Standing at the Edge

by William Alan Webb

  Operation Overtime

  0904 hours, April 12

  In the memo calling the normal staff meeting, once the secret one was done, it said the day’s briefing would be on future operations, which everybody in the brigade wanted to know about. The days were growing hot again and it seemed like time to get on with their mission. Since the civilian leadership wasn’t needed for a briefing on military moves, the room had fewer people and wasn’t as stuffy as usual. Of course, Angriff sweated as much as always and kept his jacket on to hide that fact.

  To his right sat Dennis Tompkins as third in command. Next to Tompkins, in order, were the S-2, Intelligence, Colonel Kordibowski; the S-4, Supply, Colonel Schiller; then the S-6, Communications, Lieutenant Colonel Desiree Santorio; and finally the newly appointed S-8, Finance and Administration, Lieutenant Colonel Zala Kovac. On Angriff’s left, Norm Fleming sat as both the Deputy Commander and the S-3, Operations.

  To Fleming’s left sat the S-1, Personnel, Colonel Khin Saw. The chair for the S-5 was empty, as Green Ghost was in the field. Then came the S-7, Training, the iron-eyed Colonel Webb Dougall, and finally the temporary S-9, Civil Affairs, Lieutenant Colonel Astrid Naidoo. The permanent S-9, Colonel Charlie Minokawa, was in Prescott on detached duty. The first S-9, Lieutenant Colonel Ashley Wisnewski-Smith, had requested transfer to the artillery.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Angriff said. “General Fleming has just put the finishing touches on the next stage of operations and I have approved them. This meeting is to bring you into the loop.”

  Fleming rose. His deep voice filled the room without effort. “Now that we are no longer a motley collection of individuals with little cohesion, but are a seasoned combat formation, we can trust each component with greater responsibilities. Therefore, at oh four hundred hours tomorrow, we’re going to launch our first multi-day lurps, and at least one slurp.”

  A low buzz went around the room. Slurps, super long-range patrols, were dangerous in the extreme, because the unit in the field was likely beyond air support. In the world before The Collapse, hovering drones might have been on call, or circling A-10s, but those days were gone. Like the Lewis and Clark expedition, reconnaissance now meant plunging into the unknown with only what you could carry.

  “We’re sending three Marine companies to Yuma. You’ll see in your briefing folder that this force will be Task Force Quarterback. Their orders are to turn back immediately if resistance is encountered and in no circumstance to get involved in a fight against equal or superior numbers. This is an information gathering mission, not a combat one. Fortunately they are within the extreme range of Comanche support and transports. But it does no good to capture territory now because it can’t be held; thus the ROEs not to initiate engagement. The Marine headquarters company will remain in Prescott as both a reserve and to continue forming their regiment by incorporating the new battalion into the system.”

  “What about Phoenix, Norm?” Rip Kordibowski asked. “Do we intend to investigate that city yet?”

  “No,” Angriff answered for him. “I nixed it, Rip. We still don’t know the pathogen that ravaged it, and until we do we can’t move in. It might still be infectious, for all we know.”

  “But!” Fleming said. “We’re sending two Army recon companies down the west side of the city at a distance of about twenty miles. This will be Task Force Digger. Their mission is to collect information and press as far south as old Interstate 10, if practicable.”

  “I hate that expression,” Angriff said, without meaning to say it aloud. Everyone in the room stared at him. He held up his hands and laughed. “My apologies. It’s just that word lost Lee the Battle of Gettysburg.”

  Norm Fleming noticed some people nodding but others appearing confused. They looked at him for understanding. “You may already know this. On day one at Gettysburg, Lee told Ewell to take the high ground if practicable. Unlike the aggressive Jackson, who’d been killed the month before, Ewell thought Lee wanted him to be cautious. The high ground wasn’t taken that day or either of the following two.” He smiled at Angriff. “I’ll try not to use it again.”

  “And I’ll try not to interrupt any more.”

