By the Dawn's Early Light

by David Kershner

  “I’m in love with your daughter and don’t want to wake up hanging from a girder if things don’t work out between Katherine and me. I can’t believe I just said that.” Dejectedly he added, “You can kill me now.”

  And there it was. The one thing every man in McArthur feared when it came to his daughters and Scott just blurted it out.

  Josh was taken aback and stood stock still. After Javy had been captured near the farm, the story of his vengeance in the warehouse had spread throughout the town. Many of the residents had either attended the local schools or were parents who had children in school with his daughters. When they heard the information, their reaction wasn’t shock and horror. Most simply said, ‘Well, that explains it.’

  Regardless, the budding scientist and inventor had just summed up the feeling of every man in the town in just three words, fear-of-God.

  When Josh didn’t say anything, Scott asked, “Sir?”

  The highly over protective father raised his hand to silence him. “I’m processing this news,” was all he replied.

  While he weighed the pros and cons of the new information, he finally landed on the same conclusion Sam had provided weeks earlier. His daughters moving on, leaving the nest, and eventually finding love was inevitable. He just never imagined that it would be so soon. In a way he felt guilty for not pushing them sooner.

  When he did speak again, Josh offered Scott some insight as only a father of daughters can provide.

  “What happened to those men took place a long time ago for something far more serious than simply dating my daughter. You have nothing to worry about in that regard.”

  The love struck man-child let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding for the last minute.

  “I’ve known you and your family for a number of years and two things are abundantly clear. First, I know you were raised right. Second, I don’t believe that the chemical make-up of those men exists anywhere within you. Now, as for your profession of love towards my youngest daughter; the only time you and I will only ever have an issue is if I hear about any form of disrespect or abuse.”

  “Oh, no sir! I would never. I couldn’t even kill a spider,” he blurted without thinking.

  Josh chuckled at the comment.

  “No, seriously! I had one crawl across my workbench and I had to call Katherine over to come do it for me!”

  “Good to know,” he replied smiling. “Don’t get me wrong, couples occasionally disagree. It’s natural. I get that. However, should that disagreement lead to something more physical, you and I will be having an entirely different and one-sided conversation. Are we clear about that?”

  “Yes, sir, but I don’t think we’ll ever be able have one.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Katherine would kill me first, that’s why!”

  Josh laughed out loud at that proclamation. “She can be a handful. Of that I have no doubt, but here’s the thing. You’re a good kid, Scott,” he began as he placed his meaty hand on the scruff of his neck and turned him back to the group. “Treat her with respect and you’ll do fine.” As they started walking, the fatherly figure continued, “Now about this,” and gestured toward the windmill. “To be fair, I wasn’t sure how this wind pump battery charger mechanism would turn out. By all accounts it seems to be –,” he started to say.

  “Uh, Scott. We’ve got a problem,” Katherine called out and interrupted as they neared.

  The two men glanced up to see her pointing towards to the upper platform. The gearing was starting to smoke and an occasional spark dribbled from the housing. After a few feet, it would burn out... at first.

  “Throw the break lever!” he hollered to her as he started running.

  She held up a metal pipe that used to be attached to the apparatus and screamed, “I did!”

  For the better part of an hour, the group watched on in disbelief as the structure burned. While Scott and Katherine sat off in the distance comforting each other over the mishap, Josh stood with Chester and observed as pieces fell to the ground.

  As the last of the cross brace members collapsed, adding to the heap of smoldering debris, the pair approached.

  “We’re really sorry about your windmill, Daddy,” his daughter began.

  “Yeah, I didn’t see a problem with the motor. I thought it was good. Don’t you worry about a thing though, Mr. Simmons. We’ll fix this and you’ll have a new wind pump in no time.”

  “I know you will. I have faith in you. Get it fixed, son,” he said with a little bit of warmth and walked away.

  * * *

  At the end of April, an emergency broadcast was transmitted on the high frequency bands. It contained a message from the new POTUS. The message repeated for ten minutes and then went silent. Chester was on duty at the time and recorded it for the others. Once he had the full message, he played it for Josh, Sarkes, Brent, and the remaining leaders.

  “Holy crap!” the retired General exclaimed when it completed its playback. “What are we supposed to do with that?” he posed to the assembled group.

  “We type it up and post it with the other pertinent messages downtown and in the park, that’s what,” Dallas offered. “We’re not the information police.”

  “Ah, that’s not entirely true,” Lt. Stokes rebutted. “We didn’t advertise what was going on in Omaha, now did we.”

  “That was national security,” Sarkes interjected. “This is an entirely different animal. This is a call to arms.”

  “That may be, but we’re talking about a population that has no idea how to fight. To me,” he explained, “It’s analogous to any other third world hell hole we’ve been in. The civilians have pitchforks and rocks and the bad guys have modern weapons.”

  After a few minutes of discussion, the decision was made that the message was to be transcribed in its entirety and posted on the board the next morning.

