Almost there, President Suthby told himself. Time to make mention of China causing trouble out west and wrap it up. Fourth and goal, baby.
"Unfortunately, the trouble we currently face in Florida is not the extent of our problems. The Chinese have seen fit to launch a full-scale invasion of our southwest. Under the disgraceful cover of providing humanitarian relief to Mexican nationals fleeing the United States, the People's Republic of China has taken advantage of our current difficulties to send a large force of ground troops to Mexico.”
“I say again, China has declared that these forces are there to provide humanitarian relief, food and water, and medical supplies to Mexico. While they did do some of that, the vast majority of their humanitarian workers are in fact, soldiers. We have learned now, through the sad tales of eyewitnesses and survivors from Arizona that the Chinese brought an entire army up north through the Mexican desert. They crossed our border near the town of Nogales and have cut a bloody swath through the state of Arizona." Once again the President shuffled some papers, nodded to himself, then looked at the camera.
"At least the Russians were forthright in their intentions. I've asked Congress to declare a state of war exists between Russia and the United States. Well," the President looked down at his papers again, "I've asked what is left of Congress to declare war. I've taken Executive Action and declared martial law across this nation in an effort to protect our citizens. When we collect ourselves after the pummeling we are receiving, we will strike back, and there will be hell to pay. But we have got to survive first and foremost."
I hope that got the message across, he thought to himself. The Chinese are going to screw everything up and I will not allow that happen. When this is over, I will teach them a lesson…
He continued: "It is unclear what the ultimate ambition of the Chinese is at the moment. Some have suggested that the Chinese are attempting to capture valuable land resources, mineral deposits, oil reserves, or possibly access to fresh water. Everyone knows that their nation is overflowing with people. Others have suggested that the Chinese are trying to divide our country in half to bring the United States down on par with most of the other countries in the world. Regardless their ultimate goal, they will be defeated, and they will be punished. Severely. We are not going to achieve victory over the Chinese. We're going to exact retribution."
One final pause to examine his papers and the President looked up, ready to finish things off. "I want you to know, man to man, citizen to citizen, and American To American: I will act tirelessly to ensure the safety of this nation and all those who live here. I will not tolerate foreign aggression on American soil. I will not forget the actions of our former allies, who so blatantly betrayed our trust overseas. Most importantly, I will work to put down the rebellion afflicting our inner cities, to stop the killing of Americans by Americans, and turn all of our efforts into one united iron fist so that we may destroy those who wish to do us harm. All this I will do, under the aegis of the United Nations.
“Once the sick have been seen by competent doctors, once the diseases that are running wild across our country have been brought under control by science, once our people have enough food again, once our children are no longer cold and starving I will remove the United States from its position as a protected state.
“I vow before God Almighty that this nation will stand on its own again. And when that day comes, I trust the American people will stand with me in raising a single voice." He looked down again, trying to convey deep emotion. When he looked up, his voice was quiet, calm, and carried a deadly message. "When this is over and the American people rise up as one, we will not stop until our enemies, their homes—their entire nations—are smoldering ruins. We will visit the very wrath of God upon you. And we will be merciless."
"My fellow Americans, I ask for your patience, I ask for your help, I asked for your cooperation. We will get through this as a nation. We will survive. This is America. Not a new Russia, not a new China. America. We have been beaten down before and we've always come back stronger than ever. We've been on the ropes, we've been counted out by the powers of the world, we've been told we as a nation are too young, too inexperienced, too reckless, to be a world power. And then, suddenly we were a world power. We were the power. The sole superpower of the planet. The most advanced nation mankind has ever produced. And I promise you, by the blood of the servicemen and women who have died overseas, by the blood of the innocent civilians who have died in our cities, by the blood of patriots who have died resisting foreign aggression on our soil: We will rise again."
“Thank you, good night, and may God bless us all and this, the greatest nation on God’s earth.”
