by Bobby Akart
“Yes, Madam President. You might want to sit down.”
“Charles, I don’t need any more drama. Isn’t the collapse of America enough for one president to endure?”
“It is, ma’am, but there’s progress on that front, which I’ll tell you about after.”
“After what, Charles?” asked the president, who reluctantly sat down.
“Ma’am, this hasn’t been formally announced yet, but I have it on good authority that Monty Gregg has been killed.”
“Wow, Charles. Are you sure?”
“I don’t have all the details yet, but it’s been confirmed to me by multiple sources.”
President Harman spun around in her chair and looked to the telephone, which still did not work. She turned back around and looked at Acton. “I should call Austin.”
“Not quite yet, Madam President. They’ve not called a formal press conference, and you don’t want to be in a position of explaining how you know.”
“Okay. My goodness. He and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but he was a hero to this country, and his death is distressing.”
Hero isn’t the word I would have chosen.
“That’s all I know at this time. When something official is released, I’ll formulate our formal response.”
“Good, thank you. Charles, why would they withhold the announcement? Has something else happened?”
Acton retrieved a side chair from next to the wall and pulled it up to the president’s desk. “There have been some additional developments regarding Texas that might have an impact on our relationships with them and the United Nations.”
“Go ahead.”
“There was a serious border breach in West Texas near Hobbs, New Mexico. Anywhere from fifteen to twenty thousand American refugees streamed into Texas.”
“Good for them,” said the president with a chuckle. “How are they making out?”
“Hard to tell, as, once again, there is no reporting because the Burnett administration has clamped down on the media.”
“How are you finding out these things?”
“Sources,” replied Acton. Then he raised both hands and leaned back in his chair.
“I get it, plausible deniability,” said President Harman. “I won’t ask again.”
Acton took a deep breath before proceeding. “I think we should make a formal request, through proper channels, of course, for an accounting of the refugees and confirmation that they are being treated well. If the Burnett administration refuses to comply, we should take our case to the United Nations.”
“She’ll just refuse to comply,” said the president.
“Perhaps,” began Acton. “However, international pressure brought her around regarding the UN airlift of relief supplies. It might work again.”
“May I assume that channels refers to State Department to State Department?”
“Yes, but allow me to draft the outline of the proposal. My approach worked pretty well before.”
President Harman rose out of her chair and walked to the window to admire a soft blanket of snow, which had fallen overnight. “What else, Charles?”
Under other circumstances, he’d try to encourage the president to get involved in more of the daily affairs relating to the recovery following the nuclear attacks. However, their working relationship was such that Acton was given carte blanche around the White House and Washington. He had become the de facto president.
“Nothing, Madam President. If something of consequence arises, I’ll let you know.”
Chapter 16
January 17
Camp Lubbock
Lubbock, Texas
Duncan had envisioned putting in a long day’s work at Camp Lubbock and then returning to Armstrong Ranch to spend time with Sook and his family. At the end of day one, he requisitioned a cot for his office and placed a phone call to Sook to wish her goodnight. He crashed in his makeshift bunk, sleeping uncomfortably until he awoke like always, just before dawn.
He’d just returned from the latrine when he was greeted outside his door by Espy, who held two empty coffee mugs and an entire pot of black coffee.
“Espy, notwithstanding everything else you do, which is above the call of duty, delivering that pot of coffee should earn you a third stripe.”
“That would be nice, sir,” said Espy as he pushed Duncan’s door open with his boot and stood aside as his commander entered his office turned home/office.
Duncan accepted a steaming mug of black coffee and took his first sip. He furrowed his brow and looked inside his mug as if he expected the brand name to be floating on the surface of the dark brew.
“I know, it’s not Starbucks,” apologized Espy.
“Espy, it’s not even Folgers. Did they grow these coffee beans out back somewhere?”
“I don’t know, but I can find out.”
“I’m just kidding. So you wanna be a sergeant? I suppose I could make that happen, right?”
Espy laughed as he gestured toward a chair, seeking permission to sit. Duncan nodded and smiled.
“I suppose, sir, not that it really matters. I might get paid a little more, but there’s nothing to buy with the money. I don’t exactly have any free time to spend it, not that there’s any entertainment to spend it on. You know, the world’s kinda frozen in time. Nothing comes and nothing goes. We’re all just waiting to see what happens next.”
Duncan hadn’t thought of it that way, but Espy was right. Even though Texans had avoided the apocalyptic world that had beset most of North America, life as they knew it had come to a screeching halt. A person’s ordinary day might begin with the ringing of an alarm clock, followed by a shower, and breakfast while watching The Today Show. Then you hustled the kids off to school and went to work. Your job might be mundane, but it paid the bills, and at the end of the day, you could mentally check out and spend time with your family. Your busy day might include time at the soccer field or shopping or reading your favorite eBook.
All of those ordinary daily activities had come to a screeching halt despite the fact that the Texas power grid had been spared. Electricity provided Texans a sense of normalcy and safety. Police, fire, and health professionals were still at work. Transportation was still an option if you could afford the fuel. Some goods and services were available, for a price. Otherwise, Texans, like Americans, were in a holding pattern until their trusted politicians could fix this mess.
