The top general of the Army shook his head. "I don't have time for this—"
The others began to chime in, more questions, a few fingers pointed. The volume increased ten-fold. "You can't just tell us to calm down—"
"How do we know he's dead?"
"What the hell do we do now—?"
"—status on the Vice President—"
"—need to notify the Speaker of the House—-"
The situation was spiraling out of control. Hank needed to act and act fast. He pushed the KILL FEED button on the table. The entire wall of screens went dead. Silence descended on the room. Finally... In a bit of morbid irony, he suddenly realized why the President was always rubbing his temples.
"What are your orders, sir?" the nervous staffer asked. He had heard about the Executive Order granting the head of Homeland Security all the powers the President normally had plus many most Presidents could have only dreamed about. He didn't know there were a lot of powers in that E.O. that our first Presidents not only did not want, but feared.
The security guard stood there, mouth open in shock. He blinked and looked from the staffer to Hank. Mouth closed, he waited for orders as well, though the look on his face was one of utter confusion.
Hank smiled. That's the kind of initiative I like. He walked over to the young man and put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "Take me to the President. I need to know exactly what's going on." He glanced out the door. His hand-picked DHS Supplemental Security personnel were rushing down the hall, radios crackling.
Well...it's a little fast, but my people seem to be taking it in stride. Now...to see to the Secret Service.
As the two men stepped through the door a gunshot down the corridor caused the young staffer to flinch. The security guard drew his weapon and darted into the hallway, in search of the threat.
"Stay behind me, sir!"
Hank focused on the staffer. On the collar of his DHS emblazoned beige Polo shirt was a little award pin. It was how his team had identified people they could trust and bring in to the organization. They made up some bureaucratic contest and the award was a little silver star, to be worn by the winner.
Hank smiled at his own genius in devising that little plan. He asked casually, "What's your name, son? I think I'm going to need people I can trust around me now..."
SARASOTA
The Dogs of War
TED NOTICED, FOR the third time, the eyes in the rearview mirror as they glanced at him. He was tired from the short night last night on the beach—had it really been last night?—and the long day shuttling Guardsmen from the marina to safety. Now he was just plain exhausted and looking forward to getting back to Susan and the kids. The eyes were starting to piss him off.
"You keepin' an eye on the road, soldier?" asked Ted with a lopsided grin and a slight attitude. The eyes shifted to Erik, who sat next to Ted in the rear of the military vehicle. The medic, Ell-Tee, as her soldiers called her, sat in the front seat, reviewing some documents. Ted figured they were reports of the wounded. She was adding notes to the papers, updating the numbers and injuries.
The driver swerved around some charred cars in the middle of the wide street called Bee Ridge, continued to head west towards the interstate. Behind them was one of the three Humvees loaded to the gills with the Lieutenant's squad plus the men from the Marina. In the middle of the convoy were the ambulances—Humvees with extra large box-cabs attached to accommodate the wounded. Bringing up the rear was the last Humvee, a soldier manning the M2 machine gun turret.
"Just not used to having...civilians...in my vehicle, that's all," came the acid filled reply. Erik noticed the way the sergeant had said "civilians".
Ted returned the gaze in the mirror, one warrior to another, with a steely eyed look that had unmanned more than one drunk at bars in the past. "He's no civilian. More like a Viking." Erik looked at Ted and grinned through the grime, salt-spray and exhaustion.
At least I'm not shaking like before...he thought to himself. Hah, some Viking....I lost my ship.
"And you?" the driver asked, eyes back on Ted.
"I've done some wetwork," Ted mumbled, eyes out the window.
The driver grunted his disbelief, but kept his eyes on the road for the rest of the brief trip. Ted scanned out the left passenger window, repulsed at the damage that had been done to the strip malls and gas stations that lined the street. Abandoned cars were everywhere, most with shot up windows. More than one body could still be seen slumped over the wheel.
