Standing at the Edge

by William Alan Webb

  A babble of murmurs filled the pause. “The Hungarian billionaire?” someone asked.

  Rip Kordibowski spoke up. “Györgi Rosos was a venture capitalist who used his money to influence our political races and stir up an anarchist movement in the country, Antikap. He’s a nasty piece of work. That movement gave rise to the RSVS as an autonomous terrorist organization, much more aggressive than other such groups. Rosos’ aim was nothing less than the violent overthrow of the U.S. government.”

  “That’s him,” Fleming said. “At least, according to this prisoner it is. Their mission is to capture as many former American military bases as possible, so that follow-on forces can loot them of anything salvageable. It appears that Creech Air Force Base and the surrounding secure area, as well as Nellis and Area 51, are the next targets.”

  “Did he say anything about the Hawthorne Depot?” Lieutenant Colonel Astrid Naidoo, in charge of Civil Affairs, asked. It was the first time she’d ever said anything in a meeting.

  “No, they haven’t, Astrid,” Fleming said. “Why?”

  “I did a tour there back in two double-oh two. Logistics support. That place was crammed full of ammo back then. Does anybody know if it was moved or used up?”

  “No idea,” Fleming said. “But now that you mention it, Hawthorne’s going to become a priority. Thank you for bringing it up, Astrid; that’s one I missed. As I was saying, these riders crossed the Colorado River into Arizona and were engaged and destroyed by both our cavalry regiment and FOB Westwall, but it was only by pure luck we saw them coming. The next time, we might not be so lucky.

  “Green Ghost has taken two Comanches and a squad of special forces to Creech to evaluate the situation there. Once we have that information, we can decide on our next move.

  “To the north, we’ve learned of a Chinese threat to the Sierra Army Depot, which is northwest of Lake Tahoe. Some of you did a tour there, so you know the consequences if all of that heavy weaponry falls into enemy hands.”

  “Is it all still there?”

  Angriff didn’t see who asked, but again Kordibowski answered the question before he could. “We cannot say with a full measure of certainty what is or is not still there. However, in the interest of planning, we have to assume that most of it is.”

  “Damnation,” said Santorio.

  “Yeah,” Angriff said. “Now you get the picture. If the Chinese get their hands on all that hardware, then our victory last year goes for naught.”

  “We killed a lot of trained crews,” Khin Saw chipped in.

  “True, but did you notice the age of most of them? They were the originals who came over here from China in the invasion forty-something years ago. We have to assume the Chinese are training new crews, younger ones, who’ve probably been raised to see the United States as evil and communism as good and pure. For anybody under the age of thirty-five, it’s the only life they’ve ever known, so the only thing that might prevent them from training new tank crews is having enough tanks on hand to do the job.”

  “So how can we help them?” asked Santorio. “Sierra’s a long way from here.”

  “General Steeple’s Blackhawk was modified by installing additional fuel tanks that should give it the range to get there, although getting back is a different story. Two of Green Ghost’s people went along to appraise the situation and report back.”

  Astrid Naidoo cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir, but what if they need immediate reinforcement?”

  Angriff’s chuckle sounded more like a grunt. “There’s the rub. I don’t know how we help them, so in the meantime, everybody brainstorm on what we might do if it comes to that.”

  Seeing no other questions, Fleming moved on. “Task Force Kicker, two Marine Recon companies, is nearing Holbrook in the east, over near the New Mexico border. Their mission was to investigate any and all oil production facilities in that region and then proceed to Gallup, New Mexico. They’ve accomplished the first and are moving to the second, with no signs of hostile forces. Nor has the blocking line northwest of Phoenix anything to report. That’s all I’ve got, sir,” he said Angriff.

  “Any more questions?”

  Several people half raised their hands but put them back down.

  “In that case, you’re dismissed.”

  #

  Chapter 68

  Courage in danger is half the battle.

  Plautus

  Creech Air Force Base, NV

  1834 hours, April 20

  Jamal Kando could only find nineteen people to defend Creech, and some of them had never fired a rifle before. The extreme ammunition shortage had constrained practice. Precious rounds had been saved for hunting, with a tiny supply held back for an emergency. It amounted to one half-loaded magazine each.

  When he’d gathered his small group around him, he realized how pretentious he’d been calling himself a general. Facing trained troops left his hands shaking and he couldn’t make them stop.

  Two men kept watch for the strangers while the rest gathered around him.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said as they stood in the center of the hangar. A slight quaver seemed to go unnoticed by his listeners. “We go out the south end of the hangar and then head for the old credit union building. How many did you count, Barry?” he called out to the man standing guard nearest the tarmac.

  “At least ten, maybe eleven.”

  “So we’ve got them outnumbered. You nine go with Captain Templeton; the rest of you come with me. Templeton, you circle around the front and we’ll come at them from the back. Remember, we don’t know who they are yet. Maybe they’re friends and maybe they’re not. Just because they’re wearing American uniforms doesn’t mean anything. They could have gotten those anywhere. The Republic of Arizona wears those.”

