by Gordon Ryan
Equally confusing were the return shots from a distant location. Their fusillade was fired into the massed 82nd airborne troops who were unlucky enough to have been assigned to the western sector of the blockade. Almost as a body, they dropped prone into the street, behind cars or trees, and assumed a position to return fire. Not having received an order to engage the enemy, their fire discipline held.
In the ensuing investigation, Colonel Harman, who had given specific orders not to fire unless directed, was able to determine that it was the ragged and undisciplined outburst from the SMR that caused the most damage on this fateful morning. Despite their restraint in returning fire, multiple casualties were inflicted upon the 82nd. SMR forces suffered one dead trooper, plus General Del Valle’s neck wound. The disparity of injuries gave the appearance that the battle was a lopsided firefight, with the SMR the clear victor. The only bright side to the disastrous event was that no civilian casualties occurred.
Confusion among reporters, civilian bystanders, and legislative staffers was rampant. The only group for whom confusion was not a problem was the six-man action squad from the Shasta Brigade, assembled by Jean Wolff and Commander Jackson Shaw. Escape was a simple matter of once again blending in with the troops they impersonated. Five of the brigade squad had fired in the initial volley, quickly merging with nearby troops and feigning confusion at the source of fire. The dozen or so SMR troops who, without orders, had returned fire, did so of their own volition. The lives lost within the 82nd Airborne, plus the injured, were a direct result of SMR ineptitude and lack of fire discipline. More directly, however, the Shasta Brigade had succeeded in escalating the tenuous situation into a brief, but violent firefight from which emerged no winner.
* * *
President William Eastman, Vice President Clarene Prescott, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Air Force General Hezekiah Johnson, sat in the Oval Office, stunned as the drama unfolded before their eyes on large-screen TV.
Eastman was livid. “General Johnson, this is exactly what I did not want to happen! Get those troops out of there now! And I mean now!”
“Mr. President—”
“I said now, General. Better yet, get the commander of that unit on the phone immediately. I’ll speak to him personally.”
“Yes, sir, but I recommend that—”
Eastman stood, his voice assuming a lower tone, but his face strained, and the veins in his neck distended. “General, if you can’t or won’t carry out my orders, I’ll find someone who will. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Within three minutes, Major General David Chidester was on the line.
“General, this is William Eastman, president of the United States. Do you recognize my voice, and are you willing to recognize my authority?”
“Yes, sir. I recognize your voice and am under your authority, Mr. President.”
“Good. I want you to approach the commander of the California troops, whatever they’re calling themselves, and personally advise him that you are immediately commencing withdrawal of your troops. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“General,” Eastman said, his voice softening, “how many casualties do you have?”
“Mr. President, all reports are not in yet, but I am advised of six dead and eight wounded.” He paused and added, “But I only have reports from the 82nd, Mr. President.”
“I understand, General. Get those wounded troops immediate care.” Eastman paused. “General Chidester, I do understand. I know you’ll take care of your troops, and I don’t mean to interfere with that aspect of your duties, but I will not preside over the opening shots of the Second Civil War. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Mr. President. I’ll act immediately.”
“Thank you … and General,” Eastman again paused, “my sincere condolences on the loss of those in your command.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
* * *
Four hours later, the only remaining semblances of military activity were the deep gouges in the lawn of the Capitol, left by M1A1 Abrams main battle tanks, unused in the melee other than to protect certain members of the regular forces who had remained inside during the firefight and reporters who had taken cover behind their bulk.
General Chidester had personally explained the president’s orders to Colonel Harman, who had assumed command in General Del Valle’s absence. As quickly as it had been lost, order was restored.
General Robert Del Valle had undergone surgery and was expected to recover. General Chidester’s evening visit to Del Valle’s hospital room went unnoticed until days later, when hospital staff remembered to advise Del Valle of the courtesy shown by his counterpart, with whom he had earned the honor of commanding what the press had dubbed the Battle of Capitol Mall.
Casualties among the 82nd Airborne included seven dead and eleven wounded, two requiring medical retirement. California’s casualties totaled one dead, Corporal Anthony Gambino, and one wounded—Major General Robert Del Valle.
The only positive event of the day was the eventual result—that of returning control of the situation to political leadership intent on diplomacy as opposed to the option of military action.
* * *
Having watched the developments throughout most of the morning, John Henry Franklin focused primarily on Governor Dewhirst’s statement to Ms. Shipley. He picked up his telephone, pressed a speed dial number, and waited.
“Si,” a male voice answered.
“General Valdez. John Henry here. Have you been watching the events of the day?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Now it’s time for your visit to President Jalisco. I think he’ll need to appoint a new ambassador, don’t you think?”
“I do. An ambassador from the Republic of Mexico to the new Republic of California, I think.”
“It’s time for phase two, Emil.”
“Good, John Henry. Very good.”