Even with the windows up, the stench was almost unbearable. It was like a physical barrier they had to tunnel into. Erik's stomach roiled. That's just sick...it's been weeks since everything went to hell. These people were left to rot...
As they drew near the apartment, Erik suddenly stiffened in alarm. His senses went into high alert and the smell all around them was totally forgotten. "Ted!" he croaked, his throat constricted in fear. He clawed at the window to lower the bullet proof glass and only ended up smearing it with grime.
Something in Ted's battlefield experienced remembered a young Marine speaking just like that before getting capped by an Iraqi. He was instantly on full alert and wired. He snapped his head to the right to try and see what had spooked Erik.
"Smoke! The Freehold's on fire...something's burning!" cried Erik in a voice that nearly broke with emotion. No God, no...not after all we did to get back...no, please...
The medic in the front seat pointed out the turn for the driver. She grabbed a radio and gave out orders. "Miller, lead the ambulances to 75. Riojas, you're on me—we're going to check this out. I want that Ma Deuce warmed up and ready."
She turned in her seat and stared at the two men in the back. She had to adjust her helmet to see Erik, directly behind her. "When we stop, everyone gets out and hunkers down till I send a scout. Am I clear?" she asked. It was obvious she was used to compliance.
"Yes, ma'am," Erik said, glad someone else was making the decisions.
Ted stared out the window. His hands were white with tension, wrapped around the M-4 he still carried. He said nothing.
The acknowledgements from the other vehicles crackled over the speaker on the dash as the driver slowed—just a little—before taking the right hand turn off of Bee Ridge towards the Freehold’s main gate. Erik and Ted were forced to hang on to the doors to keep from sliding into each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Ted saw the following Humvee and ambulances speed past and continue on towards the interstate a few miles west. He could hear the heavy tires of the tail Humvee skip off the pavement and chirp as that driver followed close on their vehicle.
The two Humvees pulled up straight across the entrance to the Freehold and ground to a stop. Doors flung open and everyone filed out of the trucks and crouched down behind the bulk of the vehicles.
"Any movement?" asked the medic over her shoulder to the second vehicle. The only man who didn't exit was the M-2 .50 caliber machine gun operator. Erik crouched behind the left rear wheel of his Humvee and watched as the gunner swiveled in his turret, scanning for targets. He had lifted up a roof hatch and appeared to have some sort of clear shield in front of him to deflect incoming fire. Erik stared for a moment. It looked for all the world like a Humvee windshield had been cut down and mounted on the machine gun. The closer he looked at the second vehicle, the more he realized that the men and women he was accompanying were simply making do with what they were given. The shiny new military toys went overseas to the combat troops. The home guard got the leftovers and retreads. He frowned at that thought.
It ain't lookin' good for the home team...Wonder what the rest of the National Guard out there has to deal with...this is a big country. The thought was almost as sobering as the sight of a military vehicle full of soldiers in front of his apartment.
"I got nothin'," the M-2 gunner said in a tone so close to normal Erik could hardly believe it.
Here his home was on fire—he risked a quick look around the bumper—the main gate was smashed op
en with what looked like a flatbed truck half sticking out…and the soldiers were acting like nothing untoward had happened.
Now that was training. Erik wished he could have had troops like that to work with, then shook his head to clear his thoughts. He recognized how tired he was. Mind's beginning to wonder. This isn't good...Focus, dammit!
There were no signs of life; no noise, no fighting and most disturbing of all to Erik was the absence of any of his guards. The thick black smoke roiled into the sky and cast a dull gray light on the world around them. It partially blocked the late afternoon sun. He could hear the blood roaring through his ears as adrenaline began to course through his tensed body. Other than the cackle and whoosh of the fire, he heard nothing.
The attack was earlier in the day... He glanced at Ted, saw the pale look to the Marine's dangerous face. He knows. We were rescuing the soldiers at the Marina when... Erik couldn't finish the thought.
"Roger, no movement here," said the driver.
