Treasonous Behavior- in the Beginning

by Robert Johnson

  “When did they say the electric would be back on?”

  “What about the phone service?”

  “When will the water be on again?”

  “My house is freezing.”

  “I haven’t seen any cops on the streets.”

  “Yeah, and I haven’t seen any repair crews out there either.”

  “This is Thanksgiving. How can we cook?”

  Cody and Nick listened to what the cop had been telling the crowd.

  It didn’t sound right to them. Something was wrong.

  The officer watched the pack of irate citizens. They didn’t want promises, they wanted action. They didn’t want feeble assurances, they wanted something to be done, now. “Just bear with us folks. We have lots to do with very limited resources.”

  Someone in the pack asked, “So you’re in touch with your men. I mean your phones or radios are working.”

  The cop’s eyes dropped to the floor looking for an answer that would satisfy the furious mob. “Ah…yes…our radios have a back-up system and we are in communication with our forces throughout the city.”

  “Bullshit!” a loud man’s voice soared over the crowd. “Then how come I haven’t seen a single cruiser since this thing started? Every other day I see them all over town giving traffic tickets, but so far I haven’t seen one damn squad car since yesterday. And how in the hell did you contact the electric company?”

  Cody didn’t believe a word the officer was saying. He and Nick had seen that disabled police cruiser on South Coronado. Most likely

  every one of the other cop cars had met the same fate of all the other vehicles left on the streets.

  Cody stood tall and yelled above the noise. “Then tell us, why are the abandoned vehicles being bulldozed off the streets?”

  All heads turned to Cody. This was news to everyone, since Cody had just witnessed it not ten minutes earlier.

  The cop looked dazed. “We have no knowledge of such activity at this time. I’m certain you’re mistaken about that sir. All I can tell you at this point in time is that the entire police force is diligently working to protect its citizens.”

  Cody was getting pissed off at the run around they were hearing. It was obvious nothing was being done. There were no cops on the street, because they had no working cruisers and no means to communicate. They were all in the dark just like everyone else. And there were no electric crews out in the field repairing damaged lines or transformers or whatever. That’s because there were no working phones, no working radios, no working vehicles. This cop was following the emergency procedure manual line for line. His sole purpose, at this point in time, was to stem the fear of the people and make them believe there really was help on the way.

  “What about the dead people?” Cody shouted loud and clear. Because of the things he had seen, he was unusually vocal. Every person quieted in an instant and opened a gap in the packed room to see Cody. “What about the people who are dying, while absolutely nothing is being done?”

  The group of angry men joined in. “Is that true?” many of them asked.

  The officer was startled by Cody’s questions. There was no easy, clear cut answer written in his manual. “I can assure you that no one is going to die from this inconvenient electrical blackout.”

  “And I can assure you, sir,” Cody spoke up again in an uncharacteristic assertive manner, “that there are dead people. There are two of them in fact, my friends and neighbors froze to death in their bedroom across the street from my house.”

  “We will check into it as soon as our resources allow it,” the cop answered, hoping it would quell the mob. “I recommend you all return to your homes and care for your families until this is over.”

  Cody wasn’t his typically calm and quiet self. He generally let others ask the questions or deal with head on confrontations. He liked to go along and get along. But this just wasn’t right. He moved toward

  the front, getting almost face to face with the officer in charge. He had never felt so…so out of control, so damned pissed off. He stuck his

  finger into the cop’s face. “And what you call an ‘inconvenient electrical blackout,’ sir, has turned into a god-damn catastrophe.”

  “That’s enough, mister. As I said we are doing the best we…”

  Cody didn’t let him finish. He wasn’t done with this guy. “No, it’s not enough. You don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on out there,” he said pointing toward the street. “I’m not staying here listening to your lies and false promises. People’s lives are at stake and I’m going to find out who is responsible.”

  The mob grew wild and noisy again. This guy taking on the police officer was right. More questions and accusations were thrown at the officer.

  At that, hotter than he’s ever been in his life, Cody pushed through the crowd and slammed the two front doors open. “Come on,” He motioned toward Nick. “I’ve heard enough of this shit. It’s for damn certain we’re not getting any answers here.”

  Nick and Cody exited the station leaving the rest of the crowd arguing with their law enforcement professionals. Cody was convinced they would get no straight, nor truthful answers in this place.

  On the steps of the station Nick turned to Cody. “I would have never expected that from you. It was good, but completely unexpected.”

  Cody, feeling the outside cold calm him down a little, said, “Thanks. Sorry. I usually don’t swear like that. I just felt so helpless and frustrated. You know he’s lying.”

  “Whatever it was, you put him in his place. And yes, I know he was lying. Now let’s go find Zeke and get out of here.”

  They walked back to where Zeke had parked his van out of sight from the police station. The van was gone. “Where the hell is that dope head?” Nick asked.

  “He most likely freaked out and drove away.”

  “Well, looks like we’re walking again.” He checked his watch. It was almost noon. “It’s a long way to the house,” Nick remarked.

