by John Grit
“Wow. I didn’t know our government did things like that.”
Nate waded out of the water. “Every government does much worse than that, or at least has in the near past. The reality is I don’t know exactly what happened. I’ve read so many different accounts, all being a little different, or in some cases a lot different from the one I just told you, there’s no way to ferret out the truth from the rumors. Other accounts say a local villager tipped soldiers off to the location of Guevara’s guerrilla fighters. It does seem to be established that his hands were cut off and sent to Castro so Castro couldn’t claim he wasn’t dead.”
While they were stowing the canteens in their packs, Brian asked, “What about our body heat?”
“Satellites can’t tell human body heat from animals, and these woods have a lot of deer, bears etc. roaming around. Aircraft, on the other hand, is a risk. But they pretty much have the same problem, unless they’re close enough and catch one of us in the open, where they can make out the outline of our heat signature, telling them we’re humans walking on two legs. So it’s a risk, but if we stay under a thick canopy of treetops and they don’t fly directly over us, we should be okay. After all, people get lost in the woods all the time, and they’re trying to be found.”
Brian slipped into his pack and grabbed his rifle. He had been listening intently, learning as much as he could from his father. He pulled a compass from under his shirt where it hung from his neck on a string. “I want to see if I can find camp on my own.” He glanced up at his father. “But if I’m getting off course, let me know. We have no time to waste.”
“Good idea.” Nate looked up and located the sun shining through the swamp canopy to judge the time. “Think it would be easier if we headed for the river and then went downstream before turning and heading for camp?”
Brian nodded. “Yeah, you always said to aim for a big target and you won’t get lost.”
“We can’t miss the river.”
“And we’ll know when to head east again, because it’s just a little south of that sharp bend in the river.”
Nate nodded. “Let’s go.” He let his son take a couple steps before speaking again. “Are you factoring in declination? Decades ago, it was tiny in Florida, but it has grown over time and it’s now enough it should be factored in. Remember what the declination is for this area from the last time you looked at a topographical chart?”
Brian stopped for a second and did some calculations in his head, then checked his compass and went on.
~~~
Back at the camp, Tyrone and Atticus learned why the others preferred stainless steel canteens. While they could’ve boiled water in a plastic canteen by being careful, it was much easier and faster when not being forced to worry about melting the container.
Since it was late in the day by the time they were through purifying their water, everyone enjoyed an early supper and rested. Though they felt relatively safe, as far in the woods as they were, at least one person was on guard duty at all times, standing back from the others and staying hidden in thick brush. They wanted an early start in the morning, because setting up a new camp near the spring would take time. Nate also planned to do a little fishing at the river. What little food they had in their packs would not last long unless they supplemented it with food taken from the woods.
~~~
Brigadier General Bernard Myers wished Colonel Donovan hadn’t dropped such a hot turd in his lap, but he couldn’t ignore it now that it had come to his attention. He also wished the military’s computer network had been maintained properly over the last year and a half. He wished a lot of damn things. Hell, in a few months the military’s (and America’s civilian) satellite constellations would probably be useless. They simply didn’t have enough trained technicians left after the plague to keep the systems properly maintained and in proper orbit around the Earth. Everyone’s fervent hope was that their enemies were in even worse shape than them. The thought they could be blind, while their enemies still had eyes in space looking down on everything on Earth, was the stuff of nightmares. Already, the U.S. Global Positioning System was acting wonky and becoming less and less reliable. Soon, their most advanced missiles would have no guidance systems and pilots would be forced to resort to navigation techniques left behind generations ago, such as celestial navigation. Ditto for Navy navigators.
He contacted General Carl Strovenov by Sat-Com: another system that many feared was near collapse from lack of maintenance. “Carl, I just heard from a lieutenant colonel down in Florida who is threatening to resign over what he considers to be immoral and illegal orders.” He spent the next five minutes explaining the situation. “Colonel Donovan is a good man, one of the best officers I have ever known. He knows the people in his area of operations and he knows the situation down there. I believe what he has told me is true.”
General Strovenov’s immediate reply was surprising. “I agree with you. Colonel Donovan has assessed the situation accurately. The president and his puppet Congress are the most immediate threat to the American people at this moment. The problem is what do we do about it?”
General Myers was momentarily at a loss for words.
Strovenov laughed. “Where did you go, Bernard? You know me to be a blunt, truthful man that doesn’t play politics. I know that is contradictory for an officer who has made it to the top like I have. But none of that matters now. I’m on the president’s not-so-short shit list already. He knows I’m not with him; I’m with the American people. I expect to be replaced soon.”
Myers took a few seconds to regain his thoughts. “That still leaves us with the question as to what to do about the problem down in Florida and our wayward colonel.”
“No,” Strovenov said, “Florida is a symptom of the disease. The cancer is in Washington. What to do about Washington is the real question.”
“Uh, I don’t like where this is going.”
