by Trent Reedy
* * *
I always hated flying, but as flights went, the trip to the governor’s mansion was at least better than my last flight to Boise. Even Staff Sergeant Meyers was quiet, sleeping off a hangover the whole way. We all basically agreed to say yes to whatever the governor wanted — whatever it took to get out of there as fast as possible.
As the Chinook descended, I could see the governor’s mansion out the back hatch. It was an enormous house at the top of a hill above Boise. One of the largest American flags I’d ever seen fluttered in the wind on a pole that must have been at least a hundred feet high. Even before the helicopter landed on the massive brick circular driveway, a ring of soldiers had set up a security perimeter around it.
“Is all this really needed?” Luchen asked next to me. I hoped not.
We exited the aircraft and followed Lieutenant McFee, who had dark circles under his eyes and chapped lips. He looked like he hadn’t slept much lately. A different lieutenant led McFee toward the house. The Chinook took off again as soon as we were clear.
“Classy,” Specialist Stein said as we were led through the double front doors with arched tops. We entered a room with a carpet version of the Idaho state flag on the floor. In the center of a dark blue field was a circular image with food, some kind of miner or pioneer guy, and a woman in a white dress. The picture was framed by a gold band with the words Great Seal of the State of Idaho. Straight ahead, between an American flag standing on the left and the real Idaho flag on the right, a fancy stone staircase rose halfway up to the second level, stopped on a landing, then split into two stairways for the rest of the way.
Governor Montaine came to the second-floor railing and looked down at us. “Great. You’re here.” He took the steps two at a time to join us on the flag carpet and shake all our hands. “General McNabb is upstairs in the office. Follow me.”
Sergeant Kemp shot me a look like, Is this for real? Staff Sergeant Meyers only yawned and led the way after the governor. Lieutenant McFee was supposed to be our leader, but he trailed behind us and faded into the background like a ghost. The guy had hardly said a word this morning and wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. I tried to act the way everyone else seemed to be handling all of this — like it was no big deal to be following Governor Montaine around his mansion to meet with the commander of the Idaho National Guard — but I couldn’t get over how crazy this whole situation was.
We entered a busy office with officers and civilians sitting and standing around half a dozen tables. People worked on big screens at the tables or stood around typing things into their comms. Montaine pushed aside a comm and took a seat on the edge of a desk. “Darlene, can we get some chairs for these soldiers, please?”
“Right away, sir,” said a dark-haired woman at a table in the corner. She started pulling every free chair in the room for us. We sat down. General McNabb remained standing, speaking quietly to an officer whose three large screens all showed different maps of Idaho’s borders.
“Thank you for coming,” said the governor. “I know you probably have other plans today, so I’ll get right to the point. We’re concerned that we’re not going to be able to keep your involvement in the Boise incident a secret. The general and I have been discussing contingency plans in the event that someone leaks your identities to the Fed or to the press, or in case new evidence links any of you to the shooting. In that event, what I’m concerned about is safety and security for you and your families.” The governor frowned a little when General McNabb’s comm rang, and the general hurried out of the office with his comm to his ear. “I’m assigning local law enforcement to step up patrols near your homes, to keep a closer eye on you and your families to make sure you’re all safe. What I’ll need from you today are the names and addresses of any extended family we should be concerned about protecting. Grandparents. Siblings. That sort of thing.”
Wait a minute. What was he saying? Did he really think someone was going to hurt or arrest our families? It was just Mom and me on our own. I think she had like one sister who lived in Arizona or New Mexico or something, but they hardly talked to each other. “Excuse me, sir,” I said. “The federal government wouldn’t go after our families to get at us. That’s illegal, right?”
The governor smirked. “It seems like the Fed changes what’s legal and illegal whenever it suits them. But I’m also worried that if your names are discovered, regular angry citizens might try to take revenge of some kind.”
