by King, Ryan
“Sir, Captain Meeks directed I report to you that we just received word from Captain Green in the south,” said the boy out of breath. “The Tennessee ships passed by their position and they could do nothing to stop them although they got a lot of good shots off. The distance was just too great. Central Region is going to try to slow them some more when they pass under the big bridge at Route 68, but they likely won’t stop them either. Says he wants you to know that time is limited, and whatever you need to do, do it quick..”
“Thank you private,” said David. “Tell Captain Meeks that we will be ready and also request that you be assigned as the runner between us so I might keep him regularly informed of our situation.”
“Yes, sir,” said the private, who saluted and then ran off at a lope.
David sighed and wished his father was there to see him. He might be proud of me, thought David wishfully.
He went to prepare his men as best he could.
Chapter 15 – A Desperate Plan
Although every fiber of General Anderson’s being screamed for him to get up and start moving, to start issuing orders, he resisted the impulse and sat appearing outwardly calm and patient while Lieutenant Beau Myers finished giving him his report. When Myers finished, Anderson clearly saw what must be done, but first he had to take care of other business. He knew that in times of extreme conflict and strife, men usually showed their true colors and maybe his initial impression of Beau Myers as a clueless screw-up wasn’t completely fair. Heck, I only sent him on that all important mission because he was the only officer around at the time.
“Very good report, Lieutenant Myers,” said Anderson to the pensive young man in front of him. “But why exactly did you feel it was so important to rush back here to tell me this information? The soldiers tell me you made them pull over so you could drive since they evidently weren’t going fast enough. Told me you nearly got them killed in the process.”
Beau looked flabbergasted and was at first without any words. “Sir, the force on the river going north-”
“There’s nothing we can do about that,” interrupted Anderson. “Our comms are down and they’re too far away. We just have to hope and pray for the best and that Colonel Taylor and his men are ready. Is there any other reason you were in such a hurry?”
Beau again looked concerned. “Sir, those tanks.”
“What about them?” asked Anderson inwardly tense.
Beau thought for a moment before speaking. “Sir, we don’t have anything that can stop those tanks. They would roll right over us, we’d be crushed meat to them.”
“So?’ asked Anderson.
“But, sir!” Beau nearly yelled, forgetting his courtesies. “They’re all in disarray from the tornadoes, maybe not for long, but for now. We could race in there and destroy those tanks before they could use them against us!”
Anderson smiled openly at Beau and let a breath out, “Exactly. Well done. Do you know there’s probably not many soldiers who would have gotten the tactical significance of what you saw, but you did. How did this all come to you?”
Beau looked relieved and confused at the same time and said, “I’m not sure sir, it just seemed right.”
“Just seemed right, huh?” asked Anderson. He squinted at the young man for a moment. Lieutenant Myers reminded Anderson of his own son. They would be about the same age. Anderson hadn't pushed any of his children towards the military, but had secretly and in vain hoped his son would one day become an officer.
This is not your son, he reminded himself. Do what is best for your country. Anderson made a quick decision and said without ceremony, “Lieutenant Myers, I hereby promote you to Captain. Go find some rank and then get back here.”
Beau looked flustered, turned to leave, then turned back and started to salute and then turned back again.
“Get!” yelled Anderson and smiled as Beau ran off down the hall at a sprint. Anderson turned and called for an orderly outside to summon the Commander of the National Guard Engineer Battalion responsible for their current sector. Approximately ten minutes later the Battalion Commander and his Sergeant Major reported. Anderson quickly briefed them on what Myers had seen concerning the tanks and the disarray the tornados had caused.
“Colonel,” said Anderson, “I want a task force from your battalion to attack and destroy those tanks as quickly as possible and just as quickly to get back over here. We’re not looking to engage enemy or win any battles, just take care of the tanks. Do you understand?”
"Begging your pardon, sir," said the Sergeant Major, "but won't we be starting a war? I thought we were trying to avoid that."
"War's already started," growled Anderson, "and we nearly missed it. They've invaded in force to the east. We have to do what we can to help them."
“Sir, if it's all the same to you,” said the commander with concern on his face, “I’d really rather not risk my men on such a mission.”
Anderson’s face showed surprise, “You’d rather not. Well, hell, why didn’t you say so. In that case do it the fuck anyway!” Anderson roared.
Both the commander and the sergeant major looked shocked.
“Both of you get a few things straight,” continued Anderson with a fierce gaze. “First, your unit will conduct this mission, after all, you are in the military. Second, those tanks could destroy this entire army, we have nothing that can even slow them down. And third, we have a very narrow window of opportunity to do something about them.” Anderson paused and gazed each of them in the eye allowed his heart rate to slow. “Do you understand?”
The two men nodded solemnly and the commander began to speak, possibly to apologize, but Anderson knew there wasn’t time. He continued, “I suggest you send a reinforced platoon at least, in several trucks. Speed will be key. Try to bypass any resistance, you don’t want to get bogged down.” Anderson saw that they understood. “Now, how do you plan to destroy those tanks?”
