Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset

by James Hunt

  “How are you feeling?” Howard asked.

  Eric mulled it around, tossing his head from side to side, contemplating the past two days.

  “At the time, going against my orders to abandon the Southwest seemed like a good idea, but looking back, I probably should have weighed my options a little more,” Eric answered.

  “Don't think you're out of the woods yet. Once that IV bag runs out, I'll need to get you up to speed on a few things,” Howard said.

  “Actually, I was hoping to use some of my vacation time this week, but with me being branded as a deserter, I don't know who to go to for the approval process. You think you could work something out for me?”

  Captain Howard pulled something out of his pocket, hiding it in his fist. He walked over to the bed and dropped Eric's pilot wings into his lap.

  “That's the best I can do for now,” Howard said.

  Eric picked the pin up gingerly between his fingertips. Those wings were better than any medicine the nurses could pump through his veins. He closed his eyes, forming a protective fist around the pin. Howard turned to leave, and he was just at the door when Eric opened his eyes.

  “Oh, Captain, one more thing. Do you think I could get a female nurse? While I enjoy a good man-handling as much as the next pilot, I think my recovery could use a more... delicate touch?” Eric asked.

  “I'll see you at the briefing.”

  ***

  A new uniform, pressed and spotless, lay on Eric's bunk. A towel hung around his waist, and water dripped by his feet. The shower was with frigid salt water, but it made him feel like a new man.

  Eric studied the uniform on his bed, wondering what all those stripes and bars meant now. He'd spent the last decade committed to upholding the country's constitution, protecting its citizens, and following orders. Well, following orders most of the time.

  The moment he chose to stay behind after the president’s order to abandon San Diego, he had been locked up, along with anyone else who opposed the decision. Just a reminder that while the decisions he made as an officer were always in the best interest of his duty to protect American citizens, the Pentagon’s was to protect the nation as a whole. Until yesterday, those ideals had never collided.

  A representation of that dedication was his uniform. It symbolized what he stood for, what he did with his life. He opened his hand. His wings had been clenched in his fist ever since Captain Howard gave them back to him. He pulled the shirt up and pinned the Navy aviator insignia to the fabric.

  After dressing, Eric made his way down to the conference room where Captain Howard waited. When he stepped inside, all eyes turned to him. Everyone stood and saluted.

  “If you guys were trying to throw me a surprise party, you did a terrible job,” Eric said.

  Laughter rippled through the room, and Eric caught a glimpse of a smile crack across the legendary stone face of Howard.

  Eric knew what these men and women were offering. It was their respect. And even though he enjoyed hiding behind the smart quips, his humor was betrayed by the glistening redness in his eyes.

  “Now that everyone's here, we'll get started,” Captain Howard said.

  The lights dimmed in the room, and a projection of the Mexican border along California, Arizona, and New Mexico appeared.

  “We received intelligence that the Mexican military is planning on invading at three points. A group of forces is gathering in the Baja Peninsula, just south of Arizona in Sonora, and south of New Mexico in Chihuahua,” Howard said, pointing at each location on the map with a laser pen.

  Eric leaned over to the pilot next to him and kept his voice low when he spoke. “You better hope you don't get sent to New Mexico. Those little dogs might not look like much, but they are mean.”

  Howard clicked forward to the next slide. A picture of General Gallo appeared. He looked as stony as Captain Howard, refusing to smile.

  “General Gallo is their lead military strategist. He is a student of war and is hell bent on reclaiming Mexico's lost glory and territories. He also has direct command of thirty thousand troops,” Howard said.

  Eric looked around, searching for something, but was unable to find it. He leaned back over to his neighbor. “There's more people coming, right?” Eric asked.

  Howard clicked to the next slide. “This is Luke Air Force base just outside of Phoenix. This will be the heart of where we will be keeping our air fleet. From here, we will fly troops into Tuscon, AZ to what’s left of the Davis-Monthan AFB, which will act as our main point of conflict. Phoenix is our line in the sand. If General Gallo's men make it past that point, they'll have nothing stopping them from marching into Nevada and Utah. We don't lose Phoenix,” Captain Howard said.

  Eric's thoughts trailed off to the conversation he had had with Brooke almost two days ago. He hoped she’d gotten out. He couldn't imagine what was going on in the cities now that the government had deserted its people. It wasn't just going to be a fight against the Mexicans. It was going to be a fight amongst themselves.