As soon as I was starting to think life could get back to normal, now I had to worry about people coming after my mom? What if they tried to take it out on my friends? On JoBell?
Sergeant Kemp leaned forward in his chair. “Sir, do you know of any credible threats? Has anyone found out we were there that night? And what about the other units involved in the incident?”
“We don’t have specific information on any leaks yet, but people are poring over all the photographs and video footage, so it’s a real possibility. I’ll be meeting individually with each of the units who were at Boise that night, including the rest of the squads in your platoon. That way, any soldier who might disobey my order to keep quiet can only sell out his own unit, not all the others.”
My cheeks grew hot when I thought of how I’d told Sweeney about Boise. Well, the governor would never find out I’d told him. I trusted Sweeney more than just about anyone else.
“Also on Monday,” said Montaine, “I’ll be issuing a call for volunteers among all Idaho Guardsmen, asking any interested soldiers to come work full-time for the state. You all would be most welcome and encouraged to take advantage of that opportunity. We’re going to take some steps to make sure the federal government can’t launch any surprise incursions into —”
“Excuse me, Governor!” General McNabb burst back into the room. “Code red!”
Six men in black suits poured into the room, all of them carrying handguns. They took up positions around the governor. My squad and I jumped to our feet.
“Sit rep!” said the governor.
“The situation is two Chinook helicopters are flying in from Hill Air Force Base in northern Utah,” said the general. “They’ve ignored our request for identification and mission and are headed directly for us.”
“Maybe they’re on the way to Mountain Home?” the governor asked.
“The base isn’t answering our calls and the birds have already passed it. They’ll be here in about ten minutes,” said McNabb.
The governor’s comm went off, playing “Hail to the Chief.” “That’d be the president calling,” said Montaine.
“All right, everybody, let’s clear the room,” said the general.
“No, that’s okay, General. I have nothing to hide. I want everybody here to know exactly what we’re dealing with.” The governor tapped his comm. “Good morning, Mr. President.”
“James Montaine, I need you to immediately begin enforcing the federal ID card law, and I need you to give me the names of all those soldiers involved in the shooting at Boise. I need you to do those things right now.”
“Well, President Rodriguez, I didn’t realize we were on a first-name basis now, or that you had become so disrespectful that you no longer address me by the title of the office to which I was elected. But to make this easy for you, I’ll get to the point. The answer is no. And ‘no’ is something that you boys in Washington better get used to hearing.”
There was a pause. “All right, Mr. Montaine, then you leave me no choice. By the authority vested in me as president of the United States of America, I am hereby placing you under arrest on the charge of obstruction of justice. Two helicopters are on their way to your location at this time, both carrying soldiers from the 78th Special Forces Group. You will be taken into custody and moved to Washington, DC, where you will likely face additional charges before you stand trial for your crimes.”
The governor stood up a bit straighter. His eyes narrowed. “I’ve committed no crime. It is you who are breaking the law with yo
ur unconstitutional mandates and your efforts to prosecute innocent soldiers whose only crime is doing their duty.”
“We’ve been over this! It’s too late for talk. My men will be there soon. This ridiculous standoff is over.”
“No, Mr. President. You will turn those helicopters around, or I will. This doesn’t have to escalate to violence, but if people do get hurt today, it will be your fault. Goodbye, Mr. President. We can resume a productive discussion of our problem after you remove the threat of attack.”
The president had started to speak, but Governor Montaine tapped out of the conversation. “General McNabb, scramble our Apache gunships. Intercept and repel those federal birds. Tell our pilots not to fire until I give the order.”
“Right away, sir.” The general picked up his comm and passed on the orders. Then he said to his captain, “Are the men ready?”
The captain, a little older than our Lieutenant McFee, nodded. “Quick Reaction Force is suited up and standing by. Snipers are in position.”
“Good work,” said McNabb. “Same orders to the men. Nobody fires unless ordered to do so. Make it happen, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain jogged out of the room.
