The three men sat and swapped stories for what felt like a lifetime. Stokes and Jake were completely enamored with the man and his tales of Vietnam. Just as the bartender was finishing up the abridged version of his time in country, the unofficial Sheriff interrupted his reminiscing.
“You know what you boys could do,” the barkeep called out as the pair headed back over to the table. “Ya’ll could install a submerged crossing somewhere down stream. Saw the villagers under VC control do it all day and night when I was out there in the bush.”
The pair looked at each other quickly before the Mac declared, “Charlie, you’re a genius!”
Lt. Stokes’ Lead Sapper turned slightly to the bartender, “Charlie? Really?”
“Yeah, yeah, smart ass. I see the irony in it.”
Once it was decided, the men set themselves to the task of fortifying the town of Chillicothe from the Columbus raiders. Frank was confident that it was the inmates from the ‘Gangster Disciples’ local chapter.
“They and their brethren must not have enjoyed their time in our fair city,” he had quipped.
For the next several days, every piece of machinery that could be located, and was operable, was put to work. An old International tractor was given a singular task; drag one highway concrete Jersey barricade after another out of the DOT facility to each of the three specified locations. Twenty-six went to the 104 / 35 exchange as well as the two standing southern bridges. Each location would receive dual pillboxes. Both were positioned to provide a murderous crossfire.
The Sheriff, Frank, and the townies were amazed with what the engineers concocted.
Each pillbox was comprised of thirteen barricades. Four were used to form the square foundation while the remainder went up above. Before the massive highway dividers were placed on top, the inside of the structure was dug out either by hand or by using the one temperamental backhoe, which seemed to only work half the time. It did manage run long enough to construct the submerged crossing.
An old warehouse forklift was used to scoop up the immense dividers. As each was positioned, several six-by-six pieces of wood about a foot in length was situated length wise atop the exposed side of the foundation. As a result, the roof was slanted to shed water and the gun ports were already present. This meant that no drilling would be required.
Because the concrete pieces were almost two feet wide at the base and only a few inches at the top, every other one was placed upside down. When they were all installed, the fortification had a solid concrete roof several feet thick.
Before the exterior was backfilled, a tarp was laid on top to waterproof the ceiling. The entire structure was covered with a several feet of dirt. Camouflaged next to each was a claymore. The clacker was placed in a secondary position some distance behind the primary fortification along with a wired box.
Once the structures were complete, the engineers unloaded the bang and staged each of the bridges destined for demolition. Since it wasn’t their town, and there weren’t exactly any strict Army regs to adhere to, Lt. Stokes let three residents trigger the detonations… much to their collective delight.
Chapter 11
March 2023…
President Rayburn was beyond himself. He could no longer maintain any degree of composure in the face of the onslaught. Sarkes had made numerous attempts to draw the man back into the fray, but the POTUS’s depression was all consuming. Every decision weighed on him. He was exhausted trying to keep the wolves at bay and the Union intact. Therefore, it was under doctors’ orders that he retired for the evening. Before departing for his quarters, he instructed the SecDef to wake him in the event of any considerable progress in the west.
Several hours later, Larry Fielding finally received the report he was looking for. A band of fighters located near Coeur d’Alene, Idaho had stopped a Russian advanced party just west of Spokane. Another set of resistance cells out of Crestline, California had ambushed a resupply convoy on I-15 headed from Edwards Air Force Base to San Bernardino. Everywhere the UN forces turned, they were meeting heavy combat on both coasts. Slowly but surely, supply lines were being severed. The news was too good not to share with the slumbering POTUS.
“Sir? I’ve got an update on the –,” he started to say when he noticed that the man had fallen asleep in a chair in front of the fire. His eyes were closed, a book was in his lap, and a half empty glass of bourbon was on the side table next to him.
He opted to wake him gingerly.
As he approached to gently shake him he sniffed something rank. If he didn’t know any better, it smelled like the latrine.
“Sir,” he said quietly as he shook the man’s shoulder.
President Rayburn’s head slumped forward from the slight movement.
SecDef Fielding quickly placed two fingers on his neck and tried to detect a pulse in the man’s carotid artery. He was colder than he should have been. There’s that smell again.
Nothing. The man had released his bowels. The Secretary of Defense realized that the POTUS was dead and had been for some time.
His friend and Commander in Chief was gone.
Calmly, he picked up the phone on the desk. The Secret Service detail immediately responded to the call.
“Agent Crespin,” said as he identified himself.
“This is SecDef Fielding. Fetch the medical team and Vice President Culpepper.”
“Is there a problem, sir?
“You could say that, son,” he countered with a sigh. “The POTUS is dead.”
As he hung up the receiver, he turned to see if there was anything out of place. Nothing was. Everything was exactly where it should have been.
* * *
“This is Sarkes,” he stated as he answered the ringing cell phone
“Hey Tom, this is Larry Fielding,” the SecDef replied in a melancholy tone.
“Long time no talk. How are things in Omaha?”
“Ah, they’re not good. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
“Oh? What’s up?” the former President asked sounding concerned.
“Jim’s dead, had a massive heart attack… if the coroner’s report can be believed.”
