“Yes, sir. And they wore red bandanas.” He drew a breath to speak again, but paused, eyes vacant and one finger on his radio earpiece. He listened for close to ten seconds, nodded, and pushed a button near his right collar.
“Another cavalry force?” Angriff asked.
“No, sir, this was not about Saber. It was about Task Force Quarterback.”
“I’m tired, Rip, and all these code names are hard to keep up with. Who are we talking about now?”
Fleming answered first. “Quarterback’s the three Marine companies near Yuma.”
“Right,” Kordibowski said. “They got within twenty miles of the city and stopped when a military convoy went by.”
“Chinese?”
“Mexican.”
“Mexican? Oh, yeah, that’s right, you told me that. I need a scorecard.”
“At this point, I’m simply relaying information, sir.”
“I know, but first it was the Sevens, then Lester Hull’s people, then the Chinese, then these G-R horsemen, and now the Mexicans… Who’s going to show up next, the Swiss Navy?”
#
Chapter 65
The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.
Marcus Tullius Cicero
Operation Overtime
1620 hours, April 20
The intercom buzzed. “Green Ghost on line one, sir.”
Angriff grabbed the phone. “Why haven’t you left yet?”
“The Blackhawk’s lifting off now. I couldn’t get three of my people on it, so it’s only Vapor and Claw. You told me to requisition whatever I needed for Creech, so I’m taking two Comanches.”
“Let me guess which two.”
“And a squad of special forces, along with me and Razor. That only leaves four of Zombie at Prime, so be advised and be careful. If you need them, Wingnut’s in command.”
“I’m a big boy. I’ll be fine. Now go get me a sitrep a-sap. Keep an eye out for any more of those horsemen and don’t get hurt.”
There was a long pause.
“Don’t say it,” Angriff said.
“Say what?”
“Do not say, I’m a big boy, too.”
Another pause, long enough to let Angriff know he’d nailed it.
“Green Ghost out.”
#
Angriff tried to blink himself into alertness, but the days without enough sleep had begun to sap his strength. He slurped at the fourth cup of coffee since lunch, hoping to get so much caffeine into his system that it had to have the desired effect. So far, it hadn’t helped.
“Good afternoon, General,” Schiller said.
Angriff stared. “What in holy hell are you doing here? Get back to the hospital.”
“I’m fine, sir.” Sergeant Schiller leaned on crutches, but couldn’t hide the waxy sheen on his face. “The bullets didn’t do any major damage, but sitting in that hospital bed was driving me crazy. I’m a little slow on my feet, but Diaz is here.”
“Did Doctor Friedenthall okay this?”
“He ordered me to stay in the hospital, but I left anyway. The comm. center sent up a message for Colonel Walling, but in his absence I took the liberty of reading it. There’s news from Kicker.”
“Don’t try to change the subject… What’s the news?”
“They’re nearing Holbrook and are heading east, per orders. They’ve surveyed all oil facilities as ordered. No sign of hostiles.”
“Good news for once. With this business up north and to the west, the last thing we need is more problems in the east.”
“Sir, General Fleming said to tell you he’s in his office updating status reports if you need him. Otherwise, he said he’d see you at the staff meeting at eighteen hundred.”
“Right.”
Schiller turned to leave and Angriff could see from the stiffness of his movements how painful that had to be.
“Oh, and J.C.?”
“Sir?”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
#
Chapter 66
Luxury ruins republics.
Charles de Montesquieu
1739 hours, April 20
At 1500 feet, Tank Girl shone in the setting sun as Joe Randall piloted her west-northwest. Slightly below and to his left, Alisa Plotz’s Hell’s Hammer was a reassuring presence in the wing position. Both Comanches carried only one 30mm and one fifty-caliber gun pod, with a half-load of ammo. The rest of their weight allowance was used up by the special forces squad, Nado, and the two Zombies in the cargo bays.