“Nonetheless, let’s get you promoted,” said Duncan. “Will you prepare the necessary paperwork for me to elevate you to the rank of sergeant?”
“I will, and while I appreciate it, it’s not necessary, sir. The lieutenants already let me boss them around as if I’m you. It’s kind of comical, actually. They do the dirty work that I used to.”
“Where the axe meets the stone,” quipped Duncan.
“Yes, sir.”
Duncan looked at the paperwork on his desk and quickly shoved it aside. He wasn’t interested in the administrative side of the job. He’d allow his newly promoted sergeant to handle it. His primary concerns were troop readiness and rapid deployment.
“Well, the teams worked late into the night clearing the houses in Seminole. We turned all of the refugees over to Sheriff Diaz to hold until further notice. I think he plans to bus them to a nearby prison facility. I’ve requisitioned rations from Fort Bliss to keep them fed until they’re moved.”
“What about interrogations?” asked Duncan.
“I thought we’d send a bilingual team down there today to conduct interviews,” replied Espy. “They can compile a report and advise me directly if anything pertinent arises, especially related to the Korean involvement in the border breach.”
Duncan checked his watch. It was eight a.m. “Why don’t you take care of those things and advise the lieutenants that I’d like us to meet as a group in the small conference room at ten. I need to pull a few things from the armory and make a quick call to the ranch.”
“Yes, sir,” said Espy as h
e topped off his coffee. He left Duncan’s office and closed the door behind him.
Duncan had only spoken to Sook the night before, but he found himself wanting to advise his father of yesterday’s events. While he had been conducting clandestine operations abroad, Duncan had tried to close his family out of his mind. The distractions of a worried father or a grieving mother would likely have resulted in his capture or being killed. It had hardened him emotionally, but all of that had changed the day he’d opened his eyes and saw Sook standing over him.
Since then, his family had become his priority, and he remembered that his father stored a wealth of information and experience in his mind. When he’d woken up that morning, he vowed to speak with him daily, not just to seek his advice, but to keep him abreast of what was going on beyond the borders of Armstrong Ranch.
After their twenty-minute conversation, in which he relayed his experience in Seminole and Major provided Duncan his opinion on the death of Vice President Gregg, Duncan headed to the armory to do a little shopping.
He hoped to get back to the ranch this evening, assuming, of course, there wasn’t another crisis. With each trip to Armstrong ranch, Duncan planned on procuring weapons to be used in its defense.
Today, he was going to focus on home-defense weapons to be used by his parents, Sook, and his siblings. He made his way through the impressive array of weapons until he reached the shotguns. There were several to choose from, but one in particular caught his eye.
He pulled a Mossberg 590 Shockwave shotgun off the rack and studied its black Cerakote finish. Yesterday’s use of his matte black knives reminded him that a homeowner had the upper hand on an intruder because they knew their way around the home in low lighting. The dark earth finish of the Mossberg Shockwave would not give away their position like some shotguns that had metallic finishes.
Duncan weighed the weapon in his hands. At just over five pounds, it was light enough for the women to use without growing weary, although he never envisioned his mother, Palmer or Sook growing weary in a gunfight to defend the ranch. As the big guy on the A-Team television show used to say, Duncan thought to himself, I pity the fool who takes those three honey badgers on.
He grabbed two of the Mossbergs and moved on. He wanted everyone at the ranch to begin using a backup sidearm stored safely in an ankle holster. Most attackers didn’t expect the average person to be armed in this manner, so the element of surprise would be a help.
Duncan stopped at the handguns and studied his options. He picked up a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield compact chambered in nine millimeter. This small, lightweight handgun would match the calibers used by his family at the ranch in their other handguns. Despite its small size, it came with extended grip magazines, which would hold eight rounds. At just over a pound, this would make an ideal backup weapon. He opened the case and discovered the package included an ankle-carry holster.
Sold, he muttered to himself as he tried to determine the best way to carry four of those and the two shotguns. With the shotguns tucked under each armpit and his large hands gripping the hard-plastic handgun cases, he made his way for the exit of the armory. Just as he reached the desk of the young woman at the checkout cage, something caught his eye.
“Good morning, Corporal,” said Duncan.
“Good morning, Commander,” she responded jovially. She flashed a pretty smile, and her eyes looked down shyly at her desk. Duncan smiled at her flirtatious movements but was proud that he was engaged to the love of his life and didn’t give this pretty girl a second thought.
“Corporal, what do you have there? Behind you, on the credenza?”
She got out of her chair and retrieved one of the boxes to show Duncan. He set his weapons aside.
“Sir, I’m calling this our new Star Wars gun. It’s the TS12 bullpup shotgun. Do you wanna see?”
Duncan didn’t respond and simply opened the box, revealing a unique, futuristic form of shotgun. Only twenty-eight inches long, including its eighteen-inch barrel, the weapon was very light in his hands at eight pounds.
