Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  “Maybe they’ll let us change out of them after the ceremony.”

  “I may not make it that long. You think it would cause any embarrassment if I stripped naked?”

  Anson’s face got red and hot at the thought and he had to look away.

  Rachel smiled at his reaction. “Anyway...my point is, we’re all still healing, and non-Edens sometimes forget that we need more calories. Someone needs to make sure they know and see about getting us some snacks at least.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I hope someone does that. It would be nice to have a snack.”

  She elbowed him hard.

  “Aw, what?”

  “You’re as oblivious as any guy I’ve ever met. It’s the leader’s responsibility to provide for his people and make sure they’re taken care of. Our leader should make sure we have something to eat so half of us don’t fall out.”

  “Leader?” Anson looked around. “Are you talking about me?”

  “Duh. Who else?”

  “Look, I got us out of Louisiana because there was no one else. Toombs was dead and I was your squad leader, but we’re back now and I didn’t sign up to be in charge of anything.”

  “What did you sign up for, then?”

  Anson started to say something glib about fighting for Texas or against oppression or any of the other trite things he’d heard over the last few weeks. Finally, he said, “Food, mainly. A warm safe place to sleep. Something to belong to, I guess. I never knew how important that was until I didn’t have it.”

  “You don’t have any family?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure where they are, or even if they’re alive. My brother is dead.” A wave of guilt and grief swept over him anew.

  “Yeah, that sucks. My parents were killed.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. A bunch of men came to our farm in Oklahoma one night. Most of them were neighbors we’d known for years, but that didn’t keep them from telling us to leave. Called us devils and dirty freaks. Said we had the Mark of Cain and we were cursed and were ruining their crops.” She wrinkled her nose. “Mark of Cain. Can you believe that? In the twenty-first century?”

  “What happened?”

  “Dad heard them coming and had mom and me go hide in the barn. We could see dad with a gun on the front porch talking to them. Mom told me to stay put and joined my dad, where she started giving them a piece of her mind.”

  “Sounds like my mom.” Anson smiled.

  “Then Snags got loose, and everything went to hell.”

  “Snags?”

  “My dog,” she said, wiping away a stray tear. “Big mongrel mutt. I loved him. He’d been barking his head off at the strangers. He jumped the fence and tore into them. They shot Snags, and then Dad ran at them, firing into the air to get their attention. The men must have thought Dad was attacking them, because all of a sudden they were shooting the shit out of him, like twenty times.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Mom screamed and ran out to Dad, but he was dead. Said she was going to see them all go to jail. That they would die in prison, that the whole world would know what they done.”

  Anson shook his head. He might be young, but he’d become street-smart about how people tried to hide their own mistakes.

  Rachel went on, “Yeah. They knew they had to cover it up. They shot her too, then dragged the bodies inside our house and burned it down. I heard them talking about how they’d divide up our livestock and land. The sheriff and a couple of his deputies were with them. I knew there was nobody to report it to, so I ran.”

  “Where to? Relatives?”

  “None of them were Edens. They’d already disowned us completely. I heard about Texas and made my way here.”

  “But why the Texas State Guard?”

  Rachel didn’t answer for nearly a minute. “You don’t know what it was like, watching it all happen and doing nothing.”

  “They would have killed you too.”

  “I know. But that wasn’t why I didn’t help. It wasn’t some common-sense calculation. It was…” Rachel stopped, agonized.

  Anson didn’t speak. Rachel had never talked to him like this before and he was afraid he would break the spell. He watched her struggle visibly, and then force herself to look at him full in the eyes, her face filled with anger and defiance.

  “I was afraid.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?”

  “You wouldn’t. Not the Anson Crouch who ran off at sixteen to join the Arkansas Free State and fought there. Not the Anson Crouch who escaped the Unionists and survived all alone on the streets of Killeen before coming to us. You’re not a coward.”