“Sir, what’s happening here?” I asked. They were seriously getting ready for a firefight with our own guys? With other Americans?
McNabb spun to face me. “Private Wright! You and your squad will stay here and remain silent! Do you understand? Lieutenant McFee, control your men!”
McFee barely seemed to hear the general.
The governor’s assistant, Darlene, stood up from her desk and pointed out the window. “My God, there they are.”
She was right. The Chinooks were small in the distance, but closing fast.
“Where’s our camera drone?” the general asked.
A major at another table tapped the large screen in front of him a few times and brought up a close image of the two helicopters. “Sir,” he said to the general. “Our Hummingbird is in range. We have visual.”
“About time.” General McNabb motioned to the governor. “One of our newer rotary-blade surveillance drones is in position, Governor. We’ll be able to control the situation from here.”
I wanted to do something, anything, to try to stop this. Sending Idaho National Guard attack helicopters and soldiers up against US Army helicopters and soldiers? This was madness. I looked to Lieutenant McFee, who seemed even more useless than he’d been last week in Boise. Sergeant Meyers was watching everything around him with a big smile, like he was happy to be in the middle of some action or spy movie. Sergeant Kemp wore his serious look, a crease between his eyebrows. At least I wasn’t the only one who knew this had to stop.
On the large screen at the major’s table, the image zoomed back to show the approaching Apache helicopters, with thirty-millimeter machine guns between their wheels and Hellfire missiles and rocket launcher pods under their wings. I could hear the rotors as the birds drew closer.
Then the federal Chinooks dove toward the ground, banking to the right and left to split formation as they put on speed. The Apaches whipped around and bolted back to regain their position between the Chinooks and the governor’s mansion. It looked like they were all getting ready for a firefight.
I said a silent prayer, begging God to make the Feds go back. I didn’t think I could handle being stuck in the middle of another shooting crisis.
“They’re making their move!” said the major.
Governor Montaine folded his arms. “General McNabb, have those gunships fire warning shots across their bow to stop them.”
I didn’t care what General McNabb said. He could court-martial me if he wanted. I had to do something. “Governor Montaine, you can’t make them fire! Those are Americans!”
McNabb didn’t waste time. “Lieutenant McFee, get him out of here right now!”
“No, wait,” said the governor. “That’s okay.” He looked me in the eye. “I know how you’re feeling, Private Wright. Believe me, I respect and honor all the members of our military. I’ve been a soldier too. But I have to stop these men from doing what they’ve been sent here to do. We cannot keep giving in to the federal government’s expansion. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to keep all our boys from being hurt.”
I had to give Montaine some credit. He was maybe the most important guy in the whole state of Idaho. He was in the middle of a crisis, and yet he took the time to talk to me, Private First Class Nobody. I still didn’t want any of this to happen, but I believed what he said.
McNabb must have given the order, because red blips of tracer fire, almost like little lasers, ripped through the air about a dozen feet in front of the Chinooks. Puffs of dust shot up from the dry, empty hillside in the distance as the rounds hammered into the ground.
I moved to watch the helicopters through the window. One of the Chinooks had stopped, and the Apache had flown around to block it from moving ahead. The Chinook that had banked down to the left swooped back to the right and cut altitude, coming in fast about sixty feet above the governor’s lawn at the edge of the property.
The other Apache banked to chase it, but it was too late. Black ropes fell out of the Chinook, and seconds later, soldiers fast-roped down. A whole nine-man squad hit the ground, rushing toward the mansion with M4 rifles drawn.
General McNabb tapped his comm. “Captain, deploy QRF. Detain the approaching squad on the south hill.”
Below us out the window, an entire platoon of four squads rushed out in one wall of soldiers. Two armored Humvees with men in the turrets behind .50-caliber machine guns sped after them.
“It’s like it’s all happening again,” Luchen whispered. Specialist Sparrow nodded.
Moments later, two lines of soldiers faced each other with weapons drawn.
