BOOKS BY K.W. CALLAHAN
THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: DOWNFALL
THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: QUEST
THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: DESCENT
THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: FORESAKEN
THE SYSTEMIC SERIES: ASCENSION
THE M.O.D. FILES: THE CASE OF THE GUEST WHO STAYED OVER
THE M.O.D. FILES: THE CASE OF THE LINEN PRESSED GUEST
PALOS HEIGHTS
Text and image copyright © 2015 KW Callahan
All rights reserved
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For ye olde grandfather, the man who started it all.
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DOWNFALL
CHAPTER 1
FRIDAY, AUGUST 2nd
Cheung Wu peeked from behind the two-and-a-half ton army truck’s green canvass-covered side. A second later, he mentally kicked himself for doing so. In the early dawn’s dim light, he could make out the road’s rocky edge and the precipitous drop that the truck’s tires narrowly skirted as they curved around a hairpin switchback. He could see the winding levels of road weaving back and forth down toward the valley’s floor far below him.
The convoy had only been on the road for 20 minutes but it had already climbed to a great elevation. He wasn’t sure how high they were or how high they were going, but it was already far higher than he was comfortable being.
He looked away from the bottom of the valley to the truck following them. Its front tire kicked a sizeable stone out to the side of the road. Cheung watched it skitter away from the tire and plunge over the road’s edge, disappearing into the gray of rock and murky morning light far below.
Pulling his head back inside the truck, he decided it was better not to look outside again until they arrived. Instead, he watched the faces of his fellow soldiers around him. Looking among them, he realized that they were indeed a “people’s” army. These men, his comrades, came from every walk of life imaginable.
A chicken farmer’s son. A school teacher’s son. A businessman’s son. A doctor’s son. A government official’s son. A government official.
Cheung didn’t know why the government official was riding with them today, but he was smart enough to realize that he didn’t need to know and that he certainly shouldn’t ask.
His left arm began to itch. This drew his attention away from his thoughts. He tried to scratch it but was blocked by the hard material of the white suit he was wearing. He set the white protective hood that had replaced his standard army helmet for the day on the rocking floor of the truck’s bed and tried to wriggle his arm back and forth inside the suit to sooth this annoyance. Unsuccessful, he gritted his teeth in annoyed frustration, picked up his hood, and leaned his head back against the truck’s canvassed side, trying to focus on something other than his tickling skin.
Stupid suit! He thought to himself.
It made him wonder why. Why had they been issued these burdensome outfits for this mission? It seemed peculiar to him, even with the explanation they had been given by their commander.
The explanation itself seemed odd. Seldom, if ever, were they told more than they needed to know. Yet this time the commander of his armed police unit had gone into detail explaining that they were going to a remote village to quell unrest among the villagers and that it was pertinent once there that they not remove their protective gear for any reason.
Still, it seemed strange to Cheung that such suits would be needed for a peasant revolt even if they had gained access to chemical weapons as the commander had said. Cheung knew farmers; and farmers were not soldiers. Even if they had laid their hands upon chemical weapons, which he doubted, they would never use them for fear that they would affect their own people, crops and livestock. Plus, he knew that farmers were simple folk, probably underfed and badly treated by those outside their village, especially the government. It wouldn’t be the soldiers they were looking to harm. They were probably just seeking some attention, maybe a little extra food.
Cheung frowned as he looked at the government official sitting across from him. Well, they were going to get their attention; that was for sure. He just hoped they wouldn’t fight back. That would be bad – bad for both sides. The peasants stood no chance against him and his fellow soldiers, and Cheung had no desire to start this fine day by having to kill civilians, although that was what he would do if the order came.
The truck hit a pothole and bounced to the left, jolting its occupants, jarring teeth, knocking heads, and drawing soft moans and murmurs from those around him.
Cheung decided to break his rule about looking outside and took a quick glance at the truck behind theirs, watching as it hit the same pothole. The entire back end of the truck lurched heavily to one side as it bounced over the hole. Cheung could see the left rear tire rim the edge of the road – an inch, two, then three – rubber rolling out over the side and into nothingness. Nearly half the tire was hanging over the edge now.
His breath caught. He waited, watched. It seemed like forever although it couldn’t have been more than a fraction of a second that the tire hung there, teetering on the edge of the world, waiting for fate to make a decision as to whether it would continue its role on earth carrying troops from one place to another or if it would fall hundreds of feet to be consumed in a ball of fire within the stony crags below.
The tire leapt back onto the road and Cheung exhaled.
He didn’t like the feel of this morning. Something wasn’t sitting right with him.
“Where is this place we’re going?” he heard the soldier beside him whisper to another in the dim light of the truck’s interior.
