“I appreciate you saying that, Diane, but I’m pretty sure Rodriguez is clean.”
“Are you sure, John? I mean, how can you be?”
“Well, I can’t be certain about anyone but myself, can I?”
She looked hurt by that and he reached out to her, but she moved away from his outstretched hand.
“Look, you know what I’m trying to say. No one’s beyond suspicion. I’m sure there are people wondering about both of us. It’s just after what Huan said about a spy in Oneida, I couldn’t help looking at the cholera outbreak with a different set of eyes. Right now, I’ve got people trying to figure out who Phoenix might be. They’ve drawn up a shortlist of suspects and each of them is being looked into, and if you must know, Rodriguez is one of the people doing the sniffing.”
That seemed to satisfy her, although John had learned long ago that once Diane got an idea in her head, it was hard to break it loose.
“At this moment, Diane, the town needs your help getting back on its feet. Getting the greenhouse back up and running. Canning what food we have already. And I was thinking that some of the street lights might be used in the greenhouse once the power is restored. Ray Gruber and his boys are trying to fix the damage the windmills sustained during the battle. We need to find creative solutions to problems that didn’t exist before the EMP.”
He’d been trying to tell her to back off playing sleuth as nicely as he could, but it didn’t matter how well he sugarcoated it, Diane knew exactly what he was saying.
“There’s something else I think you should know,” he added.
“I’m not sure I want to,” she replied, moving to the kitchen where she began fiddling with a sink full of dishes.
“I guarantee you will. A young private stopped me yesterday after the debriefing to say she remembers seeing Brandon and Gregory at the front.”
Diane stopped what she was doing.
“She said she saw their position being overrun.”
“Oh, no, John. I don’t want to hear it. Not if you’re gonna give me bad news.”
He went and gently pulled her hands away from her ears. “She saw them surrendering to the Chinese. Which means they may still be alive.”
All the air came out of Diane’s lungs at once and she fell limp into John’s arms. “Oh, thank God.” She was quiet for a moment, probably saying a prayer. “So let’s go get them.”
“It’s not that easy. We need to wait and see if General Dempsey’s planning a counterattack. In the meantime, we need to get those leaflets out. How soon can Emma have them ready?”
“Tomorrow,” Diane replied without hesitation. “I’ll go over there myself and start cranking them out.”
A sharp knock came at the door. John opened it to find Henry, a crease of tension along his forehead.
“What is it now?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“It’s Huan, sir.”
“Our POW? What about her?”
“She’s gone.”
Chapter 14
The beam from their flashlights bobbed up and down as John, Henry and three soldiers rushed to Huan’s holding cell. Oneida was on lockdown, the major avenues in and out of town guarded by small units tasked with keeping an eye out for Chinese incursions. If Huan’s training was anything like what American pilots received in SERE—survival, evasion, resistance and escape—then she’d know better than to travel via a major roadway.
Up ahead were the cells. A steel door secured that part of the jail from the rest of the building and a guard was posted outside twenty-four hours a day. The door to the cellblock stood ajar, but more disturbing was the body lying on its back, hands clasped over its throat. Dried blood stained the soldier’s fingers, his eyes locked in an expression of shock and horror.
“It’s Cooper,” Henry said. The man on the floor had been on guard duty. “We’ve sent teams with tracking dogs to run her down. With any luck, we’ll have her back within the hour.”
I doubt it, John thought as he bent down on one knee. The soldier’s throat had been slashed with a sharp knife. The line across his neck was almost surgical. “Box cutter?” John asked.
Henry flashed his light to gain a better look, his face registering discomfort. “Or a scalpel.”
Dr. Coffee’s face flashed in his mind’s eye. “Go to the doctor’s house and bring him in for questioning,” John instructed one of the soldiers, who nodded and ran off.
John stepped carefully over Cooper’s body and into the holding cell area. One of the cell doors was open in an otherwise empty room. On the floor was a set of keys.
“So the killer approaches the guard,” John speculated, “maybe engages him in small talk or distracts him somehow and then slashes his throat.”
“Why not just shoot him?” Henry asked.
“No way. Too loud. This had to be quiet to give Huan enough time to escape.” John paced back and forth. “If this was a citizen looking for some payback against the Chinese, then we would have found Huan’s body hacked to pieces.”
A vivid memory of Rwanda came to him. After the genocide, the streets were filled with survivors of brutal machete attacks. In most cases, their bodies still bore the disfiguring signs of attempted murder. It was the kind of sight you never got used to.
“This was someone from town,” John said. “An inside job.”
Henry seemed puzzled. “Really? How can you be sure the Chinese didn’t send some super-assassin?”
“Two reasons. The first is that a special forces operative would likely have used a silenced pistol rather than risk hand-to-hand combat. I mean, look at this hallway, they would never have gotten close enough before Cooper drew on them. Second, Cooper’s pistol was still in his holster and take a good look at the expression on his face. He knew this person and a knife across the throat was the last thing he’d expected.”
For some reason, John hadn’t wanted to believe Phoenix existed, let alone that he or she was behind this, but so far everything he’d seen pointed in that direction.