Unlike an AH-64 Apache, where the pilot sits behind the gunner on a raised platform, the AH-72 Comanche’s pilot and co-pilot/gunner sat side by side. A narrow space between the seats allowed access to the rear of the aircraft, much like in a large fixed-wing plane. It was that space Green Ghost used to squeeze forward enough to peer out the front windshield.
Sensing a presence behind his right shoulder, Randall reached up, tapped him, and pointed to starboard. A mile or two ahead, a black gash cut through the yellow-brown desert. Green Ghost knew from studying their flight path that was the valley of the Colorado River. Tracing its path to the north, he spotted a distant blur cutting across the blackness of the ravine: Hoover Dam.
Their path took them less than two miles south of the fabled monument to American ingenuity. Ghost slid back into the cargo bay, hoping to get a better look through the large windows in the sliding door.
Nado already stood with her face pressed to the window. She wore new ASUs, which were too large, but even under the clothing he could see her lithe body. When he sidled up next to her, he realized she wasn’t as young as he’d first thought. Instead of seventeen or eighteen, she now appeared to be in her early twenties. A teenager would have been hands off under his personal code, but a young woman was a different matter.
“See anything?”
Her words were breathless. “I see everything. I had no idea what the desert really looked like. I grew up in it, but… it’s so different from up here.”
“The perspective does change it.” He waited, but she didn’t seem interested in chatting.
They flew past the canyon at 140 knots, the day’s fading sunlight glinting off the distant surface of Lake Mead. That answered the first question they’d had about Hoover Dam: did it still hold back the lake? Moreover, from what he could see, it hadn’t flooded the surrounding land, which meant water still drained through the dam.
Then he spotted a whitish ribbon crossing the canyon south of the dam, and realized the Highway 93 bridge still spanned the gorge! It would take engineers to determine its viability for heavy vehicles, but even Green Ghost knew it was easier to strengthen an existing bridge than to rebuild a collapsed one.
Tank Girl barreled directly over the middle of the canyon at 232 feet per second when something caused him to look straight north. Complete darkness filled Black Canyon. The dam itself appeared only as a dark wall in the shadows. Yet in the two seconds he had to look, Green Ghost saw something that changed everything.
There! A light glowed at the bottom of Hoover Dam, where he knew the hydroelectric generators sat above the sluice gates. Green Ghost was trained not to react to external stimuli and to control his heart and breathing rates in stressful situations, but he felt his pulse race. Hoover Dam was still in business.
#
Once beyond the river, Randall had a choice of flight paths. He could either fly straight to Creech over Las Vegas, circle south to avoid the city and expend extra fuel, or veer north to pass over Nellis Air Force Base on Las Vegas’ northeastern side, after which he’d turn ninety degrees and head west toward Creech. The latter choice would give them an aerial view of Nellis but use up a lot more fuel.
He chose the direct route over the city, taking the bird up to five thousand feet for a wider view. Las Vegas had always been an oasis in otherwise empty desert. Like the edges of a scab, the city had a clear delineation from the surrounding countryside. There was Las Vegas, and there was nothing
.
The artificial city had once relied on billions of multi-colored lights to provide its identity. Now only fading sunlight remained to pick out a few details. They passed over McCarren International Airport, where a few airliners remained parked on the tarmacs, some still abutting a terminal. Beyond the airport was the Strip, famed for its garish decadence and for being the worldwide temple of hedonism.
“I never understood this place,” Randall said into the intercom.
“I thought you liked to gamble,” Bunny Carlos replied.
“Gamble, yes, you know how much I love poker. But casino gambling was just pissing your money into somebody else’s pot.”
Nobody in either helicopter saw signs of life. Coming out of the city, Randall found Highway 95, which he knew led straight to Creech. On the left were ridgelines stretching away south and southwest. Later they passed an abandoned prison, but otherwise saw nothing except empty desert and herds of wild horses and antelope. Ten minutes after leaving Las Vegas air space, Randall motioned Green Ghost forward to the cockpit. He pointed ahead, where buildings huddled around what were unmistakably runways.
