“Sir, you’ve been known as the apologist in chief for about seven and a half years now. The public perception is you’ve apologized to our enemies for everything we’ve ever done.”
“America has been a bully in the world theatre! I’m just an instrument in social justice.”
“And that, sir, is why you aren’t trusted. You appointed Davis to Kentucky and ignored the calls when he was abusing his office. He used his troops as a mercenary squad to enrich himself and the complaints of sexual abuse were abound. Sir, I myself had my doubts about you for a while.”
The president looked up and met Patrick’s eyes, startled by his friend’s admission.
“And what of the DHS?” the president asked, his dark pallor turning gray as the words sank in.
“Colonel Grady has ordered them to stand down. It’s how we know now which parts are being directed by Hassan and the New Caliphate.”
“So it is true then?”
“Sir, we don’t have video, but we’ve had plenty of eyes on. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck—”
“Then it’s a duck. My God, Patrick, have their stand down continue. I have a lot to mull over.”
Patrick stood and offered his hand. The president rose and shook with him.
“If you see Grady around, send him my way,” the president said.
“Yes, sir,” Patrick said, taking the folder back and putting it in his pocket.
He started walking toward the door and marveled how much the hardened underground bunker resembled the White House. This room, for example, mirrored the Oval Office. He opened the door and, just as he was walking out, the president spoke.
“Patrick,” he said, watching his old friend pause, “you’re not fired. Thank you for telling me.”
The door closed a little harder than was necessary. The president let out another sigh and sat back, contemplating what he’d been told.
His desk phone buzzed. He pushed the flashing light.
“Yes?”
“Mr. President, a DHS company that was returning to base as ordered, has captured who they believe to be John Norton. Do you want me to have them continue to base or…?”
“Are there any interrogation assets near their location?”
“Sir, there’s one we have close by labeled as a ‘Trout Farm’. An Ag. testing facility, as a cover.”
“Good, I want to know what Norton knows, and I need to find out how far this treason goes. Use any and all means.”
“Yes, sir.”
The president sat back, sighing deeply. He’d underestimated how fractured the United States had become while he had been in hiding. Underestimated it badly. One of the last communique he’d gotten out was to request an article five from NATO before things topside went dark. As much as the people felt he was guilty or shady, he knew that of anything, he was perhaps guilty of arrogance. Arrogance so deep that he’d refused to believe the writing on the wall. Arrogance that he wasn’t willing to believe that, under the rules of Martial Law, large factions of those who were supposed to help… had taken it upon themselves to become defacto leaders.
Like that ignorant redneck hillbilly from Kentucky who’d had the nerve to refuse to continue helping rebuild the country. His ideas had absolutely angered him and his remaining council, but Blake Jackson’s methods of getting people to work and to rebuild parts of the nation in an old world agrarian society style seemed to be working. The problem was, every time he had gotten close to finding cause to arrest or take out Jackson, his friend, or rather, Sandra’s friend Norton popped up, and caused hell somewhere. The pure distrust that Norton’s group had sown would come back to bite him.
The president just hoped Norton knew enough for him to use as leverage against Blake. If not, well, he still had options.
3
“We’ve got to take control of the drop,” King told Michael. “They were ambushed. Somebody passed the word along.”
Michael cursed long and loud inside the confines of the APC.
“What about the backup forces that Sandra was sending?” he asked King.
“The word is they are going to hole up and wait for us. Didn’t want to send a large group our way and alert the DHS.”
“Yeah, so much for their stand down order,” Michael said, bristling.
They had, from a distance, watched a sudden flurry of activity at the base where the scarred man had gone. Black Hummers and transport trucks had been traveling to and fro. They hadn’t gotten close to seeing if things were coming or going from the subterranean bunker, but could see many, many new faces that they hadn’t seen before pulling guard duty. They both had discussed it, and their general assessment was that they (DHS) were consolidating their forces. There had only been rumors on materials and personnel stored there, and the shady intel from the man they questioned… But they were still planning on inserting Michael as soon as humanly possible to get more intel.
“Worry later,” King said as the sound of planes filled the air.
Two C130s came into sight. The sound of their engines was the loudest thing the two of them had heard other than the motor of their own vehicle. Seeing them, Michael took out a flare gun and shot off a flare. One of the planes wagged its wings side to side, and what looked like several crates came sliding out of the back of the first one. Chutes automatically deployed and the two men scrambled, trying to figure out where the loads were going to come down. They’d marked out a soybean field, the soy not quite dried out and ready for harvest.
The first plane finished, banked, and started circling away as the second plane disgorged its load. Three more chutes deployed and the plane left the same way as the first. King was already moving as the first palleted load hit the ground. He started cutting the chute away, and Michael hustled to reach another one and do the same. With the area so flat, they didn’t want an errant gust of wind to potentially pick it back up.
“Sgt. Smith to Michael and King. Come in,” a voice said in their ear pieces.
“Michael here,” he said hitting the PTT a little harder than necessary.
