Foreign Enemies and Traitors

by Matthew Bracken

  “We got the tag number, but it looks like it might be stolen, a fake or a duplicate. It’s a Tennessee plate, but the number doesn’t appear to be current, and it doesn’t match the vehicle.”

  “All right! Wrong tags means they’re dirty, so they’re probably our unknown subjects. Harry, this is looking very promising. Is the on-station Predator armed?”

  “It sure is. Two Vipers and four thirty millimeters.”

  “Good. I want missiles ready to drop anytime I say. I’m coming down to flight ops, so be ready.”

  Director Bullard terminated the call, and then telephoned the leader of his tactical response team. “Jackhammer, what’s your status?” John D. Hamlin was a former captain in the Army Rangers who had come to the rural pacification program from the DEA. He was universally called The Jackhammer, a nickname and a radio call sign that he relished.

  “Leaning forward, sir! We’re locked and loaded and ready to roll.”

  “How long will it take to get your team to the objective?”

  “Twenty-two minutes from when you say go.”

  “Well, I’m saying! Move the team to your forward staging position and stand by.”

  “Roger that, boss. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Let me know when you’re at hold and ready to launch.”

  “Okay, boss. Will comply. Jackhammer out.”

  ****

  The member of the “working group” on audio surveillance duty in the Fort Campbell branch telephone exchange played the call back two times. Dolan? He had heard that name before. Wasn’t Dolan the name of the third man who had come from West Tennessee with Boone Vikersun and Phil Carson? This could be a disaster in the making! This had to be taken care of right away. He made the call to alert the team that they needed to come and retrieve the audio. As instructed, he let the phone ring four times, and hung up.

  ****

  Director Bullard swept through the old gym that housed thirty of the UAV stations, each with dual pilot controls for their two-man crews. Today only about fifteen Predators were up, judging from the level of staffing. Servicing and maintaining adequate numbers of UAVs in flying condition was a chronic problem. He went straight to the former coach’s office that was home to the Reconnaissance Oversight team.

  “Okay, Harry, put me in the picture.” His senior controller had vacated his workstation so that Bullard could drop into the padded chair. A paved road was visible below bare trees on the color video screen. The homes were spread about a hundred yards apart on the curving road, which followed the course of a stream running down Roaring Hollow. It was a clear day, so everything was in sharp focus except where trees obscured the ground. At least it was still winter, and the branches were mostly bare. Come springtime, the rebels would be able to hide from aerial surveillance much more effectively.

  “The crosshair is on the suspects’ house. The three unknown subjects are still there, but we don’t know if anybody else is inside. The SUV that brought them is the only vehicle on the property. It’s parked under a roof attached to the side of the house; you can see the back of the vehicle when the slant angle from the Predator is right. It looks like a white Ford Expedition, an older model. The tag is off a pickup truck with an expired registration. We got the tag number from a snooper pod.”

  “If they’re switching tags, then they’re guilty of something,” said Bullard as he settled into the UAV controller’s seat. “Oh, it’s them, I just know it.” While they watched the live streaming video, a man appeared from the back of the rectangular house, walked to a small outbuilding, and entered it. A minute later he reappeared, carrying what looked like a duffel bag, and walked around to the SUV. They could see that he was moving around the rear of the vehicle, as his form shifted in and out from beneath the roof. Bullard chewed a fingernail and then said, “He’s loading the truck. Probably weapons. They might be getting ready to take off, or they might be splitting up. I don’t like this; I want to keep them all together.” He turned to his assistant, who had accompanied him on this trip to the UAV flight ops center. “Jeff, where’s the tactical team?”

  Jeff Sinclair handed him a portable radio, and Bullard pushed the transmit button. It was a frequency-hopping radio with the latest federal encryption updates installed, and Bullard had no fear at all of being overheard. “Jackhammer, what’s your ETA to the staging area?”

  “Two minutes. We’re three miles out on Highway 79.”

  “What if you bypass your hold and go straight for the objective?”