  “We'll also be keeping troops here in San Diego and at the old Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque. Now, with the exception of a few troops who stayed behind to finalize the moving of equipment at the remaining military bases in the Southwest, most of the places will be abandoned. In addition to General Gallo's movements, I've also received word that there are others who've stayed behind. We don't have the numbers we wished we would, but we're not alone. Now, everyone's main objective is to fend off the Mexicans, but our secondary objective is to help maintain order in the local cities around our posts. I'm working on getting relief supplies sent our way to help with establishing a sense of normalcy, and hopefully that will grant us some goodwill with the people,” Howard said.

  The lights clicked back on, and the projection shut off. Eric counted the number of pilots that had stayed behind. The USS Ronald Reagan housed a wing squadron of eighty pilots. After the president’s order to abandon the region, there were only sixteen left.

  “Now I know we don’t have the numbers we would like to contend with Gallo’s forces, but we will have to make do with what we have. And while we’re on this ship, there will be no talk of those who left because of the president’s message. They were following orders. Each of us understood the repercussions of staying behind. Even though we are no longer a part of the United States Navy, we will still fight like it,” Howard said, slamming his fist onto the table, knocking over a few pens.

  The motion snapped the room to attention, and Eric saw a few of the pilots sit up a little straighter.

  “General Gallo has been instrumental over the past few years in expanding Mexico's military prowess, so make no mistake, we will have a hell of a fight on our hands. Master Chief Petty Officer Pint will hand out everyone's individual assignments. God speed,” Howard said.

  When Eric was handed his manila folder, he stared at it a minute before opening it. Phoenix. He figured that’s where Howard would put him, right in the crosshairs.

  “You know I never did get that nurse change,” Eric said to Howard. “How many men do we have stationed at Luke AFB?”

  “Not enough.”

  As optimistic as Eric had been about people staying behind to help, the reality was that they were going to be on their own. This militia they were forming faced an uphill battle.

  “You’re the best pilot I have. I know it's going to be hard, but it's where I need you,” Howard said.

  Howard's throat caught. His eyes diverted. Eric wasn't the only one who had had a rough couple of days. After a few moments, Howard regained his composure, and Eric slapped him on the back.

  “Don't worry, Captain. I'm sure I'll do something to make you angry at me again later,” Eric said.

  ***

  Captain Howard stepped out onto the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan and felt the sun and heat beat down upon him. He looked over at the slosh of blood-tinged water being sprayed off the side of the ship.

  If this exile continued to
stretch out, it would be another civil war. Howard needed to end this as quickly as possible, but he wasn't sure if he would have the resources to do it. He knew his contacts in Washington had the best of intentions for helping him, but well wishes didn't win wars.

  Master Chief Petty Officer Pint ran down the stairs from the control deck, holding a satellite phone in his hands. He handed it to Howard.

  “I could use some good news, Congressman,” Howard said into the phone.

  “We managed to get a care package sent out an hour ago. It should arrive at your location by this afternoon,” Smith said.

  “Where are we at with setting up a pipeline for scheduled deliveries? Gallo is on the move. We should be able to handle his first push, but once he regroups, we'll be dead in the water.”

  “We're working on a permanent solution, but it'll take a little more time.”

  “Time is a resource more precious than water at this point, Congressman.”

  “I know, Captain. How many men were you able to gather?”

  “Not as many as I would like to have, but there are still a few aces up our sleeve.”

  “Captain, I can't stress enough the importance of making sure the Mexican military does not establish a foothold within the Southwest. If they do, it's going to make this a very long-term problem, which I know is something we both want to avoid.”

  “I'm well aware, Congressman. I look forward to an update on the scheduled relief deliveries.”

  Howard ended the call and handed the phone back to Pint.

  “How are we looking?” Pint asked.

  A hose sprayed the remaining pinkish froth from the deck of the ship and into the Pacific. Most of the effects of the conflict had been cleaned away, but Howard knew it was only on the surface. The events that would transpire over the next several days would permeate deep, not just with the people but with the country itself.

  “It's gonna be a dog fight,” Howard said.

  ***

  Eric squeezed his way through the narrow ship halls until he made it to one of the bunkrooms and banged on the door. Eric hoped his friend was still there.

  The door swung open with an angry pull, and Billy held a scowl on his face. Even after learning it was Eric who had woken him, he still tried to slam the door.

  “What do you want?” Billy asked.

  “Billy! Buddy, pal, listen, I need to ask you a favor,” Eric said.

  Eric stuck his arm out to block the door closing in his face just in the nick of time. The thud from the metal slamming against his forearm rang through the hallway.

  “I... just... need... a minute,” Eric said, his muscles tensing against the strain of the door.

  Billy's strength finally gave way, and Eric barreled into the room.

  “Get out!” Billy said.

  “Easy, bud, I just need one thing.”

  “That's what you said about us not going with the rest of the Navy. You said they wouldn't hurt us. You said people would stand with us!” Billy held up the cast on his arm.