  In the sudden silence, the whump-whump-whump of a helicopter vibrated the hangar walls. Kando rushed to the door, but paused when only one figure jumped down. The gathering gloom made identifications difficult, but it seemed as if…

  “General, isn’t that Nado?” the man on lookout asked.

  “I think it is,” said someone else.

  “I thought she went for help?” said the first man.

  “She did,” Kando said, eyes wide with hope. “Maybe she found it.”

  #

  Green Ghost saw the knot of people running out of the closest hangar toward Nado and raced for the back door, shouting for the squad to follow him. By the time they got into open ground, Nado had been surrounded. “Shit.”

  “Do we fire?” asked Sergeant Wardlaw, commanding the squad of Green Berets.

  “Negative, damn it!”

  “Then what are you orders?”

  As he watched, Nado’s head appeared inside the crowd, her mane of black hair standing out among the drab uniforms. She seemed to be jumping around. Were they hurting her? Was she trying to escape? No, she was… dancing?

  “Secure a perimeter, Sergeant, but tell your people these are friendlies. And unless I’m going blind, that man on the right is wearing the uniform of an Air Force general.”

  “I think you’re right, sir. I didn’t know the Air Force still existed.”

  “Me, either. All right, let’s get set up before night falls.”

  #

  Like everybody else, Wardlaw didn’t know Ghost’s rank. But the mysterious man who wore no insignia was Brigade S-5, so whatever his rank, he had the favor of the only man who counted. When Green Ghost left the squad leader and strode toward the group, the sergeant went the other way to carry out his orders. He didn’t like it, though. The Army had rules for a reason and if Wardlaw had to follow them, then the same should apply to everybody else.

  #

  Still wary, Ghost kept his rifle ready in the crook of his arm. When some of the group spotted him approaching, they turned and brought their own weapons up, not pointing at him, but not pointing away, either. Centered among them, Nado noticed their heads turn and pushed down the barrels of the rifles clo
sest to her. Jumping up and down again, she waved. “Ghost, over here! Come on, these are my friends!”

  It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, but it went against all his training and instinct to sling the rifle over his shoulder when nearing a group he didn’t personally know. He felt sweat on his forehead despite the day cooling as the sun faded in the west. But when Nado broke through the knot of people and threw her arms around his neck, he felt something else.

  #

  Green Ghost called down both helicopters and for the next half hour the assemblage oohed and ahhed over the twin Comanches. Randall and Carlos stood guard on either side of Tank Girl, answering questions and keeping inquisitive hands from touching anything sensitive, especially the weapons pods, while Plotz and Arnold did the same thing with Hell’s Hammer.

  Meanwhile, after also gaping at them for a few minutes, General Kando asked who was in charge of the assault team and Sergeant Wardlaw pointed to Green Ghost.

  “What’s his rank?” Kando asked.

  “I think he’s a colonel… sir.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Green Ghost.”

  “His name is Green Ghost?”

  Wardlaw’s expression showed sympathy for Kando’s confusion. “That’s his name.”

  #

  Green Ghost was looking for Kando when Kando found him. “Are you in charge?”

  “That’s right, General. Call me Green Ghost.”

  “I thought that sergeant was joking. Are you really a colonel?”

  “What can I do for you, General?”

  Kando’s eyes narrowed in anger, but Ghost didn’t care. Kando could make a formal complaint later if he wanted to.

  “Who are you people?”

  “These men are Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha Seven Seven, attached to First Army Recon Battalion, First Marine Regiment, Seventh Cavalry Brigade. I’m commanding this mission as the head of security for the Seventh Cavalry.”

  “What are you even talking about?” Kando shook his head in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me you’re all part of some American unit?”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, General, and I promise to answer all of your questions, but right this minute I need to determine the assets of this base and if they might help us up north.”

  “North?”

  “The Chinese are threatening an army base north of Tahoe.”

  “It’s like you’re speaking another language.”

  Behind them, the chatter of voices gave way to whoops. In a lower voice, Green Ghost gave a brief outline of Operation Overtime and its mission. “Do you have some place we can talk?”

  Kando led Green Ghost across the runways to his office, next to an old sandwich shop. The surprise was that Kando’s office was actually an office and not some half-assed storeroom. Half a dozen wooden chairs surrounded a rusty metal desk. File cabinets took up one wall and the room had a work atmosphere to it.

  “The old restaurant, we use it as the mess hall,” Kando explained. “A lot of the kitchen equipment is still useable, like the sinks and metal prep tables.”

  “Isn’t water an issue?”

  “It’s the Nevada desert, what do you think? But there are a few springs around here and we’ve got two wind-powered wells. We also dug some new wells.”

  “By hand?”

  “No, this was back when things still worked. We have drilling equipment stored away somewhere, but no fuel to run it or the pumps.”

  “I remember concerns about radiation in the groundwater, back when they buried nuclear waste out here.”

  “I thought you wanted to know about assets, by which I thought you meant military assets, not water.”

  “I need to know if my men can drink the water here or not. If they can’t, we need to ration what we brought with us.”

  “It hasn’t killed any of us yet.”

  “That’s not very convincing.”

  “Are you always this insubordinate?”