It was still early dawn when they left the crime scene, but already the town was in full swing. Soldiers and citizens were moving house to house in search of Huan. If they could recapture the Chinese pilot they might be able to learn Phoenix’s true identity. John was still busy overseeing the search when Rodriguez found him.
“They need you back at headquarters,” he said.
“Have they found her?”
“No, but General Dempsey’s on the radio and he wants to speak with the senior leadership.”
•••
The radio room was packed by the time John arrived. General Brooks and Colonel Higgs were already there along with Moss and Ray Gruber. They’d started without him.
“Congratulations again on a fine operation,” General Dempsey said. “We’re getting reports the Chinese support infrastructure’s been crippled for nearly a two-thousand-square-mile radius.”
“It was touch and go for a while,” General Brooks said, taking the glory without batting an eyelash. “But we managed to pull it off.”
Moss glanced over at John and shook his head with disgust. It seemed Brooks’ sneaky move to take credit for the EMP mission was even beneath him.
Truth be told, John didn’t care. The important part was limiting the enemy’s ability to wage war and he had done that. If Brooks was positioning himself to tack another star on his helmet, that wasn’t going to lose John any sleep. He had his time in Iraq for that.
“The Chinese are well dug in right now along our front lines,” Dempsey said. “We’ve estimated their strength at close to a million men. American reinforcements and stockpiles of fuel are moving up every day from the east, but just not fast enough. Not to mention what’s left of our air assets, which we’re keeping grounded until we can deploy them to full effect.”
“General, does that mean you’re postponing the attack?” John asked from the back.
“That you, Colonel Mack?”
“It is, sir.”
/> “I won’t feel comfortable committing our boys until we outnumber them by at least two to one.”
John closed his eyes in disbelief. “Sir, are you not worried that this might be our only opportunity to strike the Chinese when they’re so vulnerable?”
“I am, but I think you’re overstepping a little, Colonel.” Dempsey sounded defensive. He probably wasn’t accustomed to entertaining alternative points of view.
“I tend to agree with the general on this,” Brooks said, predictably. “If our attack should fail, then we risk losing what little we have left.”
“And if we do nothing, then the Chinese will eventually find the men they need to push through whether we like it or not.”
“I won’t commit,” Dempsey told them, “unless I know their supply lines are virtually incapable of moving men and materiel to the front.”
John was beginning to worry they had another General McClelland on their hands. It was said that if the famous Civil War general outnumbered the enemy three to one, he’d swear he couldn’t attack unless he had ten-to-one odds.
What the Americans needed was a commander from the Ulysses S. Grant school of warfare. Someone who wasn’t afraid of sending men into battle, who could push the enemy back on his heels and then once he broke pursue him until he was destroyed. That was the strategy that had worn down the Confederacy and helped win the Civil War.
It didn’t matter that that war happened over a hundred and fifty years ago. Technology might have changed, but by and large, people didn’t. A Union soldier’s terror as he stared down the gleaming barrels of Confederate rifles on the fields of Antietam was the same fear American GIs faced coming under fire in the jungles of Vietnam.
The meeting went on for another few minutes, but John had largely tuned it out. General Dempsey’s mind was made up and nothing would change that. Not surprisingly, there was no mention of Huan’s escape or their suspicions that Phoenix was behind it. John suspected that General Brooks was covering himself. Seemed these top brass guys spent far too much time playing politics and too little time playing general. He wanted to remind the man that positioning oneself for high-ranking office wouldn’t mean much if they lost the war.
After they were done and everyone left, General Brooks paused briefly on his way out.
“Next time, Colonel Mack, I suggest you show a little more respect for your senior commanders. You may think you’re a big shot after that EMP stunt, but anyone can be demoted.”
“I’m not interested in rank,” John replied. “I just want my country back.”
Brooks walked away without responding. At last the room was empty when Moss came back in.
“I think it’s time for a haircut,” John said, in a vain attempt at humor.
“I’ll consider it,” Moss replied. “Listen, some of these guys couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag.”
“Maybe,” John said. “But they’re the ones in charge, not us. I’m afraid our hands are tied.”
“Are they?” Moss replied, one eyebrow cocked.
“What are you getting at?”
“The general said himself he wouldn’t budge until he was sure the Chinese supply lines were broken.”
John scratched his chin. “You’re talking guerrilla warfare.”
“I’m saying hit them where they least expect it.” Moss was growing more excited. The veins in his neck were bulging.
“But we don’t have enough fuel for any kind of armored convoy,” John said before his eyes lit up. “But we do have something else. How many horses we have at the stables?”
“Don’t know. A dozen, maybe more.”
“That’s how we’ll move around,” John said, working out the logistical requirements.
“Like Jeb Stuart,” Moss shouted. “I’m gonna need to find me an old cavalry hat.”
A Confederate cavalry commander during the Civil War, Jeb Stuart had been known for his daring raids around Union lines, capturing supplies and harassing Union troops.
John shook his head. “Unfortunately, we may have to aim somewhere closer to Bloody Bill Anderson.”
“The guy Jesse James fought with during the war?”
