Tomorrow's Dawn (Book 4): Gathering Storms

by Wohlrab, Jeff

  Dave lifted his hands to signify innocence. “I’m down. I’m down.”

  Jessica looked closely at him. “Oh, I don’t think so, champ.”

  He flushed bright red as he realized what she was saying and quickly covered his lap.

  Behind her, Jessica heard Analiz giggle.

  Chapter 22

  Jensen was up and about early the next morning. He had banged his injured wrist against the wall and was suddenly very awake. As he wandered past the parking lots and the football field, he could already tell that some of the equipment had been moved out, probably toward Junaluska, wherever that was.

  The greenhouse, which had been perched above the football field, was now gone. All that remained was the concrete pad. It was strange to see all of the activity taking place without his contribution. Since he had met up with Daniel Benton in Helen, he had been part of every decision. Now he was a bystander. He didn’t like it.

  Jensen watched the sky slowly lighten as the shadows of the buildings gradually solidified and pulled back across the remaining campers and RVs in the football field. Even in the low light of the minutes just after sunrise, the trees and grass seemed impossibly green. He flexed his hand and twisted his wrist slightly under the splint, checking for any sudden pain or discomfort with movement.

  All in all, it felt pretty good. Jensen was thankful he hadn’t injured it any further by banging it against the wall. With any luck, it was just a sprain. A year before, he would have had x-rays done in the emergency room, 800 mg of vitamin M, and probably been resting on quarters for a day or two.

  The Army gave 800 milligrams of ibuprofen, which the troops called vitamin M in reference to the trade name Motrin, for just about everything. Sprained wrist? Vitamin M. Burst appendix? Vitamin M. Multiple amputations? Vitamin M.

  Now he just had a splint and questions in his own mind about whether or not he had broken something in his wrist. X-rays were out of the question, and there was no good way to tell if he had a fracture.. On the plus side, the swelling had started to go down and the ugly purple color was beginning to fade to a bluish green.

  Aside from a couple of crows calling out about attack plans, or whatever crows were always yelling about, it was pretty quiet in the still morning air. He could see a few people talking to each other and an occasional clank or ringing noise as they packed up gear to move.

  Even in the cabin, which had been powered by silent solar panels, he’d still heard the wind rustling through the leaves and the steady trickle of water past the back door from the trench he’d help dig. Here, there was almost nothing. It was a little bit unnerving to be in such a populated place and not even hear a generator or a car passing by.

  It was eerie, and instead of feeling at peace, Jensen was on edge. Perhaps it was because they were still so close to Highlands, where he’d felt vulnerable. The first attack by armored vehicles and the bombing had left him on high alert for the next battle, which hadn’t been long in coming. He hadn’t been involved, but they had likely lost some men and women in the last attack.

  Not knowing really sucked. The fog of war was one thing, but during his combat deployments, there had been ways to gather intel. Satellites, drones, HUMINT—there was always some way to find out what had happened on in the field, even if it took a little while. This was different; he’d probably never know what occurred at the blockade in Highlands.

  The attack had come in daylight, unlike the morning strike on the cabin. It required completely different tactics and equipment. Had it been like the attack on his group as they walked into Highlands? Did an armored convoy just roll in and start lighting up the defenders? It seemed unlikely. That battle had seemed like a surprise to the attackers, as though they weren’t expecting to run into those defenders at all.

  How can you defend against tactics if you didn’t know what tactics the enemy was going to use? It was a weighty question. If they sent another aircraft, how would they survive? They had no means of even detecting a fighter or a bomber, much less threatening it. They could be dead before they even knew one was in the air overhead.

  For that matter, why hadn’t Snead sent another? Did he only have the one left? Jensen scanned the early morning sky for an incoming aircraft. He saw nothing except wispy clouds and some crows hovering in place against the breeze.

  Jensen wanted to be realistic. Even if the group was more former military than not, there was a huge difference between firing a few shots to qualify at the range and actually engaging a human target. There was no way to know how someone would react to incoming fire. Many froze up and tried to make themselves as small as possible. Others were too reckless and got themselves killed.

