Don Pendleton - Civil War II

by Don Pendleton

  "Yeah, but I'm a newsman of the Arlington generation," Angelo said, laughing nervously.

  "The curiosity of the press is dead, suh," Silverman intoned sarcastically. "Buried beneath the patronage of Ol' Daddy and his Mississippi mud-stompcrs. Listen, Angelo, there was a time when—"

  "Hell don't start that again!" Angelo yelped. He moved restiessly out of his chair and fidgeted about from one foot to the other. "Hang yourself if you want to, but don't ask for a swinging partner. Uh, let's intercept Arlie. We can walk back with him and maybe get some idea of what the address is about Okay?"

  "Okay," Silverman said, sighing. "But he's going to say that little chocolate men are invading us from Alpha Centauri or some place. Wait'n see."

  The two men stepped into the hallway and headed towards the door to the terrace, a few hundred feet distant. Before they managed the first ten of those feet, the outside door was flung open and a platoon of Secret Service men came pounding through and down the passageway on a dead run. The leading bodyguard shoved the newsmen back along the hall and into the press room, slamming the heavy glass door on them, then he stood there with arms crossed, his back against the glass. The others ran on past checking doors along the corridor. Seconds later a thick knot of men walked swiftly past, the President in the center of them.

  Arlington was looking a lot older than Silverman remembered ever seeing him; the normally granite jaw had gone slack and was almost trembling. The guard at their door showed the newsmen a grim smile, then fell in behind the entourage.

  "What in the political hell?" Silverman exploded.

  Angelo carefully opened the door a crack and stuck his head through in a quiet survey of the situation. Jane Bryn, a sleek thirtyish woman and the Presidential Girl Friday, walked slowly up the hall, tears streaming from her eyes. Angelo took her by the arm and yanked her into the press arm, eased her into a chair, and went quickly to the water cooler. He brought the water to her and watched

  solicitously as she sipped at it.

  "What's happened to the President?" Silverman growled.

  Jane Byrn slowly shook her head, half-strangling on the water. "I kept trying to get Secretary Lilienthal and Phillips on the telephone after the President left his office. Th-then when I f-found out, I r-ran to catch the President and t-tell him. It's horrible, h-horrible."

  "Well dammit, what?'

  "Th-they were both f-found in b-bed, their ... their ..."

  "Dammit, Janie!"

  She cried shrilly, "Their throats had been slashed!"

  "Holy Joe!" Angelo exclaimed. He snatched at the desk phone, then changed his mind and scrambled for the turret.

  Silverman draped a comforting arm about the woman's shoulders, his own face going ashen. Quietly he commented, "Three men, each close to the President, dead in less than twelve hours. I wonder . . . Janie? ... do you feel like walking now? Can we go up and try to contact the other cabinet officers?"

  She smiled weakly and gripped his hand tightly. They moved out the door and along the hall in an ever-quickening pace. Somehow, though, Silverman knew that he was on a fool's errand. Somehow he knew that the rest of the cabinet was beyond contact. His newsman's bones felt the poultice of ashes clinging to the skeleton of the body politic. Pre-empted air cubes and open jugular veins, on the surface of things, seemed rather remote one from another. But at least one member of the press in whom curiosity survived found a suddenly-twitching nose and an itch for the truth.

  Inanely, it seemed, the words to a childish game floated up out of his memory and he recited them under his breath as he hurried toward the Executive Offices with Jane Byrn.

  "Ring around the rosies,

  Pocket full of posies,

  Ashes, ashes,

  All fall down!"

  CHAPTER 11

  The police crusier careened wildly between two monster tanks, flashed across Leavenworth, and screeched to a halt in the Federal Center parking area. Two uniformed policemen jumped from the car and marched aggressively toward a cluster of soldiers, crews from the tanks which were lined up at twenty foot intervals facing the building.

  "You guys nuts or something?" one of the cops said fiercely. "You got the whole goddam town tied up in knots! What the hell you think you're doing? You get those goddam overgrown tin cans to hell out of here!"

  Lieutenant James Woodrow, U.S. Army Regulars, stepped from the cluster. "Haven't you heard, officer?" he replied, big teeth flashing against their dark background. "We're taking over this wonderful city."