“Yes, and it sickens me to even think of acting in such a way, but those PLA soldiers need to fear us worse than death itself. With any luck, we might be able to reach out to other pockets of resistance. Many of them lack any sort of direction. If we can help motivate and transform them from being a nuisance into a nightmare, we can stop the Chinese dead in their tracks.”
Rodriguez appeared just then.
“What now?” John asked. “Tell me you have some good news for once.”
Smiling, Rodriguez said, “Some soldiers from the 3rd Infantry Division have just showed up. They said they were routed down near Oak Ridge and won’t be able to make it back to friendly territory. A bunch of them talk about Oneida like it’s some sort of oasis.”
“I suppose it is,” John said. “Moss, you’ll need to set them up at the high-school barracks with the other soldiers and check with Diane to make sure our food supplies are okay.”
“Will do.”
Rodriguez went to leave and then spun around. “Oh, nearly forgot. That first batch of leaflets are done. Billy Ray and some redhead soldier named O’Brien are flying out shortly to drop them over the Jonesboro concentration camp.”
The news was good indeed and John smiled. Not simply with the hope that Gregory and Brandon might see they hadn’t been forgotten. But for another reason. An idea had just occurred to him. One that might devastate the Chinese supply lines and give General Dempsey exactly what he was looking for.
Chapter 15
The five-gallon pails of water were growing heavier in Brandon’s hands with every step. When he wasn’t in the fields planting seeds or tilling soil, he’d been ordered to bring water to the prisoners who worked in the camp kitchens. It was a sweet job, a step up from the other most sought-after occupation in the camp: bathroom attendant. Before the EMP and the invasion, any work that involved cleaning a row of open-pit toilets would have been considered inhumane. No question, the stench was hard to bear, but the payoff was hard to beat. Four walls and relative privacy from sadistic guards. The North Koreans rarely went near the place on account of the overwhelming reek and so whoever was charged with sweeping and keeping the building clean could also save themselves from a beating or two.
Brandon’s part-time job bringing water to the kitchen staff put him in a unique position. If he was careful, he could trade information or items he scavenged around camp for food. Most often that meant whatever ended up as trash, but once in a while―the muffin bottoms being a prime example―he managed to score something he didn’t need to scrub the dirt off of. This time he’d brought a small travel toothbrush he’d traded for a handful of apple skins.
Brandon arrived at the kitchen’s back entrance. A dark brown wooden structure, it still smelled of fresh paint, another indication of how new this nightmare really was. He knocked and after a small wait, the cook, Sammy Stevens, answered the door. Dressed in a dirty white uniform, Sammy wore a small white hat and sported a thick New Jersey accent.
Over Sammy’s shoulder, Brandon spotted two guards inside the kitchen, chatting to one another. This was another cushy job, maybe the cushiest, and for the guards as well since they would constantly pick at the food under the guise of taste-testing.
“Is Jennifer here?” Brandon asked, handing over the first bucket of water. Weevils coated the surface, but the prisoners had learned quickly enough to skim them off with the tips of their fingers.
Sammy pulled his hat off his head, revealing a short-cropped and greying head of hair. “You didn’t hear?”
“Hear what?”
Sammy looked around to ensure they weren’t being overheard. The two guards near the kitchen line were still busy chatting. “That group that got executed the other day. She was one of them.”
The weight of the terrible news hit Brandon like a body blow. For
a moment he wasn’t able to speak.
“I know,” Sammy said, reading Brandon’s shock. “We all felt the same way. She musta got caught up with the wrong crowd. I mean, who’s dumb enough to think you can escape from this place?”
Brandon nodded absently, the numbness creeping down his neck, into his chest and his legs.
A prisoner crossed the doorway behind Sammy, looking like a ghost. Brandon’s eyes followed him, compelling Sammy to look as well.
“Oh, that’s Brice. He’s been here about a month. Just got back from a stint in the re-education program.”
“Brainwashing?”
Sammy snorted discreetly. “At the very least, my friend. Most of the poor schmucks who make it back look like they ain’t got no one home. Some wise guys joke he’s haunting the place, but it ain’t too far from the truth.” Sammy glanced over his shoulder and then took the second bucket of water. “You didn’t bring anything with you today, did you?”
Brandon felt for the toothbrush he’d put in his waistband and pulled part of it out so Sammy could see. He was still reeling from the news that Jennifer had been killed. She’d been one of the few new friends he’d made in camp. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen.
“Toothbrush, eh? Well, those fools behind me are supposed to be doing an inspection, so I got nothing to give you right now, except some information.”
“What about?” Brandon asked. In here, information was power and could be purchased along with just about anything else.
“News from the front. A town called Oneida.”
Brandon’s ears perked up. “Really? I’m from there.”
Sammy smiled, pulling his cap forward. “Toothbrush first.”
Sighing, Brandon handed it over. “I wanna hear everything.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I know, let’s start with that. Way I heard it, when he was on the outside, one of the new guys used to listen to the radio. That was before a Chinese patrol caught him hiding in the basement of some house and sent him over here. Anyway, he told me that after the Chinese army busted through the Mississippi, they pushed all the way to the Appalachians. All except for two places. A junction east of Knoxville and this tiny, one-street nothing town in northern Tennessee called Oneida.”
Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4) Page 6