By the Dawn's Early Light

by David Kershner

  “So are you the bloke that’s been leaving all of the signs?”

  “No, sir. That’d be Colonel Simmons. He’s tasked me with escorting you into town. We are to treat you as pleasantly as you treat us. As a sign of good faith, you are being permitted to hold onto your weapons, albeit unloaded. If it were up to me though, I strip every last one of you UN bastards down to you Fruit of the Looms and march you the rest of the way wearing a damn diaper.”

  The Lieutenant cleared his throat at the pronouncement of Josh’s rank and with the candor being spoken.

  “Did the chap give himself that rank when the jihadist’s turned out your lights?” Sergeant Coker asked under his breath as a dig at the men before him.

  “Ah, no. That would be Colonel Josiah Simmons, United States Marine Corp. I believe he’s more than earned it.”

  “Bloody hell!” the Lieutenant exclaimed.

  “Exactly right,” the camouflaged team leader stated.

  “They told us stories about that guy like he was the boogie man!”

  “Then I guess you better mind your P’s and Q’s.” As an afterthought, he added, “If you’re still around come supper time, that’d be a few hours past your afternoon tea, General Howard should be back from shelling downtown Columbus. You might remember him as the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”

  “Blimey! Anyone else?”

  The leader thought for a second and remembered, “Only President Sarkes.”

  The five British Army soldiers stood in the middle of the abandoned country road stock still and bug eyed.

  “Now, if you men will fall in line, we’ll make the last half mile together. Does your man require a litter? We can whip one up in a few minutes.”

  The Lieutenant glanced over at Corporal Simpkins, who shook his head in reply.

  “That won’t be necessary, but we could do with some water if you have it. This bloody heat is soul crushing.”

  “Certainly, sir,” the team lead responded with a smirk and motioned in the direction of his men.

  The two teams from opposing forces stood alone in the road quenching their collective thirst for the briefest of moments. Silence permeated the group. When a few minutes had passed, the Lieutenant asked, “How come it doesn’t have that purified tablet taste.”

  “We have a number of natural springs in these hills that we are able to utilize. Most everything is boiled. We save the tablets for excursions and patrols.”

  “Good idea,” the CO replied then motioned to the team leader’s uniform. “I see you’ve removed your patches, as well as your insignia.”

  “Yes, sir. We also took down every road sign and landmark within a couple of dozen miles.”

  “We noticed. Might I ask with whom I have the pleasure of dealing with?”

  “Staff Sergeant Isiah Barnes, 37th Engineers, 82nd Airborne.”

  “Interesting.”

  “How’s that Lieutenant?”

  “It’s curious that we stagger into a town that happens to be the new primary residence of a former President, Joint Chief, and an engineering platoon. You blokes might want to cut and run because we know about the gold. This could come as a bit of shock to you chaps, but there will be a follow on force. Just because our unit was unsuccessful doesn’t mean Whitehall won’t keep trying.”

  “Awe, he doesn’t know, Sarge,” one of the Staff Sergeant’s men proclaimed playfully.

  “Know what? What are we not being told?”

  “That’s an excellent question, Lieutenant. You be sure to ask Colonel Simmons when you see him.”

  Barnes turned toward town and gestured, “After you, sir.”

  * * *

  Shortly after 4:00 PM, Philip and his mother, Sophie, were sitting outside Mama Reni’s enjoying a small meal and a glass of homemade wine. At Philip’s request, Layla was asked to join them. Try as he might, she wasn’t interested in any relationship that was anything more than platonic. She was warming to the idea though.

  The trio made small talk, discussed the President’s latest communication and its possible ramifications, as well as the goings-on in the park. Seated next to them sat the newlyweds, Heather and Carlos, and President Sarkes. On the other side was a picnic table that held the three Tin Hatters and Officer Vic.

  As the meal was winding down, Layla noticed the flare in the sky.

  Josh’s daughter casually leaned back in her chair and yelled for her father, “Dad, they’re here!”

  “Roger that,” he replied as he and the Sheriff exited their seats in the shade.

  With no electricity, came no air conditioning. Try as they might, the stagnant July humidity was all encompassing and damn near suffocating. Scott was actively tinkering with the concept of a no-ice evap air conditioner, but was having difficulty resourcing some parts. Until he was successful, Basilia and her roving medical team had taken to stopping in regularly to check on the elderly and make them as comfortable as possible. Water was being boiled, cooled, and consumed as quickly as it was being collected.

  Under a large tree casting a healthy shadow over Main Street, Josh had placed a spare desk from City Hall and positioned a number of chairs around it. The Sheriff bypassed the configuration and went to the center of the road. His friend was only a few steps behind.

  The two stood in silence as they looked west. The rural two lane street turned downhill after passing through downtown so neither man could see the approaching group until they began to crest the horizon.

  “Five men plus Sergeant Barnes’ team,” a sentry from atop the McArthur Hotel called down.

  Josh turned and gave him a nod acknowledging the message and replied, “Call back the other patrols.”

