After twenty minutes, Bradley’s anger abated enough for him to conclude that death might not be an appropriate punishment. Mentally, he began contemplating all the bones he could break and ranked them according to the severity of pain inflicted.
By the time the lights of Barclay Air Force Base appeared on the horizon, he had accepted the fact that beating the snot out of Richards was not an option. With hundreds of thousands of enemy troops on U.S. soil, the TEradS could not afford to lose more personnel—even on a temporary basis.
But I can’t just let that asshole get away with it.
Despite the fact that Abby was capable of fighting her own battles, Bradley felt the need to do something, to say something, to put everyone on notice. He would not tolerate fellow Soldiers propositioning his wife.
Tidbit # 6: Aldrich Ames
Aldrich Ames worked for the CIA until 1994. As a Soviet double agent, he amassed over four million dollars by selling the identities of CIA agents placed within the KGB. It is estimated that he exposed more than one hundred agents and was responsible for the deaths of at least ten. The full extent of the damage he inflicted on U.S. intelligence gathering may never be known.
The character is intended to mimic the traitorous deceit of a double agent and illustrate the danger posed by government employees who value money over country. All other sentiments expressed and actions taken by this character are purely fictional.
Tidbit # 7: Martha Bratton
In order to prevent the British from seizing precious gunpowder, Martha Bratton set a trap and blew up a storehouse as enemy troops arrived. She was captured, confessed to the sabotage, and escaped severe punishment.
The character is intended to mimic Martha Bratton’s heroic actions, detonating a building to prevent the enemy from seizing precious children—rather than gunpowder. The placement of soldiers inside the storehouse at the time of the explosion was strictly the writer’s imagination. All other sentiments expressed and actions taken by this character are purely fictional.
Chapter 11
—— DAY 451 ——
Wednesday, May 11th
116
Clarksville Academy
Northwest of District Six, Texas
THROUGHOUT THE THREE hour flight from Washington to Texas—arranged courtesy of Aldrich Ames—General Sun had stewed over the absurd incident. It was ridiculous, a dozen soldiers trampled and gored by a stampede of longhorn steer.
He perused the most recent pacification assessment and scowled at the ballooning swath of insurrection reaching from Idaho into northern Texas. Tiny fires of rebellion, ignited by a pair of underage felons, had set the entire region ablaze.
How can I establish the Chinese Century with men incapable of capturing two children tagged with GPS beacons?
The general redirected his attention back to the speeches he would be delivering; the first, today for American consumption; the second, tomorrow for his comrades here and in the Motherland. Although both addresses could have been given from Washington, D.C., Sun had insisted on traveling to Texas in order to meet with Colonel Meng, to personally hold him accountable for his incompetence.
“General, it is time,” Colonel Tao told him.
He passed through a doorway into a spacious office and took his place before a horseshoe of American flags adorned with gold tassels. The cameraman counted down along with the TelePrompTer, then Sun bowed toward his audience.
“Good-morning. I am General Fengsheng Sun, supreme commander of the United World relief effort. Today marks a turning point in American history ... A time when each of you must forge a new future ... A time for faith ... And a fresh start!
“I ask you to consider your current circumstances. Is this the perfect union you were promised? Are you living under a system of established justice? Does this meet your definition of domestic tranquility?
“A government must provide for the common defense. Did your elected leaders secure your borders? Prevent terrorists from infiltrating your country? Your military? After two congressional reports on the threat of electromagnetic pulse, did they protect your power grid?
“Your leaders were not blindsided by this catastrophe. Under Continuity of Government, they saw fit to provide well-stocked bunkers for themselves ... while you, the American people, struggle each day to survive.
“Has your government ever truly promoted the general welfare? Has it put a roof over your head? Nutritious food on your table? Did it provide a job at a fair wage? Health care? Education without the chains of debt? Is this the culmination of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness ... ?
“Let me be clear. The American people have not failed. Your leaders have failed. The greed of capitalism has failed. And you must clear it away along with the rubble before you can rebuild.
“Heed the call of your nation as your founding fathers did centuries ago. Be a patriot; support the collective good. Become part of something greater than yourself. Enlist with the UW Liberty Keepers, a militia group committed to deposing your irresponsible, self-absorbed leaders. Demand equality. Demand social justice. Demand faith and a fresh start ... for every American!”
117
TEradS West Headquarters
Langden Air Force Base, Texas
MAJOR CARLOS RODRIGUEZ had been unable to sleep. The abduction, the encounter with the President, the black operation—it was all spinning through his mind, weaving into an ever-tightening noose.
After a lengthy discussion with General Quenten, he had left the undisclosed location, blindfolded, accompanied by the same Secret Service agents who had snatched him from Ansley Air Force Base. By 1100 hours, he was aboard a transport plane bound for Texas, growing increasingly uneasy with this covert mission.
How am I supposed to plan four concurrent operations when three targets are unknown?
The question resonated, humming through him until a rogue thought silenced it.
If Gwen Ling can’t identify the other traitors, the mission can’t happen.
An inkling of relief dissolved, replaced by another, more formidable question. What happens to the country if the turncoats remain in power?