  The commander of the tactical response team said, “Uh, four minutes, if we skip the hold and run straight in.”

  “Okay, do it. Go straight in. We’re going to wake them up with a Viper. You’ll be collecting the evidence, and taking prisoners if anybody’s still breathing.”

  “Roger that. We’re inbound to the objective, ETA four minutes.”

  Harry, the senior controller, said, “Are you sure you want to use a Viper? That’s almost five pounds of high explosives. We could wait for the tactical team, and drop a thirty millimeter on the backside of the house just as they arrive. That’s only one pound of explosive, just enough to stun everybody inside.”

  “Screw that. We’re going to drop a Viper down the chimney and be done with it. These boys are slippery, and they’re dangerous. I want it over. I want them dead, here and now.”

  “You know, it’s going to break the neighbors’ windows…”

  “Fuck those hillbillies! Do I look like I care? Plus I have to get back for my 0900 staff meeting. I can’t hang around here all day.”

  Harry put up his hands. “Hey, you’re the chief. It’s your call.”

  ****

  Jenny and Zack sat at a corner table in the dining tent. In the center of the tent was a portable wood-burning stove, with a pipe chimney that ran up through a special metal plate in the canvas roof. It was 9:30, and the officers and soldiers belonging to the general’s headquarters company and staff were off doing whatever they did between breakfast and lunch. Hope was in a baby carrier on the folding table, awake and squirming around, but mostly looking at Jenny. Yesterday afternoon, Sergeant Amory had found the gray plastic infant seat and given it to Jenny so that she would not have to carry the baby all the time. This was another unasked-for act of kindness by the black medic. Jenny wondered why he was being so nice to her. It made no sense, but she was grateful nonetheless.

  Last night after dinner, the two teenagers had been interviewed separately by General Mirabeau in his mobile headquarters RV. They had then been allowed to sleep on cots in tents with some of his enlisted troops. Jenny and Hope were put in a tent with female soldiers, who doted on the baby and gave Jenny more tips and advice than she could remember. This morning she had even been able to take a warm shower in a small tent set up just for that purpose. A pipe in the center of the tent contained four showerheads, wooden pallets kept their feet above the ground. The general’s traveling headquarters reminded Jenny of a small circus, which could all be loaded onto a half-dozen Army trucks and moved anywhere. One of his female soldiers told Jenny that the general usually flew ahead on one of his helicopters, and wherever he wanted his traveling headquarters to be, there it would be erected. This week it was in Corinth, because of the refugees.

  The two teenagers were nibbling on cornbread left over from breakfast. Jenny said, “I guess we’re lucky they’re letting us stay here. At least we’re not in the big camp with the rest of the refugees.”

  “You can thank the general for that. Otherwise, we’d be in quarantine.”

  “Why are they doing all of this for us? Just because we brought the pictures?”

  “I think the general likes us,” he said.

  Jenny turned from the baby to look across the table at Zack. “But what’s going to happen when he moves his headquarters? He won’t be staying in Corinth much longer. Do you think they’ll let us go, like he said? Or do you think they’ll make us go to the big refugee camp with everybody else?�
�

  “I don’t know,” said Zack, “but I believed him when he said he’s going to look out for us. No matter what else he is, he’s a good Christian man, I’m sure of that much. He even said he’d pray for us. And you know what? He asked me to pray for him too, and ‘for what’s coming’.”

  “That’s weird,” said Jenny. “Did he tell you what’s coming?”

  Zack hesitated and then replied, “Um, no. Not exactly. He just asked me to pray that everything turned out all right. He seemed pretty worried. I think he has a lot on his mind.”

  “Well, I would guess so. I mean, he’s in charge of most of the South. But he still took the time to ask me about Hope. He actually asked me what I think is best for her. Can you imagine?”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I want to keep her. I told him she’s mine now.” Jenny struggled to find the right words. In her memory she often saw Hope’s frozen mother, back in the ravine. Last night, sleeping on her cot in an Army sleeping bag, she dreamed that she had met Hope’s mother in heaven. Jenny wasn’t sure how she had gotten there, but Hope’s mother was speaking to her. Jenny had strained to hear her words, but could not. Maybe she was asking Jenny to take care of her baby. Jenny thought that she was. But she could not tell Zack about this dream. It was too weird and disturbing, like so much of the past several days.