For the first time in his life, the man was at a loss for words. An eerie silence permeated the call as the crestfallen leader slumped down in the nearest chair.
After a few seconds, the SecDef said, “You still there, Tom?”
The former President was in shock. His friend, and political rival, had passed away. His head began spinning with thoughts. If the autopsy report could be believed? What does that even mean?
Before he knew what he was saying, he blurted, “That’s impossible! The man didn’t smoke, rarely drank, and ran five miles a day since I don’t know when.”
“Exactly,” was Fielding’s reply, but there was a little too much of a hint of something distressing in his speech.
“Is this a safe line?”
“Sure is. I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t.”
“Who found him?” Sarkes asked quickly.
“I did.”
“Was there something out of place or odd about the situation?”
“Nope, not a thing. He was just sitting in his chair by the fire with a half empty bourbon.”
“Secure that glass!” Tom commanded. “The Jim Rayburn I know never would have had a drink of anything by himself!”
“That’s what I thought too. I’ve already grabbed that and the bottle too. Both are being tested as we speak.”
“Good… that’s good,” Sarkes said in a relieved tone. “Can you trust the person doing the testing though?”
“I hope so, he’s my son-in-law.”
Tom’s mind was racing with questions. When will the tests be done? What do we do if they come back positive with some sort of poison? What about toxins in the body?
To Larry Fielding’s credit, he already had a plan of action ready so he could to answer all of the man’s inquiries.
“One last question and I’ll let
you go,” Tom said.
“Fire away,” the SecDef replied.
“Do me a favor and check the Secret Service logs. See who the last person was to use that room.”
“Did that too.”
“And? Who was in there?” he asked impatiently.
Fielding audibly sighed.
“What? Who was it man!”
“VP Culpepper and the Secretary of State. They say they were meeting to try and determine a way out of this.”
Eight hours later, the SecDef placed a second call to Sarkes.
James Rayburn, the forty-fifth President of the United States, had been assassinated.
* * *
With a heavy heart and anger permeating his soul, Tom reluctantly initiated his first debrief at the farm. The former POTUS cherry-picked a select few and divulged the breadth of the information he had received. To say that some were just as angry would be an understatement. However, none were totally surprised. The nation was on its knees. A power grab seemed inevitable.
“Murdered? Are you sure you heard him right?” Josh intoned.
“The toxicologist didn’t turn up anything in the man’s drink so Fielding had them re-examine the body. There was a small red mark on the man’s neck so the ME didn’t pay any attention to it the first time around, assumed it was a bug bite I guess. Hours later that same dot showed deep reddish purple streaks. The man was poisoned,” Sarkes answered bluntly.
“Now what?” Brent asked impatiently. “Do we have any idea who did this? Are there any suspects?”
“Not as of right now, but they are letting the heart attack story run awhile as a handful of people observe to see who comes to the forefront to claim the throne, as it were.”
“What else did he say?” Agent Monahan demanded.
Tom then proceeded to brief the collected leadership.
According to the SecDef, by all accounts, the union was in capable hands. On the plus side, even though Abbas may have sent the civilian population back to the 1800’s, the military could still carry on secure communications due to their high altitude orbit satellites. VP Alan Culpepper had assumed the mantle of President and was actively planning and communicating with the remaining commanders on the ground and ships hiding behind islands. When the timing was right, Fielding stated that the man would willingly order a land based counter offensive coupled with a retaliatory strike at sea.
As a result of the available communication channels, President Culpepper was able to successfully contact base CO’s in the sectors occupied by the Indian, French, Dutch, and Spanish. Each command was brought up to speed regarding the subversive allying between the United States and these nations. The ability to share sensitive intelligence and UN troop movements between foreign and American commanders allowed the US military command structure to identify the key infrastructure necessary to rebuild. The prevailing thought was that, presumably, our allies would then be able to better direct their troops and leave that framework intact.
Before Sarkes’ first debrief was over, the leadership team he had assembled agreed to begin planning area reconnaissance and patrols. Additional groups would train willing civilians to provide a force large enough to safeguard what was left of the enclave in and around McArthur. To them, the question was, if the political class was dealing with these types of issues, what was possibly headed their way?
* * *
From a global perspective, the Monarchy was ecstatic with the international financial progress. The King had successfully cleaved the U.S. from the world economy in one fell swoop. Because most nations had already replaced the irrelevant American Dollar as the monetary standard, the economic hit felt by the other exchanges was minimal. Of course, national coffers would be diminished by the lack of export revenue, but that deficiency provided a surplus of raw materials and goods. The previously unattainable ‘New World Order’ the EU desired was quickly becoming a reality across Europe.
Nationally, survivors with the know-how to construct or repair radios were taking to the airwaves nationwide. Most relayed horror stories regarding their escape from some major city. However, there were several notable exceptions that, given their sensitive nature, they could not post.
Locally, as Dallas, Brent, and Bryan learned of developments through their continuous monitoring, a bulletin was posted the following day in downtown McArthur and at the park. News from across the country and the atrocities being committed graced the board whenever they were available.