“Come on now,” Luchen whispered as he stared at the standoff. “Don’t nobody do nothing stupid here.”
I’d never agreed with him more.
Outside, there looked like there was a lot of shouting from both sides. One federal soldier jerked his weapon, like he was about to fire, but another quickly pushed the gun down.
“If the Feds shoot, they’re dead,” Luchen whispered.
“At least one of them understands that,” said Sparrow.
The second Fed pointed out the machine guns on the Humvees. He must have known the Feds were outnumbered four to one. He motioned for the rest of his squad to lower their weapons, but they didn’t put them down.
A bunch of soldiers shouted back and forth from both sides. The Idaho guys tensed up on their weapons.
“Come on, give it up,” I said quietly.
One Fed took a couple steps forward, but the leader of his squad rushed toward him, pointing at him “blade hand” with his fingers and thumb locked together vertically. The angry Fed wasn’t about to be silenced that easily. He calmed down a little bit, but kept arguing with his leader.
“Nobody fires unless I give the order!” the governor shouted to McNabb, who relayed the order through his comm.
“These special forces guys aren’t used to getting stopped by the National Guard.” Sergeant Kemp spoke at nearly a whisper. “They’re pissed.”
“If the Feds were smart, they’d have fast-roped right down onto the roof,” Sergeant Ribbon said.
“Must not have been expecting trouble from Apache gunships and a whole platoon of Guardsmen,” I added.
The captain who had been up in the office with us stepped out in front of the Idaho soldiers. He said something to the Feds, then motioned with a sweeping gesture toward his own men and all their guns. Lastly, he pointed up toward the mansion.
“What’s he doing?” Specialist Stein asked a little too loudly.
Sergeant Ribbon elbowed him. “I think he’s pointing out sniper positions, trying to prove to the Feds that they have no chance.”
“Which they don’t,” said Sparrow.
“I know,” Luchen whispered. “Why don’t they give up already?”<
br />
Almost as if they’d heard him, the Fed soldiers lowered their weapons.
General McNabb looked satisfied. “Governor Montaine, I think we’ve stopped this.”
I heard sighs from all over the room.
Montaine closed his eyes and bowed his head a little. “And no one hurt,” he said after a moment.
“Should we bring the federal soldiers in, sir?” asked the general.
“For what? All they’ve done is follow orders. I won’t punish them for that. Allow one helicopter to land and pick them up. Have the Apaches escort them out of Idaho airspace.”
Everyone in the room snapped to life, placing calls, giving orders, working their stations. Outside, one Chinook landed and the squad of federal soldiers that had made it to the ground boarded. The helicopter joined the other Chinook in the sky and then flew off, with the two Apache gunships trailing close behind.
The governor, the general, and their staff continued their flurry of business. Me and my squad sat in the corner out of the way, surfing the wire or watching shows on our comms.
After about an hour, the governor finally seemed to remember we were there. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry, but obviously the situation has changed, and we’re not going to be able to do the nice sit-down meeting like I had hoped. Look for more information on your comms. I’ll have a flight coming to get you soon. Meanwhile, I’ve got this press conference to do down in the entryway in a few minutes. You’re welcome to watch on the screens in here.”
He left the room. A few moments later, the image on one of the larger screens in the office switched to show Governor Montaine stepping up to a podium in front of the stairway. He held up his hand for quiet. “By now, you have all heard the reports about the president’s unlawful and failed attempt to arrest me a short time ago.
“I want to be absolutely clear. My actions today were not motivated by my own self-interest. On the contrary, I have acted so that the will of the residents of Idaho, through its legislature, will not be suppressed by the federal government. I have acted to protect the dutiful soldiers under my command. I could not allow the federal government to arrest me — first because I have done nothing wrong, but more importantly, because to do so would jeopardize or sacrifice the will of the residents of Idaho and the safety and freedom of Idaho soldiers, who are also blameless.