  But last night, without any hesitation, she had told the general that she wanted to keep the baby. Adults, much less Army generals, rarely listened to teenagers. But then, these were not ordinary times. General Mirabeau had listened to her very carefully, and thoughtfully.

  There was a long silence, and then Zack asked her, “Well, if they let us go, and you keep the baby, where are you going to go next? I mean, where are you going to stay? Are you going back to your uncle’s house, if it wasn’t burned down?”

  “Oh, no! No way. I’m done with Tennessee. I’m never going back. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I’m not going back there.”

  Zack buttered two pieces of cornbread, handed one to Jenny, and took a small bite of the other. “Well,” he finally stammered, glancing between his plate and Jenny’s face, “if you don’t have anywhere else to go…I mean…if you don’t have any other plans, or any other relatives…well, I’ve got a great house, and a couple acres of land. It’s right on the national forest. It’s hidden, so nobody can find it. It’s only about twenty miles west of here, and it’s not in Tennessee. There’s enough food left for a year, and vegetables just spring up out of the ground. And if that’s not enough to eat, the forest is full of deer and wild turkeys and pigs. My dad made our house to be earthquake and hurricane proof, and it’s still there. It’s made from concrete blocks, with iron rebar and cement poured down all the holes. It’s as solid as a fort. It’s even got a water well.”

  Jenny asked, “What kind of well, electric?”

  “Sure, we have one of those, and we have a hand pump too. I mean, I do. You know what I mean. It’s all mine now.”

  She looked directly at him, daring him to hold unbroken eye contact. “What are you trying to say to me, Zack?”

  He blushed a deeper shade and stammered, “Well, I thought…maybe you could come back home with me. Just for a while. Until you decide what you want to do. Maybe you could give it a chance, and just spend some time there until you and Hope get your strength back. You could just rest up and take it easy. There’d be plenty to eat, I promise. And there’s plenty of firewood, so I can keep the house nice and warm until spring. I meant that maybe you could give it a try. Just think about it, that’s all. I’m not asking for any commitments. I mean, I just thought I’d offer, if you don’t have anyplace else to go.”

  Zack was so damned earnest. He hardly ever smiled. Jenny thought it was because he was self-conscious about his crooked front tooth, as if that mattered. Teeth could be fixed, and if not, so what? He was actually a good-looking boy. He had brown eyes the same shade as Hope’s, and thick wavy brown hair that looked very nice now that it had been washed. But much more importantly, he was strong, he was brave, and above all, he was loyal. Jenny deflected his question, which had taken her completely by surprise. “Your house is pretty close to the Tennessee border, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and it has a whole national forest for a backyard.”

  “But is it safe there? That’s where your father was…I mean…”

  “I know. I know. Listen, Jenny, you have to keep a secret. I already asked the general about moving back to my place. I told him it’s in the buffer zone, right near the border. I explained about my father, how he was working with Boone, how he was working with the rebels in Tennessee. He said I was welcome to go back, but not quite yet. I asked him about the foreign troops, and he said he was going to deal with them soon.”

  “He did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s a secret,” said Zack. “At least, he asked me to be quiet about it. But he said they’re going to deal with the foreign soldiers in Tennessee real soon. He said it was because of the massacre. And do you know what else he told me? He said—he said he thinks that God sent us to him.”

  “He told you that?” Jenny’s eyes suddenly welled up.

  “He said that Hope was just like baby Moses, found in the rushes by the Nile. He said it was a sign from God. I’m not kidding. And he said he wasn’t going to let the massacre go unanswered. That’s what he said.”

  “Zack…he told me almost the same thing. I couldn’t tell you, though. He made me promise not to tell anybody. But since he told you too, I guess it’s okay.”