  Sheriff Watson delivered it aloud to the assembled residents before posting it. It read:

  My Fellow Americans,

  This is President Alan Culpepper. It is with great sadness that I inform our nation of the following information. On March 25th at 10:15 PM EST, President Rayburn passed away as a result of a massive heart attack. His leadership in good times and bad was a model and an inspiration. He was my friend and he will be missed.

  However, from that day forward, I have worked tirelessly toward a singular purpose. Our banks and vaults have been looted, our cities have been set ablaze, and our military has been decimated both on land and at sea. Regardless of all of that, my goal, and that of our remaining commanders, has been to strike a retaliatory blow against our illegal UN oppressors and their European masters. I am here to tell you now that we are succeeding in that endeavor.

  At 2:00 AM, just this very morning, I issued two orders. First, I ordered the sinking of all British ballistic and fast attack submarines. Once completed, my second order took effect. At sunrise today, a massive counter offensive was launched by elements comprising the bulk of the assets previously housed at Fort Bragg. Similar engagements are taking place on both coasts with whatever forces we could muster. We will push these UN occupiers back into the sea!

  Here and now, I am calling on all able bodied Americans to stand up and fight for your nation! Resist these invaders at every turn! Fate rarely appears at a time of our choosing, but there is a holy righteousness in this action and I have faith that we will be victorious! You have my solemn pledge that we will not stop resisting. We will continue the battle through the rockets’ red glare and the dawn’s early light until our flag is where it belongs! We won our freedom once, we can do it again.

  To that end, I am calling on all current and former military members. Head into the forests and swamps and use the skills that this nation has provided you. Observe from the craggy mountain tops of the Rockies and Appalachians. Stand guard in the brackish waters of the Mississippi. Coordinate among other bands of Patriots. Resist them at all costs. You have my solemn word, t
hat all freedom fighters will receive complete and unequivocal amnesty for actions committed in defense of THESE United States.

  The following warning goes out to every foreign soldier on American soil:

  Lay down your arms and you will be escorted back to the coast. Units not currently engaged in combat operations have fifteen days to reach the nearest coastal facility and board your ship. Any person found in country after May 15th is to be detained as a foreign combatant and/or shot. Furthermore, all ships are subject to search.

  To every foreign Navy at sea and in port, you have twenty-four hours, until midnight on May 16th, to clear the United States territorial waters and enter international water. Any ship that cannot make that distance is to be sunk. Do not make the mistake of testing our resolve.

  May God Bless you and may God Bless the American people.

  This is President Alan Culpepper, signing off.

  The transmission did not have the full effect that the new POTUS desired. Only the Asian nations heeded the warning and departed. Japan had no desire to see any more of their cities leveled by an American bomb. India, while a nuclear ‘power’ in their own right, had no stomach for the game of chicken that was ensuing. Sarkes’ covert allies were now down to three as a result.

  In a move that would have shocked President Culpepper had he known, the French, Spanish, and the Dutch leadership spoke at length and considered following the lead of India and returning home. When they communicated that they would be staying to ‘assist’ though, the POTUS expressed his sincere gratitude at their willingness to stay the course. The remaining allies were asked to continue to maintain their subversive activities within the back channels until a time of their collective choosing.

  Conversely, as a result of the President’s ultimatum, the UN soldiers were told in no uncertain terms by their governments that they too would not be hampered by articles of war.

  The British Prime Minister, after informing his men that they were to conduct a ground campaign as they saw fit, signed off by saying, “Gentlemen, God speed, happy hunting, and feel free to make a mess of the place.” Then, in an effort to put the soldier’s minds into the proper perspective, he quoted Milton’s Paradise Lost, “Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.”

  * * *

  The handful of folks that were enrolled in the ‘Forward Observer’ course was subject to Hoplite’s rigid standard operating procedures (SOP). These were met with the typical groans and grumbles. However, they were giddy when it came to tactics training.

  Josh took the OP construction to another level when he ‘suggested’ a coastwatcher program. He was not ashamed to admit that he drew his inspiration from on an old Cary Grant movie, not his military history knowledge. At strategic locations ten to fifteen miles from downtown McArthur, he placed his version of the island coastwatchers from WWII. These volunteers would be left in place with enough provisions for three days and then relieved. For communication, Bryan and Chester repurposed and constructed several six-volt battery operated CB radios. The batteries were a ‘gift’ requisitioned from some looters that had cleaned out a sporting goods store shortly after the power outage.

  The weeks following the attempted Chillicothe ransacking saw smaller towns between Columbus and Athens hit one after another. It was like watching domino’s fall in a perfect line of succession straight down Route 33.

  Chapter 13

  May 2023…

  “Nigel,” Brigadier Smythe stated as he entered the Royal Marine communications tent.

  “Good morning, Sir!” the young communications officer answered excitedly. “You’re never going to believe the chatter we picked up overnight.”

  “Really? What have you got?”

  “Remember that convoy that went missing?”

  “You mean that disaster out of Denver where those jihadist idiots torched every city in between? How could I forget that mess, why?”

  “I think we’ve been able to narrow it down to southeastern Ohio. It’s kind of confusing though.”

  “Lay it out for me, Lieutenant,” Smythe replied.