“You mean you don’t like where America has already gone.” Strovenov insisted. “I think the situation in Florida may be an opportunity. I’ve talked it over with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and everyone agrees. We’ve already started to ask other generals what they think about the situation. And I believe we have a majority of general officers on our side. While I’m in contact with you, I might as well bring you into the fold with the others.”
Myers broke in, “Carl, I’m afraid you may have misjudged me. I agree the Washington situation is a disaster. We have a faux president and Congress, which means we have a fake federal government at the moment. But I have every faith that the American people will correct this in the months ahead and demand real elections.”
“No, no,” Strovenov insisted. “You misunderstand me. We have a letter of protest and I’m inviting you to sign it along with almost every general officer in the military. We are simply petitioning the president to abide by the Constitution of the United States of America and to put the American people’s welfare in the forefront of everything he does, instead of this mad power grab he’s been on since he took office.”
Instead of being relieved, Myers was shocked. “He’ll be thoroughly pissed. There’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Well,” Strovenov said in a calm voice, “he can’t have every high-ranking officer in all branches of the military executed or imprisoned.” He laughed under his breath, revealing a little nervousness. “Though he just might have everyone on the Joint Chiefs of Staff executed as an example. But I’m willing to take that risk and so are the others.”
General Myers came back five seconds later with, “Okay, I’m in. I still would like advice from you on how to handle the Florida situation and Colonel Donovan.”
“Good. I’m glad you decided to come along for the ride. This reminds me of what the fat bald guy said during the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Something about everyone hanging together in a desperate attempt to avoid being hanged separately.”
“Sorry. I’m not in a laughing mood. But I get your p
oint.”
“I understand,” Strovenov said. “Tell the Colonel to hold tight and try not to get into too much trouble over the next 24 hours or so. Sometime tomorrow, I’ll talk with the president about the Florida situation first, and then lower the boom when I lay our little petition on his desk for him to read. I’ll get back with you as soon as I can. That is if I’m not immediately arrested.”
Chapter 12
In the fading hours of the day, the wind began to build and dark clouds scudded across the darkening sky. Even before the sun sank behind the horizon, a chill blew in from the north. It only got colder as the night wore on.
Knowing he would need the sleep, Brian crawled into his bag not long after sundown. He woke an hour later to the sound of rain pelting the lean-to inches above his head. A lightning bolt flashed, momentarily lighting the surrounding woods, and he saw violent motion all around him as the treetops swayed and bent under the force of the storm, momentarily reminding him of the storm of worry in his mind. A moment or two was all it took for him to check on the others sleeping beside him in the lean-to. He knew Tyrone was out there in the rain standing guard. Somehow, that was sufficient to ease his worries. His eyes soon grew heavy and he fell back to sleep.
When Nate woke him at 3 AM the rain had stopped and the wind had slacked off almost completely, but as soon as he threw his sleeping bag open the chill hit him. He was in for a miserable night. Brian buttoned his jacket and pulled the collar up around his neck. He had volunteered to stand guard from 3 to 6, the coldest hours. His main reason for volunteering to stand watch over the early morning hours was to allow Atticus a chance to stay warm in his sleeping bag when it would do him the most good.
Though it had stopped raining, the woods were still dripping wet, so he slipped his poncho over him before finding a good place just outside of camp to hide in brush and under the shade of the pines where it would be darker and render him harder to see.
He stood there for two hours, scanning the woods and listening, thinking that this must have been the coldest night of his life. And it didn’t matter that it was so late in the year. Everything else in the world was screwed up, so why not the weather? He was cold. He didn’t shiver, his whole body shook, causing the frozen poncho to crackle and shed its thin layer of ice. If he had eaten lately, there might have been enough fire in his belly to thaw him a little, but he had not eaten lately, and there was no fire in his belly. The cold seemed to condense and crystallize the air until the dripping woods could drip no more, sheathed in ice. A north wind gathered strength and spit snow in his face. A turn to the east allowed him to use his boonie hat and the poncho’s hood as a windbreak, protecting his face to some degree. He unbuttoned the poncho on his side and kept his right hand in his coat pocket. The trigger finger must work if the time came on his watch. Other than the violent shaking, he barely moved, his eyes working back and forth, scanning the woods for danger, seeing little but indistinct forms of gray, black, and darker black. It was motion he was searching for and not so much the full form of a man. The wind made his task more difficult, but he would have no chance at all of seeing danger approach if he did not look. So look he did, into the dark woods, constantly scanning, constantly listening. All the while, he resisted the urge to stomp his freezing feet, his only movement, that uncontrollable shaking.
During the last hour of his watch, a directionless shot rang out. It could have been near or far, but it was impossible to tell in the freezing blackness of the night woods. Before the first one had faded, another shot hung in the air, afloat in the atmosphere, lingering, living on long enough that it was still reverberating among the unseen towering trees when still another shot assaulted the night. The last shot was punctuated by a burst of full automatic fire, and Brian finally thought he had an idea from which direction the shooting was coming from. But he still had no idea how far away it was, except that it was not close. The motion in the camp behind him gave evidence that the others were awake. In seconds, Nate was standing 20 yards away, looking for him. “Over here,” Brian whispered.