  “I’m afraid plenty,” he said in a soft voice. “But dying isn’t what scares me most.”

  “What does?”

  He almost didn’t say it. “Finding my family. Having to tell them I’m responsible for Kevin dying. How he wanted to go back to them and how I stopped him and now he’s dead because of me.”

  “Guess we’re both a couple of cowards then,” she said, but softened the words by taking his hand in one of hers.

  He was so overwhelmed by the contact that he forgot about his family, or how hot he was in his ridiculous uniform, or what the future held. It was enough to be close to this beautiful and fascinating girl.

  Funny, I thought I hated her until the night of the attack on the FARP. Then she was just one of my squad. Now, all of a sudden, she’d…what?

  “It’s ironic actually,” she said, looking out the front of the bus, his hand still clutched in hers.

  “What is?”

  “They’re giving us awards for bravery and stuff.” She laughed ruefully.

  Anson couldn’t help but laugh too.

  They arrived at the Texas Defense Forces headquarters an hour later. A sergeant holding a clipboard met them. “You’ll all need to file into that room over there where you’ll be briefed.”

  Anson stepped up to him. “We need a latrine break and some food.”

  “Lunch will be after the ceremony. As far as latrines, they’re over behind you but you’ll need to make it quick.”

  Anson steeled himself to look the man in the eye. “You don’t understand. Some of us are still healing. We need calories.”

  “No, kid, you don’t understand. I’ve got a schedule to keep and getting y’all a snack isn’t high on my agenda.” He looked down at the clipboard. “Sound off when I call your names.”

  Anson put his hand on the clipboard and saw anger blossom in the man’s eyes. He ignored it, hiking up the heavy wool uniform to show his side. “We’re all Edens, which means we need food. This here,” he pointed at the angry red scar on his side, “is where a 25-millimeter shell blew a chunk out of my guts. I know it looks pretty good on the outside, but things are still a little tricky on the inside, and I’m not in the worst shape. We need food and water, right away.”

  The man hesitated.

  “You say you’ve got a schedule to keep,” said Rachel, stepping up beside Anson and waving at the others swaying on their feet behind them. “Well, I guarantee you won’t make it if we fall over and you have to carry us to the stage.”

  The sergeant looked at his watch and then shook his head. “Okay, dammit, follow me. The chow hall’s still open, but you’ll have to make it fast.”

  Rachel gave Anson a triumphant smile as they followed the sergeant.

  Fifteen minutes later, after shoveling vast amounts of food into their stomachs, they were directed to wait in a small classroom. Several of the teenagers immediately dozed off.

  A few minutes later, a captain walked into the room and spotted the sergeant. “We’re going to have to pick it up a little. The general’s here early and is talking to the families now. You know how he likes to get ahead of schedule. Get them lined up.”

  “All right, people,” the sergeant said. “Follow me in the order I gave you earlier.”

  “Families?” asked Rachel.

  “Of the missing. H
e’s meeting with them now.”

  “What do they mean by ‘missing’?” Rachel whispered to Anson, who shook his head.

  The sergeant marched them onto the stage of an auditorium filled with people. Everyone smiled at them and some even clapped when they walked in.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the captain from the podium, “the ceremony will begin in approximately two minutes. Please take your seats and silence all phones.”

  As the squad’s leader Anson was the first in line. Rachel sneaked up beside him, even though it wasn’t the order the NCO had given them. “Please rise for the commander, General McAllister,” the captain said into the microphone, and everyone in the room came to their feet.

  A tall, dignified gray-haired general escorted a series of families down to the front row where he personally seated each of them with a word and a smile. He then turned and took the stage, along with a small entourage of military men and women in dress uniforms.

  “I’m General Gerald McAllister. Thank you all for coming here today. Like most military traditions, this one is rooted in history and culture. Also like many, traditions, it is a bittersweet affair. We are here to recognize the heroism and bravery of young soldiers, both those with us, and those who are not.”

