by James Cook
A low hum of laughter went around the room. Grabovsky gave a small smile, and then his expression grew serious again.
“I was hyped for the mission, but I gotta tell you, I wasn’t ready for what was waiting for me out here. I been a soldier a long time. Spent most of that time in SF and Delta. Iraq, Afghanistan, North Africa, The Phillipines, you name the place, I probably put some poor bastard in the ground there. Saw a lot of collateral damage along the way. It’s the nature of war. Shit happens. Learning to deal with it is part of the job. But what I went through before was always on foreign soil. It’s a whole different thing seeing shit like that happen to your own people. It affected me more than I thought it would. So prepare yourselves for that.”
Grabovsky paused. I may not have liked him very much, but I’ll give credit where it’s due—he could give a speech. There were distant stares and nodding heads all around. What he had said was sinking in and taking hold.
“Okay,” Grabovsky said. “Enough with the sermon. Back to the topic at hand.”
Grabovsky took a long drink of water before moving on. “So one night a plane HALO drops me close to the Resistance’s mobile headquarters. I hit the ground, stashed my ‘chute and gear, and the next thing I know, I got infected coming in on all sides. Only thing I can do is go up a tree. I’m sitting there wondering what the fuck to do when I remember we air dropped some sat-phones and encrypted radio equipment a couple of weeks earlier. So I call and Major Romero answers, and when I tell him my predicament, the son-of-a-bitch laughs at me.”
Another low round of laughter. Grabovsky pointed a finger at Romero. “You see, I can say that ‘cause you weren’t commissioned yet.”
“We’ll hold off on the court martial for now,” Romero said.
“Good. Had me worried a second there. Anyway, a couple runners show up and lead off the horde. Few other guys help me pick off the ones too slow to follow. Next thing I know, I got a black bag over my head, somebody puts me in a truck that smells like rotten beef, and I marinate in that stink for about an hour or so. Then I get out and somebody leads me inside a building. The black bag comes off and there sits our fearless leader.” Grabovsky pointed a thumb over his shoulder at Mike.
“It was a long night. Colonel Holden told me what progress they’d made against the ROC. Also told me about the reprisals. Said they were thinking about disbanding and I might have come out there for nothing. I told him bull-fucking-shit. Nobody was quitting anything. I hadn’t sweated my ass off in the desert for two weeks and jumped out of a goddamn plane just so I could go back to the Springs and tell General Jacobs we’d wasted our time. So the colonel here asks me what exactly I expected him to do. I said if those KPA dickholes were committing reprisals, then we’d make the motherfuckers pay ten-fold.”
Mike stepped up next to Grabovsky. “As it turned out, once people got over being afraid, they were pretty pissed off about what the KPA had done. It’s one thing to force people into labor, it’s another thing all together to kill innocent women and children for something they had nothing to do with.”
“First thing we did was a recruiting drive,” Grabovsky said. “The Resistance back then was just Colonel Holden, Major Romero, and maybe a hundred other guys. And no offense, fellas, but most of you were too old for the shit you were doing.”
He got no argument. Some of the older fighters in the room made rueful expressions, but I saw no anger there.
“War is a young man’s game. What we needed were young men willing to fight. Problem was, most of the people we recruited were civilians with no training. So I came up with a plan. You see, the KPA hadn’t seen hide or hair of the Resistance since the reprisals. Hadn’t been attacked in months. The way I saw it, they must have believed they’d solved the problem. So I said fuck it, let ‘em keep thinking that. Make it more of a surprise next time we hit ‘em.”
General Jacobs stood up and stepped forward. “The recruits were sent to Mountain Home, Idaho. There’s a small Air Force base there that survived the Outbreak mostly intact. There was also a bunker like this one nearby with the supplies and equipment to train the new fighters. We sent civilian work crews, assisted by what was left of the Army Corps of Engineers and the Seabees, and built a facility to train them.” Jacobs looked to Grabovsky and sat back down. I thought I detected a slight limp in the general’s right leg.