Soon, everyone was standing by Brian, a white-knuckle grip on their rifles and Atticus his shotgun, their nervous breaths misting in the cold.
“I guess someone just died,” Brian stated flatly, speaking in a low tone of voice calculated to be heard only by those near him. “I hope it wasn’t anyone we knew.”
“I couldn’t tell how far,” Deni said.
For the first time in over two hours, Brian shifted his weight from foot to foot in an effort to get circulation in them. “I couldn’t tell either. They did seem to be coming from the direction of the road.”
As they spoke, the wind ceased and a deathly still descended onto the woods around them. They all knew that meant it would grow even colder before sunrise.
“Who else but the people from the horse farm would be out here?” Tyrone observed, not really asking a question. “And who but soldiers would be shooting at them with full auto weapons?”
As if on cue, a distant throbbing buzz drifted to their ears.
“Chopper,” Deni whispered. “Has Donovan let us down after all?”
Brian looked at his father, though he couldn’t see much in the dark. “Maybe we should forget about that spring and cross the river. If we retreat into the big swamp over there, we’ll be harder to find. At least we’ll be further away from the roads.”
Nate considered Brian’s idea for a second. “Before we leave, we need to hide evidence of our camp here as much as possible. We’ll need some daylight to do that. Everyone go back to sleep and get some rest. I’ll stand watch until dawn, then wake you.”
“It’s still my watch,” Brian protested. “No one here is any less tired than I am, including you.” He added, “It looks like making ourselves comfortable here was a mistake. We probably should worry more about being tracked by leaving sign behind us from now on and less about comfort.”
Deni and Nate smiled, though they couldn’t see each other in the dark.
Nate cleared his throat. “It does seem we’re not as safe out here as we thought we were. Someone has gotten serious about wanting us, and they’re not afraid to expend resources to get what they want.”
“Yeah, we’re big terrorists or something now,” Brian hissed. “We know too much.”
Atticus laughed under his breath. “And that makes us dangerous to somebody. Well, screw them, whoever the hell they are.”
Everyone but Brian and Nate went back to their sleeping bags to catch what little sleep they could before false dawn. “With danger so close, I’m doubling the strength of our security,” Nate explained.
~~~
Nate stood as still as a statue and watched the silent woods turn from dark black to dark gray and then lighter gray. There was no chirping of the birds or quarreling of squirrels in the trees. It was too cold even for creatures that lived all their lives exposed to the elements, and so they waited longer than usual for the sun to warm their world before coming to life. The prior evening’s moisture laden sky and dripping woods had turned much drier over the hours, allowing the air to shed warmth and the temperature to drop. There was no fog, too dry for that, despite yesterday’s rain. Dew did not drip from the towering trees above and bombard the understory below, as was the norm for a Southern morning in the woods.
The return of the sun awakened a slight breeze, and the trees swayed, creating a clinking sound as ice-covered branches slapped into each other. Short icicles of one to three inches length broke off 30 feet above Nate, bombarding his head and shoulders, the light chunks of ice barely indented his boonie hat, but made it difficult to hear if someone was sneaking up on them in the woods.
It’s time. We can see well enough to work now. Nate eased over to Brian, 50 yards away. “I’ll wake the others and we’ll get to work breaking camp,” he whispered. “Stay alert and keep your eyes and ears working.”
Brian nodded.
Thirty minutes later, they had dismantled the lean-to and covered
the cut saplings with leaves and then sprinkled more pine needles over the camp area, including the refilled fire hole they had dug.
No one said a word as they worked. When Brian saw them slipping into their packs, he silently walked over and put his pack on. Nate led the way deeper into the obscurity of their freezing, gray world. Their only chance stealth, every step they took was calculated to be as silent as possible, knowing that if they were discovered their chances of surviving a gun battle with soldiers were slim to none.
A look of dread washed over everyone’s face when they came to the river’s edge. They all knew what was coming next.
Brian moved closer to his father and whispered, “Are you sure we should abandon our friends and just run and hide?”
Nate laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I know how you feel, but there’s only so much this little motley crew can take on. The fact is there’s nothing we can do for them, not as far as taking on the Army goes. It’s why we fled into the woods in the first place and it’s why they too fled into the woods instead of staying at the farm and fighting. There’s just nothing we can do to help them. We’ll be lucky if we get out of this area ourselves.”
Brian swallowed. Two seconds later, he nodded.
~~~
As ordered by the president, General Strovenov had delivered his report the night before. He was 30 minutes late, only because of the ridiculously thorough search at the security entrance. It was obvious the president was worried his top general might be a danger to him. He added a lot of filler to pad the report and to force the president to take longer to read it than the sparse substantive information it contained would have; an obvious ploy to prevent him from reading it while the general waited in the office. It bought him a few hours of time.