  Because we left them to die, Anson thought. Suddenly, he better understood Rachel’s guilt about leaving her family. Just like on the mission, it would have been suicide to stay and fight. The realization didn’t make him feel any better.

  “We’re all in a struggle for our lives and our way of life,” the general continued. “Tough choices will have to be made in the...”

  McAllister’s voice droned into a background hum as Anson’s eyes flitted here and there over the crowd. Most were attentively following the words, but some were looking at the young soldiers on the stage.

  Probably wondering why we’re up here instead of their sons or daughters, Anson thought, trying hard not to meet their sad, searching eyes.

  His eyes glanced around and stopped on an older muscular sergeant major along the wall with the general’s other staff. The man was staring hard at Anson.

  He looks familiar, Anson thought.

  The hard face was obviously struggling for control. The man’s eyes were watery and he appeared to be shaking slightly.

  No, Anson thought, feeling his knees go watery. It can’t be. It can’t.

  But it was. The face of his father smiled and nodded back at him, wiping a lone tear from his cheek.

  “...the Republic of Texas will always stand for...” the general droned on.

  Anson stared as though he were at the end of a long, constricting tunnel. Voices and sounds came from far away, as if he were under water. The world tilted slightly and Anson felt himself falling before he crashed to the stage.

  “Everyone stay calm,” the general’s voice ordered over the loudspeaker. “Let’s give him some space and get a medic up here.”

  It wasn’t a medic he saw first, but his father leaning over him. “I never thought I’d see you again,” Silas Crouch said as he picked up his son to cradle him in his arms.

  A medic checked his pulse and blood pressure. “He seems to be okay. Probably just a reaction to stress.”

  “They’ve all endured a great deal of that,” the general answered.

  “These things don’t help,” the medic said, opening Anson’s wool uniform coat.

  McAllister walked back to the microphone. “Ladies and gentleman, this young man will be fine, I’m told. More important than any ceremony or award is that a prodigal son has returned to his father today.” Cheers and applause broke out as the crowd resonated with the joy and enthusiasm in his voice.

  The door at the top rear of the auditorium burst open then, and a woman in uniform ran down the aisle. She pulled the captain from the podium and spoke to him for several long moments.

  The captain looked as if he didn’t want to believe what he was hearing, walking over to the general as if in a daze.

  McAllister’s smile vanished in a moment as he listened intently to what the man said. Eventually he nodded, and spoke into the microphone again. “Ladies and gentleman, I need your complete attention. I would like everyone to remain calm, as I give you some distressing news.”

  “This doesn’t sound good,” said Rachel, leaning over Anson from beside the elder Crouch.

  “I’ve just received word that United States armored and mechanized forces have crossed into northern Texas in great force. All military person need to report to their places of duty immediately, and I urge civilians to implement the civil defense actions they’ve practiced in the last few weeks.”

  There came a low murmur in the crowd, and people began to rise. Sergeant Major Crouch stood, walking to the edge of the stage. He roared out, “Dismissed!”

  That broke the spell that had descended on the auditorium, and everyone began to move at once.

  “I have to go with the general over to Headquarters, son,” said Crouch. “I’d like you to come with me.”

  “What about us?” asked Rachel.

  “Who’s your commanding officer?”

  She pointed at Anson. “He is, I think.”

  Crouch pulled Anson to his feet. “Good Lord Almighty. Better come with me, all of you. Hurry.”

  “Good thing you got us fed,” Rachel whispered to Anson as they walked hurriedly in the wake of the general’s entourage of aides and staff. “Looks like we’re going to miss that cookout.”

  Chapter 27

  General Buck Clemens didn’t consider himself vain or egotistical. His overwhelming desire to succeed and achieve admiration in the eyes of others had driven him his entire life and served to propel him through the ranks. In short, he was one of those officers whose superiors loved him, subordinates distrusted him, and peers loathed him.