Ted dropped to the sun warmed ground under the high-clearance vehicle and scanned everything he could see. "Nothing through the gates beyond the truck," he reported quietly.
Everyone waited: the driver, the Lieutenant, Ted, Erik, the four soldiers in the second Humvee and the roof gunner behind his improvised bullet shield. No one spoke for a few tense moments and just when Erik was about to ask the medic if he could go in, she spoke.
"Alright, Riojas and Cooper, get up to that gate and check it out," she said, waving her hand forward. "We'll cover. Ready?"
"Hooah," was the whispered reply from two voices in unison. All business.
“Go!" she hissed, rifles rippled and waited as the two men weaved around their vehicle and crouched-ran to both sides of the shattered main gate. They checked angles and took a quick look by turns.
"Nothing...lot of bodies, and debris,” Riojas whispered.
"Same thing over here, and that building to the south is on fire too," reported Cooper.
Without taking his eyes off the gate or his gun sights, the driver whispered to Ted, "You never answered my question..." He glanced at Ted's shirt. "Been to the sandbox?"
Ted had crawled out from under the truck and was positioned next to the large sergeant. Erik fought the urge to roll his eyes. He could recognize a pissing contest when he saw one. Obviously the driver was a combat vet and was sizing up Ted.
Reflected movement in the window next to his head caught Erik's eye. He turned to see a filthy man explode from the shrub lined ditch behind them and take a step towards their vehicle. He had a scuffed up chrome plated pistol and was in the motion of bringing it up to fire right into their backs. He held it sideways, like a gangster in a rap video.
Ted didn't see the man, but he saw Erik flinch. Faster than the Erik thought possible, Ted turned to the right, simultaneously using his left hand to snatch the sheathed knife off the sergeant's vest rig. It only took half a second for Ted to complete his spin, but by then the other man had his pistol up, mouth open in a scream. He pulled the trigger.
What happened next was something Erik would remember for the rest of his life. Without the slightest flinch, wince or hesitation, Ted moved forward, directly into the path of the bullet and the open maw of the pistol. From as close as they were, the gun sounded like a cannon had gone off in their faces. It looked like one too.
The bullet penetrated Ted's right shoulder and exploded out the back in a spray of red mist. Erik was horrified to see the dark hole open as the bullet exited, as if in slow motion, then watch as the torn flesh of Ted's shoulder closed back up slightly. He could swear he saw what looked like ripples on a pond radiate from the wound through the thick muscles of Ted's shoulder.
He had no time to react to his friend being shot, however. Ted was already on the man who shot him, the sergeant's knife plunged deep to the hilt in the attackers chest with a satisfying sound. The force of the impact stopped the attacker on a dime. He dropped to the ground in a heap, his heart sliced almost in two by the expert killer Erik had come to know as a friend.
He's right handed, flashed through Erik's head. Ted just walked through a bullet and cut that guy's heart out with one slice of his left hand. Like a walk in the park. Ho-leeeey shit. That is one scary dude. Erik's mind did not even register that he had fallen over in surprise and was sitting on his duff while the Marine stood over the crumpled body of their assailant.
The M-4, still clutched in Ted's now bloody right hand, was unused. He casually bent down, jerked the knife free and cleaned it on the twitching body, then handed it back, handle first to the driver.
"Recon," was all Ted said as he walked past.
The sergeant blinked. The contest was over. Game, set, match: Marine. "Hooah," he said quietly.
"My God!" gasped the Ell-Tee. She dove into the vehicle's first aid kit and set to work on Ted's shoulder. "You need to sit down...you're bleeding."
Ted looked at her, his face like granite. "I've had worse, ma'am. Just patch me up. My wife and kids are in there. Your men said it's clear." He jerked his head towards Erik, who only now though to pick himself up off the asphalt where he had fallen over backwards during the surprise attack. "We're going to get our families." It wasn't a request.
Ted's mention of their families cast the butterflies in Erik's stomach to a sudden, fiery death. Fear was replaced by a white hot, seething anger that had been glowing in the back of his mind and suddenly burst into an explosion of rage.