  The lean warrior selected a seat off to the side and sat down. “If I can be blunt, you’re wearing the uniform of a general in the U.S.A.F. But you’re not old enough to have been in the pre-Collapse military, so for all I know you found that uniform in a closet. I’m not saying you’re not in charge here, or that you weren’t given your rank by a legitimate order, but my C.O. is a five-star general appointed by Congress.”

  Kando’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What are you saying, then?”

  “That I haven’t lived through a thousand firefights and tight situations by assuming things are true just because someone says they are. Now, what about those assets? Specifically, do you have any aircraft and fuel?”

  “There’s aircraft in every hangar on this base, and more at other airfields in the region. We’ve got everything from F-117s to AWACs. Warehouses full of parts, too. As for fuel, sure, we’ve got a river of it scattered around the area, but none that will burn. It’s all bad.”

  “That’s too bad about the fuel, but outstanding about the aircraft. What about long-range transports?”

  “There’s a C-5 in the hangar a hundred yards from here, one of the last planes that ever flew in. They were headed for Area Fifty-One, but didn’t make it for some reason. There’s six C-130s, too, but not here.”

  “A C-5?” Ghost leaned forward. “Does it fly?”

  “Not in the last forty years, it hasn’t. Could it be made to fly again? I don’t know. I don’t see why not. But our mechanics are all self-taught; nobody here knows how to service any of the aircraft.”

  Green Ghost looked away, thinking.

  “Oh, by the way,” Kando, “the water’s okay to drink.”

  #

  Chapter 69

  I love the name of honor, more than I fear death.

  Julius Caesar

  Sierra Army Depot, Herlong, CA

  1838 hours, April 20

  Junker Jane galloped down the access road with knees locked, leaning over the horse’s neck with her back as low and straight as she could make it. Dust kicked up ahead and to her left, and she knew the Chinese behind her had opened fire. She stuck to the road because, while the desert soil put less stress on her mount’s hooves, a gopher hole or unseen rock could be disastrous to horse and rider. But with gunfire now at her back, she kicked the horse’s flanks again, urging every last ounce of speed from the tiring beast.

  Prophet James and his flock heard the gunshots, too, and hovered by the road’s edge as if expecting her to slow down and tell them what was happening. She didn’t. Instead, she spared enough breath to scream one word in passing. “Run!”

  Two female guards rose from a large foxhole ringed with sandbags near the depot’s gate. Jane pulled the horse to a walk and the winded creature blew out heavy breaths.

  “This is it, girls!” she called, never minding the uniforms they wore. “They’re coming down A25 right for you. At least two tanks, with APCs and a lot of infantry.”

  The two women stared at each other, frightened, and Jane knew they wanted to run.

  “It’s too late for that now, ladies. They’re coming across the desert from the south, and maybe around Honey Lake on the north. There’s nowhere to run, so you might as well hunker down and fight it out. It’s your only hope. Good luck!”

  She urged the horse back into a canter towards Colonel Lamar’s office, and felt them watching her the whole way.

  #

  Mimicked by most of his followers, Prophet James twirled and danced to greet the Chinese as if he were in a San Francisco parade. Each of them bore pots of water and bundles of flowers. A few of the spiritually weaker ones had escaped behind the woman on horseback. But the rest, thirty or so in all, surrounded him and scattered flower petals along the road, exhibiting their good will. His mother would now see what happened when you reached out to your enemies in peace and brotherhood, instead of in war. He prayed she would understand the power of the Lord to soften even the hardest hearts.

  The Chinese co
lumn halted and the flankers spread out, protecting the vehicles. James waved at the leading one, an oversized car of some sort with a turret on top. Two long barrels protruded from the turret and pointed directly at him, but he wasn’t afraid. The love he felt for his Chinese brothers and sisters would come through and they would lay down their arms. He knew it would happen because God had told him it would and his faith never wavered.

  Twirling and singing, James approached the Chinese column. Behind him, the others did as he did, tossing flower petals from the new spring growth. They struck up an impromptu version of “This Little Light of Mine.” James smiled and joined in. Reaching for a bunch of flowers held by a twelve-year-old girl named Alice, he selected two buttercups with long stems. They were perfect. He’d slide them into the gun barrels pointed at him.

  A helmeted man with goggles stood in the leading APC. James had gotten within twenty yards of the vehicle when he threw out his arms and shouted to the heavens.

  “Welcome, my brothers and sisters! We come in the love and peace of the Lord!”

  The goggled man leaned into the hatch and yelled the last word James ever heard. “Huŏ!” Fire!

  #

  Aretha Lamar knew what would happen before it did. Even knowing couldn’t prepare her for the horror of it, though. Standing on the roof of her headquarters building, she watched through her binoculars as her son and his deluded followers twirled and pranced toward the Chinese APCs. Close to a mile separated her from them, but she could see well enough and followed the little group’s progress toward the steel killing machines.

  “No, James, no,” she said to no one. “Get out of there! Run, son, run!”

  Flashes lit up the desert in the gathering gloom. The leading APC opened fire with both heavy machine guns, as did the soldiers spread in a semi-circle on both sides of the road. The air filled with dust and chunks of concrete from the roadbed. She couldn’t make out details, but when the shooting stopped, nobody stood in the road.