  The cop thrust his jaw forward, trying to get a better look at the big black in the crash helmet. "Sez who?" he snarled.

  "Sez us."

  Then the cop noticed the American flag decal on the tank commander's helmet. In place of the field of stars was a clenched black fist. His gaze darted to an ensign waving over the rear of the nearest tank; same thing, a clenched black fist. The cop's jaw dropped and he instinctively went for his gun. The tank commander immediately back-stpped. An automatic weapon chattered briefly from behind him. The two San Francisco cops sprawled to the ground.

  "Leave 'em there!" Woodrow commanded gruffly. "Man your vehicles and batten down!" He ran around the line of tanks and climbed aboard a military scout car, an mmored vehicle with a fifty-calibre machine-gun mount. Ouickly donning a headset, he began hurling last-minute instructions to his crews. "It is now H minus twenty seconds," he announced tersely. "You'll hear the bridge go and that's when we go. I want concentrated fire on the Federal Center, then take the auditorium and the opera house. Don't one unit leave the station until the whole thing is rubble. You know where to go then, but one last caution. Do not proceed beyond Taylor Street or you'll be rolling into the fire from Telegraph Hill. You won't want to see that mess down there in the hotel district anyway. I'm going up to scout Van Ness and find out why so many cars are getting through. Big Deal One, you're commanding until I get back. Tally-ho boys, and don't start feeling soft about this old city. It's just her face you're lifting, not her soul."

  A distant, echoing rumble of constantly building magnitude approached from the Northwest. Woodrow yelled into his transmitter, "That's it Free-fire now, and bring it all downl"

  CHAPTER 1

  The blast, a rumbling series of explosions, awoke Mike Winston with a start. He dropped his feet from the footstool and sat bolt upright in a chair, confused, trembling, and not immediately certain of his surroundings. I hen he recognized the unfamiliar scene deep within the stands of the old Oakland Raider stadium. He'd been brought to Abe Williams' office shortly after midnight, and had paced the floor for hours until fatigue had finally forced him to the chair.

  His watch was stopped on a few minutes before twelve, broken during the brief wrestling match with the big troopers when he landed in the Warhole, and he had absolutely no idea of the time of day nor how long he had slept. The small office was windowless. Winston banged on the door and yelled, then paced for several minutes before he heard the snap of the door-lock mechanism. A big trooper stood there, regarding him with a lopsided grin.

  "What was that explosion?" Winston asked him.

  "Don't worry about that," the soldier replied. "Come on. Mr. Williams says to bring you up."

  The guy turned his back on him and walked away. Winston followed him along the network of corridors up the tiered stands of the old press box.

  Williams was there with General Bogan and a swarm of uniformed men, ail wearing headsets and jotting things on clipboards. Mayor Harvey was there also, bleary-eyed with fatigue but standing stiff and straight and intently watching the fireworks across the bay. The sounds of heavy artillery and rattling gunfire were carrying easily across the miles of waterway, and all eyes in the pressbox were riveted on the towering columns of smoke which were erupting from numerous quarters over there.

  Williams showed the new arrival a tired smile and told him, "I thought you deserved a look at this."

  "What was the big boom a few minutes ago?" Winston wanted to know.
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  "That big boom," Williams replied quietly, "was the death knell for the city of San Francisco. Specifically, it was the sound of that once proud engineering masterpiece, the Golden Gate Bridge, withstander of wind and waves and salt-water corrosion, being unceremoniously lowered into the cold waters of the Golden Gate. Splash, splash."

  "Congratulations," Winston said drily. "I'm sure you're enjoying the sounds of a civilization collapsing. Pardon me if I don't cheer."

  "You hear any cheering up here?" the black leader growled. "Just be quiet and watch, Winston. Some day you can tell your grandkids about it."

  "Fat chance," the white man muttered. He left Williams standing there and went on around the curved press box until he reached General Bogan.

  The military chief was perched on a stool and almost surrounded by status display boards, grimly watching the action across the bay through a powerful set of binoculars hoisted to his face.