“What’s the magazine capacity?” he asked as he studied the weapon’s features.
“Fifteen, sir. Twelve gauge. Did you notice it was semiautomatic?”
“I did.”
“No pumping.”
“Right,” said Duncan as he avoided eye contact. He’d had enough of the corporal’s flirting. “I’ll take two of these. In fact, have someone deliver these to Corporal Esparza’s office together with a thousand rounds of ammo for each weapon.”
“Oh, I know Espy,” she said. “I’ll do it myself.”
Duncan immediately thought of how Palmer and Espy had hit it off. While he’d never envisioned a fellow soldier dating his sister, the two were infatuated with one another, and he didn’t plan on standing in their way.
“No, Corporal. You do your job very well right here. Summon a private to take care of it. Thank you.”
Duncan turned and strode out of the armory.
Chapter 17
January 17
The Armstrong Ranch
Borden County, Texas
Major rounded up Lucy and Preacher to discuss his phone conversation with Duncan. It was an unseasonably warm day, so they met outside by the horse barn. Sook and Palmer were nearby grooming the horses, so Major moved the conversation a little farther away to keep them out of earshot.
“It’s not that I care if the girls hear what I’ve got to say, but I don’t want to unduly alarm Sook concerning the potential dangers our boy faces out there,” Major explained as he led them over near the horse-training pen. “If he wants to keep her up to speed on his activities, that’s up to him.”
“Has he been in danger?” asked Lucy nervously.
“No, Momma,” replied Major somewhat sarcastically. “Besides, I don’t think he’d tell me if he was. I can only imagine how many times he’s been shot at or near death. I do have a certain comfort level in knowing that those brushes with danger made him smarter and more careful.”
“I agree with Major,” said Preacher. “Your boy is smart enough to know you can’t just bring a knife to a gunfight.”
“Okay, if you two say so,” said Lucy. “What did he say that’s caused you to call us all together?”
“Two things,” Major replied. “The North Korean presence has been confirmed from multiple sources. At least forty broke through at the Hobbs checkpoint, and countless others infiltrated West Texas where the fences were knocked down. In addition, they provided the refugees with high-powered weapons, including AR-15s.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Preacher.
“I suggested it was because the North Koreans were going to either use the refugees as scapegoats for the attack on the Texas checkpoint or to make them a distraction to evade capture once they’d entered our country.”
“What did Duncan think?” asked Lucy.
“He agrees and also thinks they have designs on something bigger,” replied Major. “He pointed out that the dialect they were using, as heard by Sook, was native North Korean. That rules out a group of Korean Americans banding together, who would most likely be of South Korean descent.”
Preacher removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He had a puzzled look on his face. “You think these are real North Koreans? I don’t know, boss. That sounds more like a movie than reality.”
“It adds up, however,” said Major. “Plus, Duncan said the coordinated attack on our border security indicates a level of command and control beyond a bunch of thugs or gangbangers lookin’ to make trouble. And there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Lucy.
“He mentioned that one of the weapons they confiscated yesterday was completely clean of markings or serial numbers,” replied Major. “I’d read about this before everything went crazy. The Mexican drug cartels were manufacturing their own AK-47s and AR-15s. Duncan thinks it’s possible the cartels helped North Korean commandos enter the U.S. through the souther
n border.”
“For what purpose?” asked Lucy.
“Maybe we’re at war and don’t know it yet,” replied Major dryly.
His words hung in the air as Lucy and Preacher contemplated this new information.
“I don’t know, y’all,” said Preacher. “The three of us have talked about the possibilities of an EMP attack or even nuclear missiles flying over our heads, but I didn’t think any country would have the ability to attack us on our own soil with a ground invasion. 9/11 doesn’t count as an enemy attack either.”
Major rolled his head on his shoulders to work out the kinks. “I can’t disagree, Preach. But all the signs point to just that. With Washington’s hands full trying to save the U.S. and initiate some semblance of a recovery effort, and our own obsession with keeping folks out of Texas, maybe the stars are aligned for something previously thought to be absurd, like invading us.”
Major wandered over to the horse pen fence and propped his right leg on the bottom rung and leaned on the top rail with both arms. Lucy and Preacher followed suit as their conversation continued.
“How will this affect us?” asked Lucy.
Major responded, “Setting aside the North Korean issue for a second, Duncan said thousands of refugees broke through the fences and started heading into the country in all directions. We’re a hundred miles away, but it’s a matter of time before they could arrive here. When they do, it could be dozens or even hundreds bunched together.”
“We can’t shoot ’em all,” said Lucy.
“True,” said Preacher. “All we can do is try to warn them off. But, and we all have to agree upon this, if they try to climb the fences, I say we shoot ’em. We kinda said that before, but if they come at us and we’re outnumbered—I mean, I’m sorry. It’s us or them.”
“Yes, I totally agree,” said Lucy.
“Then it’s settled,” added Major. “Preach, will you spread the word about the potential for increased activity. Also, we need to increase our perimeter patrols. If a hundred people show up at the fences, a couple of our patrols on horseback won’t be enough to turn them away.”