  “I can sign that for you later, but right now I need to know if you still have access to the San Diego database to look up an address,” Eric said.

  Billy dropped the cast. As much as he may have hated Eric, he did enjoy hanging his abilities over other people's heads. It made him feel more important than he actually was.

  “Of course I can. It's child's play,” Billy said.

  “I need you to look someone up for me. Brooke Fontanne.”

  Chapter 4

  The small room was cramped even with only three men inside. All of them were dressed in suits, with American flag pins on the lapels of their jackets.

  Smith snapped his phone shut. Both Daniel and Edwards had remained silent during the entire conversation.

  “Well?” Edwards asked.

  “The USS Ronald Reagan is his. Now he just needs the supplies to help him defend the border,” Smith said.

  Daniel let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized he'd been holding his breath in for that long.

  “So now all we have to do is make sure our supply route is secure,” Smith said. “Edwards, are your people still willing to help?”

  “They're nervous, but they're ready. Although I would like for us to move sooner rather than later, before they second-guess themselves,” Edwards answered.

  “The containers of water, along with the ammunition and food rations, are secure at the airport. Once we get the word from Congressman Edwards, we'll notify the pilots,” Daniel said.

  “You're sure it's a smart move leaving everything in one location?” Edwards asked.

  “It'll be fine. It's a small airport owned under a shell corporation of one of my businesses. Jones won't be able to trace it,” Daniel replied.

  “There are a lot of things we didn't think Jones could do,” Edwards said.

  “We'll start scheduling shipments every other day. That should give Howard the support he needs,” Smith said.

  Once they left the room, they all walked in different directions. Setting up illegal water deliveries would be enough to land all of them in jail. Adding that to the fact that they were supplying the now-exiled Southwest would add treason to their judgment and ultimately end their lives.

  The stakes were high, and Daniel was doing his best to hold it together. He found himself looking behind him far too often, and when he was sitting in his office alone, he would catch himself staring at the closed door, just waiting for armed guards to bust it down and carry him away.

  But once he had voted against Jones’s bill, he knew which side of the fence he set himself on. It might not have been the safest decision, but it was one that he knew his conscience would be able to handle. He just hoped he would live long enough to appreciate it.

  Smith was smart, and Daniel trusted him. There was no way of knowing the amount of dirt and blackmail Jones had on the other congressmen to help swing the vote his way. They were all blindsided that the annexation of the Southwest had passed.

  It was harder now, but not impossible, to save that portion of the country. If Captain Howard could keep General Gallo's men from establishing a foothold in the region, then they still had a chance to work legislation on their end to get the country back on its feet.

  But even if Howard was able to fend off the Mexican military, and they could pass legislation to reinstate the Southwest, it still wouldn't solve the water crisis. That burden still rested with Dr. Carlson.

  That was the one process Daniel was worried about. From what he'd seen of Dr. Carlson, he was not impressed. When Beth had brought him in to meet Smith and Daniel, he’d reeked of whiskey and looked like a homeless man living on the streets.

  Still, Smith said he was a genius. Daniel just hoped the doctor would be able to sober up enough to recreate his process. If he even remembered how.

  ***

  The sound of retching, followed by splashes into the toilet, from inside the bathroom kept disrupting Beth's concentration on her work. She sat at a small, round table made of some composite material and worked on her laptop. Her blouse and skirt were finely pressed, and her blond hair was pulled back tight in her signature bun.

  Jake sat in the corner. He was scrolling through his phone, checking Congressman Smith’s messages.

  Beth's long nails clicked against the keyboard, and her eyes darted to the closed bathroom door once more after another long moan from Dr. Carlson.

  “Not everyone in this hotel room is a recovering alcoholic, so if you could try and keep the griping to a minimum, it would be greatly appreciated,” Beth said.

  More plunks sounded from Dr. Carlson's puking, and Beth shuddered with frustration. She slammed the laptop closed and almost ripped the bathroom door off its hinges. The smell that flew up her nostrils was warm and sour. It felt as though a wave of death consumed her, but she stood firm.

  Dr. Carlson had his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl and was curled up in the fetal position, with bits of vomit on the corners of his m
outh.

  “Are you done yet?” Beth asked.

  “Woman, if there were a reincarnation of Lucifer himself walking around in our world, even he would have more sympathy for me than you do,” Dr. Carlson answered.

  “You'll have plenty of time with the devil in your next life, but in this one, we need you dried out and working. We've already lost an entire day with you whining about how hard this is.”

  “I need to go to the hospital.”

  “Congressman Jones is looking for you, and you can bet he'll have people watching hospital admissions and every other corner of this country to make sure you're dead.”