"Annnnnnd we’re off," said the cameraman. He gave a thumbs-up sign to the President and the red light on the top of the camera winked out.
President Suthby exhaled, let his shoulders slump, and dropped his head to his chest as if he’d just finished a marathon. The action had the desired effect on his staffers. He felt gentle but firm hands grip his shoulders and lean him back into his chair. He kept his eyes closed, felt someone wipe the sweat from his forehead. Someone else pressed a cup into his hand. The cool water felt refreshing on his throat. There were mutters of assent and confirmation all around him.
"Do you think it worked?" he asked, his eyes closed.
"Sir, we're with you. And if there’s still any red-blooded Americans alive out there to hear your voice, they're going to be with you, too.”
"That speech was genius, sir," said another one of the staffers.
Daniel was at his side, pushing through the throng. "Nicely done, Mr. President."
"Thank you—thank you, everyone." The President got to his feet and looked around the room. The faces were hopeful and young. It suddenly dawned on him that most of the senior officials who had fled during the president's COG order would be the ones most useful a crisis like this. They were also the ones who were…elsewhere. It was a long road ahead of him, but had to make do with what he had. He turned to Daniel.
"Now, what the hell are we supposed to do about the Chinese?"
CHAPTER 14
General Population
ERIK FELT ROUGH HANDS shove him from behind. The hood was back over his face, though he wasn't aware when it had been replaced after his interrogation. He stumbled forward and felt stiffness and shooting pain in his arms and legs. He figured he must've fallen asleep in the interrogation chair.
Another shove accompanied by a crude laugh and Erik felt his left foot catch on something. He fell through the air for a heart-stopping second before his body hit the floor and the air rushed from his lungs in a gasp. He felt the hood as it was removed off but his eyes were clenched tight in pain. He had never fallen face first on the ground with his hands tied behind his back before. He lay there attempting to roll on the ground and catch his breath as a string of curses flashed through his mind. The laughter that erupted somewhere behind him was cut off at the sound of a slamming door.
He eventually made it onto his side and took a deep breath. It was full of dust, but he didn’t care—relief from the tightness in his lungs was worth the cottonmouth. He opened his eyes to dim light and blinked as he sucked in another dusty breath of air. The sound of something moving on the dirt floor behind him caused him to freeze. A figure loomed out of the darkness and approached him, each footstep shuffling through the dirt with a harsh scrape.
“My wife—” Erik sputtered. His tongue felt swollen and useless. He coughed and tried to get his legs to work. “I gotta find her!”
"Take it easy, man," a deep voice said. At least whoever it was didn’t have a Russian accent. Erik held his relief in check as the stranger approached. "I'm American—we all are. Looks like you’re the newest member of our little club."
Someone laughed, then coughed in the darkness behind the speaker. At least two others. Whoever these men were, they outnumbered him already—and his hands were still tied behind his back. Not good.
&n
bsp; Another set of hands helped Eric get to his feet. In a few moments, the ropes were cut away from his feet and wrists. He rubbed the soreness from his wrists and squinted in the dim light to see his benefactor's face.
“Thanks. Where am I—I mean, where are we? Who are you?" Erik turned trying to see around the dark room.
“Where are we?” The stranger in front of Erik laughed quietly. “This is Stalag-17.” When he got no response from Erik, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Prison camp, man. The Russians threw us all in here after…after Orlando.”
Erik tried to clear his throbbing head. It was hard to tell if that thumping sound that had tortured his mind for so long was the beating of his own heart or the memory of…
Memory of what? I don’t even know what the sound was, let alone if it was…she may not have even been… Erik closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and forced his mind to stop wandering and focus on the situation at hand. His first priority was to get out of wherever the hell he was and find Brin. There would be time for questions later.
Someone muttered something about an officer. A ripple of whispers circulated the room.