#
1813 hours
General Jamal Kando knew every book in the Creech Air Force Base library by heart. It wasn’t a formal library and hadn’t existed before The Collapse. The long years of boredom had led to a concerted effort to collect every book from every source within a hundred miles. He loved to read, anything and everything, but military history most of all. With Nevada having had a heavy military presence, that section was well stocked, along with science fiction and fantasy. After all, when looters came through any area, books weren’t high on their list of things to steal.
He also kept some books at the Tonopah Test Range Airport. That base had once been a waypoint for passengers flying in from Las Vegas and headed for one of the secure facilities in the vast area surrounding Area 51. More than fifty hangars still housed aircraft of all types, including F-117A Stealth Fighters, but the base itself was a ghost town populated only by Kando and his skeleton force.
The garrisons of both bases had been a last contingent of dedicated servicemen and women safeguarding America’s war material, on the off chance anybody would ever need it again. Over the years that mission had evolved into something a bit less prosaic, like simple survival. But a loose military structure remained, with Kando in charge. He’d done everything he could to keep the USA’s advanced weapons out of the hands of bandits, but that was in danger.
As often happened, he picked up a book and wound up reading the afternoon away. Failing light made him decide to finish the current chapter and then head to the mess hall. But when he picked up reading where he’d left off, an unfamiliar sound pierced his concentration.
It was distant but growing, a deep whump-whump-whump unlike anything he’d heard before. His first thought was that the horsemen had come at last. He wove through piles of books on his way to the door, but Corporal Sanchez stuck his face into the room before he got there. “General—”
“I know, I heard it. What is it? The red riders?”
“No, sir, it’s… it’s…”
“It’s what, damn you?”
“Helicopters! It’s helicopters!”
Kando had only seen a flying helicopter twice in his life, both times when he was a boy in the first decade after The Collapse. The corporal had never seen one, except on the ground. He and Sanchez locked eyes, both unsure what to say or do.
Finally Kando shook his head and broke the trance. “Grab a weapon, Diego. I’m going to my room to get mine. Tell everybody to arm themselves!”
“Do you know who they belong to?”
“Who else could it be except the Chinese?”
“But General, that’s not what it says on their sides!”
“They have writing on them?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. It says U.S. Army!”
#
Hell’s Hammer touched down on the runway, fifty feet from the back of a building that faced a side street. Within seconds of touchdown, the special forces squad had dismounted and deployed in a fighting arc. Five men covered the buildings facing them and the other two set up on their flanks. Ten seconds after landing, Alisa Plotz took Hell’s Hammer back into the air and covered Tank Girl while her troops dismounted.
Once Green Ghost and the rest of the squad were on the ground, they advanced toward the building. Faded letters painted on the back wall read Credit Bureau. Fanning out, they enveloped the building from each side. Glass from the broken windows lay in dusty heaps at the front, and the doors hung ajar. Green Ghost took up position by one front corner. The squad leader, Sergeant Wardlaw, reported the building deserted.
Green Ghost radioed Tank Girl to bring Nado down.
“The area’s not secure. Isn’t that dangerous?” Wardlaw said.
“We don’t have much time, so we’re gonna have to chance it. Nado says this General Kando is definitely here, which means they’re probably aiming at us right now and deciding whether or not to start shooting. If they see her, they’ll know we’re all on the same side.”
“Hope you’re right, Ghost.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
#
Chapter 67
Every man has a wild beast within him.
Frederick the Great
Operation Overtime
1814 hours, April 20
Angriff’s staff showed up at the meeting in their ACUs, without taking time to change and pretty up, and the chatter stopped the instant he walked into the room.