Someone had attacked their home. They were gone not even 36 hours and someone had attacked. Erik was beyond furious. All the preparations he had made, the training, the sweat, the work of drilling movements into his men. All of that predicated on the thought that he would be here when things went south. And of all the hours and days to choose from, they attacked while he was absent. Brin faced God only knew what...by herself.
He mentally shook his head to clear his thoughts and focus the anger to a needle sharp point. His only remaining thought was to get to Brin. He reached inside the cab of the Humvee and hefted a spare rifle.
Ted raised an eyebrow as the medic applied some anti-biotic cream and sprinkled clotting powder in the wound then bandaged his shoulder. She had cut away his right sleeve to expose the wound better.
“Sorry,” she said and tightened the bandage. “This is all we got left after picking up all the boys you brought in. We’ll get you patched up proper when we get back to base.”
Ted grunted and watched Erik. "Why don't you just keep the pistol?"
Erik's face remained calm as his turned the rifle over in his hands. He knew what Ted meant. Ted knew Erik had never fired a .22 before and had never even held an M-4 before. His entire experience with firearms could be written in a paragraph. A few weeks of practice, a pistol fired in anger during the Battle. That was it.
Erik checked the safety, deftly released the magazine and caught it with his left hand. He checked the rounds, slammed it back home and pulled back on the charging handle. He released it with a satisfying clack and checked that the safety was still on.
When he looked up, the sergeant, the medic, and Ted were staring at him in disbelief. "How...?" asked Ted. He had never looked more surprised.
"I used to play Modern Warfare 6…before the lights went out."
"The video game?" asked Ted, incredulous.
"A lot," was the straight faced reply. He looked at the disbelief on the sergeant's face. "It's very realistic. I didn't use pistols very much, but these...these are another matter.”
"Hooah," grunted the sergeant with a grin. His two civilian passengers were anything but civilian, and it was alright with him.
"I can't believe this...." the medic said. "You're both insane." The other troopers were watching the scene now with more than a few grins. "All right," she sighed and put both hands up in front of her armored chest. "We'll check it out." She adjusted her helmet and keyed her mic: "Let's go. Eyes open people. You two," she pointed thumb and forefinger at Erik and Ted. "With me. Move out!"<
br />
After a chorus of quiet "Hooahs", the men moved forward and took position all lined up against the front of the charred main office building, just inside the gate. The scope of the damage was finally visible. Three guards were still at their posts, shot in the back, slumped over on the makeshift catwalk Erik and his men had erected after the Battle. Erik could see they were taken by surprise. Someone had planned the attack. Someone had tricked them into letting their guard down.
Erik vowed he would find out who betrayed them. Whoever it was had betrayed not only the guards, but Brin and Susan and the kids too. Payback was going to be a real bitch for that person. Oh yes.
There were seven or eight bodies, filthy and scattered about the ground in front of them, some face down, some face up. All dead. Erik noticed a white arm hanging out the driver's window of the truck. It was covered in tattoos. Impaled in the engine of the truck was the remains of a motorcycle. He turned away before he felt the urge to throw up. The stench wasn't as bad as the beach where they had come ashore at dawn, but the sight was ten times worse. He knew these people.
"You see Hoss or the other bikers?" whispered Erik, eyes on the hellish scene around them.
"No...” replied Ted. He stopped and looked around more. “That’s odd…” He was focused on the motorcycle embraced by the truck. He took a quick look around, then ran crouched over and investigated further. Erik watched him look for a moment, then hang his head and return in the same fashion, crouched over in an awkward looking run.
"That is Hoss."
"What?" Erik asked a little too loud. The Lieutenant shot a glare at him and moved her finger across her lips.
Erik dropped to a knee and shifted the weight of his rifle. Ted joined him as the troopers scanned corners and peered through the corners of windows. The building appeared to be deserted.
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 63