“Took eight months to bring ‘em up to speed,” Grabovsky said. “The rest of us didn’t spend that time sitting on our asses. We reconned every inch of ROC territory and mapped out the locations of all their bases, outposts, and patrol routes. Cross referenced it against satellite imagery and intel gathered by drones and decrypted message traffic between ROC bases. Central was kind enough to give us access to the supply cache we’re in right now, as well as others in Oregon, Washington, and Northern California. We also established contact with every community that had KPA forces nearby and had them act as our eyes and ears. By the time the recruits made it back from Idaho, we knew our enemy’s capabilities inside and out.”
“The next phase was air drops,” Mike said. “We had most of what we needed in the supply bunkers, but we were short on portable comms gear. Central took care of that for us. Also sent us some vehicles and fuel. After the spring thaw this year, we were ready to begin the assault.”
Grabovsky motioned to the projector operator. The lights dimmed again and a collage of maps appeared with computer-drawn arrows pointing at red circles around key strategic areas.
“The first problem we had to deal with was the communities that hadn’t been rounded up by the KPA,” Grabovsky said. “We knew as soon as the fighting started, the KPA was going to haul every person they could get their hands on to the internment camps and confiscate everything not nailed down. The people in the towns knew it too. So we worked out a deal. First, we would hit the ROC with everything we had. Infantry would take out their tanks, artillery, APCs, and other vehicles. Central would send in drones to strike at their fuel depots and the main refinery in Humboldt Bay. Once we had ‘em on the ropes, convoys of transport trucks with infantry and armor escort would move in and evacuate anyone who didn’t want to stick around and join us. Nobody was exactly thrilled about having to leave their homes, but most people were smart enough to realize there wasn’t much choice.”
Mike picked up the laser pointer and aimed it at the screen. “The attack commenced at 0230 on the date listed. Some of you were there,” he nodded toward the special ops guys, “so you know what happened. As for the rest of you, here’s how it went down.”
The pointer hovered over Humboldt Bay. “The drones moved in first and hit the refinery here, and the primary fuel depot here. From what I understand, it was a hell of a show. Captain Grabovsky led the forces that attacked this operating base here,” the laser pointer moved again. “Hit ‘em from the south with mortars and shoulder-fired missiles. Once they had the target softened up and the gates destroyed, they moved in with LAWs, grenade launchers, and truck-mounted heavy machine guns. Most of the KPA troops had been asleep when the attack started, and the ones on watch died in the initial attack.”
Mike looked at Grabovsky. The shorter man nodded.
“I’ll give the fuckers credit; they put up a fight,” Grabovsky said. “But we caught ‘em off guard and cut into ‘em before they had a chance to get organized. Me and the best shooters we had held off the counter attack while the rest of our guys started hitting the motor pool. Some guys went around with LAWs and missiles shooting up the trucks and APCs, while others planted explosives with remote detonators on tanks, troop transports, and mobile artillery. Enemy officers figured out pretty quick what we were up to and changed strategies. Pinned us down with heavy suppressing fire and started evacuating out the north side of the base. Which, as it happens, is exactly what we wanted them to do.”
The picture on screen changed again, showing dozens of blasted lumps of shredded metal with streamers of black smoke hanging over them on a long, two lane road.
/> “Before the attack, we planted IEDs and anti-tank mines on every road leading away from the base. When the last of the armor and other vehicles left, we triggered everything at once. The blast made my teeth rattle in my head, and I swear I almost shit myself, but it worked perfectly. After that, I gave the order to retreat.”
“The same attack pattern was repeated at these locations,” Mike said, moving the pointer over twelve more circles on the map. “Long story short, it was a success. All the planning, training, the long hours spent lying in the dirt baking in the heat or freezing in the cold, arguing with survivors, negotiating with politicians, all the times we went hungry, all the times we lost people to infected or disease or accidents, it all came to a head that night. And I will go to my grave saying it was worth it. All of it. Every sacrifice made, every life lost, and every nightmare we’ll have from now until we’re dead and gone. It was worth it to show those sons of bitches what happens when you hurt our people.”