At that moment, Rodriguez recognized that the merits of the mission extended beyond covering the President’s political hide. The future of the entire nation was at stake, and Rodriguez tugged at his shirt collar, which suddenly felt chokingly tight. Quenten’s motivation may have been selfish, but his decision to act was sound. He was doing the right thing for the wrong reason.
Once the plane landed, Rodriguez disembarked and stopped by the Officers’ latrine before continuing on to TEradS Headquarters.
“As you were,” he told Private Candelori as she peeked above a computer screen. Her fingers traced a fading purple bruise beneath her eye, as if to draw attention to it.
“Is the Captain in his office?” Rodriguez asked, ignoring her quivering chin and welling eyes.
“No, sir. He raced out to the tarmac to meet an incoming flight. And he didn’t look happy.”
Rodriguez retraced his path, assuming his visit to the latrine had caused him to miss the Captain. He found Andrews near the rear door of a C-130 as a single-file line of TEradS forces streamed from the cargo plane. The tired warriors saluted their Captain and repeated the show of respect on their way past Rodriguez. He could practically smell the stench of guilt rolling off them.
Back turned, unaware of his CO’s presence, Andrews pulled Bradley Webber aside. “Richards is off limits. And that’s an order!”
“Understood, sir.”
Rodriguez’s eyes lingered over Abby. “Lance Corporal Webber, good to see you alive and well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He watched Andrews step in front of Richards, blocking his path. “Your conduct was unbecoming! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t bounce your ass out of the TEradS!”
Shrugging indifference, the Sergeant said, “Unsanctioned discipline isn’t in anyone’s best interests, sir.”
&n
bsp; Andrews stiffened noticeably. “Effective immediately, you’re on watch. Graveyard shift.” Catching sight of Rodriguez, an oh-shit expression flickered in Ryan’s eyes, then he saluted.
“As you were, Captain.” The word unsanctioned was buzzing through Rodriguez’s skull like a trapped hornet. He squinted in disbelief at a woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt several sizes too large. Tendrils of long, wine-colored hair protruded from beneath an Army ball cap worn backward. He noted the prolonged eye contact between her and Andrews, an intimacy that suggested a personal relationship.
“Andrews! Who is this civilian?” Rodriguez demanded. “And why was she on that aircraft?”
“This is the infamous Terror Fox, Major Frances Marion, Veteran Army Sapper, sir.”
Respecting the woman’s rank and service to the nation, Rodriguez managed a polite greeting then said, “Captain, I’d like a word ...”
118
North of San Antonio, Texas
SYBIL AND IZZY HAD politely rejected the invitation to stay with Cal’s family. “The UW troops are tracking us,” Sybil had told them. “We would be putting you all in danger.”
Cal had returned Izzy’s weapon and sent them off with two Chinese assault rifles, a few days’ food and water, and one of the UW trucks. He had siphoned the fuel from the other vehicle to fill the truck’s reserve tank, written a journal entry to document the cattle poaching and stampede, then wished them well.
Shortly before midnight, Sybil and Izzy had headed south. She had driven her father’s truck once, on a deserted fire road riddled with ruts that ripped the wheel from her hands and sandy patches that made the tires spin. Fortunately, driving on paved road was easier, and after the first hour, her white-knuckled grip relaxed.
Relegated to back roads, the miles still passed quickly. By daybreak, they reached Abilene, Texas, where they encountered bands of gypsylike people, a few of which fired at the UW vehicle.
As the sun arced beyond its zenith, the skyline of San Antonio was a speck in the distance; and its buildings seemed to stretch taller, as if the city were rising before their eyes.
Anxiety mounted through each mile of suburbia’s burned-out churches, looted stores, and vandalized strip malls. Drooping power lines and blackened transformers stood like tombstones from a bygone era.
“I don’t like this,” Izzy said, readying the Chinese assault rifle. “There’s too many places for them to hide.”
Sybil felt a chill spread along her neck, and her foot jammed against the accelerator to speed their passage through the suburban ghost town.
The skyscrapers of San Antonio were devoid of windows, scarred with black carbon streaks. Large buzzards circled, swooped inside, and exited with rats in their talons. As Sybil and Izzy skirted the city, the volume of trash and odor of excrement intensified, a multisensory warning that people were close by.
Her heart pounded faster.
Her eyes wandered from building to building, expecting to see the barrels of long guns poking through broken windows.
Suddenly, gunfire thwacked behind them.
Bullets plinked and burrowed through the truck bed, then the sound of the barrage was overpowered by a deep, growling sound.
“Look!” Izzy pointed upward.
It was a gray military airplane crossing overhead. “It must be landing at the air base. That way!”
Sybil made a sharp left turn and almost lost control of the truck. Izzy was thrown sideways into the door.
A shower of tempered glass pebbles from the rear window stung Sybil’s shoulders, making her skin feel hot and damp.
The UW truck was gaining on them.
“Whatever you do, don’t stop!” Izzy fired at the truck’s front tires. The sound was deafening, and the rounds seemed to bounce off the spinning rubber.
Sybil sped up, swerving recklessly, sideswiping cars and street signs. Sparks joined the grinding shrieks of scraping metal and squealing tires.