"Staff Sergeant Edward Purnell, at your service, Lieutenant." The man saluted. Erik returned it with a sloppy version of a salute and wasn't quite sure what to do next. He rubbed the side of his head. "God, my head hurts.” He looked around again and saw even more silhouettes in the darkness. “So, this is a prison camp?"
"Yes sir," said a second man, stepping forward. "Corporal George Delano. I was with the command staff when HQ got hit. I remember when you and the major came in to talk with Captain Winters."
“Where is he? Did he make it out?”
The young man shook his head sadly, his features obscured by the dim light. "He ordered us all to evacuate the building and we ran outside. Then everything exploded and I was thrown into the side of a M-ATV." The man turned his head and in the dim light streaming in through a dirty window set high up on the wall, Erik could see the dark crusted blood on the side of the corporal's head and neck. It looked painful as hell. "Only about five of us made it out. The Russians were on top of us within minutes. Captain Winters was still inside the HQ when it went up. He never had a chance…"
"Sons of bitches gonna pay for this," muttered a deep voice in the background. There were rumbles of assent all around Erik.
"How many of us are in here?" Erik asked. He had originally thought there were only a few.
"Last count, I think we had…what, twenty of us?” someone suggested.
“No, it was twenty-two,” said another voice, the speaker completely hidden in the darkness.
"And you make 23, sir,” added Purnell.
Erik slowly turned around, taking in the dim faces that stared back at him. "Anyone have any idea where we are?"
"Tenet didn't have his eyes covered, when we came in. Tell the man."
A man shuffled up next to Erik out of the gloom. He was short, but wide-shouldered and looked strong. He was short, wide-shouldered, and smelled of diesel and grease. "Yeah, they put a hood on me, too, but they didn't put it on too tight. I was able to tilt my head back just enough to see. I couldn't see roadsides, or where exactly we went—”
“Come on, Tenet, out with it,” said Purnell in a voice that brooked no argument.
“We ain’t in the asphalt jungle anymore, that’s for sure. Some kind of Bible camp, I think. I remember a big sign made out of wood that had angels and shit on it." He cleared his throat. “Sir.”
"What do you mean? They took us out of Orlando?" Erik asked. “What day is it?”
Did they move me? Is Brin nearby? What the hell am I supposed to do…?
The staff sergeant chuckled ruefully. "Sir, don't know where you've been, but Orlando ain't there anymore. It's been leveled."
Erik gasped "The entire city? Last I saw, Russian jets were flying in and dropping bombs—there were…
He tried to clear his mind. The jumbled confusion of images from their escape through the city seemed more like a zombie movie than reality. The fight at the strip mall and the horrible sound coming through the wall in that interrogation room…
“There were a few Russians…paratroopers…but for the most part the trouble was caused by the civilians trying to flee north."
"Yeah," said the mechanic sadly. "It was a fuckin’ mess. Pardon my French, sir.” Tenet cleared his throat. “Never seen anything like it. I was stationed northwest of HQ with the motor pool. When all the bombs started falling, Captain Winters issued orders to prepare for evacuation. We grabbed our gear and got ready to go evac the wounded. But," the man shrugged. "When HQ went up in a ball of fire, everything went to hell, real quick. Next thing I know, there's Russians dropping out of the sky and civvies were coming from all directions at once."
"We still don't know how they got here so fast,” said Purnell.
"Yeah," said Erik. "After we made it through the zombie hordes, the paratroopers got us."
"Who’s ‘us’, sir?" asked Purnell.
Erik glanced around at the men in the darkness. "My CO, our families, and my NCO."
"You had your families with you?" asked the mechanic. "How the hell did you pull that? Sir."
Erik shook his head. "When I signed on with Captain Winters, that was part of the deal. We were here to scout out an escape route and instead we got tangled up in this mess."
"So you're part of the auxiliaries?” asked Tenet.