  Fleming’s smile had an unspoken message they both understood: That’ll be the day. “The rest of the Army battalion will reconnoiter as far as Ehrenburg, on the California border. There they will deploy in defensive formation to block any unforeseen moves by the Chinese using I-10 to flank us on the south, and also to act as deep reserve in case the Marines or Army unit in the Phoenix area need support. This is Task Force Shovel.

  “We already have FOBs here and here, at Seligman and Wikieup, those are designated FOBs Lonely and Westwall, but I want to push a new one out to Kingman. In support of that and as a general ready force on our western flank, first battalion, first regiment, will support a Ranger platoon in moving toward Kingman, and will then give assistance in constructing a defensible FOB there. This is Task Force Tractor. They will remain there until the end of operations, or until ordered elsewhere.

  “Second battalion, first regiment, will move through Sedona and then Flagstaff to clear and secure them once and for all. Once that’s done, we can begin an inventory of what can be salvaged. Second regiment and the armored battalion will remain here, in reserve, as will all of the artillery, with the exception of the armored company already in Prescott. It will stay there for the time being.

  “Meanwhile, the other two Marine line companies will move straight east on I-40 toward Holbrook. This is Task Force Kicker. If they encounter no resistance and think it prac—” He stopped himself. “At the commander’s discretion, they are to keep moving east until they reach Gallup, New Mexico. From there they will contact Prime for further orders.

  “Last is our newest activated unit, Task Force Saber… the horse boys. Our cavalry regiment will ride to here, a small town named Meadview, which conveniently enough is near Lake Mead. There’s nothing of importance in that area, and it’s doubtful they’ll encounter anyone, but a long ride will strengthen unit cohesion and give them valuable experience. We might also get an idea of what kind of shape Hoover Dam is in, and whether or not the generators might be made serviceable again. This is a preliminary step toward investigating Nellis Air Force Base and maybe Las Vegas.

  “The primary task of all units will be to investigate U.S. military depots and bases within their designated areas, with an eye toward whether or not there is any salvageable materiel, or if the facility could be put back into service. Lastly, all air assets will remain grounded until needed.”

  “Any questions?” Angriff said.

  “What about north into the Navajo territories and Utah?” Rip Kordibowski asked.

  “We considered it,” Fleming said. “But we’re already going to be spread thin. I want to clear Nevada first and these are the necessary preliminaries to doing that. Once that’s done, we can move into Utah from two directions. Nobody wants a repeat of last year. This time, we’ve got significant reserves and we’re not pressed for time. Nobody’s about to be sold into slavery.”

  Astrid Naidoo raised her hand. “General, everyone else may already know this and if they do I apologize for wasting your time…”

  “No apologies necessary, Colonel. You’re not wasting my time and there are no unnecessary questions.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more efficient to use air assets for reconnaissance rather than ground units?”

  “Under normal circumstances, with normal meaning the world as it used to be, the answer to your question would be yes. Send out drones, high altitude aircraft, satellites… but normal isn’t normal any more. We have a limited supply of drones and most of the ones we do have are short range. I’ve parceled these out to the recon units.

  “Our air component is small compared to the size of the task facing us and I made the decision to only use it on dedicated missions, for a specific objective. Every minute they’re in the air, we risk an accident or error that could cost us an irre
placeable aircraft and crew.

  “Lastly, since we don’t know friend from foe and cannot question people from the air, even if we spot a settlement or a caravan, we can’t get details on who they are or what they’re doing. If we spot a train of wagons, for instance, two hundred miles from Prime, they could disappear before ground elements arrived. Did that answer your question?”

  “It did. Thank you, General.”

  “Green Ghost is currently away to the east on a scouting mission of his own, so it’s possible more assets will be deployed as a follow-up, or re-directed, depending on what he finds. If there are no more questions, this meeting is adjourned.”

  #

  0410 hours, April 13

  Angriff saw the recon units off as usual, shaking hands, shouting encouragement, and generally pumping up morale for the coming operations. He felt like a football coach in the locker room right before the championship game. With his stock of cigars running out, he saved them for special occasions, but the troops were used to seeing him smoking one so he made an exception. By sunup, they were all lost in swirls of dust as they headed off to see what they could see.

