Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent

by Joe Nobody

  The general sighed and looked his officer in the eye. “Just continue with what you’ve been doing, Owen. Prepare your forces for the worst, and hope for the best. There’s nothing more anyone can do right now.”

  West Virginia

  December 22, 2015

  The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows was something a man never tired of. The rolling West Virginia mountains, trailing off into the distance provided an air of stability, of long-weathered resistance to time and change.

  Senator Moreland’s thin frame was partially submerged in the cushions of his favorite chair; a steaming cup of afternoon tea sitting nearby was taking second place to the scene he would always cherish. A wonderful aroma drifted past, sure evidence that Wayne was supervising work in the kitchen. The honorable gentleman didn’t even have to glance at his watch or the nearby antique grandfather clock to know it was approaching dinnertime.

  At the moment, the ridge-top estate was quiet, but these days, that was the exception. Since the location had become the headquarters for the Independents’ movement, solitude had been in short supply.

  In addition to every spare bedroom and the guesthouse being occupied, several large class-A motor homes resided on the grounds. One member of the management team had commented that Senator Moreland’s remote home had been transformed into a state park campground. In addition to the leadership council that included several ex-members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Supreme Court and numerous academics, Wayne directed a considerable security force that occupied the area. Moreland shivered, thinking of those hardy souls who spent the majority of their time outside during these winter months. It would take a determined military effort to breach the once private abode.

  The long-serving politician hadn’t started the Independents as a rebel force. There had been no campaigns of treachery or subversion. His original concept had been to organize an alternative political party and to work within the laws of the land. Then the world had collapsed, terror attacks nudging an already crippled nation over the abyss. Despite martial law and the deployment of military forces, the federal government couldn’t control the country.

  The Independents had stepped up, more to fill a vacuum of leadership than to seize power. As time went on, the president of the United States had made bad decisions and committed unlawful acts, including launching nuclear weapons against foreign powers without congressional approval. The leaders of the Independents had found themselves with no choice but to try to gain control of the country and initiate change.

  Looking back now, Senator Moreland was still unsettled by how quickly lines had been drawn, forces aligned, and a hot civil war had broken out. Thousands of men had died in the initial clashes, and for a while, it appeared as if tens of thousands more would be thrown into the fray.

  Someone at Fort Bliss had made an attempt on the president’s life. Moreland had been preparing to present the exact same plan to the council - his initial reluctance of considering such a heinous act overridden by the carnage of American soldiers on the battlefield in Louisiana. Before he could convene the small group and put the proposal to a vote, word arrived of an assassination attempt. Someone had beaten him to the punch.

  Moreland shook his head, trying to imagine the bedlam at Fort Bliss. Military bases were known for their calm, orderly presence—a strict society of discipline. Bliss would have been chaos.

  Whoever had organized the coup attempt had been exceedingly crafty. The few personnel on the base who were loyal to the Independents had been easily recruited—duped by a charlatan into thinking their own organization wanted to eliminate the chief executive. Such is the weakness of a clandestine union, thought Moreland. Imposters are practically impossible to identify.

  The small drips of real information coming out of Bliss that day had been confusing. At first, Moreland believed someone in his chain of command jumped the gun and actually gave the order. It was some time before enough information leaked out to paint a clear picture of what had happened. Even then, the intelligence received indicated that the Commander in Chief had not only survived, but had vanished. Neither side knew where the man was. Some days later, more facts surfaced, and other details slowly drifted in. These included an account of a massive manhunt and a purging of any men at the base suspected of being part of the Independents. The next day, word had arrived that the president had died in some little-known Texas town over 100 miles from Bliss. Little was known of the circumstances that eventually led to his death.

  The senator sighed, exasperated by the bloodshed and senseless death. Without anyone in charge, the two armies facing each other would eventually cross swords. His hands were tied—the leadership of the Independents powerless. There wasn’t even anyone on the other side to negotiate with—at least, not yet. Even if the two opposing forces held their positions, every moment that passed meant the American people were suffering. That was the worst part—the tens of millions malnourished and ill. They deserved better.

  Wayne appeared at his side, clearing his throat to announce his presence. “Senator, my read on your melancholy mood is that a light dinner would best suit your needs. Would some fresh, baked bread and a light soup be agreeable, sir?”

  “Wayne, my old friend, yet again, you read me like a book. That would be prefect.”

  “If you like, Senator, I can set up a table in here. The sun will be setting soon.”

  “That would be fine, Wayne. And please join me this evening, won’t you?”

  “Of course, sir, as you wish.”

  Wayne set up a small dining area for two, including wine, fresh bread, real butter, and an excellent corn chowder. Senator Moreland said grace, and then proceeded to unfold his napkin as his assistant began to cut the bread. The squawk of a walkie-talkie interrupted the meal.

  “Wayne.”

  “Sir, we have an inbound aircraft that is not following procedure.”

  “A single aircraft?”

  “Yes, sir. The bogie is approaching from the southwest on a direct vector. ETA is 12 minutes. Speed indicates it is a rotary unit.”