  After walking two blocks the men heard a high pitched beep. The VW’s horn sounded like a sick roadrunner in that popular kid’s cartoon. Zeke quickly pulled out of a side street and stopped for the guys. “Get in, dudes!” he yelled. “Hurry!”

  “Where’d you go?” Cody asked, once he and Nick had crawled in

  through the back.

  “I’d rather be safe and out of sight,” he answered.

  “Hey, how’d it go in there? What’s up? The fuzz offer any help?”

  “You been smoking that shit?” Cody asked him. A thick layer of

  marijuana smoke filled the van.

  “Dude, just to take the edge off.”

  “It was a wasted trip,” is all Cody said.

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah, bummer,” Nick repeated.

  “So,” Zeke began, “where to now, dudes?”

  “How about you take us back home, Zeke.” Cody said. “I want to see my family and we have some things to work out.”

  Nick nodded his agreement. They had to take care of their families, because it was apparent no immediate help was on its way.

  Zeke felt a shiver run down his body. He turned up the music and sped south on the cleared road.

  Chapter 11

  The First Phase of Operation Rescue was a go. The soldiers in the high school gymnasium were double checking their gear and weapons. The commander of the local operation was preparing to brief his men. Lieutenant Colonel Carl J. Fielding, Retired Army, had gladly accepted the charge over his newly assigned mission.

  He had put in twenty-six years in the service of his country. During that time he had been in both Gulf Wars as a junior officer, survived three tours of duty in Afghanistan, and four tours in Iraq, mostly during the hot and heavy days of Saddam Hussein. There, he was wounded twice, commanded major battles against the rag heads, and had received the Congressional Medal of Honor from then President Bush. His record was impeccable and he was undeniably one of the top notch combat off
icers in the military.

  In the heat of battle in some Afghanistan mountain outpost, his company of seasoned soldiers had attacked and killed an entire enemy force identified by American intelligence as members of al-Qaeda, the radical terrorist group recognized as the most serious threat to American national security. After the firestorm had ended, the body count was thirty-two enemies dead, no friendlies hurt.

  Or so he was told.

  Once he and his men had returned to base he was immediately arrested for war crimes against the people of Afghanistan. The colonel

  was charged with murdering civilians and allies of the United States. Somehow military intelligence had mistaken the village as a haven of extremist combatants and orders were sent to destroy and purge the region. It wouldn’t have been the first blunder by MI.

  Because the incident had created an international uproar caused by a media frenzy against American troops killing innocent civilians, the top brass needed someone to blame, a scapegoat to take the fall. Lt. Col. Fielding was quickly accused, court-martialed, and sentenced for the offense. He was immediately retired from the Army under duress and dishonorably discharged for his egregious errors of command.

  He was allowed to retain his long earned pension at his current rank under the stipulation that he never discuss the case with the media. In turn, his sentence of life imprisonment in a military prison was suspended. With that done, the United States Army swept the whole incident under the rug. Betrayed by his country, the proud officer found it relatively easy to take sides against good old Uncle Sam. In the ranks of battlefield officers, what had happened to him wasn’t an uncommon scenario.

  “Men, we are about to embark into new territories,” the Colonel began. He knew the background of each of his American soldiers. “Changes are in the making and a new future awaits us.”

  His men stood straight, eager to begin their task. The foreign troops barely understood a word. All they had to do was follow simple orders given them by their American squad leaders. Hand signals and a few key words were all they needed to know.

  “You are to follow your orders in a swift and thorough manner,” the Colonel continued. “We have a long couple of days ahead of us, but remember, timing and proper execution of your mission is critical. Also, it is imperative to conduct yourselves in a, let us say, ‘a gentle approach,’ as you rescue the residents in need. Such conduct will ensure a quicker and much easier roundup.”

  He strode past his men, looking at each one of his American troops, inspiring them to swiftly and systematically complete their duties. Satisfied with their readiness he asked, “Are there any questions?”

  One tall, rugged American soldier stepped forward. “Sir, what if we should encounter strong resistance?”

  The Colonel answered. “If you follow through as ordered, there should be very little opposition. However,” he paused so the men would understand his intent, “you are to deal with it swiftly and

  without hesitation. If your lives are threatened, then you know what to do.”

  Lt. Col. Fielding gazed at his force. They were not the best he had ever commanded, but they would do against a bunch of unarmed civilians. He looked at his watch. Twelve noon. “Men,” he barked. “Let Operation Rescue begin.”

  The troops fell into their assigned squads. Each squad was made up of four members. There were two American soldiers, each in charge of their two-man team. The other two were a random mix of foreign troops, Chinese, Russians, and Latinos. They lined up and exited the building toward their awaiting buses.

  Each squad entered their numbered school bus. One of the American soldiers drove the bus out of the school grounds. They knew exactly which neighborhood they were to first enter. A complete list of streets congested in manageable sections hung from the bus dashboard. The roads were cleared, although there was some minor debris scattered in spots. A few hardy souls were walking on the road sides. They were surprised to see the school buses speeding by on otherwise quiet streets. Frantic efforts by the hopeful citizens to wave them down went unnoticed.

