“Who’s we?” Daniel asked.
“Me, and a few other guys from my row of seats. When the plane stopped our whole row was okay. It was freaky. But then everyone behind and in front of us…” He trailed off. “I fucked my ankle up, Kansans found me. I think the other guys managed to keep going North though. They aren’t here at any rate.”
“What about your prisoner?”
“Which piece?” The MP responded. “Hell, I don’t know. The section of floor where we had the detainees sitting gave way when the missiles hit. I’m impressed Major Holmes was able to set us down, we tried to rescue him too, but everyone in the nose was...”
“I saw.” Daniel said. “Why did this happen? Why is Texas shooting at other Americans?”
“Are you retarded?”
“Humor me. I’ve been out of the world a spell.”
Wilder, the MP, took a breath, “It’s Civil War Two, man. Texas has half the military equipment in North America, and the President wants it back. Texas Pres said no, called him a Muslim Traitor and every week now we lose more and more planes.”
“What the fuck happened to us fighting the zombies? You know, as in us, the Human fucking Race. How do we have time for this bullshit anymore!?”
“Calm down, bro, they’ll give you a sedative if you make trouble. These flatlanders are trying real hard not to piss off either side. If you ask me they’re just a bunch of pussies,” He said rather loudly, “but whatever.” Wilder sat back down, motioning for Daniel to do the same.
He couldn’t help himself, the absurdity of the notion of two American armies shooting at each other again was unfathomable. One of the three Texans was in a flight suit, Daniel singled him out and shouted to him through the wire fences. “Hey, hey you. Cowboy Fucktard. What in hell are you assholes doing!? We’re on the same fucking side, we’re all Americans, ya fucking jackoffs!” When the Texans didn’t even look at him he kicked the fence. The guards started to take notice. “Do you know what’s happening out there? Not everywhere’s safe. There are other countries attacking us, and flesh eating plague monsters, and God knows what else, and you assclowns have the audacity to shoot down an unarmed plane!?”
The closest Kansan guard stepped in Daniel’s way. “Calm your ass down, Soldier.”
“Fuck you! And fuck you motherfucking honkey ass bitches. Cowards, all of you!”
That got the Texan pilot’s attention. “No, fuck you, Yankee scum! Unarmed? Are you serious? Which one were you on? That prop plane dropping chaff, or one of them C-17’s transporting chemical fucking weapons over Sovereign Texan Airspace? Cause ya know, I shot down so many last night I can’t keep ‘em all straight.”
“Chemical weapons? Fuck you! We’re refugees! My best friend, my best fucking friend on Earth and his girl are dead now because of you!”
A Kansan nurse stuck a needle in Daniel’s arm. He immediately felt high as a kite, his vision blurring. The last thing he heard was the distorted voice of the mustached Texan pilot, “Don’t blame us, kid, blame him.” He pointed to a row of pictures of all the US Presidents on a far wall, the last and largest was America’s latest Dear Leader. His smug expression and distant, glazed looking eyes the last thing Daniel remembered till morning.
When he woke up was that he was hungry again. The smell of food being cooked in a nearby room made him sit up and look around. The Texans from the next cell were gone, two Federals Soldiers in just their skivvies were cleaning the floors where the Texans had been under the casual watch of the guards. Wilder, the MP, came back in with two of his buddies with their legs in casts. He had a thick Ace bandage around his waist, Daniel could see that with the man’s uniform top off, the seatbelt in the plane had done a number on him.
“Hey, look who’s awake. The boy who’s our ticket to an early release.”
“What are you talking about?” Daniel’s head still didn’t feel right. He may pass out again soon. “What did they give me?”
“Propothol, you know, that crap Michael Jackson OD’d on?”
“Right. Where’s the Cowboys?”
“They got paroled in the middle of the night. Some officer dressed like Teddy Roosevelt about to charge San Juan Hill comes walkin’ in and makes a big scene out of repatriating ‘Texas’s Brave Fightin’ Men.’” Wilder had to try to imitate the officer’s voice to mock him. “Seems Kansas is getting really friendly with those Walker wannabe motherfuckers. We could win this War on EV1 today if it weren’t for the fucking Mutiny.”