At President Sarkes’ request, items relating to the other cache of gold in Omaha, the Strategic Command structure at Offutt AFB, or the POTUS bunker located there were not announced.
Regardless of what was posted and when, Dallas could not in good conscience ignore the need for better communication between the towns.
“Hey, Bryan,” Dallas declared as he entered the basement workshop and sleeping quarters.
Behind thick magnifying glasses and smoke from the soldering iron, he answered, “Gimme a sec. I have to finish this real quick.”
He stood patiently as the man finished his work. After a few additional moments of absolute silence and concentration, Bryan gently blew on the circuitry and cleared the smoky remnants.
As he lay the tool down on the table, he took off the glasses and said, “What’s up?”
“I was thinking,” the walking interruption began.
“Every time one of you guys has a thought, I have to come up with some sort of device. It amazes me that Josh didn’t think about the need to communicate,” he interrupted. When he realized Dallas was staring at him with a blank look, he corrected, “Sorry, man. I guess I’m tired or hungry… or both.”
“No problem. I’ll see about having some food brought down if you can’t pull yourself away to come upstairs. As for Josh, you know he hasn’t owned a cell phone in decades. I think he figured any communication would be face-to-face. That being said, do you have anything in your bag of tricks that will allow us to talk to the other towns? Or at a minimum relay messages to them through weigh points?”
“You’re a day late and a few dollars short my friend. That’s what I’m working on now. Carlos and Gregg were standing right where you are now asking me the same question yesterday. So far, between Chester and myself, we’ve bastardized four truck stop CB’s. I’m about to finish the fifth.”
“Oh. Where are they going?”
The electrical magician stood as he motioned to the work bench behind him. Leaning against the cinderblock wall was a white board. Between the two, Bryan and Chester had divided it into three columns. The first column contained the list of parts needed to make a functioning two-way radio. The middle held needs, and the third was product destination.
“We got lucky with a couple of the radios. They were still in the box and on the shelf at some truck stop gas station that Hoplite and one of his patrols found. Those have already been delivered. After that, they pulled some from immobile trucks. Most of them needed to either have some circuit boards repaired or swapped out. If that didn’t do it, we had to dive into what I brought with me. Those are running dangerously low though. I don’t suppose you know where we could get our hands on some parts?”
“You might ask Hoplite and his patrols to check all of the office buildings they encounter. If you guys can repurpose any of the boards and circuitry from PC’s, printers, and what not you could find some useful stuff there,” Dallas replied casually as he reviewed the whiteboard. “Assuming the circuits aren’t fried,” he added as an afterthought while he admired their scribbled notes. “There are a dozen deliveries on this list and you’ve got eight working radios. If Carlos and his boys strike out you could try War God?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ve been tasked with generating code names. I’m trying that one out for Brent. Thoughts?”
“Hmm, could work. What else have you got?”
“Sheriff Watson is ‘Opie’, Katherine is ‘Rodin’, and that wrestler MMA dude we picked up last month is ‘Gr
appler’. Evan’s ‘Shades’.
“Shades?”
“He’s got his prescription in his sunglasses. Gregg and Carlos retained their SpecOps call signs of ‘Longbow’ and ‘Hoplite’.”
“This is kind of fun. What are Josh and Sam and Lt. Stokes?”
“They are ‘El Jefe’, ‘Lady Stepford’, and ‘BB’.”
“What’s a ‘BB’?”
“Short hand for ‘Bang Brothers’.”
“Nice, and Juan, Basilia, Chester, and Scott?”
“Uh, let’s see. Juan is ‘Machete’ and Basilia is ‘Shaman’, but I haven’t finished yet. I was thinking of code naming all of Basilia’s medical team with medicinal herb names, but it might get too confusing. I’m open to suggestions.”
Bryan sat there for a few seconds then started smiling.
“What?”
“We could call Scott ‘Tinkerbell’, or ‘Tink’ for short.
“That’s just cruel and unusual punishment… I love it!”
The two shared a hearty laugh for a couple moments at Scott’s expense before Dallas started to excuse himself.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it. Sorry to intrude.”
“No problem. Stop in anytime, but I’ll take that lunch you offered.”
“Sure thing. Hey, one last question. Where’d the whiteboard come from? I could use some in my comm room.”
* * *
On the coasts, natural impediments in the form of thousand mile long mountain ranges, coupled with a brutal winter, worked to slow the UN advancement. On the east coast, Interstate 95 appeared to be the general line of demarcation for the invading troops in the Mid-Atlantic States. The I-5 corridor was the holding mark in the west. Seemingly overnight, the Bear Claw Saloon transformed from a local watering hole in to a trading post. A resistance movement was already well on its way to being firmly established.
The largest cities from coast to coast were still smoldering from the chaos of the first month. Weeks of anarchy and lawlessness increased the toll on the inhabitants exponentially. Even with the decreased population, the UN flagged troops recognized that house to house fighting would most likely be their welcoming committee. As a result, the formerly bustling metropolitans were simply bypassed until later. The Eisenhower Interstate Highway System worked according to its Cold War era design and the invading forces took full advantage.
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