  Wayne flashed his boss a look of concern. “Are you expecting anyone this evening, Senator?”

  “No, Wayne. I was looking forward to some peace and quiet.”

  The assistant’s vision automatically focused out the large windows, a futile attempt to visualize the oncoming threat. Without his gaze leaving the sky, he held up the radio and instructed, “Scramble five, but do not intercept unless there is a positive identification of a gunship. Let any other type of aircraft land or pass by.”

  The voice on the other end of the transmission repeated back Wayne’s instructions, and then acknowledged the orders.

  “Senator,” Wayne began, “we should consider moving you to the basement, sir.”

  “Do you think that necessary?”

  “I think it prudent, sir. Necessary is difficult to say.”

  Moreland sipped his soup and then chewed a mouthful of bread. After dabbing his chin with the napkin, he responded. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Wayne. While I appreciate your diligence as my head of security, I’m too old to go running to the cellar every time there’s a storm cloud in the sky.”

  “You’re probably right, sir. Still, I would appreciate it if you prepared yourself to move that direction quickly.”

  The senator nodded, enjoying more of the soup.

  A few minutes later, Wayne detected armed men taking up positions around the main house. While he couldn’t see them, years of military training led him to expect that several more were getting ready in the nearby woods.

  A small black speck, complete with blinking lights, appeared in the darkening, gray sky to the southwest. Moving up the valley toward the senator’s estate, the single helicopter appeared to be taking the most direct route, the pilot clearly unaware that he was being tracked by two shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles of the latest design. Wayne’s radio squawked again, “Sir, the aircraft is not, repeat not, a gunship. It appears to
be a non-military, government helicopter with 2-4 passengers aboard. From our vantage point, all occupants appear to be wearing civilian clothing.”

  Wayne looked at his unflappable employer and shrugged. Moreland returned the gesture after his sip of wine.

  Almost directly in front of the diners, the craft flared its nose and began a gradual descent onto one of the few flat landing areas available in the hilly terrain.

  Before the rotors stopped spinning, two men and a woman, all in business suits and overcoats, departed the craft and began stretching their stiff legs and spines. Their rumpled appearance was what would be expected of tired travelers having just flown quite a distance in the cramped confines of the small helicopter. Wayne looked at his boss and announced, “I’ll greet our guests.”

  Moreland raised his glass of wine in salute.

  A few minutes later, Wayne could be heard welcoming the newcomers into the formal living room. Drifts of conversation made it to the senator’s ears, but he couldn’t discern clearly enough to know what was being said. Before long, Wayne appeared again at his side. “There is a Secret Service agent, a congressman I’ve never met, and a senior researcher from the Supreme Court. They claim it’s urgent and wish to speak with you.”

  Moreland snickered, “Are they here to arrest me for treason?”

  Wayne grunted, “No, as a matter of fact, they act as if they are scared of you.”

  “Moi?”

  “Yes, their behavior was … umm, hard to read. Anyway, I told them you were dining and would join them shortly.”

  The senator nodded, and after one more bite of bread, he scooted his chair back and longingly threw one last glance at the sunset. So much for a relaxing evening, he thought.

  On the way to the living room, Moreland noticed five extra security men discreetly entering the residence. He was thankful Wayne wasn’t taking any chances with the visitors, but his inner voice told him the concern was unwarranted.

  Upon entering the room, all three visitors stood immediately, their demeanor reminding Moreland of how soldiers reacted when a general passed by.

  Introductions were made and handshakes exchanged. After everyone was settled, Moreland probed, “You’ll forgive my skipping the pleasantries, but I must ask. What could possibly bring all of you on such a long journey to my remote homestead?”

  It was the woman from the Supreme Court who responded. “Senator, I’m sure you are aware that the president has fallen. You are no doubt also aware, that several senior members of the executive branch as well as the vice president were killed in the rioting. Others simply resigned their posts. The purpose of our visit is to inform you, sir, that you are next in the line of succession.”

  Despite his decades of service in the most exclusive governing body in the world, Senator Moreland couldn’t keep the look of surprise from crossing his face. Glancing up at Wayne, he managed to muster the words, “Imagine that.”

  It took over an hour of discussion for the shock to wear off. The West Virginia senator initially thought a mistake had been made, but the visitors were certain of the legal precedents involved. After discussing the constitutional ramifications, the conversation moved on to the process of swearing in a new president.

  The visiting congressman said, “Senator … err … Mr. President elect, your predecessor’s remains are still at Fort Bliss. There are no surviving family members and very few of the executive staff. A decision needs to be made as to the former chief executive’s formal resting place and the necessary arrangements made. Furthermore, there needs to be a proper swearing in by a justice of the Supreme Court. We can arrange to have one flown to wherever the ceremony is to be held.”

  The Secret Service agent continued, “In addition, sir, I need to provide executive level protection normally afforded to the president of the United States. I will need to deploy my teams as soon as possible.”

