Phoenix Rising pr-1

by William W. Johnstone

  Nearly all of the local power-generating companies in and around Fort Rucker had gone off-line from their own resources, but had, so far, managed to maintain service by drawing electrical power from other grids around the nation. However, the condition was so precariously balanced that any unprogrammed surge could have catastrophic results. Fort Rucker was not affected because it was generating its own power, sufficient for the fort’s use, though not enough to help the neighboring towns.

  Tuesday, July 17

  At the North American Electric Reliability Council, in an attempt to balance the electrical usage with decreasing fuel allocations, a switch was thrown, temporarily diverting so much power into the Ohio-based First Energy power lines that the system became overloaded. At the same time the warning system was short-circuited so that the monitors were unaware that a problem was developing.

  1900 Zulu: A 689-megawatt coal plant in Eastlake, Ohio, went out of service.

  2006 Zulu: A 345-kilovolt power line tripped off, putting strain on a neighboring line.

  2032 Zulu: The power overload on the neighboring line caused it to sag and go out of service.

  2115 Zulu: Two more 345-kilovolt lines failed within five minutes of each other.

  2130 Zulu: Two 345-kilovolt lines in Michigan tripped off. A coal-fired plant near Grand Haven, Michigan went off-line.

  2141 Zulu: A coal-fired power plant in Avon Lake, Ohio, went out of service.

  2155 Zulu: The nuclear reactor in Perry, Ohio, shut down automatically, after losing power.

  2200 Zulu: Systems from Detroit to New Jersey and Canada, including all of New York City, shut down.

  That was followed by a massive power outage that first covered the northeast, then cascaded across all the power grids in the entire nation, so that by 2315 Zulu, or 6:15 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time, the entire nation from Canada to Mexico, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific, was blacked out. Only the tiniest communities that were not a part of the national grid, and who still had enough fuel to operate their generators, still had power. The loss of power took almost all television and radio broadcasts off the air. It also interrupted all communication between Fort Rucker and the Department of the Army. There was no longer any telephone, wire, or even Internet connection between Fort Rucker and the Department of Defense. Although the on-base telephones were still working, they were limited to on-base calls only. There was no longer any military cohesion. The few soldiers who remained wandered around the base without direction or purpose.

  The Dunes, Fort Morgan—6 :14 P.M. CDT, Tuesday, July 17

  Bob Varney was sitting on the couch in his living room watching the local news from the one television station that continued to operate in Mobile. How different the news was now with only one announcer and one camera. No longer were any of the features presented where the TV station would find people who had contributed to the news, either by participation in some newsworthy event, or by some odd little quirk that would often elicit a chuckle from the viewers. Those features had been eliminated because there was no longer enough fuel to allow the news reporters to go into the field.

  Supreme Leader Ohmshidi announced today that he is asking the other nations of the world to come to our aid in this time of national crisis. He reminded the leaders of the other nations that we have always been quick to supply food, medicine, and humanitarian aid to other nations when they were in need. Now, according to Ohmshidi, the total mismanagement of the previous administration has made it difficult to implement his policies, resulting in a nationwide food shortage. The nation of Yazikistan, once our enemy, has announced that it will send three shiploads of food—proof, Ohmshidi says, that his policy of negotiation with the Muslim nations is paying dividends.

  “Jesus,” Bob said in disgust. “We are begging now. Can you believe that, Ellen? Our country has been reduced to the point of begging. I never thought I would live to see this day.”

  “You shouldn’t watch the news,” Ellen said. “It gets you so upset that I’m afraid you might have a stroke.”

  “There is no baseball to watch anymore and the only thing else on the satellite channels—that is, the ones that are still broadcasting—are reruns. And there are virtually no commercials because there are so many companies out of business. Who would have ever thought that I would long for the time when there were commercials?”

  In Mobile today—

  The television suddenly went black.

  “Bob, the power just went off,” Ellen said from the kitchen.

  “It will probably be back on in a minute or so,” Bob replied. “There’s no storm or anything, no reason why it went off.”

  “Why don’t you start the generator, at least long enough for me to finish cooking supper?”

  “I hate to waste the gas,” Bob said. “Hurricane season is here. You know how it was with Ivan and Katrina. We were without power for two weeks.”

  “Yes, but I also know how hard it is to get food now,” Ellen replied. “If I don’t keep cooking this now, it won’t be any good.”

  “All right, I’ll start the generator.”

  The generator was all the way downstairs, run by a large tank of propane gas. Bob started it, then came back upstairs.

  “Stove going again?” he asked.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “Maybe I can watch the rest of the news now.” He turned the TV back on, but the local television channel was black.

  “Damn, they must be out of power in Mobile too. That’s funny; we don’t normally get power outages that go that far.”

  Bob swept through the channels but got nothing from any of them.

  “I wonder if something happened to our satellite dish?”

  “Try the radio,” Ellen suggested.

  Bob turned on the radio and got nothing on either the AM or the FM band.

  “Damn, there’s nothing on the radio either, not a thing. I’m going to try satellite radio.”