“What mutiny? Do you even know what that word means?”
“When Texas left the rest of America to die, when Texas conscripted every Serviceman in their borders and shot the deserters, when they lined our generals up against a wall shot them for refusing to obey the orders of their congress… Texas is a nation of lunatic drunks and fanatical white trash.”
“How long have you been practicing that one?” Daniel said wryly.
“At least as long as I’ve been stuck here.” He said, offering Daniel a muffin from breakfast. “They already put all the food lines away.”
“Be grateful they feed us at all. During the First Civil War, as I guess we’ll have to call it that from now on, neither side was well known for treating Military or Civilian POWs with anything resembling morality or basic human compassion. It was as akin to any other form of a concentration camp as there ever has been, only it was the mothers and wives and daughters of known Union men from towns the Rebels took. It’s a different game now for sure, but at least we can count on these fine folks not lining us up and shooting us.” Daniel was making eye contact with a guard during that last part.
“Don’t give me any ideas, kid. Just keep your head down, you’re all going home soon.” The guard actually acknowledged Daniel.
“I am home. I live in Topeka. Why can’t I stay here?” Another Soldier asked.
“Because…” And the Guard stepped forward, “… of which uniform you’re wearing. Kansas can’t risk being drawn into this war anymore than it already has. The directive stands, any and all military personnel currently enlisted or commissioned in the Armed Forces of the United States of America shall be returned to the nearest US outpost within a reasonable amount of time and having undergone no interrogation other than to state their name, rank and unit. And that is exactly what we are going to do.”
“This is bullshit! I had two weeks left when the virus hit. I ETS’ed months ago!” The Soldier took his boot off and threw it at the guard. He missed and hit the cage, which brought out another guard with a dart gun filled with, apparently, more Propothol. In moments the upset Kansan was out like a light, soon to be handed back over to the very people he didn’t want to be with anymore. This was wrong. The entire situation bureaucratic psychopathy in practice, no common sense used at all.
Wilder managed to bum a couple cigarettes off a guard and handed one to Daniel. “So like I was saying, apparently your name means something to these people. They ID’d you while you were out, seems for a PFC you’re pretty well connected.”
“My mom. She’s a Colonel in the Air Force.” Daniel sighed.
“General. They said you’re a General’s son.”
Daniel started laughing. A deep, harsh laugh that was totally out of place. “The world is ending and all my mother can think to do is pick up her fucking star… FUCK I HATE THIS SHIT!” Daniel flipped off a guard. “Drug me, I don’t give a fuck anymore!”
As if on queue the large double doors swung open, but instead of a needle wielding nurse it was a group of Army and Air Force officers in dress uniforms, whoever was in charge in Kansas was standing next to them with their hands in their pockets like a sullen school boy who’d ratted out his friends. It was only mildly funny that the one wearing the suit should be in the child’s position.
The major in charge of the group ordered that those who couldn’t walk on their own be carried to an air-ambulance, the walking wounded and the rest of them would board a completely different helicopter. On their way to t
he landing site Daniel spotted the armed escort for this prisoner exchange. Four Apache gunships and two orbiting FA18 Superhornets, the roaring jets making low passes for show and intimidation. Where was this kind of protection when Jose was still alive? Why hadn’t the Air Force or the Army cared then?
Answers weren’t something you could always expect as a Soldier. In fact, following orders without having to be explained why is part of the contract. This is all supposed to be based on an unconditional trust that the officers appointed above you not only know what they are doing, but that they have your best interests at mind as a close second to mission accomplishment. This is not exactly the reality of it, as any Soldier will tell you. In the military manuals of the late 1990’s and early 2000’s, they were extremely clear that Mission Accomplishment was only a close 1st over Troop Welfare, meaning it was entirely possible to fail at a mission because your losses were too heavy, or you lacked some vial supply. Most military doctrine was to pull back at 20% losses and regroup. Whatever the military manuals said now, it wasn’t likely troop welfare was more than an afterthought to a demented numbers game. It might as well be 1862 again, sergeants on either side of a row of men shouting, “Don’t run boys! Just stand and shoot! (and whoever has more men left after the shooting wins!)”