  Moreland held up his hands, a gesture designed to stop the conversation. “Please, everyone, please. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful or hesitant, but this is all such an unanticipated surprise. I need some time to digest all of this—to organize my thoughts. Truth be told, Wayne runs the place here, and can easily arrange accommodations. Can we continue this first thing in the morning after I’ve had some time?”

  The three visitors agreed, and after some shuffling of personnel, were shown to rooms in the guesthouse.

  Wayne found his employer in the study, sipping a half-full crystal of brandy.

  Moreland peered over the edge of the glass and remarked, “Well, this is just a fine how-do-you-do. We accidently start a civil war, thousands of good men die, and all for naught? In the end, I was going to be the next Commander in Chief anyway.”

  Wayne smiled at his boss’ analysis. “I wish it were that simple, sir. It’s regrettable that everyone blames the Independents for the attempt on the president’s life. That act has spoiled any possibility of your accepting the presidency.”

  The senator nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. Time has a way of peeling away the layers of deceit from the onion of truth. I didn’t order the assassination of the president, and I think time will clear my name.”

  “Eventually, sir, the truth may come to light. Until then, I can foresee an endless string of legal and political battles raging for years. Even if the culprit who initiated the attempt on the president’s life were exposed, your presidency would still be poisoned. Your political opponents would constantly be snapping at your heels and asking difficult questions. Questions like, ‘Since you were actively involved in a direct action against the government, did you automatically sacrifice your office as a US senator, and thus, your place in the line of succession?’ You must have considered how nagging debates over such formalities could cripple your ability to effectively govern. And in this social and political environment such scrutiny and impending investigations would seriously hamper the recovery of our great nation.”

  Moreland responded, “You’re probably right. There’s another issue as well. What about the Independents? Will they view this turn of events as my defecting to the other side? Will the council choose to support my presidency, or would they choose another leader and continue to fight the established government?”

  Wayne sighed, “This is a can of worms, sir.”

  “A barrel full of monkeys, more like.”

  The assistant retorted, “A minefield, perhaps?”

  The senator smiled at his old friend’s game of cliché one-upmanship. “All of the above,” he closed.

  “You’re being paranoid, Bishop,” was Terri’s initial reaction. “We’re right here in the middle of an army base. I can’t think of anywhere safer.”

  “Terri, you’re probably right, but what will it hurt? I’m sure the general won’t notice having to clean another room. We’ll spend the night across the hall and leave in the morning. I’ll sleep better this way.”

  Terri shook her head. “Just because some people looked at you funny and the colonel has his conspiracy theories?”

  Bishop looked at his wife with a pained expression. “I’ve got to go with my gut on this one. Again, what will it hurt? It’s not like the base has a shortage of rooms right now.”

  Reluctantly, Terri agreed.

  While Terri was preparing for bed, Bishop pulled the multi-tool out of his pack and began working. His first task was to study the doorstop. The spring-like device was screwed into the baseboard, extending just far enough to keep the knob from punching a hole in the wall’s plaster.

  Terri sauntered out of the bathroom to discover her husband on his hands and knees, grunting and straining. “What are you doing, Bishop?”

  “I’m setting up a little alarm system. I’ll deactivate it tomorrow before we leave.”

  Bishop used the pliers on the multi-tool to snip off the end of the doorstop. This provided a tube-like opening where the door would strike when opened. Next, Bishop took a single round from one of his rifle magazines and inserted it in the tube. Th
e snug fit provided would hold the cartridge in place.

  Bishop removed a medium-sized wood screw from the back of the nightstand. After verifying the hallway was empty, he carefully marked where the door would meet the base of the cartridge.

  The wood screw was torqued into the door precisely on the mark. Finally, using the saw blade, the head of the screw was removed. Bishop filed the metal to a sharp point.

  He motioned Terri over to see his handiwork. “If someone busts in through that door, the point of the screw will strike the primer on the cartridge. It will be like a firing pin striking a normally loaded round in any firearm. The entire building will hear the boom.”

  “What if they don’t open the door all the way or gently push it open?”

  Bishop shook his head, “The locks on this door will require a fast breach, and that translates into a violent entry. Even if they had a master key for the main lock, there’s still the deadbolt and chain to deal with. Defeating those takes time and creates noise – both can be deadly for the intruders. If they’re coming in, it will be hard and fast. Besides, if they’re breaking in, standard procedure dictates that the door is always pushed open all the way to make sure no one is standing behind it.”

  Terri, standing with her hands on her hips, still wasn’t convinced. “If they’re going to be so loud coming in, why do you need the bullet then? Won’t we hear them anyway?”

  Bishop nodded. “Yes, if we were staying in this room, we’d definitely hear them coming. Since we’re going to be across the hall, there’s no guarantee. If they have the right equipment, their entry might not be that loud. Besides, the shell exploding will cause them to pause. Not for long, but they will hesitate, thinking someone is shooting at them. That might buy us a little more time.”

  The couple went about their normal routine for the rest of the evening, finally getting ready for bed around 10 p.m. Terri turned out the lights while Bishop quietly gathered their belongings. After confirming the hall was still clear, they snuck into room #12.