* * *
Jack’s funeral was a small family affair. But the memorial earlier in the day had been anything but small. The moment Governor Dewhirst had learned of Jack’s death, and knowing that Daniel Rawlings would be involved in the gubernatorial strategy session prior to the press conference and unable to assist his mother, Dewhirst had assigned two of his staff to assist Mrs. Rawlings in the preparations. Even so, immediately following the press conference, the governor had told Dan to go home and attend to family business. Dan learned of the governor’s thoughtful action from his mother over the weekend.
Despite his grief, Dan could not shake his thoughts about the disastrous military confrontation on Friday, which perhaps was a blessing in disguise, since it allowed Dan to defer his mourning to a more private time. The funeral had been planned for Tuesday, but no one had fully anticipated the military turn of events that had taken place in Sacramento.
Notwithstanding the speed with which the opposing military forces had disengaged, the growing civil unrest and violence in major urban centers brought the governor to the necessity of declaring martial law. In Los Angeles, San Francisco, Fresno, and several other communities throughout the state, federal installations and buildings had become the target of siege by citizens who were inflamed by the Battle of Capitol Mall. Emboldened by the erroneous information that the casualties in the 82nd Airborne Division came as a result of SMR strength—these feelings having been stimulated by a few well-placed militia instigators—public fervor had brought these communities to riot conditions. The race war flared again, and the basic criminal element surfaced to take advantage of chaos in the light of the inability of local law enforcement to maintain order. Curfew had been placed in effect from dusk to dawn.
Colonel Harman, acting in General Del Valle’s stead, directed the SMR and Highway Patrol to concentrate in troubled areas, trying his best to bring order out of chaos. But riots continued through the weekend, and it quickly became apparent that order intended to resist birth, and
chaos had no intention of accepting Last Rites.
Tuesday morning at ten o’ clock, a public viewing of Jack Rumsey’s remains was held in the lobby of the Yolo County courthouse by request of the governor and with the approval of the Yolo County Board of Supervisors, where Jack had once served two terms before being elected to the state legislature.
Dan had once read that the older one was when death came, the fewer associates remained alive to attend the funeral. Jack Rumsey, however, had apparently made an impact on the next generation as well, as hundreds of Woodland residents came to offer their condolences. Matilda Westegaard stood with Dan and Mrs. Rawlings for a few moments, and Dan had occasion, once again, to see a tear in her eye. Notwithstanding the immediacy of state affairs, even Governor Dewhirst came to pay his respects to Dan and his mother, appearing without protocol and saying nothing publicly. He stayed only for a few minutes before immediately returning the twenty-five miles to the Capitol.
Perhaps the most surprising visitor at the viewing was Colonel Pug Connor. Dan had met Connor only twice, and the discovery that Nicole was somehow involved in his work was, to Dan’s mind, one of several continuing revelations about this remarkable woman who had come to play such a large role in his life. In departing the courthouse, Connor asked if it would be possible to meet with Dan the following day, privately, in Dan’s Davis apartment. With advance warning from Nicole, Dan had given thought to the practicality of such a meeting, dreading a repeat of how Senator Turner had taken advantage of his naiveté. But with Nicole’s assurance that Connor could be trusted, Dan agreed.
By one o’clock, the small entourage had driven the twelve miles to the tiny country cemetery in Esparto, west of Woodland at the head of Rumsey Valley. By request of Mrs. Rawlings, only immediate family members were present, including Dan’s sister and their father, both of whom, after a phone call from Dan, had flown back to the States from New Zealand. A few of Jack’s Shriner colleagues attended as well, along with the officiator who performed a portion of the ceremony. Standing at the graveside, breathing in the pungent aroma of almond orchards, dusty fields, and fragrant blossoms—Rumsey Valley ambiance—Dan experienced a flood of memories.
As he listened to the local minister recount Jack’s life and his contributions to the valley, he envisioned those early days when the Rumsey family, along with dozens of other families, had fought to tame the land—first to provide a living for their families, and then to develop a thriving enterprise.
Nicole stood close to Dan, her arm linked with his as they watched Jack’s flag-covered casket lower into the ground beside his beloved Ellen. The small military honor guard from the Woodland Veterans of Foreign Wars detachment folded and presented the flag to Dan’s mother as Jack’s next of kin. Moments earlier, the honor guard had shattered the peace of the valley by firing three volleys from their seven rifles, in honor of Jack’s naval service to his country during World War II. Protectively aware of his mother standing next to him, Dan breathed deeply and raised his face slowly, scanning the foothills encasing the valley—hills he had roamed as a boy, hills where Jack had taught him to identify the flora and fauna of the valley and tutored him in so many other ways.
His eyes rising higher to the light cloud cover that Jack had always watched in earnest, searching for rain, Dan struggled to retain his composure as this phase of his life concluded. So much of his life was changing in such a short time. Echoes of the violent events of the previous day were reverberating in every city and town in California. Repercussions would haunt them all for weeks and months to come. But for the moment, Dan, along with his mother and father, his sister Kate and her husband, and Nicole, stood silently as the patriarch of the Rumsey family was laid to rest. Tomorrow would be soon enough to re-enter the conflict—to continue the fight that Jack had so adamantly insisted Dan pursue. Dan gave silent thanks that Jack had been spared the necessity of watching his country move toward dissolution after his eighty-four years of working and fighting to establish Rumsey Valley—Jack’s small contribution to the whole.