  “Right. We’ve been hearing for months about a refugee camp called Lake Hope. This isn’t that unusual as camps like that have sprung up all over the country. A few weeks back we picked up some bounced signals where we clearly heard about treasure in a tunnel. I had a friend do some searching and it turns out that it’s roughly seventy five kilometers from the firefight that saw the convoy escape.”

  “Indeed. Please continue, Nigel.”

  “Well, I think it went there, sir. Previously, the closest military presence was a National Guard outfit from Rickenbacker Airport and Wright Patterson Air Force Base.”

  “And the tunnel? What’s the connection to that? You need to give me something more if I’m to order a reconnaissance mission to the area. How far is it from here?”

  “I haven’t been able to determine the correlation yet. The Internet isn’t what it used to be since the Yanks servers went offline. However, the military presence and the proximity to the last known whereabouts of the convoy should be enough to warrant a look. Unfortunately, from our location in Charleston here on the coast, that would be seventeen hundred kilometers. For the most part, our eastern landing forces have been hampered by resistance efforts.”

  “I know, I know,” the Brigadier Smythe lamented. “Whitehall greatly underestimated the American propensity to blow things up! Most mountain passes have been closed due to ‘unexplained’ rock slides or piles of trees that mysteriously sprouted in the roadway.

  “So how do you expect me to get a recon team to southeastern Ohio, Lieutenant?” his CO asked.

  “We could flank them with our West Point contingent?”

  “I’d prefer to leave the dragoons where they are for the time being. Any other options?”

  “There’s always the French, sir. Last report had them camped outside Cape Girardeau, Missouri.”

  The man contemplated the statement for a few moments then replied, “Interesting, go on.”

  “They were able to make it that far up the Mississippi. The commander there, a Capitaine Marceau, is half the distance from the park”, the Lt. answered as he placed a map on the old wooden table that was his workstation. “If they went around Louisville and Cincinnati, they could be there in a couple of weeks.”

  “Weeks? That’s a two-day drive at most!”

  “Therein lays the problem, sir,” the comms man replied.

  His CO sighed heavily as he exhaled. Dejectedly, he asked, “No petrol?”

  “Ran out almost a month ago,” the Lieutenant responded. “I’m afraid the Yanks have been quite efficient at sinking and disrupting our ocean going supply lines. Without electricity, the refineries can’t go online and refine what we need. On top of that, sir,” he continued. “The tools required to withdraw the fuel from the underground tanks have been destroyed by their owners before we arrive. It’s like they know we are coming. To say that the locals are being less than cooperative is an understatement. All the Legionnaires do have are confiscated horses and crude wagons.”

  “How very French of them.”

  The Communications Officer smiled.

  “What have we got left?” Smythe asked while striking a more serious tone.

  The man turned and retrieved a ledger from a bookshelf. Inside were handwritten notes regarding UN troop locations, force strength, fuel and equipment status, as well as each unit’s mobility capabilities.

  “You’ll have to forgive the manner in which we’ve resorted to logging our assets. Petrol rationing has affected our ability to keep our tech gear charged.”

  The Brigadier waved it off and started reading. As the man read the contents, he just shook his head. When he finished, Smythe quietly closed the book and laid it on the table.

  As he stood, the Lieutenant asked, “Sir? Your orders?”

  “Nigel, several things are coming into sharp focus. Without the necessary resources, we are the proverbial sitting
duck. Unless we get some reinforcements, we are likely to be thrown out of this county, again. Send a message to the French.”

  “Very good, and Omaha?”

  “I don’t believe one is warranted. She’s next in Presidential succession since the mobs castrated Washington in the first weeks. They actually did us a huge favor when they started to hang Congressmen and Senators from the Capital Dome though.”

  “How’s that, sir?”

  “Two of the men hanging were third and fourth in line for the Presidency after the Vice President. The rest of their precious Congressional body were either shot or scattered into the wind.”

  “How do you learn so much about their government? I’d wager one in ten don’t understand that we have a Parliament.”

  “Know thy enemy, Nigel. Our only salvation may reside in Omaha. Let’s leave her be. She’ll figure out a way to remove the new President in time.”

  “I’ll see that the French are notified,” the Lieutenant said as he saluted the Brigadier.

  As he began to exit, Smythe stopped and turned. He paused a moment while he contemplated.

  “Sir?” Nigel asked. “Anything else?”

  “On second thought, do communicate a message to Omaha.”

  “Very good, sir. What would you like to say?”

  “Remind her that this was a six month operation at best and that her window is closing.”

  “I’ll transmit it myself,” the Communications Officer stated. “If I may be so bold, but what happens when it closes?”

  “That’s when the supplies run out and we are all dead.”

  * * *

  “Oui, Monsieur. Orders received and understood. Over and out,” Capitaine Marceau answered and tossed the mic on the table. Merde, he thought as he pondered the latest request.

  “And what do the English have for us now?” his mother asked as she entered the room.

  “While they sit on the beach and enjoy the sun and surf, we’ve been tasked with traversing half the Midwest to a place called McArthur, Ohio. I was just about to consult the map to see what that journey might be like.”