“Sit down, ladies and gentlemen. We have a multitude of crises developing and in a moment I’m going to let General Fleming brief you. But first, I want to say something about the two recent assassination attempts, the one in the hangar deck and the attack on my headquarters three days ago.
“The first was by a holdover from RSVS, the same group that initiated attacks on my person last year. They are the most violent neo-Communists from the terrorist group that disrupted the country in the twenty-tens and -twenties. Remember Antikapitalista? Antikap? Those were mostly pasty-faced wannabes wearing scarves and blocking traffic and generally acting like spoiled brats. When Stalin spoke of useful idiots, he meant them. But RSVS were killers and if any of them still live, then they remain a grave threat.
“As for the attack three days ago, this coup was launched by deluded followers of General Steeple, who as you know sits in our brig at this very moment. They wore red to simulate another attack by RSVS, but Colonel Claringdon denies knowing about RSVS activities and we believe him.
“During our conversations, General Steeple let it be known that he does not believe the United States should be resurrected according to our Constitution, which is a written part of Operation Overtime’s mission statement. Rather, General Steeple stated that he wanted a more authoritarian form of government, with a dictator instead of an elected president. Would anyone care to guess who he thought should be that first dictator?
“I don’t think anybody in this room is a Tom Steeple die-hard, but if you are, then I want you to notice the armed guards in the corners, outside the door, and outside my office. If you’re on Steeple’s team, then I suggest you trade yourself to the winning side, because we’re on the alert now and you won’t succeed. Spread the word. America will be rebuilt according to the Constitution as it was written.
“This has already cost us dearly and I’m tired of dealing with it. I’m sure you all know Sergeant Schiller, who sustained serious gunshot wounds in the attack. Colonel Walling’s foot was shattered and as you can see, General Fleming came within inches of not being here at all. My family was assaulted by these animals and my wife held at gunpoint by none other than Sharon Goldstone, the head of our agricultural production. When given the chance I shot her, but it was her own weapon that put a bullet into her throat. You should each be aware that I won’t hesitate to do it again, to her or anyone else who threatens me, my family, or my mission. And n
ext time I won’t aim for the hand.
“I’ve told you this before but it bears repeating. I command all United States military forces anywhere in the world. All of them! That is the mandate given me by the last sitting Congress of the United States and I’ll be damned if I’m going to abdicate my responsibilities.”
He stopped and drew a theatrical breath. “Now, enough of that. We have plenty else to worry about. General Fleming, if you please…”
A gauze patch covered most of Fleming’s cheek, covered with white tape. He held his tablet in his left hand so he could reference it if need be. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, ladies and gentlemen, and we have to do it fast. I’m going to start with our lurp to Yuma and go counterclockwise from there. The three Marine companies were unable to penetrate the city because of the presence of a military force flying the Mexican flag.”
He paused and looked at each member of the staff in turn. “That’s right, I said Mexico. Whether it’s continuity of the same government as before The Collapse, we don’t know, but acting on the rules of engagement, the Marines pulled back and were not seen, and are now awaiting further orders. It would normally be our policy to evaluate how best to retake the city, but at the moment there are other crises more pressing. However, we’ve sent the Second Marines to reinforce the three companies already there in case it comes to a fight. For those who may have forgotten, the Second Marines are the battalion formed in Prescott, and as such are the first unit of the brigade recruited locally.
“Now, on to the next item. The young lady who rode here from Creech Air Force Base reports there are thousands of horsemen riding all over Nevada, looting and raping. They showed up two months ago and nobody knows where they came from. She captured one of them before she rode south hoping to find us, and that prisoner told her they left North Dakota about six months ago.”
“They sound like the Mongol horde,” Colonel Santorio said.
“Very much so, Desiree. The prisoner was a low-level spear carrier, without knowledge of plans or objectives. He was a local who could ride a horse and joined up because it offered regular food and a tent to sleep in. The first thing they did was brand him with a G-R on his forearm. He said it stands for Györgi Rosos.”
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