  Ironically, he was incapable of recognizing any of this in himself, and attributed any animosity he perceived as jealousy or base meanness on the others’ part.

  Clemens would admit, however, that General McAllister was the better strategist, so he didn’t resist his commander’s advice, helping him develop a grand strategy to defend the southern border with Mexico. McAllister had told Clemens that his mission was critical, and that he believed in him.

  “General, we have reports from the 71st Battlefield Surveillance Brigade of an incursion in force near Del Rio,” said his battle captain. “Looks like at least a brigade pushing up from the south. Other battalions are crossing the Rio Grande in force north and south of the main effort. They’ve seized a dozen bridges within a seventy-mile stretch.”

  “That’s more force than we expected. Any Mexican elements?” Clemens asked. He knew from talks with McAllister this was the key question, one that would dictate their next move.

  “No, sir. Sir, why didn’t we blow the bridges right away?”

  “Don’t worry about that right now.”

  The man turned away, clearly concerned.

  “Good that there’s no Mexicans.” Clemens stared at the large map, focusing on the area around the border city of Del Rio. Intel specialists were busy updating friendly and enemy positions based on the new info.

  “Tell the 36th Infantry Division to withdraw to phase line yellow,” Clemens ordered. “All other units maintain their position.

  The battle captain hesitated, then picked up the radio to begin relaying the message.

  Clemens knew what they were all thinking. McAllister had prepared him for it. They would think he’d lost his nerve, but with all the reported spies and insiders amongst the Texas military, they couldn’t risk briefing the plan to subordinates. The commander of the 36th Division knew what was expected. That would be enough.

  “They’re pulling back now, General,” said the battle captain. “Small-scale engagements are reported up and down the line.”

  “Tell the 71st that I want to know when most of the U.S. elements have crossed into Texas.”

  Over the next hour, he watched several m
onitors on the walls that showed live feeds from UAVs and reconnaissance vehicles. At every bridge he could see camouflaged vehicles streaming northward across the river. Along phase line yellow, the 36th had moved into prepared defensive positions and was engaging the lead elements of what was believed to be the 3rd Mechanized Infantry Division, the 9th Infantry Division and the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment.

  It was a lot more than he’d expected. The U.S. had done a good job of hiding how much force they’d sneaked around to the southern border.

  “Sir,” said the battle captain, “vehicles are still moving across the bridges, but the 71st estimates that seventy percent of the known combat elements are across the river. Of course, we don’t know for sure what’s behind them. Sir, why are we letting them get across the river so easily? We could have slowed them down for at least a day or two, maybe even held them.”

  “Trust me, son. I know what I’m doing. Get me Colonel Asher on the line.” Clemens looked at the map carefully.

  After a few seconds the commander of the 176th Combat Engineer Brigade came on the line.

  “Ash, this is General Clemens. It’s time. Execute Code Word Anvil around Del Rio. Boundary line Hippo south to Jaguar. I say again, execute Anvil.”

  “With pleasure, sir,” said the man, and the line went dead.

  Those in the command center glanced at each other curiously, and then stared at the screens along with Clemens.

  Most were shocked into gasps when the giant four-lane bridge near Del Rio exploded in a horrendous blast, sending concrete, dust, and military vehicles high into the air. Moments later, a dozen other bridges along a seventy mile stretch to the north and south of Del Rio also exploded.

  It had taken the engineers nearly a week to rig all the bridges across the river for detonation. They’d done it at night, and carefully disguised the charges to ensure the enemy wouldn’t know.

  “All artillery and rocket elements, fire for effect,” General Clemens said. “I say again, fire for effect.”

  All along the battle line, men and women dragged camouflage nets and dust-cover tarps off of carefully camouflaged guns and rockets. Self-propelled models drove out of barns and warehouses to take positions on preselected locations. Computerized fire control systems on the more modern weapons instantly directed their barrels and launchers toward the enemy.