He couldn’t hear the response, but it didn’t matter. No one but the commander and possibly the government official knew exactly where they were going. And it would likely stay that way until they arrived at their destination, and even then, Cheung imagined few if any of the men would know exactly where they were after they got there. This was just idle chatter between soldiers – a meaningless way to pass time. None of the soldiers really wanted to know any more than they needed to. Knowledge led to problems.
Cheung focused his attention back on the government official. The man was fiddling with some sort of instrument that Cheung had never seen before. But that was no surprise. Cheung had not seen many things in his brief time on earth. He was but the son of a simple fisherman. Just 19 years old. Joining the army was his way to see and to learn and to discover new things.
Maybe the official’s device was the reason for the suits. Maybe the government was testing this new instrument for the army. Maybe he, Cheung, son of a simple fisherman, would one day get to use this new and interesting looking device and be able to tell his children or his grandchildren about the time he had helped to further their nation’s superiority among all others.
The road had begun to level out and widen as the trucks rumbled ever higher into the mountains. Then the trucks slowed and rolled to a stop. Moments later, Cheung’s unit commander appeared behind the truck and lowered its back gate.
“Out! Out!” he shouted. “We go on foot from here! Suits on! Don’t remove them unless ordered to. I repeat, do not, for any reason, take them off until my order.”
Cheung and the other eleven men inside jumped out of the truck.
The terrain here was rugged. While they had reached a rocky plateau of sorts, the mountain that they were on continued, its peaks reaching far up into the haze of the morning clouds.
He glanced quickly around at the row of stopped trucks that stretched ahead of his. He could see that the road they were traveling on continued for about a quarter mile before it rounded a bend and disappeared. He guessed their destination must lie somewhere around that curve.
Cheung and his fellow s
oldiers immediately started donning their white protective helmets, assisting one another to ensure that they were properly fitted and secured. Soldiers from the other trucks were going through similar routines; men checking one another, pulling, tugging, lifting, looking, and double checking that suits were well-fitted and airtight.
As soon as each man had been inspected by another, he fell into line, one beside the other until all were ready and standing at attention. Each unit’s commander then went down the line, conducting a final inspection before donning his own suit. Once each unit commander was satisfied that his men were prepared, weapons were handed out, checked, and re-checked.
Cheung was used to this routine, all of it except the protective gear part, although this aspect reminded him of a gas-attack drill which they had conducted on numerous occasions. He hated gas-attack drills. They were hectic, sweaty, and claustrophobic. And the results, if the drill was not conducted properly, ended either in his commander berating them for their inefficiency or, if actual gas was being used, a gas-induced bout of vomiting, retching, and dry heaves.
The thought made him shiver.
The unit commander stepped before his men, his protective suit in place as well. Only the helmet was still off. Cheung knew it was time for the commander to make his little speech. Other unit commanders were doing the same. His commander loved his little speeches. He often went on for several minutes, sermon-like, preaching not only the rules of engagement but political convictions to his men as if he were being watched by Chairman Mao himself.
This time was different though. This time the commander was direct, concise, and to the point. This forwardness shook Cheung a little. He was used to using the commander’s speech to ready himself for the action that was to ensue – a few moments to reflect, calm himself, think of his family back home, and be proud of himself and his nation. This time though, he actually had to pay attention. The commander’s voice sounded serious, more serious than usual.
“The villagers that you will encounter today are enemies of the people. They are not civilians. They are revolutionaries, dangers to themselves, dangers to those around them, and dangers to our great nation. They should be dealt with quickly, severely, and without remorse. Today we take no prisoners. There is no margin for error. There is to be no mercy. I repeat; we take no prisoners. These people are imminent and direct threats to all they come in contact with. We have strong reason to believe they have access to chemical weapons. Should, for any reason, your protective uniform be compromised, even in the slightest way, you must alert me for immediate decontamination. Again, I say; any compromise of your protective gear must be brought to my attention or the attention of the nearest unit commander immediately in order to conduct decontamination procedures.” The commander paused and looked around at his men. “Are there any questions?”
No one spoke. No one ever spoke after the commander finished.
The commander moved to the front of the line and Cheung and the other soldiers fell in behind. Other units were doing the same, closing up upon one another in close ranks. They marched like this for what Cheung guessed was nearly a half mile, rounding the bend in the road and approaching the slowly curling smoke of a small village.
All units were brought to a halt just within sight of the first few farm buildings where the commanders gave their final instructions. Cheung’s unit was to search and secure all buildings on the west side of the village, eliminating any threats in the process.
“There is to be no mercy,” were the commander’s exact words.
Cheung had never encountered such a situation. He had never killed anyone. He had never even been faced with the prospect of killing anyone. He had been trained to kill, but that was different. These people weren’t enemy soldiers, they were just people. And from all appearances, the village looked peaceful. But his commander had said it contained dangerous people, so Cheung decided that meant they were just as bad as enemy soldiers. And if they were willing to kill him, he was certainly willing to kill them. Still, he wondered what it would be like if it came to that.