Erik nodded. "The scouts. I was with Major Jensen. Has anyone heard anything from him? When we escaped Orlando, he’d gone off to cause a distraction…and then…" Erik would hands to the back of his head, and felt the tender spot there. "And then… I don't remember much. But I think the Russians were pretty pissed I killed one of their men.”
A hushed murmur made its way around the gathering of men. Purnell raised his voice over the noise and called for silence. "You, ah…didn't happen to use a sword did you, sir?"
Erik nodded. "Yeah, I had it with me.” He shrugged. “It was the only thing I could use at the time."
The murmuring returned. Someone tried to push his way through the group from the back. A young man, about Erik’s age, in a bedraggled uniform stepped into the open space around Erik and saluted.
"Sir, they’re more than just testing you…I took some AP Russian in high school. I was assigned to HQ to help try to decipher the messages we intercepted. Anyway," he said, "when they threw you in here a few minutes ago, I heard one of them talking about swords. It made no sense, but then the other said that they couldn't wait to get their hands on you."
“You Delta, lieutenant?” asked Purnell. He glanced from the interpreter to Erik.
Erik sighed. "Why does everybody keep asking me that? No. I am not in the Special Forces. I am not regular Army. I am not Delta Force. I am not a Navy SEAL…I was recruited by Captain Winters—actually drafted is probably a better word—to scout out ahead of the main Battalion and find an escape route north. That's it." He rubbed the back of his neck and winced in pain. “And now my wife is captured and they…and I heard…” He closed his eyes and growled through gritted teeth in frustration. “I am just a teacher.”
"Yeah, well that's not what the Russians think," said Purnell quietly.
"Don't I know it. These bastards have my wife here somewhere," Erik said. He could feel the hand of fear gripping his chest. "I don't know what they're doing to her—or what they did to her—but they think that they'll be able to hurt her and get information out of me. I tried to tell them I don't know anything. Jesus, they’re going to kill her." He ran a hand through his hair and turned around, looking for a way through the press of prisoners. He felt trapped and his breath came in shallow waves.
I have to get out of here. Now. I have to find her.
Another rippled whisper circulated among the men. Purnell sighed and put a hand on Erik’s shoulder. "Are you serious, sir?" He glanced over his shoulder at the others. "They've already tried interrogating you? Did you tell them you d
on't know anything?"
Erik straightened his shoulders and shook of the man’s hand. The last thing he needed now was pity. He was wasting too much time standing around in the dark talking with strangers. He moved aside and staggered into the gloom until he found a wall. As he slowly moved down the wall, fingers searching for a way out, he called over his shoulder, "Yes—because it's the truth! I don't know how long that guy badgered me about being in the Special Forces, but I don't think he believed me." He stepped around a few men slouched against the wall and mumbled apologies for disturbing them. One moaned quietly.
These men are injured! Why aren’t they in an infirmary or something?
"Well, that's good for you, then. If they didn't believe you, that explains why you're still alive."
Erik froze. He turned away from the wall and looked back into the darkness. "What are you talking about?"
"Sir, we're at war.” He cleared his throat and moved closer to Erik. In a softer voice, he said, “I know you’ve only been with the Army for a little while, sir. The rest of us have at least been through basic. We are prisoners of war. Name, rank, serial number. That’s all the information we are allowed to give ‘em." Murmurs of assent surrounded Erik.
"Yeah, well, nobody put me through basic training and I sure as hell didn't learn any counter-interrogation techniques. They gave me a rifle, they give me a uniform, and they gave me a truck, and told me to report back with what I could see. Look," Erik said, turning back to the wall, fingers scrabbling against the wood. “My wife is out there—”
"You ain’t the only one with family out there. Sir," said Tenet’s voice. "My brother and his family live in Orlando. Last I heard, the Russians are rounding up all the surviving civilians into a high school football stadium somewhere east of town. I'm from Minnesota, so I don't know what the hell school down here can hold thousands of people, but they sure make an awful lot racket."
Sic Semper Tyrannis Page 20