“We’re twenty minutes out. Do you have visual on the goods? Over?”
“You could say that,” Michael said grunting as his knife parted the last of the paracord holding the chute down and heading toward the next container that landed another thirty yards away. “Yes, the load is down. Over.”
“If you have to bug out, leave the orange and black striped containers. Those won’t work for anybody but us. We’ve got some heavy shells there. Over.”
Michael grinned, and King just gave him a small shake of his head. “I’ve got a turret to play with. How much bigger can your guns be? Over.”
“Let’s just say that mine is gonna be bigger than yours,” Smith said, the transmission crackling at the end. “There will be enough time to measure them out if ya want, kid.”
King chuckled. Michael hadn’t heard him sneak up so close, but that’s what the big commando had always been like. Silent as death, until he was ready to go.
“Six containers on the ground. Waiting for the other team leader and group to show up. Are you the backup that Sandra was sending?”
“Oh yeah. See you soon. Over.”
“Drive safe. Over,” King said, finishing the conversation.
“What is in all of this?” Michael said asking King who was working on the fasteners of the container Michael had just freed.
“Something that goes boom, I hope,” King said, getting a strap off and pulling a large olive drab case down into the knee high crop next to the pallet.
Cracking the lid revealed several cases of grenades and some blocks of C4. Michael grinned, knowing how much King loved playing with this stuff. Funny enough, in the last six months, they’d blown up very little. They’d followed Blake’s exploits, often retold via Rebel Radio. John’s group had to get very inventive without resupply. By the looks of things, even with the four containers that weren’t earmarked for Sgt. Smith’s group, everyone was going t
o be resupplied who wanted to be - and then some.
“Oh momma, I hope you like these,” King said, smiling as he pulled open a new crate. Inside were the black uniforms and tactical vests including patches.
There were a number of sizes available by the look of things, and when he held them up, Michael could see the uniform of DHS.
“A guy could get shot for wearing one of those,” Michael said, grinning.
“Makes your sneak and peek a little easier.”
“Do they have one in there big enough for you?”
King dug through it and made a sound as he pulled out a vest much like the one he’d been wearing with a matching shirt.
“You ain’t got this by yourself no more,” he grinned.
“Michael, King, this is Caitlin. How y’all doin’ down there? Over?”
King’s smile broke out even larger, showing the whites of his teeth.
“I thought you were gonna miss the party?” King asked into his radio.
“We got a little hung up, minor injuries, but we pushed through,” a man’s voice said, one they hadn’t heard before, “but we should be at your location in twenty minutes.”
The transmission came on the same channel that Sandra had arranged everyone to use, so without using John’s name, Michael figured that they would be as vague as possible. But he did remember Caitlin and how she’d set that ambush up with the cooler of beer, and an American flag bikini…
“Head in the game,” King said slapping the young man in the chest with a meaty hand.
“Good, we’re ready. Securing the load now. Over,” Michael told him.
“Want to get in the APC, man the turret?” King asked.
“Trust but verify?” Michael asked the big man.
“Yeah. Make sure you have armor piercing handy, just in case.”
4
“Hassan, what is the delay?” Khalid asked.
“The DHS, including units loyal to me, have been ordered to report to nearest base. They now know.”
“Ahhh, and how much will this set us back?” Khalid asked.
“Not as much as you think. There were only some groups that were going to fight with us. I had time to test the loyalties of many of these men, but not as many as I would have liked.”
“Our Iranian and Korean friends got a little anxious. So… it is as Allah wills it. The infidels will soon understand what our calling is. Have we secured the codes to enter the other bunkers and disable their nuclear arsenal?”
“Yes, my top man himself is working with the commander of the storage bunker where units faithful to the cause are consolidating. There have been some minor complications, though.”
“Minor? What is it?” Khalid asked.
“We’ve gotten word that Norton has been captured. His interrogation is to start soon. We have one company of men and mixed armor waiting.”
“That’s good news, my cousin. Why wouldn’t it be?” Khalid asked.
“They have mixed NATO minders working with them.”
“Bah. At first chance, have them slaughter the NATO troops and take their equipment. By the time our men get to the DHS bunker, we’ll all be resupplied and ready to start disarming the Great Satan. A snake with no fangs is no longer a threat. Do you agree?”
“I do, cousin. Allah Akbar,” Hassan said.
“Allah Akbar. And be sure to tell me as soon as we get those codes.”
“I will,” Hassan said, clasping his cousin on the shoulder and then turning to leave the tent they’d set up as a temporary shelter.
The Central United States had some weird sort of pollen going on with all the unharvested crops, and the Spear of the New Caliphate was starting to get watery eyes and a scratch in the back of his throat.
5
“Blake,” David’s voice called.
“Hey, David, what can I do for you?” Blake replied back, static bad this time of day.
“You’ve got a transmission from the Governor Franklin Hines. Over.”
“Can you patch him through?” Blake asked forgetting to say over.
“It’s on the scramble. If you can head back in, he’d like a talk. Private like.”