Mike stared at the air in front of him, eyes dark, jaw set in a hard line, muscles in his forearms tense from clenched fists. The room stayed quiet for several long seconds before Mike let out a breath and put the laser pointer down.
“We crippled them,” Mike continued. “No armor, no aircraft, and only a handful of vehicles with barely enough fuel to last a few weeks. At best estimate, we took out eleven thousand KPA troops. But it came at a price. Something close to four thousand Resistance fighters took up arms that night. Only about thirteen hundred of them lived to tell about it.”
Another long silence ensued. General Jacobs ended it by motioning for the projector to be turned off and the lights turned on.
“And now we come to the crux of why we’re all here,” Jacobs said. “The internment camps. We couldn’t hit them during the assault. Too much risk of collateral damage. We’re trying to save our people, not sacrifice them. There were voices in Colorado arguing against attacking the ROC at all. Said the risk was too great. Wanted to seek a diplomatic solution.”
Jacobs sneered and shook his head.
“I was tired of looking at photos of North Koreans burning piles of dead bodies. I think the president was tired of it too. When I explained to her and the Joint Chiefs the people in those camps didn’t have time for us to spin our wheels negotiating with a ruthless, unyielding enemy, they listened.”
Jacobs moved over to a stool and took a seat, still facing the room. I thought I detected the limp again and felt a frown pull at my face.
“As Colonel Holden said, we killed close to eleven thousand ROC troops. Over the years, they lost around four thousand others to disease, accidents, and the infected. The civilians the KPA brought with them had also been devastated by dysentery, influenza, and the gentle ministrations of their benevolent dictators for life. They hadn’t been treated as bad as our people, but it was no picnic for them. Only about half of those who came over are still alive today. The KPA keeps them in Humboldt Bay doing all the industrial work their troops either don’t want to do, or don’t have the skills for. And from what our spies tell us, these people hold no love whatsoever for the KPA rank and file, much less their leaders. So we’re going to try to save as many of them as we can. But make no mistake, our people take priority. If we have to sacrifice ROC civilians to save American lives, so be it. Everyone clear on that?”
The room echoed with acknowledgments.
“Anyone has a problem, now’s the time to speak up. This mission is for volunteers only. If you don’t want to be a part of this, or if you don’t like the way I’m running things, you can leave right now. No questions asked.”
General Jacobs waited a full minute. No one spoke.
“Very well,” Jacobs said. “Doctor Faraday?”
A tall, thin fellow with a mop of brown hair streaked with gray, a shaggy beard, and rimless glasses stood up and walked to the front of the room. He wore the distinctive, dark blue coveralls of the Phoenix Initiative overlain with a white overcoat. I guessed his age at perhaps mid-forties, maybe older. The beard made it hard to tell.
“At this point, you should all be asking the same question,” Faraday said. His voice was surprisingly deep, and marked by a faded British accent. “Anybody want to venture a guess?”
Seconds passed. A few people looked at each other and shrugged. Gabe looked around, rolled his eyes irritably, and put a hand in the air. It was his left hand, and I felt my eyes drawn to the missing finger he’d lost to a marauder’s rifle over a year ago.
“Yes sir,” Faraday said, pointing at Gabe. Everyone looked at him.
“How are we going to get the prisoners out of the camps without getting them killed?” Gabe said.
“Exactly.” Faraday said, snapping his fingers. “And the answer to that question is very simple.” Faraday held out his arms and paused for what I assume was dramatic effect.
“We don’t.”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. He’d made no aggressive movement, but a hush fell over the room anyway.
“Excuse me?” Gabe said, his voice as quiet as a blade being unsheathed.
Faraday held up his hands and took half a step back. “Easy, now. Let me explain.”
Gabe glared, but remained quiet.