  "Now there's a sight for an American ganeral," Winston said by way of greeting.

  Bogan lowered the glasses and gave Winston a quick once-over. "For what it's worth, Mike, I'm glad to see you in a single piece."

  "What's going on over there, General?"

  "Hell is going on over there, Michael. Sheer hell. And don't ever let anyone con you into believing that a general

  enjoys the sight of bloodshed." He went back to his glasses, and Winston began studying the display boards.

  "Kind of Mickey Mouse for a U.S. military operation, i n't it?" he observed quietly. "I mean . . . this command post you've got here."

  Without lowering the binoculars, Bogan replied, "You wouldn't think so if you were at the Pentagon right now. We're in full combat order—don't for a moment think otherwise. This is my remote set-up. Mickey Mouse maybe, but good enough."

  "So it's nationwide."

  "Of course it's nationwide."

  Winston raised a hand to his forehead and turned blindly toward Abe Williams. The civil leader caught the look, sighed, and came over to join him.

  "Okay, I've seen it," Winston muttered. "Now show me the wall and get it over with."

  "Why should I stand you to a wall, Commissioner? You're a talented and versatile man. We can use those talents in the new republic."

  "That'll be the Goddamned day," Winston replied in a choked voice.

  "Maybe, maybe. We'll see. For now you've got free run of the place, Winston. Just don't give us a hard time. The moment for heroics is past. And the moment for soul-searching is fast approaching. Just be ready."

  "For what?" Winston growled.

  "For saying goodbye to yesterday. We're all going to have to say it sooner or later. May as well be later. Come on, I think the patch is working now to the military command radio. Jackson? You want to listen in?"

  General Bogan had been watching the two men in quiet speculation. He responded to the query by sliding off the stool and gently shoving Mike Winston toward the far end of the press box, where a large electronic panel had been cmplaced.

  "Update me nationally," Williams requested of the General.

  "Smooth, very smooth," Bogan replied. "We caught the whole country with its pants down. Not just at half-mast,

  but flopping about the ankles. No resistance, excepted isolated instances of damn-foolism. Most people don't seem to realize what's happening yet. We moved an armored column from Arlington across to Washington and right down Pennsylvania Avenue. It was past nine o'clock there, streets full of people, buildings filled with workers. People just stood and watched like it was a parade—even waved, some of them. Ritter's man in Washington says everybody's wondering where all the government blacks went—they can't quite grasp the meaning of an all-white Washington^—except for troops, of course. We had forty thousand troops in the city as of about ten' minutes ago and not a shot has yet been fired."

  "Hell, I can't believe that," Winston grumbled.

  "Why not?" Williams asked. "You were in that city yourself yesterday. Why can't you believe it?"

  "So what's going to happen to them when they wake up?" Winston asked soberly.

  "Nothing, absolutely nothing," Bogan told him. "We have no need to get tough. Every military installation in the area is ours—for that matter, in the entire nation. That means every military vehicle, every weapon, every chunk of ammo. They made the mistake of dissolving the standing army and hiring black replacements to mind the store, and they compounded the error by placing all the weapons in storage and placing most of that even in the care of black storekeepers. We simply walked in and took it. Now they can call the militia until they're hoarse. Where will the white militia assemble? What will they use for weapons?"

  "All over like that?" Winston asked, choking on the words.

  "Sure all over," the General replied. "It was so easy it's almost pitiful. I never saw a country so ripe for a bloodless coup."

  "So why are you spiffing blood?" Winston wanted to know.

  Abe Williams handled that one. "Call it a drum-roll," he said coldly. "We are commanding attention."

  "You'll get it," the white man told them. "You guys have bought yourselves more of a war than you realize.

  this is a nation of gun lovers. There's hardly a home in the country that doesn't have some sort of gun."

  Bogan placed a hand on the white man's shoulder and i iid, "Listen, Mike. I'll give you the best rifle we have, and allthe ammo you can carry on your back. And I'll arm as many of your friends you can round up, in exactly the same m:inner. Do you think then you'll be ready to go up against military armor and combat-trained troops?"

  "I might not be ready, but I'd go," Winston maintained stubbornly.