“Okay, I’ll be there shortly. I’m working with some deplorable little beasts who are getting impatient with me anyway. As soon as I dump them…”
“Don’t talk about my son that way,” Sandra’s voice said, cutting off his transmission.
Chuckles came out of the radio, and he looked at the thirty odd some kids he had with him on this nature walk. “I’ll be in. Blake out.”
“So we can get away from these mosquitos now?” an older teen girl asked him, rubbing her arms where several red welts from bites were visible.
“Dad said ‘squeetos are the new state bird,” Chris piped up.
The girl looked down at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Chris was a charmer, and when he grew up, he might someday realize the effect he had on those around him. For now, he just used his powers of manipulation for evil things… like more reading time, people to play Lego, or, in this case, for Keeley, the older girl, to quit griping.
“I think they are. Your bag too heavy little man?” she asked.
“No, I’m okay. Let’s go, Dad,” Chris said slapping his forehead and holding his hand out to see the red smear. “It’s like I’m giving blood.”
Blake chuckled and wondered who’d taught him that one. The snarky girl, perhaps.
“Yeah, let’s head back. All of you,” he said waiting for the group to quiet down again. “Move silently as possible. Let’s see if we can sneak up on a deer on the way back.”
“Are we gonna eat it?” a little girl asked.
“No, but it’s good practice. We did it the other day, and I want to do it again. If you can be sneaky enough to get close to a deer, you know you’re moving without alerting anything nearby.”
“Plus, it gets the little ones to shut up,” Keeley said between clenched teeth.
Blake grinned and gave her the nod. Her face lit up, and she held a hand over her mouth to keep a giggle in. Quickly, but almost at near silence, they moved through the woods and toward the field north of Blake’s homestead. After a good ten minutes of moving, they finally left the tree line and came out in the field just to the south of the old grain silo. As the last of the kids came out into the open and Blake was doing a headcount, two deer broke cover from the tall grass of the pasture and headed north along the tree line, their bounding leaps drawing everyone’s attention.
“But Dad, we were quiet,” Chris said.
“So what do you think gave us away? Did they see us?” Keeley asked.
“Maybe,” Blake said, “but which way is the wind blowing?”
The kids as a unit started turning in place, and several stopped and pointed south toward the main body of the homestead.
“So what’s that mean?” Keeley asked.
A boy named Jason, who was just a little younger than Keeley and had been vying for her attention for weeks now, had finally given up on her. He stepped up to her with a grin on his face and made a show of sniffing the air.
“What are you doing, freak?” she asked.
“Just making sure,” he said with a grin, “but it was you. You smell like body spray. The deer scented us. They probably couldn’t hear us, but I’ve been getting a whiff of that off and on now for a while.”
“It doesn’t stink,” she said, looking at him with murder in her eyes.
“No, but if you showered more you might not have to mask the—” GAH!
The boy took off running with a furious Keeley chasing. Blake started laughing at the exchange and felt Chris’s little hand in his. They both started walking as the line of kids fell into a disorganized group heading back toward the big barn in the distance.
“Dad, why is Jason mean to her, and why does Keeley always punch him on the shoulder?” Chris asked.
“I think it’s because they like each other,” Blake said honestly.
“You mean they like to play Legos together?” Chris asked, a hopeful note in his voice.
If he could grow his Lego playing mafia, he could soon make bigger and better structures. With the help of two big kids—
“Not like that. Kind of like how me and your mom like each other.”
“Keeley’s going to have babies?!” Chris asked in a horrified voice, stopping walking and pulling on Blake’s arm.
“No, no… I mean… Oh jeez. I think I explained it wrong.”
“Oh,” Chris said starting to walk again, “want to try again?”
“Yeah, I’ll have your mom explain it to you some day.”
Blake grinned, knowing he couldn’t pass the buck that easily, but he’d try.
“Governor Hines,” Blake said into the radio handset in the bedroom that Sandra kept for more private conversations, “what can I do for you?”
“Blake. Before I say this, I want you to know that this isn’t coming from me.”
Blake grunted and turned when he heard Sandra enter the room. She shot him a questioning look, and he gave her a shrug and nodded his head, indicating it was fine for her to come in.
“Any time you have to preface something like that, it’s got to be bad. What you got, Franklin?” Blake asked, using the familiar name of the governor of Kentucky.
“I talked with Patrick, the president’s chief of staff. He was ordered in no uncertain terms to get you back on board.”
Blake sat there, a wry grin on his face. “Why am I not surprised?”
“To be honest, I was,” Franklin said, “and I want you to know that if you refuse to do this, I am not going to be involved.”
“Of course I’m going to refuse, but what are you talking about, being involved?” Blake asked, a cold sweat forming between his shoulder blades, the smile gone in a flash.
“I don’t know. He said the president was explicit. Basically said that you didn’t have a choice in the matter. Martial law and all that.”
“Blake, don’t do it,” Sandra said, “we need you here.”
The World Counters: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 10) Page 2
