  “Maybe, but he needs a hard-ass chief of security. Steeple’s got a lot of friends over there.”

  Angriff keyed the intercom. “J.C., is Colonel Walling back yet?”

  “The colonel is walking up the ramp as we speak, sir.”

  Seconds later, Walling stood in the doorway and Angriff waved him in. “Welcome back, B.F. We’re getting the band back together.”

  “Sir?”

  “Never mind. I need you to consult with Khin Saw about who would be the best choice for head of security over at Comeback. They need to have no ties to General Steeple.”

  “I’ll get right on it, General.”

  #

  Chapter 59

  Enemies surround me, lusting for the blood

  That pours from many wounds and turns the dust to mud.

  Sergio Velazquez, from Defiance

  Operation Overtime

  1307 hours, April 20

  Sergeant Schiller knocked on the door and Angriff waved him in, too. As the sergeant stepped forward, gunshots echoed through the Clam Shell and bullets ricocheted off the Crystal Palace’s glass, right where he’d stood. Instinctively he dove down. Walling and Fleming both dropped to the floor.

  An instant later Sergeant Schiller half crawled, half walked behind Angriff’s desk. “Excuse me, sir. I need you to move!”

  As more gunshots echoed in the Clam Shell, Angriff obeyed without hesitating, scooting his chair well back out of the way. As Schiller crawled into the open space under his desk, Angriff took the Desert Eagles from the top drawer, shoved in their heavy magazines, and chambered a round in each of them.

  Streams of bullets hit the glass with sharp pings but without leaving a mark.

  “If they concentrate on one point, they can shatter that glass.” Schiller felt on the floor for something.

  Angriff didn’t know what he was doing and didn’t ask. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to distract the sergeant.

  “Found it!” Schiller said. Something clicked, then all around the Crystal Palace, titanium steel shutters hummed downward.

  As they closed, Angriff saw two figures running up the ramp. The doors were a foot from the floor when boots became visible beneath them. Then a knee appeared. The attacker’s plan was obvious and Angriff ran over to the door. The tip of a rifle slid under the titanium blinds, but before it could fire, Angriff laid the pistol in his right hand on the floor and fired one round. Recoil flung his hand back and he couldn’t fire a second one, but the scream outside the steel made it clear he didn’t need to. The rifle barrel disappeared and the shutters closed.

  “Think it’s the RSVS?” Fleming said.

  Angriff stood by the door, panting. “I can’t keep track any more. At least the blast doors are down.” There was an access ladder at the back of the platform and he hoped the rest of the headquarters staff had gone down it to safety.

  “We have to assume they planned for that,” Fleming said.

  “What are you thinking, gas?”

  “Sarin, anthrax, explosives, who knows? But you can bet they knew about those blast panels.”

  “Those doors are rated to withstand almost anything short of a suitcase nuke.”

  “What about gas or bio?”

  “No need to worry about that, sir.” Schiller was standing behind the desk and Angriff had no idea what he meant, but when he saw what Schiller had found, he was stunned.

  The main support for the Crystal Palace and its surrounding platform was a thick titanium column, on the far right side of the Clam Shell. Angriff knew all the wiring for his headquarters ran up that conduit, but he hadn’t known the rest of it. Under the desk, a trap door had slid to one side and revealed a ladder of handholds leading down. A line of LEDs lit the chamber from within.

  “I’ll… be… damned. Where does this lead?”

  “There’s a panel at the bottom that brings you out beside the Clam Shell, where the column is anchored in the headquarters communications section. You can also go down one more level and this exits near your quarters. The panel is hidden in a wall and you can’t see it from the outside unless you know it’s there.”

  The mention of his quarters registered in Angriff’s mind. “Janine and Cynthia are in my quarters!” He drew the second Eagle and offered it butt first to Fleming.

  But he waved his hands to decline the offer. “I want a real gun.” He reached under his belt and pants at the top of his right thigh and withdrew a Sig Sauer P226, the 9mm pistol designed for the army and preferred by Special Forces and Navy SEALs. Walling still wore his sidearm in a shoulder holster from his duty in Prescott.

  Angriff slid the Eagle back into its holster and almost jumped into the shaft.

  “Take it easy, sir,” Schiller said. “Those rings are slick.”

  Angriff didn’t care. He pushed his aging body down the ladder faster than was safe and twice nearly fell. Above him he sensed the others following, but didn’t pause to look. The shaft was fifteen feet wide, with a second metallic conduit taking up most of one side, leaving less than half that space for them and the recessed ladder. Every strand of the headquarters’ wiring passed through that inner conduit. The sound of sporadic gunfire continued outside, muffled by the steel barrier.