One of the helicopters the US Army set down to retrieve their lost men from the suspiciously neutral Kansans contained of all things, reporters. A wave of almost a dozen brightly clothed civilians with cameras and microphones bum-rushed Daniel and the men escorting him. Without hesitation they began to bombard him with questions about how he survived for so long in ‘The Wild’ to what was the first thing he wanted to eat when he got home. Naturally the answer was Anthony’s Pizza, a chain restaurant contracted through AAFES to operate on Army and Air Force bases. The greasy, cheaply made pizza was among Daniel’s favorite things on Earth, but right now he couldn’t care less about his love affair with fatty junk foods. His first reaction was to punch one of the reporters who got entirely too close to him, rubbing the microphone’s felt tip against his unshaven face. No sooner had Daniel’s hand balled into a fist than someone next to him grabbed that fist and held on with a death grip.
Ready to use his other hand to cold-cock whoever the hell had just signed their own death warrant, Daniel’s glare met the cold gray eyes of a captain he’d never seen before. His uniform was a throwback to the days of gray and white universal patterns, probably because there was a lot of it left over in warehouses and fresh, modern uniforms weren’t in ready supply. Most people now days would prefer beans and bullets to shoes and shirts.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Private. You’re too close to the finish line.” He said, motioning for one of the armed MP’s to basically pistol whip the reporter. The reporters backed off and went about accosting the other rescued men. Daniel was escorted by this Captain Sharp until the noise of the choppers drown out any possible verbal communication. For this, Captain Sharp was prepared and handed a touchscreen tablet to Daniel with a word program opened for them to write on:
I am Captain Jeffry Sharp, Division Headquarters Company, 3ID. I have been tasked with your personal security on the way back to Warren AFB. Because of your status as the son of one of our most esteemed generals, and as a survivor of this plague, your story has garnered quite a bit of media attention. In case you haven’t noticed, this war is going very badly. The folks back home could use a hero, someone to look at and say If He Can Do It, etc etc… Play along, smile for the cameras. I’m certain that after living with a mother like yours, you understand how political events can be when you’re in the limelight.
Daniel read the message. He wasn’t sure what part infuriated him more, that he’d be assigned a personal body guard when he very much identified as Just another Joe, or that he’d be offered some kind of reward for doing only what any moral person should have done. He looked up at Captain Sharp, for a moment Lea’s ghost was sitting in the seat next to Sharp, then Daniel blinked and she was gone, her shadow burned into his eyes as he adjusted to the empty seat. Rather than rock the boat, which might get him thrown out of yet another aircraft, he decided to play along and see where this went. Besides, Daniel consoled himself, he was tired and it was time to go home. Nothing sounded better right now than home. Maybe sex, beer, and pizza in no particular order, but mostly just home.
Sir, I’m not sure I understand my part in all this. All I did was survive.
Captain Sharp read Daniel’s response and smiled. He had yellowing teeth, a sure sign of a smoker, and the tips of his Super Troopers mustache were yellowed too. Maybe he smoked a pipe or cigars, either way he looked like he wanted whatever his vice was right about now.
Just follow my lead when we land, Mr. Sawyer. Your mother is a very important person now, quite famous for her defense of Boise, Idaho from an outbreak just across the border in La Grande. You will be briefed on her recent exploits when we arrive, for now keep the details of your experience to a minimum. You will need to be debriefed before speaking at any length to the public, as well you will be compelled to attend a press conference with the Commander in Chief and Brigadier General Brown.
Daniel laughed. He was going to love this bullshit, if love were a thinly veiled metaphor for wishing he were back in DC with nothing but a pointy stick. The choppers landed an incredibly short time later, a look out the window proved he wasn’t yet back at Warren AFB, but was instead landing at a new forward airfield built since the plague spread. The crew chief handed a headset to Captain Sharp, who nodded when explained the reason for landing early.