  “Oh Jenny, what’s happening to us? Why is this all happening?”

  ****

  Ira Hayes Gersham had not driven on Highway 79 since last night, but he needed to move his now-empty flatbed D.O.L. salvage truck from its last hiding place to a position closer to Clarksville. Playing three-card Monte with his various cars and trucks was a tedious but necessary part of his work. He was heading eastbound on the two-lane blacktop when he approached the descending right-hand turnoff to Roaring Hollow Road. As usual, he scanned for any signs of surveillance, because this road was the location of one of his safehouses. On the left side of the highway, opposite the T intersection, was an ordinary telephone pole. Fifteen feet up, facing Roaring Hollow, was a gray metal box that was about a foot square. He stared at it as he passed, freezing it in his mind. It wasn’t rusted or greasy; rather, it was shiny and new. No wires or conduits led from it either up or down. Ira had never seen this box before, and this bothered him, because besides having a nearly photographic memory, he was literally a trained observer.

  He knew what it was in an instant, and a shiver ran through him. If he could check the top of the new box, he was certain that he would see a small solar panel, to power a camera and its transmitter. Thirty seconds later, while Ira was digesting the fact that Roaring Hollow Road was now under surveillance, a blur ahead of him resolved into a convoy of black SUVs. Four identical Suburbans and what looked like a brown UPS truck swept past him moving at over seventy miles an hour. Their side windows were opaquely tinted, but the drivers and front seat passengers he had glimpsed through their windshields were all dressed in black. He looked at his side mirrors and saw their red brake lights behind him. Without using turn signals, the line of SUVs and the square delivery van made the turn down Roaring Hollow Road.

  Ira considered pulling over or even turning around to listen and to watch, but he knew that he was still possibly being filmed by the suspected camera back on the telephone pole, or by other cameras that he could not even see. Possibly, he was even being observed by camera lenses thousands of feet above him. If he stopped now, this non-random action might be subjected to scrutiny when the videos were analyzed. He continued driving at the same speed back toward Clarksville and Fort Campbell.

  His pulse was steady and his eyes were forward when he felt and heard the thumping crack of an explosion behind him. He glanced in his side mirror in time to see a black column o
f smoke roiling skyward above the trees down on Roaring Hollow Road.

  They had nailed his safe house. Where had he slipped up? What had been their mistake?

  ****

  Just before noon, most of the key members of the working group met at CW4 Hugh Rogan’s duplex home on base, entering one at a time from the rear. The general had changed to a black and gray Army sweat suit in his office, presumably to visit one of the base’s fitness centers over lunch. From the gym’s parking lot, he had instead jogged just a few blocks to Hugh Rogan’s home. The timing of their meeting was based upon the general’s availability during a brief period when he would not be missed at NORTHCOM headquarters. Phil Carson, Colonel Tom Spencer, Boone Vikersun, Sergeant Major Charlie Donelson, Doug Dolan and, of course, CW4 Rogan were already there.

  They sat around his dining room table, part of an ornately carved mahogany furniture set that Rogan had brought back from Korea after a deployment there. The tabletop was covered with maps, notebooks, papers and laptop computers. The first order of business was transportation and logistics. General Armstead would request a long-range MH-60K Pavehawk helicopter to carry him and his entourage from Fort Campbell directly to Camp David. With external tanks, this version of the Blackhawk could make the 600-mile flight without refueling. The general would get a nonstop ride, and the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment would get rare training hours that came out of NORTHCOM’s budget. CW4 Rogan would steer the somewhat unusual request through channels at the 160th SOAR. Naturally, he would be in the pilot’s seat, along with his choice of copilot and crew chiefs. This mission tasking was slightly out of the ordinary, but three-star generals had a way of getting their requests approved, in consideration for future favors to be rendered. Nobody at the Camp David end of the flight plan would have any notion of its slight irregularity. The origin of the Blackhawk delivering the general and his party to the conference would be irrelevant to them. As far as they were concerned, the only difference would be the helicopter’s tail number.