Leaving his mother’s side for a moment, Dan stepped toward the grave and tossed a small assortment of flowers onto the casket, now in its final resting place beside Ellen.
“I love you, Jack,” Dan whispered. “God rest your soul.”
Chapter 30
Davis, California
Dan woke to the insistent ringing of the telephone on his night table, startled by its intensity and surprised that he had actually slept, soundly it seemed, for at least the past few hours. In spite of the turmoil and lack of sleep over the past few days, he had been unable to drop off the previous night, and the last recollection he had was of the numbers on his digital clock reading 2:33. They now read 6:45.
“Hello,” he answered groggily.
“Dan? It’s Jean Waters. Sorry to wake you so early, but I knew you’d be busy and probably would leave quickly. Got a moment?”
“Sure, Jean. How’ve you been?”
“Probably better than you, Dan. Please accept my sympathy on the loss of your grandfather. When I called your office yesterday, they advised me of the family tragedy.”
“Thank you, Jean,” Dan said, sitting up in bed and sliding his legs over the side.
“Dan, I wanted to let you know that Voices in My Blood is going into a fourth printing. Over 400,000 copies on the shelves, and more importantly, most of those are already in homes. I’m really sorry to have to approach you with business at such a time, but we’ve received a firm offer from MiraMax for film rights. Five million, Dan—fifty percent of which will be yours.”
Dan paused. “Jean, if you think it’s a good offer and the best we’ll get, I’ll trust your judgment. I’ve got to leave that to you for awhile. I’m sorry if I’m not as engaged as I should be, but—”
“Not to worry, Dan. I understand. If that’s agreeable to you, I’ll accept and FedEx you the contract.”
“That’ll be fine. Send it to my legislative office. I’ll be spending most of my time there for the next several weeks.”
“Okay. My regards to your family. I’ll get this off today.”
“Thanks, Jean. Have a good day.”
Dan sat on the edge of the bed for a moment after replacing the receiver and contemplated the success of his novel. From his original $400,000 advance against future sales, he had already earned nearly $750,000, far exceeding expectations, and now $2.5 million for the film! Added to the additional $800,000 advance on his next two-book contract, he’d made over $3.5 million in the past six months on his first literary effort. It all seemed unreal to him, and he shook his head as he rose and headed for the shower.
Jack was gone, and America was slipping further away. Life’s highs and lows never seemed to coincide, but at least they offset one another, and perhaps that was for the best.
After showering and shaving, Dan broke a couple of eggs in boiling water to poach and popped two slices of bread in the toaster. He poured himself a glass of orange juice while waiting for his eggs. A light knock on the door, one which he’d grown to love along with the voice that accompanied it, broke his concentration as he stood leaning against the sink, staring out the kitchen window. The door opened, and Nicole stepped into the room, dressed casually.
“Enough for two?” she asked, smoothing his hair in place.
“Always,” he replied. “Get any sleep?”
“Probably more than you. You’ve got enough bags under your eyes to take a trip to Europe,” she said, kissing his cheek.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and then stretched his arms over his head, loosening his back muscles. “My eyes feel like the airlines sent those bags to Dubai while I was headed for Tokyo, but I’ll recover. When’s Connor coming?”
“Should be here any time. He called me on my cell while I was driving here and said he’d be about fifteen minutes. I’ve not mentioned it, but Pug also has family in New Zealand. You have more in common than it appears. He’s not out to trap you, Dan
.”
“What’s he want, Nicole?”
“I need to let him make that pitch. Actually, I’m not certain of the extent of his intentions. He’ll tell you what’s on his mind, although he’s pretty careful about distribution on a ‘need-to-know’ basis.”
“Intelligence training, I suppose. Maybe he’s run into a few ‘Turners’ over the years.”
“Could be.” Nicole smiled. “Eggs are ready.”
Stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, Dan heard the doorbell ring and Nicole go to answer it. He wiped his hands on the dishtowel and entered the living room. Connor was dressed in slacks, a golf shirt, and a pullover sweater. Dan hadn’t paid much attention to Connor’s physical appearance when they had met at the armory with General Del Valle, but now Dan could see he kept fit. In his early forties, Connor was just over six feet, trim at about one hundred and ninety pounds, and still had a full head of dark brown hair.
“Morning, Colonel Connor.”
“Good morning, Dan. I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Pug. No need for protocol.”
“Yes, sir,” Dan said, eliciting another smile from Connor. “Have a seat, Pug. Can I get you something to drink? I just made some fresh coffee.”
“That’d be fine, just black please. How are you doing, Dan? It’s been a tough couple of days. And your mom—how’s she holding up?”
Dan poured coffee for Connor and returned, placing the cup and saucer on the table next to Pug’s chair, then sitting next to Nicole on the couch. “Mom’s fine. We’ll all miss Jack a great deal. He was the spark plug in the family.”