  At the first door was a landing, but he passed it by and headed for the bottom, only to find it wasn’t the bottom. The shaft kept going down and down, out of sight, but at the second door was another landing and he stepped off there. A sliding bolt on either side held the door in place and once unlocked, it slid to the left.

  Angriff peered both ways into the hallway, careful not to present a target. Twenty feet to his left, the door to his quarters stood open. The tip of a gun barrel protruded into the hall, but whoever held it stood out of sight, not giving him a target. This was Senior Officers’ country, with Norm Fleming’s quarters next to his and the rest of his staff nearby. The corridor was empty.

  He slipped into the corridor and moved with the stealth that had saved him on so many occasions. Despite his age, Angriff’s freakish physical talents allowed him to move in silence, with the Eagle held in both hands pointed forward. He slowed his breathing and calmed his mind, mentally rehearsing his plan of attack.

  He was three feet from his quarters and about to whirl into the doorway when a corporal sprinted into the hallway thirty feet ahead.

  “General!” she cried.

  The face of the man holding the gun appeared two feet in front of him. Their eyes locked and the man swung to fire, but Angriff pulled the trigger first.

  The blast, combined with the weight of the fifty-caliber round, blew off the top of the man’s head, spattering brains, blood, and bone down the hallway. Before the body could even collapse, Angriff grabbed an arm with one hand and threw what was left of him out of the doorway.

  Pivoting into his apartment, he took two steps and saw a sight to freeze his blood. Cynthia lay on the ground, unconscious and bleeding from a cut on her temple. Beside her was the twisted body of a man in regulation ACUs, with a jagged shard of glass in his neck and a wide puddle of blood all around him. This he took in with one fast glance. What held his attention was the woman hiding behind his wife, with a pistol pointed at her head and her other arm wrapped around Janine’s waist.

  Dr. Sharon Goldstone.

  “I never wanted it to come to this, Nick,” she said. “But you just won’t listen to reason. Now it’s too late.”

  “Sharon?” He centered his sights on Goldstone’s right eye. His hand never wavered, despite his shock.

  “You’re a great field commander, Nick, but my God, are you a fool! Tom Steeple put this whole thing together and he’s the only one who can use it to resurrect the country. Can’t you see that? Are you really that blind?”

  “Do you sign off on the whole authoritarian thing, Sharon? Re-write the Constitution so one man makes all the decisions?”

  “After consulting with his advisors, yes! The Republic is dead and buried. The
country died because the Constitution had become obsolete.” Tears ran down her face.

  Nick knew she’d had feelings for him because the truth was, he’d felt the same way before Janine had come back. Was that what had triggered the attack? “I still believe in it, Sharon.”

  “God, you’re a stubborn man. Before The Collapse, half the country hated the other, and when the crisis happened, we couldn’t come together even to save ourselves. We need to make sure that never happens again.”

  “And you think Tom Steeple is the man to do it?”

  “Steeple first, yes, but then somebody who understands how to wield power!”

  “Put the gun down, Sharon, and explain what you mean. Who are you talking about, if it’s not Steeple?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Nick. Put your gun down and release Tom, then turn over command of Overtime.”

  “Not while I’m alive. Who’s behind all this, Sharon? I know you; you’re a good person and this isn’t who you are.”

  The anguish on her face changed to anger. “You had your chance. Don’t you understand it’s too late to worry about that now? Unless you want me to put a bullet through your wife’s pretty head, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to release General Steeple and any of his people you’ve locked up. You’re going to relinquish command of Overtime and Comeback. And you’re going to—”

  As she spoke, her obvious tension spread to her arm, contracting it, and the tip of her pistol inched upward. Angriff never took his eyes off his target. When he judged that her gun barrel was no longer directly aimed at Janine’s head, he fired without warning, aiming for Goldstone’s hand near the wrist. By reflex, her tightened finger pulled the trigger, but it was no longer aimed at Janine Angriff when it went off. Instead, when the huge pistol round struck her wrist, it pushed the hand backward. In the milliseconds between when he fired and when she did, the hand holding her gun redirected to aim at her own throat.

  The bullet ripped through her neck as the muzzle blast scalded her face and singed Janine Angriff’s hair. Goldstone released both the gun and her captor as she clutched her ruined throat. Blood poured through her fingers and soaked her shirt.