  #

  Chapter 17

  “Am I my sister’s keeper?”

  “You are if she’s nuts.”

  Vapor answering Green Ghost’s question

  10 miles south of Steamboat, AZ

  1008 hours, April 14

  The beauty of the Painted Desert could not be ignored and neither could the heat. Although only mid-April, daytime temperatures in the desert soared beyond ninety. Nipple sat in the meager shade of the Humvee and stared back at a prairie falcon perched on a boulder, while her brother fixed his binoculars on a bizarre vehicle crawling over the desert floor five hundred yards away.

  “C’mere,” he called to her.

  “It’s too fucking hot out in that sun!”

  “You’re gonna want to see this.”

  After a few more curses, she pushed to her feet and trudged up the short slope to the crest of the hill. Green Ghost handed her the binoculars and she focused where he pointed, not bothering to lie down.

  “What the fuck is that?” she said.

  “That’s what I wanted you to tell me. At least we know what made those weird tracks we found last year.”

  “It looks like an eighteen wheeler, a big rig, but on skis, with an old airplane engine mounted on struts pushing it. And it’s dragging something behind it, some kind of sled. And those wings look like solar panels. It’s loud as shit.”

  “What do you think it’s for?” Green Ghost asked.

  “You don’t need something like that for just getting around. It has to use a lot of gas… wherever you’d get gas around here. I think it’s a moving truck.”

  “A moving truck?”

  “Yeah, you know, movers? Pack your stuff up and leave?”

  Green Ghost considered it. “You’re a pain in the ass, but you can also be downright insightful.”

  “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Then you go and ruin it,” he said, taking back the binoculars. “I see a driver, no passengers. Let’s go see if you’re right about what he’s doing out here.”

  “Whoa, bro!” She reached out and grabbed his arm with her left hand while pointing south with her right. “We’re not alone.”

  He focused the binoculars on a group of horsemen far off down the valley. “Shit.”

  “Lemme guess — they’re not here to welcome us to the neighborhood.”

  “Sevens, a lot of them. Too many to fight.”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “No. We gotta warn whoever’s in that rig.”

  “Did it occur to you he might be making a delivery? He might be a friend of theirs.”

  “Then we need to blow up whatever he’s bringing them.”

  #

  Green Ghost pulled the Humvee directly into the path of the oncoming contraption and stepped out, leaving the motor running. With an M-16 cradled in his right arm, he held up his left in a motion to stop. One hundred yards to the west, Nipple covered him from atop a large boulder. A tall ridge hid the dust cloud of the approaching horsemen.

  Inside the truck’s cabin, a man with tangled white hair waved for Green Ghost to move. The giant machine kept moving toward him, slowly, but Green Ghost didn’t budge. Instead, he took aim at the old man behind the windshield.

  He could see the driver waving his arms and yelling, but couldn’t hear anything over the clatter of the airplane engine. When the truck didn’t stop, he returned his left hand to its supporting position under the rifle, an obvious warning. Using both hands to give Green Ghost the finger, the driver put the rig into neutral and it groaned to a halt on the enormous skis, sliding toward Green Ghost as its momentum died.

  A stocky old man with bronzed skin climbed out of the cabin like a monkey descending a tree. “You damned fool, was your brain eaten by worms?” He stormed toward Green Ghost. A rifle shot echoed across the desert and dirt kicked up in front of him, but the man barely flinched. “Do you know how much fuel you just made me waste? It’ll take half an hour to get going that fast again!”

  “That was fast?”

  “Fuck off, whoever you are! If this is a robbery, you’re gonna be disappointed, ’cause I ain’t scraped nothin’ yet.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to shoot you?” Green Ghost was amused, despite being aware of the danger approaching beyond the ridge on his right.