The Battalion Commander looked momentarily uncertain, but the Sergeant Major spoke up. “Sir, we disengage the halon fire control systems, pop thermite grenades into the engine compartment, and run like hell. That should start a fire and also set off the tank rounds in the ammo compartments.”
“Do we have thermite grenades?” asked Anderson.
“Well no,” admitted the Sergeant Major, “but we probably don’t need them. Turn off the halon, pour diesel all over the inside and the tank rounds, maybe throw some rounds onto the engine for good measure and then set the whole thing ablaze. Could probably put some C4 from a few of the claymores into the tank barrels so there’s no way they can be used again just to be sure.”
“Very good,” said Anderson, satisfied. About that time Beau Myers returned out of breath, wearing captain’s rank.
“Captain Myers here will serve as guide to the location of the tanks,” said Anderson. “He saw the area from the air and knows the lay of the land. He is an advisor only, your designee is in charge. Speaking of which, who will lead the mission?”
Before the Battalion Commander could answer, the Sergeant Major grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear.
“What is it?” asked Anderson, annoyed.
“Sergeant Major Givens here would like to lead the mission,” said the Commander. “And it makes sense. He’s a veteran combat engineer and grew up in north Tennessee. He should lead the mission.”
“All right then,” said Anderson. “Again, speed is the key. I know you would like more time, but I want you to depart here no more than one hour from now, earlier if you can.”
“Yes sir. With your permission…” asked the Sergeant Major, indicating the need to get moving.
“By all means,” said Anderson. “And good luck. We need to destroy those tanks, otherwise…well I don’t want to think about what happens if we don’t.”
“I understand, General,” said the Sergeant Major as he and his commander strode out the door. Anderson turned and saw Myers looking at him expectantly.
“Damn it man,
go with him!” said Anderson in annoyance as he felt the time melting away. Myers took off in a flash after the Sergeant Major.
“And for goodness sake don't do anything to get yourself killed!” yelled Anderson after him.
Chapter 16 – The Assassin
Walter Beale always knew he was destined for greatness. Life had been hard and filled with disappointment, but things were starting to look up. Gabriel had called and told him it was time. He was so jittery with excitement that it felt like electricity was coursing through his body.
After Gabriel recruited him for this unique mission, it took time for him to make his way carefully east out of the WTR. Walter had then turned north at least a hundred miles from Nashville. He traveled for several days, made his way back west again towards Camp Beaver on the JP’s eastern border. It hadn’t been too difficult for a handyman like Walter to get into the JP. Getting in was easy compared to keeping his satellite phone hidden and finding a time to check it regularly.
Walter discovered that satellite phones didn’t work as shown in the movies. You had to find an open area with clear sky lines and stand still for sometimes as long as five minutes to acquire signal. Walter did this every few days after crossing into the JP and had almost grown weary of living among these traitors, but a week ago the signal arrived. The words “OPS POPULUS” waited on the green display once the phone gained signal strength.
Walter and Gabriel decided upon the coded message for the mission together. It was Latin and roughly translated into “power to the people.” This was a play on words meant to include not only political, economic, and military power, but also actual electricity that the JP was hoarding.
Gabriel was a godsend to Walter. He had never really fit in anywhere or been accepted, but Gabriel understood him like no one since his late mother. The old man was wise, understanding, and most importantly, did not think Walter’s ideas or dreams were dumb or ridiculous as everyone else did. It was Gabriel who convinced him he had a destiny, one that would make him famous for generations to come.
Movement interrupted Walter’s thoughts and he re-focused his attention to the figures emerging from the little house on the lonely Murray street. He was cold and hungry from days of sleeping outdoors and hiding, but it was almost over. He looked again and counted three men leave the house, the last of the group Walter saw enter several hours earlier. It was now only the traitor and his wife. If he could spare her, he would, but he wouldn’t lose any sleep if he had to kill her too.
Dusk was fast approaching and he watched the wife through the window as she lit an oil lamp and appeared to be preparing food. At the same time, the old man came out onto the back patio and sat down alone facing away from Walter's cover. The time was now.
Walter looked both ways and then crossed the street casually walking to the side of the house. He took a moment to gather his racing heart and pull out the revolver. The enormity of the moment was almost too much for him, only a few people in the history of the world had ever killed a president or national leader, and all of them were famous. Walter Beale was about to be one of them.
He said a quick prayer for success and then glided around the edge of the house onto the patio. President Reggie Phillips sat there smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and watching the fading light. This is the last sunset he will ever see, Walter thought.
Gabriel’s instructions were clear. Walk up, shoot the President in the chest until the gun was empty, drop the gun, and walk away. No words, no discussion, no theatrics. Walter couldn’t help himself.
“President Phillips,” said Walter jocularly.
The old man started which filled Walter will glee and a sense of power.
“Who are you?” Phillips asked, but when he saw the gun, fear flickered in his eyes.
Walter smiled, “A patriot, a free man representing a whole nation of free men who will not be kept in servitude by you or your like any longer. Power to the people. Ops Popu…” He stopped as he saw Phillips’ eyes dart to Walter’s rear.