Would killing a person be like killing one of the many fish in his father’s market? He knew it wouldn’t. It must be worse. It had to be worse. But would it really? He didn’t know these people any better than he knew the fish in his father’s market, and his country had just as many people as fish in the sea. And many of these people served a much lesser purpose. So why should the life of one of them be any different than a fish? Maybe his fellow soldiers would do all the killing and he could just get lost in the fray.
These were the thoughts Cheung pondered as his unit completed the last several hundred yards of their march and jogged right, away from the other units and toward the west side of the village.
The place was quiet, and it certainly didn’t appear that any sort of uprising was occurring. There were maybe thirty buildings of various size, shape and construction surrounded by towering mountains on three sides. It made for a secluded spot, a perfect spot to ambush his unit should the villagers seize the opportunity.
A rooster crowed from its perch upon a rickety wooden fence. Someone coughed from inside a nearby hut. Dishes rattled inside another.
Cheung’s unit dispersed into small, pre-determined teams of two; each one breaking toward a separate building. Cheung and his partner Li, moved toward a small shanty constructed of aluminum sheet metal and old boards. No smoke rose from the roof, and as he neared, Cheung heard no noises coming from within. He wasn’t sure whether it was a home for people or animals, but he felt it constituted a potential threat in his sector and should therefore be checked.
As he neared his target, his eyes shot back and forth between the building’s entry door, which hung slight askew, and his unit commander who had his right hand raised in anticipation of ordering a start to the operation. In turn, the commander was watching his commander.
Cheung was nervous now. As he and Li edged around the corner of the building to take up a protective position until the command was given, he wondered whether anyone would be inside his building. Would he be left to make the decision as to whether to pull the trigger of his weapon, thereby ending a life? Or would he be left staring at livestock and farm equipment?
His thoughts were interrupted as a door to one of the buildings near the center of the village opened. A man in dirty clothes moved slowly from within. His eyes stared down at his feet as he shuffled forward, apparently unaware of the soldiers moving around him. The man coughed, scratched himself, ran a hand through mussed hair and finally looked up. His forward shuffling stopped at he saw the nearest unit commander.
From Cheung’s position several hundred feet away, it was hard to tell exactly what happened next. The commander moved toward the man, who at first appeared frightened, his body straightening to a more upright position and his head moving quickly back and forth to take in the scene of other soldiers around him. Cheung almost thought the man was going to turn and run back inside, but then it appeared the man’s fear turned to relief. He raised his arms, holding them out before him toward the commander who stood maybe ten feet from him. It was as though the man wanted to embrace the commander.
The man spoke several words that Cheung could not make out. The commander only shook his head in response. The man seemed confused, arms still outstretched. Then he turned around began to say something back into the hut from which he’d came.
The commander moved swiftly, almost before Cheung could comprehend what was happening. Drawing his sidearm from inside its holster around his waist, the commander aimed it directly at the man’s head and fired. Bloody chunks of flesh flew from the man’s head, and a second later, he crumpled into a heap on the ground.
Cheung stood mesmerized. It was the first time he had witnessed an actual death. It hit him fast and hard. Death to another human being was indeed a terrible thing. It wasn’t like killing a fish at all, and it was a task that now he was almost sure he could not undertake himself. A second later, he felt Li’
s arm thunk him hard in the shoulder, jolting him back to reality. Cheung’s eyes darted to where his own commander stood; his arm down now indicating that it was time for his troops to carry out their mission.
Cheung took a deep breath and moved around the corner of his building to the front of the door. He prayed that no one would be inside as he gritted his teeth, took a step back, and kicked hard against the shabby door.
The tiny shed shook, and for a split second, Cheung thought that the entire structure might come down. The door gave, bending under the force of his kick, then popped open. Cheung charged inside, ducking to miss hitting his head on the door’s low frame.
Inside the hovel, it was dark. Cheung took but a second to let his eyes adjust. His instincts told him his life could hang in the balance of that moment.
The interior of the hut could not have been more than 10 feet by 15 feet – a single room lit only by the dim morning light that filtered through the open doorway. Cheung made a quick scan of the room – oil stove to his immediate right, pile of plastic milk crates beside that, cardboard boxes beside those, a small table in the center of the room with a lantern atop it and a chair and a small bench set around it. Against the left wall sat a small cot piled with mounds of disheveled blankets, and at the foot of the cot, a white, five-gallon bucket.
Cheung saw all of this in a period of time that measured a second, maybe two, just as he had been trained to see it. Look for immediate threats. Re-scan for clues to potential threats. Then make a more measured inspection once the space was secured.
He re-scanned more thoroughly this time. Oil stove, milk crates, cardboard boxes, small table with lantern and that was set with dishes – he hadn’t noticed that detail before – chair, bench, small cot with blankets, white bucket, and clothing on the floor next to the bucket. He had also missed the clothing.
The Systemic Series - Box Set Page 1