  "You might think so. But those who think so have never challenged the authority of a tank, using a 30.06 as his primary weapon. No. Uh-uh. Most men know better. They may throw a clip of ammo into their rabbit guns, but they're not going to go challenging a tank or weapons-company. I'll tell you precisely what they are going to do with those rabbit guns. They will gather their families n round them, and they will barricade themselves inside their homes, and they will sit there and dare some black bastard to try to come in and rape their women." The general smiled. "But we don't want their women. We want them to barricade themselves inside their homes and sweat, and maybe even get a little hungry. And a little humble."

  "You might be right," Winston said quietly.

  "Sure," The General turned his attention to Abe Williams. "Even the civil police are helpless and most of them already know it. We've had a few scraps with them around the country, but as soon as they realize they're up against artillery and massive power, they forget that fierce pride of ownership and decide it's not a police matter."

  William nodded curtly, as though hearing nothing surprising. "How about Ritter's operation? Everything neatly dispatched?"

  "You don't have to ask me. Just look at Norm. He's getting his reports from Sacramento now. He already told me they got the Governor and the Attorney General, and from the way he's gloating I'd say they got just about everybody on the list. Uh, you know about the Washington side."

  Somberly, Williams said, "Yes, I know."

  "What is this, what's been dispatched?" Winston wanted to know, his eyes sick and already knowing.

  "If you want a word," Williams replied in cool tones, "the word is assassination. I can't help it if it's in the vocabulary of warfare. Now be quiet and we'll tune in on the command nets." He pushed the white man toward the makeshift console, adding, "I especially want you to hear the play by play. I want you to see what we're capable of doing, as opposed to what we are not doing everywhere. Call it a lesson in black restraint."

  Somehow Winston almost expected to awaken any moment and discover that he'd used that packet of Expando at the American Church, after all. He moved woodenly to the console and dropped into a chair offered by General Bogan, then cupped his chin in his hands and glared at the dials and instruments of the console.

  "I don't hear anything," he murmured.

 
"You will," Bogan assured him.

  Abruptly, a speaker came alive with a whine and a crackle of background sounds of warfare, and a youthful voice announced, "Big Deal One from Big Deal Leader. What's away down there?"

  The reply was muffled and punctuated by the roar of heavy artillery, bringing the war right into the press box. "This's Big Deal One. The Walks of Jericho have tumbled down. Now working on the Tower of Babel."

  "Federal Center and Opera House," Bogan quickly explained, for Winston's benefit.

  "Roger, Big Deal One. I'm rejoining. Leader out."

  "Can I talk to that boy from here?" Abe Williams asked.

  The General's eyebrows elevated slightly. "Sure, but . . ." He reached beneath the table and produced a hand mike.

  "But what?"

  "Well he's busy as a cat covering up shit, you know."

  "Yes, I know," Williams murmured. He took the mike and depressed the button. "Big Deal Leader, this is Top Man. Do you read?"

  "Top Man from Leader. I read, sir."

  "How's the war going?"

  The only immediate reply was a long burst of rapid fire from a heavy machine gun. Then: "Sorry, Top man, I'm right under the fifty mount. Some nut in a hover, taking potshots with a pistol. Had to bring 'im down. Say again your last, Top Man."

  Bogan and Winston exchanged glances, Winston's proclaiming See, I told you, and the General's replying, But who won?

  "I asked how the war is going," Williams was repeating.

  "Oh. Going fine, sir. Just like Big Boy said it would."

  "Good. How do you feel about the operation?"

  "How do I feel, sir?" Part of the reply was muffled by the sound of distant artillery. ". . . out of a coccoon, sir. It looks like everything is well in hand."

  "Good boy. What's your present position?"

  "Just departed Cave Dwellings, sir. Proceeding outbound on Geary, then south on Van Ness to rejoin Big Deal Gang."

  Bogan whispered to Wilson, "Cave Dwellings is code for the hotel district around Union Square."

  "Standby one, Big Deal Leader," Williams snapped. He released the transmitter button and looked at Jackson Bogan. "What's he doing down around the caves?" he asked.