  The shooters stepping into positions from above readied their weapons. He wasn’t going to be taking any chances. It didn’t matter how many or how few there were. Everyone not in a defensive firing position watched with baited breath as they approached, but none moved from their current positions. Josh wanted the town square to look as normal as possible, so it was a calculated risk. Had the UN troops materialized with a larger more significant force, he would have given a different order. Regardless of how languid and docile the scene looked to the casual observer, every single person was armed.

  As the eleven men approached, Sergeant Coker remarked under his breath to his CO, “It’s like an old western on the tele.”

  “Gentlemen, welcome to McArthur. Sgt. Barnes?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Did they behave themselves?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what are they aware of?”

  “Only what I was permitted to inform them of, sir.”

  “Very good. You squad is dismissed. Grab some grub and some shade. Well done.”

  As the six man patrol disappeared into the periphery of Mama Reni’s, Josh looked over the men standing before him. It didn’t take long for him to notice the leg wound on Corporal Simpkins.

  “Corpsman!” he called out and Carlton seemed to appear from nowhere.

  “With your permission, Lieutenant, our medical team is prepared to treat your man.”

  He replied, “You have it, Colonel.” Without looking, he ordered, “Simpkins, go with the medic.” As the pair began heading off, the Lt. added as an afterthought, “But stay where I can see you.”

  Josh inserted, “Before you get treated, give your weapon to one of the other men.”

  Simpkins looked at his CO for confirmation which he received.

  “Do you have need for any other medical attention?”

  “Not at this time,” the weary British officer stated.

  “You can drop your packs and hand your weapons to Sheriff Watson. You will see them returned when your group is fit enough for travel, you have my word.”

  The four remaining soldiers thought long and hard about this decision. Too long for Josh’s liking.

  “Gentlemen, either you drop your gear and hand over the weapons in good faith or I will have no other choice but
to have you shot down in the street,” he declared and gave a wave to the over watch.

  A dozen and half watchers quickly revealed themselves and acquired targets from the assembled group below.

  “We have food, water, showers, cots, and a laundry at your disposal, but you will not take another step in this town with those weapons slung on your backs. Do I make myself clear?”

  The oppressive heat and their collective exhaustion levels seemed to be the ultimate deciding factors.

  Reluctantly, their CO gave the command, “Do as he says.”

  Jim collected the five rifles and disheveled packs. When he began to reach for the CO’s sidearm, Josh stated, “He can keep that.”

  The man nodded and replaced it back in its holster.

  The town leader then turned his attention to the Lieutenant. “If you and your men will follow me, there are more than a few things you need to be brought up to speed on.”

  Josh led the procession over to the desk he had prepared and gestured toward the chairs.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  As the remaining British soldiers took their seats, he introduced himself, “My name is Colonel Josiah Simmons, United States Marine Corps. Up until about three months ago, I was retired. Now, I’m not active duty military per se, but the uniform still fit and these people needed guidance. I can see your ranks so I’ll simply ask your names.”

  The four men straightened up in their seats as their CO made the introductions.

  “In order of rank, we are, Lt. Fitzpatrick, Sergeant Coker, Corporal Watson, our Corporal Simpkins is currently being treated by your medical staff, and the one on the end is Private Waite.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Josh replied earnestly. “Now, do you have any questions or statements of record for me?”

  “Only that we have received your messages and request your assistance on humanitarian grounds.”

  “You have it. Anything else?”

  “We only offer our word that we shall conduct ourselves in accordance with your provisions and that we will depart and return to our unit when all of my men are fit enough to travel.”

  “That might be more of a problem than you think.”

  “Right,” Lt. Fitzpatrick stated. “Your Sgt. Barnes mentioned that I should ask you about that.”

  Josh opened the top drawer and removed a manila folder. He then stood and reached under the desk. One by one, he retrieved his HAM radio, microphone, and a deep cycle battery with a converter. He then walked to the trunk of the tree and grabbed a dangling wire. Josh spent about thirty seconds connecting everything.

  “Lieutenant,” he began as he picked up the folder. “The war is over. You are no longer an invading force or enemy combatants. You and your men are now refugees.”

  On cue, he handed the folder and its contents to Fitzpatrick and explained, “Everything we have heard or intercepted since 06:00 is in that folder. The first two pages are a transcription of a broadcast this morning from President Culpepper. The remaining documents are messages we received confirming the voracity of the message.”

  “And the radio?”

  “I am providing this so that you may attempt to confirm the claims being made. We have nothing to hide.”

  “So that’s it?” Sgt. Coker asked. “We’re done? We can go home?”

  “That’s exactly right, Sergeant. However, you might be hard pressed to make it to the coast before the last of your ships leave port. That being said, you and your UN allies took just about all of the resources you were looking for. However, we managed to use what was left of our naval subs and sever your supply lines. On land… well, you saw what we were capable of. In short, no food and no fuel always equates to a losing campaign. Just like Napoleon and Hitler.

  “Now, as for the radio, we have the ability to hear civilian chatter and limited unencrypted military comms. From what we’ve been able to discern, on our side at least, is that all of the President’s statements are true. The English contingent at West Point was defeated shortly after your departure and Charleston was back in US hands as well. Same thing’s happened on the west coast.