  Bob had a satellite radio upstairs in his office. It was there for two reasons: one, because it was the best place for his antenna, and the second, because he liked to listen to classical music as he was writing. As he started upstairs, Charley ran up the stairs ahead of him, then got into his position under the desk.

  “I know, I know, I haven’t written in a couple of weeks have I, Charley?” Bob said. “But I’m going to get back to it, I promise. Now I’m just going to see what I can find on the radio.”

  He found nothing.

  “Something has happened,” he said to Ellen as he came back into the kitchen. “It’s not normal that every radio and television station be off the air.”

  “It’s not normal?” Ellen asked. “Tell me anything that has been normal since Ohmshidi took office.”

  Charley reared up to put his two front paws on Bob’s leg. Bob picked him up and Charley began kissing him.

  “Charley,” Bob said. “Charley is normal.”

  “Supper is ready,” Ellen said, putting the plates on the table.

  “Fried chicken. Looks good,” Bob said.

  “That’s the end of our chicken,” Ellen said. “And I don’t know if there will be any more. As you recall, when we were in the store it was practically empty. I got as much as I could because I think it’s only going to get worse.”

  “I think so too,” Bob said. He picked up a drumstick. “But I intend to enjoy it while we have it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Fort Rucker—Wednesday, July 18

  In the Post Headquarters, General von Cairns sat in his swivel chair staring out through the window at the open parade ground and empty flagpole. He took another pull from his bottle of whiskey.

  “You drink too much,” his wife had told him. “Ever since you came back from the war, you drink too much.”

  “It helps me forget.”

  “Forget what?”

  “What I want to forget.”

  Those discussions about drinking were the beginning of the problems that only got worse in his ma
rriage. Then, two years ago, Kitty left him. But because their daughter was already married and gone, the breakup wasn’t that traumatic.

  Von Cairns looked over at his bookshelf, filled with various artifacts that cataloged his time in the Army. There was a photo of him in his football uniform at West Point. Their record with Navy for the time von Cairns was a cadet was three losses and one tie, that game having been played before the NCAA had put in the tie-breaker system. Von Cairns had helped preserve the tie by intercepting a midshipman’s pass in the end zone. Among the other items were a bent tail rotor from a helicopter crash he had survived, a captured Iraqi flag, silver cups from half a dozen stateside assignments, and a black, polished, knobbed shillelagh called a “Garryowen stick.”

  His first assignment out of West Point had been to the Seventh Cavalry, now at Fort Stewart, Georgia, but then he was stationed at Conn and Ledward Casernes in Schweinfurt, Germany. The Seventh Cavalry, “Custer’s Own,” had the nickname “Garryowen” and all the officers carried a swagger stick, the Garryowen stick.

  There was something wonderful about being alive then, the tradition of being a part of such a storied unit, the pure joy of being a young single officer on flight status—they were still flying Hueys then—and being in Germany itself, the beer houses, the restaurants, and the outdoor markets, especially the flower markets. Germany was where he met Kitty, who had been, at the time, a schoolteacher in the American dependent children’s school.

  He remembered the first time he ever saw her. It was in the officers’ club and she was sitting at a table with one of the other teachers. She had long dark brown hair and a wave of it kept falling across one eye, causing her to have to push it back. He thought she was absolutely beautiful, and he went over to introduce himself to her.

  “I am Lieutenant Clifton von Cairns, and after I take you out to dinner tonight, you are going to write to your mother and tell her all about me.”

  Kitty laughed at him, but she did go to dinner with him that night, and several nights thereafter until the other teachers and other officers would always include the two of them for any planned event.

  They were so in love then. They went to Paris together, to London, and to Rome. They were married in Germany, first a German civil marriage, because the U.S. has no reciprocal marriage agreements with foreign countries, then in the post chapel, exiting under arched sabers. They swore to each that their love would last forever. But that—like everything else—was gone.

  “Where are you now, Kitty?” von Cairns asked, speaking aloud, but quietly. “What are you doing this minute? Are you recalling our days together in Germany? Do you have any memories of that time? Are all your memories bad ones?” he continued, speaking softly. “I still love you, you know. I can’t tell you that. This is not the time for that. But I do hope that you have found happiness.”

  Von Cairns turned up his whiskey bottle for another drink, but there was none left. And the way things were now, there was not likely to be any more.

  Back in the BOQ, Lieutenant Phil Patterson was contemplating his situation. He rarely reported to work now; General von Cairns had told him there was really no need for him to come in. He had nothing left to read, and nothing left to do. There was no radio to listen to, no TV to watch. Newspapers and magazines were no longer being published.

  How differently things had turned out from what he had imagined when, as a boy, he had dreams of going to West Point. He remembered that June day of graduation, the sense of accomplishment, and the pride he had in receiving his commission. Part of his dream had been to fly, and he fulfilled that as well, though it had now been over four months since last he flew.

  He was frightened. Not the kind of fear one might get when his life is in imminent danger. There was, with that kind of fear, also a charge of adrenalin, an awareness of life, an excitement.