  The buses veered off into different neighborhoods. It looked similar to a school day when long caravans of yellow buses cruised through the areas picking up school children for a day of learning. These were the same school buses, but today they weren’t driving the streets looking for school-aged tots. They weren’t as welcoming as the innocent daily rounds stopping at designated corners where mothers waited, lunch bags in hand, with their offspring.

  Somehow protected from what Zeke had called ‘solar rays,’ the forty buses were in perfect running condition. Just like Zeke’s VW. One bus turned onto Cody’s street. It stopped at the first house on the corner. The bus came to a halt in the middle of the street and the men jumped out. Two of them, an American with his foreign troop back-up, walked up to the house, while the other two went to the residence across the street. This was practiced routine.

  One man knocked on the door of the first house. The American had a clipboard of addresses, names, and other information. The door opened and a young woman appeared. “Yes, can I help you?”

  The American spoke up. “We’re with law enforcement, miss, ah…” He stopped to check his roster.

  “Robinson,” the woman automatically gave her name. “Charles and Annette Robinson.”

  The soldier noted something on his ledger. “Is everyone okay here?”

  The woman was intimidated by the soldiers dressed in what appeared to be some sort of S.W.A.T. uniforms with threatening rifles. One of the officers looked strange, non-American. “Yes, we’re doing fine, considering the circumstances. Do you know when the power will come back on?” She was holding the door partly closed as protection.

  “I’m afraid it will be several more days, ma’am. And the weather isn’t going to break for awhile as well,” the soldier answered in a calm, almost sweet voice. This is what they were taught to say. Get the people to believe you. Get them to trust you and they will go peaceably. Most of them will be happy to accept help. Most of them will be glad to be rescued during these terrible times. Particularly if the electricity was going to be out for days longer and the cold weather persisted.

  “Oh dear,” the lady said. “My children are cold, we have no heat.”

  The soldier moved on to the next question. “I can appreciate your situation, ma’am. Many of your neighbors are going through the same difficulties. Mrs. Robinson, is your husband at home?”

  “No, he was traveling this week and was supposed to be home last night. But I haven’t heard from him. I can’t get through to him either. I’ve been worried sick, officer.”

  “I understand. We’re doing our best to help everyone and find those who have been stranded because of the storm,” the soldier explained. He smiled as if he were a friendly neighbor.

  “I need help finding my husband,” she said, almost in tears. “Where could he be?”

  The soldier eased into his routine. “That’s why we’re here, ma’am. We’ll locate your husband. We’re asking everyone to come with us to a safe place.”

  “But I can’t leave. What if Charles comes home and the house is empty?”

  “We’ll stake an officer here just in case Mr. Robinson shows up. But in the mean time we’d like for you and your children to board the bus,” the trooper said as kindly as he could. “The buses are taking

  everyone to the high school. They have lights and heat there. There’re cots, hot food, and doctors if you or your children are in need of medical attention.”

  What the officer was offering sounded good. It sounded safe. It was good for her children. She saw her neighbor across the street, old Mrs. Gunther, being gently escorted to the bus out front. “Well,” she hesitated. “Okay.”

  The soldier told her she could bring a small overnight bag and leave a note for her husband. “One last thing, ma’am. Are there any weapons in the house? We need to log them in for safety purposes.”

  “No, we don’t have any weapons. My husband and I
don’t really like guns.”

  The man made another notation on his clipboard. It took Mrs. Robinson a few minutes to gather her two children and what they needed in an overnight bag. She left a short handwritten note for Charles, telling him where they would be. Then she stepped outside, locked the door behind her, and rushed the little ones to the warm bus.

  The school bus moved down the street going through the same procedure with every homeowner. There was very little trouble given the security officers. After all, they were there to help. The promise of warmth and food and water drew the desperate residents into the bus. Lead by the kind men in uniforms the people carried their small bags for the overnight stay. Most of them had been in the high school before. Some to talk with their older children’s teachers, or to see a basketball game, or maybe watch a student play in the massive theater. It was a safe and comfortable place.

  At houses where no one answered, the uniforms broke down the doors to make sure people weren’t being stubborn. It was understood that some inhabitants would refuse to vacate their residences and decide to stay in their homes. The rescue plan simply would not tolerate that kind of behavior. A few muffled popping sounds echoed in the cold from nearby houses, like caps being burst off from kid’s toys. Uncooperative home owners would not be tolerated. The street was almost cleared as the loaded bus pulled in front of Cody’s house.

  One squad went to Jack’s house. There was no answer, but the front door was unlocked. The soldiers found the frozen bodies in their bed, and with indifference toward the deceased, did a quick walk through the house and found nothing of value. They were on a tight schedule and needed to keep moving.

  At Cody’s house an American soldier banged on the front door. Robin had seen the bus and law enforcement officers out her living

  room window. The same questions were asked of her. Mostly the same responses were given back. “But my husband should be back home soon,” Robin protested to the trooper. “I’m not leaving until he returns,” she insisted.