“The problem is this—there’s no way to get those people out of there as long as they’re being watched by enemy troops. The KPA leadership realizes the prisoners are the only card they have left to play, and they’re holding it tightly. The people we’re trying to save are under constant surveillance, covered at all times by at least fifty riflemen and a minimum of ten crew-served machine guns. Not to mention the grenades ROC troops carry and the mortars zeroed on the longhouses where the prisoners sleep. So in order to rescue them, we have to take down the troops. But there are problems with that. One, they outnumber us. We could bring in reinforcements, but that would take time, and there’s too much chance KPA long-range patrols might spot them coming in. If they do, it’s game over. So that’s out. Our second problem is these North Korean troops are absolute fanatics. If their commanders tell them to kill the hostages and prepare to fight to the last man, you had better believe they’ll do it. Third, even if we could go at them head on, there’s no guarantee we could save the hostages. So we were forced to come up with an alternative solution.”
The lights dimmed again, and a picture of a stainless steel canister emblazoned with a biohazard symbol came up on the screen.
“Gentlemen, allow me to introduce A11-IM-38. Or, as it’s known in the Initiative, the AIM-38 virus.”
THIRTY-ONE
An hour later, General Jacobs dismissed the meeting and I went back to my room. I lay on my back with the lights off and absorbed the dark silence. A faint hum of ventilation was the only sound to be heard. I knew there would be a knock at my door, and I knew who it would be. When it came, I put my boots back on and answered.
“The General wants to see you,” Mike said.
“Figures.”
I followed Mike down the hall as he gathered Grabovsky, Tyrel, and Gabriel. Along the way, Faraday emerged from an unmarked door and joined us on our walk. I noted the door he came out of and filed it away for later reference.
No one spoke as we headed toward the conference room. Mike knocked on a door at the back and Sergeant Hathaway opened it.
“Come in, sir.”
The office was a big one, about twice the size of my room at the officer’s quarters. The walls were lined with tables topped with a variety of communications equipment, technical manuals, and tool boxes. There were also several workstations complete with computers, tablets, and piles of paperwork. Four maps were posted on the walls, each one scrawled on with red ink and perforated by multi-colored pins. I noticed the maps all depicted various regions of ROC territory.
At the moment, the office was empty except for Mike, Faraday, Sergeant Hathaway, and my group. General Jacobs sat behind an ugly metal desk painted the color of urine after a hard night’s drinking. I stared at the bulky abomin
ation and thought only the military would purchase something so hideous and force people to actually use it.
“Have a seat,” Jacobs said. His face was drawn and gaunt, the lines in his forehead and around his mouth deeper than when last I saw him. Up close, I could see he had a day’s growth of beard stubble, dark rings under his eyes, and his uniform looked like he’d slept in it.
There were enough chairs for everyone. I sat in one and stared silently at General Jacobs and reminded myself that if this man decided to do so, he could kick me out of the Army. If I got kicked out of the Army, I would be shipped back to the Springs and detained until a judge found the time to see me. When they did, they would determine that since I had not fulfilled my full four years of mandatory service, I had violated the terms of my sentence. From there, I would be sent to a prison camp for two years without the possibility of parole.
If they could take me alive, that is.
But this situation did not need to come to that. I could be as angry as I wanted to be. I could hate General Jacobs and the Army and the government as much as I wanted to. But right now, here in this room, I needed to keep it inside. Because it wasn’t just about me anymore. I wanted a life with Miranda, and whether or not that would happen depended largely on the outcome of the conversation in front of me. So I told myself to put on my coldest exterior, dial down the outrage, overcome my doubts, put aside my objections, and listen carefully to what was expected of me.
“I’m sure you have questions,” Jacobs said. Faraday positioned his chair so he was facing us. At a glance from Jacobs, Sergeant Hathaway gave a short nod and left the room.
“Gabriel, we’ll start with you.”
“Whose idea was this?” Gabe asked. He looked relaxed, but I could tell by the tension in his shoulders and the way he gripped the arms of his chair he was angry.
“It was decided by consensus,” Jacobs said. “I can’t divulge the names of everyone involved, but I can tell you I was one of them. Doctor Faraday was involved as well.”