  This fear was intense, mind-numbing, and paralyzing. He had no idea what was going to happen, but he knew it was going to be bad. Very bad. And worse, he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

  He had been thinking about it for several days now, and had even made preparations. Today he was going to leave.

  Lieutenant Patterson drove down to the Headquarters Building and went into General von Cairns’s office. He wasn’t going to ask the general if he could leave; he was going to tell him that he was going to leave. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but it was something he was going to do, and he knew that, realistically, there was nothing the general could do about it.

  He saw that the general’s chair was turned around and, as he often did, the general was staring through the window at the empty parade ground outside. He had been doing that more and more lately. And drinking—Patterson saw the empty whiskey bottle on the desk, just above the open drawer. At one point he wondered if he should make some comment about the general’s drinking, being very subtle about it. But he was just a lieutenant, and such a thing wasn’t his place.

  “General,” Patterson said. “General, sir, I’m sorry sir, I wanted to stay and do all I could, but, to be honest, I don’t think there is anything left here I can do anymore. In fact, I don’t think there is anything anyone can do. My mom is alone back in Arkansas, and I haven’t heard from her in two weeks. I’m worried about her, and I’d like to go home. If you want me to just take a leave, I will do so. But, the way things are now, well, I hope you understand.” Patterson paused, waiting for the general to turn around and reply.

  “General?” Patterson said again.

  When the general still didn’t turn around, Patterson walked around the desk.

  “Sir?”

  Patterson stepped up to the general’s chair, then gasped out loud. The general’s head was back against the headrest and lolling over to one side. In his hand was an Army-issue M9 pistol. There was a black hole in his forehead, but a surprising lack of blood.

  “I guess I’ll just go,” Patterson said in a quiet voice.

  As he left the general’s office and walked through the cavernous HQ building, he did not encounter a single soul.

  His car was full of gasoline and he had two five-gallon cans in the trunk. He hoped that would be enough to get him to Blytheville, Arkansas.

  Fort Rucker—Friday, July 20

  Jake was playing a game of solitaire when the phone rang.

  “EFT, Major Lantz.”

  “Major, this is Mr. Tadlock.”

  “Yes, Chief, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m calling you from the General’s office.”

  “Okay, put him on.”

  “Uh, no sir, I can’t do that.”

  “Oh?”

  “The reason I’m calling is I wonder if you could come over here.”

  “I guess I can. I hate to waste the gas, but if the general needs me for some reason . . .”

  “It isn’t the general who needs you, Major. I need you. Or at least, I need your advice. The general is dead.”

  “What?”

  “Looks like he committed suicide. He’s sittin’ here in his chair and there’s a pistol in his lap.”

  “Where’s Lieutenant Patterson?”

  “I don’t know, Major. He wasn’t here when I got here. Fact is, there’s not a soul in the whole damn building.”

  “I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

  Jake hung up the phone, then called out into the outer office. “Sergeant Major, are you out there?”

  “Yes, sir,” Clay answered.

  Jake walked out into the outer office and saw Clay just getting up from his desk.

  “I’d like you to come to the general’s office with me if you would,” he said.

  “Damn! He hasn’t caught on about the fuel requisitions, has he?”

  “No. Ed Tadlock just called. The general is dead, Clay. Tadlock said he shot himself.”

  “I’ll be damned. I thought von Cairns had more sand than that.”

  Chief Warrant Officer-3 Edward Tadlock was waiting just outside the door to
the Post Headquarters building when Jake and Clay arrived in Jake’s Jeep SUV.

  “I waited out here,” Tadlock said. “I don’t mind telling you, it’s creepy as hell in there.”

  “How do you know it was a suicide?” Jake asked. “Did he leave a note?”

  “No, there was no note. But the pistol is still in his hand.”

  “Let’s have a look.”

  The three men went back inside the building, which, as Tadlock had said, was completely deserted.

  “I’m taking off,” Tadlock said. “I’m going to Missouri. I own a small farm there, I’m going back to work it. My wife and kids are already there, waiting for me.”

  “Do you have enough fuel to make it all the way to Missouri?”

  “I’m driving a diesel, and running it on jet fuel. I bought thirty gallons extra from someone. I didn’t ask any questions as to where he got it.”

  “Well, good luck to you, Chief,” Jake said.

  When they stepped into the general’s office, he was still sitting in his swivel chair, facing the window that looked out over the parade ground.

  “I left him just the way I found him,” Tadlock said.

  Jake walked around to get a closer look at him. He shook his head. “Damn,” he said. “He was a good man. I hate to see this.”

  “Ohmshidi killed him,” Tadlock said. “Yeah, von Cairns may have pulled the trigger, but Ohmshidi killed him.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Jake said.

  “So now the question is, what do we do with him?”

  “Does he have any next of kin?” Clay asked.

  “He’s divorced, I know that,” Tadlock said.

  “He has a daughter somewhere,” Jake said. “If we looked through all his things, we could probably find out where she is. But then what? The way things are now, what could she do with him?”

  “We can’t leave him here,” Tadlock said.