Circular punctures splattered the peacekeepers’ windshield.
Still, the vehicle kept coming.
With both feet, Sybil stomped on the brake and jerked the wheel. The pickup plowed into Langden’s western gate.
Alarms blared. U.S. Troops surrounded them, and Izzy immediately discarded the rifle and leapt from the vehicle, hands raised.
The UW pickup truck began to sideslip, then four men surged toward them, rifles at the ready. U.S. Airmen ordered them to drop their weapons.
“Crimin-nar take truck,” a peacekeeper shouted. “We arrest.”
Tears began trickling down Sybil’s face. The journey had been too long, too difficult to be caught here—at the doorstep of salvation.
119
District Six, Texas
IT TOOK ALL KYLE’S restraint not to throw the damn Chi-phone against the wall of his office. General Sun’s speech had been a masterful piece of propaganda; capitalizing on dissatisfaction, frustration, and fear; using the Constitution’s Preamble to undermine the document itself.
Was Sun trying to instigate a civil war? Or seduce a majority into accepting a new-and-improved constitution—one that would fundamentally transform the United States into a colony of the People’s Republic of China?
Brows and lips puckered, Jessie snagged the phone from his hand and hurried from the office to impede Chinese eavesdropping.
As the door clicked shut, Kyle said, “How many, Gary? How many hungry, frightened people are going to be suckered in by that?”
The sheriff’s cheeks puffed into an elongated sigh. “The porous border has been a sore spot for decades, especially here in Texas. Let’s hope folks are smart enough to realize that if communists secure our border, it won’t be to keep illegal immigrants out. It will be to keep American citizens in.”
Nodding, Kyle said, “The part about Congress not protecting the power grid will hit home.”
“So will Continuity of Government and bunkers for politicians.”
Kyle’s office door burst open, bounded against the baseboard stopper, and slammed into Jessie, knocking her off-balance. “There’s going to be another address,” she said with the tempo of an auctioneer. “One exclusively for District Six.”
Kyle scratched his stubbly chin. Worry oozed through him like lava on a slow, destructive crawl. “Sounds like Sun has more to say about deposing self-absorbed leaders.”
The general’s face filled the Chi-phone screen, his demeanor more severe than minutes earlier.
“This addendum is for the citizens of District Six. Due to increasing terrorism, I will cut off utilities at the conclusion of this address. No electric, no water, no sewer facilities. A blockade will halt delivery of fuel and medical supplies.
“This unpleasantness will continue until two conditions are met. First, all citizens must comply with the presidential executive order mandating vaccinations; and second, Governor Kyle Murphy must surrender to UW authorities.”
120
TEradS West Headquarters
Langden Air Force Base, Texas
RODRIGUEZ COULDN’T have arrived at a worse time, Ryan thought. Did his CO overhear his conversation with Richards? And if not, would Richards go running to him about the unsanctioned mission?
He entered TEradS Headquarters, and Private Candelori jumped to attention. Ryan mumbled, “As you were,” and unlocked his office.
The Major followed him inside, let the door fall shut, then said, “What happened to Candelori?”
Searching for a succinct way to summarize the incident, Ryan said, “There was an altercation between her and Abby Webber, sir.”
“MPs involved?”
“No, sir. They declined to file charges based on self-interest.”
“And the bad blood between Evan Richards and Bradley Webber?”
“Inappropriate remarks directed at Abby. It’s been handled, sir,” Ryan said, sounding more confident than he felt. His thoughts reverted to the day he had met Bradley, to an offhand remark that provoked the Sniper to pin him again
st a wall. Had he mellowed since then? Ryan had his doubts.
“Sounds like Abby Webber’s presence is causing disruption.”
Tired of refereeing stupid, interpersonal squabbles that wasted his time, Ryan said, “Yes, sir. But her actions aren’t the problem. She tends to be a magnet for everyone else’s unbecoming behavior.”
“This is why fraternization regulations exist,” Rodriguez said. “We overlooked the Webbers having the same military operational specialty based on circumstances and their exceptional skills as Snipers; but we agreed to keep them separated; one serving TEradS East; the other, TEradS West.”
“Yes, sir. But ambushes have turned staffing my teams into a game of musical chairs. Abby is staying in Texas with 6A. Bradley is moving to TEradS East, probably 5B.”
Rodriguez paused, then said, “And speaking of female-induced disruptions, why was that civilian on the C-130?”
This is it, Ryan thought. Confess before Richards twists the unsanctioned mission into a court-martial.
“I had an opportunity to dispatch the men who ambushed Team 8A at the horse farm, sir. But it required a few rules and regulations to be ... massaged.”
Rodriguez’s expression darkened like a thundercloud. “Massaged? Or mangled?”
“Frances Marion had a cache of mining-grade explosives at a family-owned cabin near District Eight. She rigged the structure—just like the horse farm; then I let the UW intercept some bogus intel regarding a TEradS raid on that particular cabin. Within a few hours, a UW demolition crew showed up with a truckload of C-4—”
“And the Terror Fox blew them to hell,” Rodriguez said.
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