  “Hallelujah! If you’re going to kill old Jack, then do it. Hell can’t be as hot as this desert.”

  Green Ghost cradled the rifle in his elbow, pointing the muzzle upward. The man was older than he’d thought, and small, no more than five foot five and one hundred thirty pounds. He couldn’t help smiling. “Just Jack? No last name?”

  “I’m Idaho Jack. I know you’ve heard o’ me. Everybody still alive in this part of the west has heard o’ me.”

  “I haven’t, but I’m new here.”

  “Ain’t nobody new here. You got a name or do I just call you jackass?”

  “Green Ghost.”

  Jack nodded, as if Green Ghost was a proper name. “You don’t look green to me, but that’s your business… my business is you stopping me for no good reason.”

  “Maybe I want to know what’s out here, and you look like the man to ask.”

  “You ain’t makin’ no sense, boy. Ain’t nothin’ out here. It’s a fuckin’ desert.”

  “You’re out here,” Green Ghost said.

  “I ain’t really out here, ya see. I’m goin’ from one place to another. Leastwise, I was.”

  “So that’s it, just desert? No people, no towns, no villages?”

  Jack rubbed his jaw and looked sideways at the younger man. “Ohh… you want that kind of information. Even if I knew, it wouldn’t come cheap. What d’ya got that Idaho Jack might want?”

  “Why would I barter if you don’t know anything? Let’s not play that game; let’s start with this — where are you headed?”

  “Holbrook.”

  “Is that a town?”

  “Used to be. I ain’t been there in a while, but last time I was through there a few folks was hangin’ on. Sevens might have run ’em off by now, I don’t know. How long you gonna keep me here, Mister Ghost? It’s hot as blazes and I’m thirsty.”

  Green Ghost passed over his canteen and Jack almost drained it. “Thanks.”

  Nipple ambled up, frowning.

  “Idaho Jack, this is Nipple.”

  “They sure as hell are,” he said, staring at her sweat-soaked shirt. “She your woman?”

  She laughed. “In his wet dreams.”

  “She’s my brain-damaged sister.” Green Ghost cut his eyes at her.

  “This guy doesn’t wet my panties. My man’s going to be suave and handsome and treat me like the princess I was born to be,” she said. “Not some creepy shit like my brother. And speaking of creepy shits, did you forget we’ve got company coming?
”

  “Were you meeting somebody out here, Jack?”

  The desert man squinted and turned slightly away. “Like who?”

  “Like Sevens. There’s at least fifty of them on horseback, headed toward this valley. They’re behind that ridge over there. We probably don’t have more than ten more minutes before they’re in rifle range, so talk to me.”

  “Talk, my ass. How fast will that thing go?” He pointed at the Humvee.

  “Fast enough.”

  “Turn that thing around while I get a few things out of my cab.”

  “How do I know you’re not a friend of the Sevens?”

  “I think the worms did eat your brains, son. Fuckin’ Sevens ain’t got no friends. All they do is torture you first and then kill you. You get me outa here and I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know, about whatever you wanna know.”

  “Get your stuff.”

  Nipple covered him while he scrambled up into the rig’s cab and back down again after shutting down the engine. He patted the engine cover, and then kissed it. “Old girl served me for a lotta years. I’m gonna miss her.”

  #

  Chapter 18

  Man is not what he thinks he is; he is what he hides.

  André Malraux

  10 miles south of Steamboat, AZ

  1114 hours, April 14

  Minutes later, Mohammad Qadim stood on the truck cab’s roof, shading his eyes and rotating to stare around in all directions. The second vehicle’s tracks in the sand led west over a long hill, but he couldn’t see past that even standing on the truck. Ayaan was riding to the crest to see what lay out that way, while Qadim saw the other directions were all clear.

  “Do you see anything?” Captain al-Naadi called up to him.

  “Nothing. He must have been picked up by the other vehicle.”

  Ayaan’s faint voice echoed down from the top of the hill. “There is a faraway dust cloud, Captain.”

  “How far?”

  “Many miles.”