He spun with the gun outstretched; saw a blur of movement just before excruciating pain filled his face and head. Walter dropped to the ground, but managed to fire his pistol at the unknown assailant before everything went black.
Chapter 17 – Overrun
Jim Meeks sensed right away that they were in deep trouble. The armada showed up on Barkley Lake nearly to the minute they thought it might.
David and his platoon started to engage the large transports with carefully aimed gunfire as the dozen faster boats raced up and began spraying their positions with machine gun fire from their mounted weapons.
The JP soldiers tried to target the boats, but they were moving too fast and in order to even take a single shot, shooters had to make themselves vulnerable to the swarm of bullets in the air. At least five of Jim’s men were already wounded.
Jim kept moving and taking quick looks over the edge. He saw that one of the transports had landed on the north end of the park directly across from them and troops were running off the boat carrying equipment and weapons. He also saw that the rest of the transports were attempting to land on the east side of Barkley Lake on David’s flank. David’s men were harassing these vessels, but were taking heavy casualties in turn.
Even in the din and smoke of the fight, Jim felt a moment of pride for his men. He had known nearly all of them for years. Although it was hell and chaos around them, they maintained their composure, tended wounded comrades, kept their heads down, and fired back when they could. Jim supposed that this was not his men’s first rodeo, given that they had endured numerous prison riots and even one bloody prison takeover and subsequent crackdown. He wondered if David’s soldiers were fairing as well. They were taking the brunt of the attack and were not as seasoned as Jim’s men. He was just about to send a squad of his men to help when he spotted something that made him change his mind.
While taking a quick peak over the concrete edge he saw another flotilla of small armed speed boats and more transports coming around the right edge of the park from the Kentucky Lake side.
Jim groaned. He wasn't surprised but had hoped it would only be one attack they faced. He studied the new force carefully and in that effort forgot himself. He felt a sharp pain on the side of his head and fell back onto the pavement. He feared the worst, and blood appeared to be everywhere, but when he reached up to his head he didn’t find any holes or fragments, only a graze along his skull. He was lucky, luckier than probably about ten of his men, he noticed with dismay.
A medic ran over to him, but Jim waved the man away saying he was alright. The medic insisted on throwing a bandage around his head to at least slow the bleeding. Once this was done, Jim peeked back over the edge and saw additional speed boats also firing at their position, keeping them pinned down. He noticed that the new troop transports were dispersing all of their troops on the north end of the park. He then saw something that truly scared him. The soldiers who had landed from the first transport had been busy in the edge of the woods and appeared to have set up several mortar tubes.
Good grief! thought Jim. As if the machine guns weren’t enough. “Take cover!” he screamed as he ran the length of the dam, “Incoming! Incoming!” Jim had never said those words in his life, but in all the war movies they yelled this when artillery was coming in, so he figured it was okay. The men seemed to understand immediately because they dove under vehicles or any other solid shelter they could find. Jim reached the east end of the position and was yelling in David’s direction when he heard several muffled “whumfs.”
“Oh hell,” said Jim. He looked up and could actually see the projectiles in flight. The sight was so amazing that he nearly got caught looking before diving under a large pallet of sheet metal. A moment later he heard explosions high above them followed by thousands of dings, strikes, and thumps all around and over him as if some giant had thrown down a double handful of gravel. He knew it wasn’t gravel as he heard the screams of his men.
Jim decide
d there was nothing they could do. Between the machine gun fire, the airburst mortars, and the overwhelming number of men rapidly outflanking them, they had to retreat into the dam complex and try to make a stand there.
Jim turned to David’s position to give him the order to withdraw, but saw nothing but smoke, blood, and dead bodies. Enemy troops were already at the other end of the road running across the dam and were advancing their way. Jim let out an audible moan over the loss of David and his men, but knew he couldn’t dwell on it. He quickly passed the word for everyone to withdraw inside.
Jim was headed in when he remembered the TA312 phone outside which ran south to where Nathan and Harold were. He almost disconnected it, but then wound the phone crank and picked up the handset. It seemed like forever before someone answered and it was neither Nathan nor Harold.
“Hello,” said a maddeningly calm voice. “Corporal Evans here, how may I assist you.”
“This is Captain Jim Meeks, get me either the Commander or Deputy Commander right now!” yelled Jim.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the polite and cheerful voice. “Neither is available at the moment.”
“You find them now!” yelled Jim.
“Again, I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t. They’re not expected back any time soon,” explained the corporal.
Jim almost screamed, but knowing he only had moments left calmed himself and said, “Corporal, pass along to them that Captain Meeks is being overrun by forces on both the Barkley and Kentucky Lakes side by fast boats with medium machine guns, probably about two dozen. They’ve also got maybe six hundred men and have already seized the east end of the dam road and the top of the locks. We’re pinned down with mortar fire. I’m withdrawing into the dam and will try to hold, but it doesn’t look likely. Do you have all that, Corporal?” Jim screamed in a rush.
“Yes sir, I do,” said the Corporal, not nearly so cheerful, “but you should hopefully see Colonel Taylor and Lieutenant Colonel Buchannan soon.”