The helicopter engines started winding down and eventually Daniel could hear himself think again. The small airbase was filled with ground crew and helicopters under temporary tents that hadn’t been taken out of storage since the invasion of Iraq more than a decade ago. The only genuinely new things Daniel saw were two F-35 Joint Strike Fighters taxying to a short runway before roaring into the air. Then Daniel got it. There was another air threat, probably the Texans again. At this point in his life he thought he might stab the next person wearing a Stetson that crossed his path, but then that’s how you stay mad at someone long enough to fight them. You dehumanize your enemy, and if they’re your own you learn to find something stupid to hate so that you can continue to hate for as long as it takes to win.
“Sir, what happened?” Daniel bothered to ask.
“There’s active enemy radar in the area. We’ll be taking a high-speed rail back to the Complex.”
“What complex?” Daniel remembered his decorum before it was too late, “Sir.”
“The Cheyenne Complex Community Project. Fancy name for Mankind’s last best hope to survive this plague. That’s where you come in, Private Sawyer. I’m putting together a special operations unit, not like the old ones, but one designed specifically to combat the EV1 threat as it exists today. The CDC is working on an inoculation to prevent future outbreaks, but for now the best we have are boots on the ground, you get me Mr. Sawyer?”
“Yessir. Is this voluntary, Sir?”
“If I say yes will that make you feel better?” Captain Sharp stood straight up, making certain he looked down a little at Daniel, who was almost the same height. “Because then sure, it’s voluntary, and might I say thank you for volunteering.”
“That’s what I thought.” Daniel put on a practiced smile.
“As I was,” Captain Sharp went on while showing his ID to a guard near the fenced off area for military personnel to board a train. “The Envier Quick Reaction Force, or EQRF as I’d like to call it, would be responsible for locating and extracting survivors and jumping in ahead of the main force to ready the battlefield for attack.”
“How do you ready a battlefield, Sir?”
“My plan is to quietly set distraction charges and barriers to guide large herds into a bottleneck where our forces will have a more concentrated target to hit. Munitions are running out, and in case you haven’t noticed modern strategies are not working anym
ore.”
“We might as well be using Civil War tactics, Sir.” Daniel commented. He was maybe a little too comfortable around officers, something he may have gotten in trouble for several times if he’d not been a reservist.
Daniel swore he could see the light-bulb come on over Sharp’s head. “Maybe that’s exactly what we need, Mr. Sawyer. They’re a mindless enemy, are they not?”
“Quite, Sir. But what they lack in intelligence and reasoning they make up for in sheer numbers and determination. They don’t quit, Sir. If they know you’re behind a wall they’ll grind themselves to a pulp before they give up trying to get through that wall, even if you’ve long gone. I figure there’s got to be some way to use that. In Florida the other survivors and I thought maybe using a single ship with guns and drawing them to the water might be a good strategy.”
“Was it?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Sir.” Daniel admitted as he saw the shiny silver train approaching. “The Marines blew our boat up before we could test that theory.”
Captain Sharp nodded. “I read the report from Admiral Marks, the action to prevent Cuba from gaining access to the Crystal River Nuclear Power Plant was a messy one. The Navy had no idea there were survivors in the area. Had they known, Seals would have been inserted and you and your people extracted earlier.”
“There are… zombies… Sir… What are we doing shooting at each other?” Daniel changed the subject. He didn’t care about how to kill zombies nearly as much as he cared about why or how Americans were shooting at other Americans again.
Thinking that one over, Sharp finally came up with his version of an answer. “You’d think this would bring people together, wouldn’t you? Bring out the best in humanity, usher in a new era of cooperation and reason. Instead we lose a dozen planes a day to the Texans, another thousand troops join the undead ranks, another half million civilians with them and another ship goes dark at sea every hour. Humanity is tearing itself apart, the zombies were just an excuse to get down to the business of acting like the demented fucking naked space monkeys we really are.”
World of Ashes II Page 20