  “One of our men will stay with you for our own insurance as you attempt to confirm our reports.”

  The Lieutenant handed the folder to his sergeant and approached Josh. The three British soldiers, for their part, started eagerly leafing through the folder.

  “Colonel, might I have a word?”

  “Walk with me, Fitz” he replied.

  As the two separated from the remainder from the group, the Lt. asked, “Just how long can we expect your hospitality? I’d hate to wake up one morning and find my men missing parts of their genitalia and hanging from a tree.”

  “Ah,” his host declared immediately understanding the reference. “So am I required course study now at Sandhurst?”

  “How did you –,”

  “Educated guess. A lot of the British officer corps goes through there.” Josh paused and then asked something that had been gnawing at him for years. “You know, that’s not the first time someone has referenced that. I’m curious, what exactly are they trying to teach using that event?”

  “It’s used primarily as a deterrent for the enlisted men. Better keep your trousers on or Colonel Simmons will turn you into a eunuch,” he concluded as he imitated one of his instructors. “For the officers though, it was more of a warning to keep an eye on our men and recognize when someone is too close to the edge.”

  Josh closed his eyes and turned his face to the blazing afternoon sun as he took in the deepest of breathes.

  “I see,” he replied and he brought his head back down to look at the Lieutenant. “Your contingent is welcome here until your man is fit for travel. However, should you forget the provision which has gained you entry, you’ll be sent on your way sooner.”

  The British officer thought for a few moments before continuing the conversation. “I believe you’re right. We’ve been abandoned here. That being said, how do you imagine that we make it to the coast? And, once there, how are we to return home?”

  “First thing I’d tell you is that you will need to ditch the uniforms and UN insignia. Those’ll get you shot, especially crossing the Appalachians. Baltimore harbor is about three hundred and seventy five miles due west of our position. Averaging twenty ‘clicks’ a day, you and your men should be there in about two and half weeks. If you’ve got anything to trade you might be able to procure a horse and wagon and cut your time in half. But that’s not you biggest problem.”

  “Excusing my candor, sir, but that seems like a bloody large obstacle. What am I missing?”

  “Your accents and funding to book passage. You want to get back to the other side of the Atlantic, it’s gonna cost you.”

  Dumbstruck, Fitzpatrick muttered, “Bloody hell,” under his breath. “What’s considered a tradable item?”

  “Food and provisions are always tops on everyone’s list, but your team has none. After that comes security in the form of bullets and weapons or services rendered. Labor is pretty high up there too.”

  “Services rendered? Define that please.”

  “The small towns that were able to survive are starting to set up trade routes. Unfortunately, trading isn’t exactly the safest occupation just yet. Some merchants need help getting things to and from the Ohio River in Pomeroy so they can be floated from Pittsburgh to Cincinnati and all the places in between. Your men could sign on as a security detail. Or there are people looking to hire on folks for protection. We may have kicked the UN forces out, but most of our prisons were emptied. Again, not one of the safest places on the planet to be right now.”

  “Tell me about labor, something local,” the Lt. wondered.

  “Harvest will be here before we know it and most of the diesel needs to be used sparingly. If you can stretch some farmer’s fuel savings by helping in the fields, you could earn something that might get you on a boat.”

  “I believe all of the men are bachelors. Should
they decide to stay, would they be welcome?”

  “No loved ones back home?

  Before the Lieutenant could answer, a rider made the turn onto Main Street behind them. The clacking of the horses gallop on the pavement stopped the conversation immediately. The pair turned as the rider steered the horse directly toward them.

  The man on horseback slowed the beast as he retrieved a folded message from his shirt pocket. He slapped it into Josh’s outstretched hand as he trotted by and headed toward the livery.

  He quickly unfolded the paper and began reading. Within seconds his face flushed. His entire being filled with a rage he hadn’t felt in more than decade.

  Without warning he abruptly turned and barked, “Philip, Hoplite! Grab your gear! You got two minutes!”

  The two bolted from their seats at Mama Reni’s and the town immediately became a flurry of activity. Many onlookers wondered aloud what in the world was going on. No one had ever seen Josh’s demeanor change on a dime. No one had ever heard him issue a command with the volume and tone being exhibit in the street. For those within earshot, there was no misunderstanding that something had gone horribly wrong.

  Jim immediately stopped his inspection of the British packs and rushed from of the Sheriff’s office. When his friend saw him exit, he began quickly walking toward him. Without saying a word, Josh handed him the note and headed toward the deuce parked up the street.

  Samantha heard the commotion and exited the restaurant as purposefully as the Sheriff had flown out of the station.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Heather and Layla who were still standing out front with Sophie.

  “No idea,” her step-daughter replied. “A rider just came through town and handed him a message. One second Dad’s talking to the Lieutenant and then he starts giving commands.”

  “Stay here,” Sam said as she side-stepped the girls.

  “Josh? What’s going on? Talk to me,” she implored him as she approached.

  Without thinking, he blurted, “That little bastard survived the shelling. He’s got Katherine… and I’m gonna kill him!”

  COMING SOON!