  Most of the Army, at least these days, seemed to be early-morning physical training, processing noncommissioned officer evaluation reports, and cursing at virtual training on computers that didn’t work properly. Very few specialties were involved in combat, even remotely.

  His students at Fort Benning had predominantly been combat veterans who were learning a new weapons system, so they had some familiarity with combat environments and armored vehicles. It was going to be very different trying to teach battlefield tactics to people who had never been on a battlefield.

  Jensen saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Back near the school building, he could see Marcy and Daniel speaking softly to each other before splitting up. Marcy headed into the woods and Daniel made a beeline for Jensen. The big man walked right by him toward a chimney sticking up from the ground near a metal building and unzipped his pants. The sound of the stream hitting the metal was unduly loud in the morning stillness.

  When he was done, Jensen asked, “Feel better?”

  Daniel finished zipping up and looked at Jensen with worry in his eyes. “We’re in trouble, brother. Snead is building an army.”

  “What do you mean?” Jensen asked in confusion.

  “The PMC merc from the attack told me. They’re putting together militia groups and building armor to head north. We’re talking tens of thousands of fighters,” Daniel told him.

  “Oh shit. That’s not good. How’s the merc? Can I talk to him?” Jensen asked.

  “Oh, he’s dead. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did. Dude was pretty fucked up.” Daniel looked down at the ground before he continued. “His lungs were burned to hell. If we still had one of those ventilators, we might have been able to do something for him.”

  “Fuck, what a way to go!” Jensen exclaimed in horror.

  Daniel looked up at him with a somber expression. “I talked to the MPs who brought him in. His wounds were from the armored vehicle being blown up with an ATGM.”

  Jensen nodded. “I know. Strenke told me.”

  “That could have happened to Marcy and me if the missile had hit somewhere else on the tub,” Daniel said. He reflexively rubbed his hands over his chest. “I thought I was suffocating when I got sick, but this dude … it was bad. If something like that ever happens to me, promise me you’ll shoot me. I don’t want to go through what he did.” Daniel shuddered.

  “He had it coming, I think. Those guys attacked us for no reason,” Jensen replied.

  Daniel looked Jensen right in the eyes and told him, “I’m serious. Nobody deserves that. I can’t believe the U.S. used that shit in Iraq.”

  “Wait, what? The U.S. used napalm in Iraq? I thought we stopped using it after Vietnam?” Jensen inquired with a confused expression. “You mean aerosol bombs?”

  “No, I mean straight up, sticks to skin, outlawed by most of the world, napalm,” Daniel said. “It came out in the Iraq report back in ’24. They called ‘em firebombs instead, but that’s just because they made them even worse than the original. Better to call them firebombs or incendiary devices than say we used napalm 2.0. They used them in 2003. People suck, you know that? People just suck.”

  Jensen told him, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.”

&nb
sp; Daniel stopped and gave Jensen a strange look. “What the hell? What does that even mean?”

  “It’s from Jurassic Park. I figured you were old enough to have seen it,” said Jensen.

  “Is that an old joke? It feels like an old joke. Are you racist AND ageist now?” Daniel inquired. “And no, Jurassic Park came out before I was born, and I’ve never seen it.”

  “To be ageist, I’d have to think you’re less capable due to your advance age. I don’t think you’re less capable, just old,” Jensen smiled. “If you do the math, I wasn’t even alive the last time we used napalm. Anyway, it’s like the dinosaurs. Every time we come with an advancement which can be used to kill people, we use it to kill people, just because. I know DARPA was working on nanotechnology. It could be used to help people or it could be used to kill them. Any guess on how we’d use it?”

  Daniel’s eyes widened. “Oh, definitely to kill people. Now that’s some scary shit.” He looked down at the ground. “Have I said people suck? Cuz people suck.”

  “We’d probably have nanobot minefields. Just spread them everywhere and when someone steps on them, they start drilling into the foot until they find a blood vessel. Then they’d float around in the blood stream until a bunch came together to make a clot.” Jensen spread the fingers on both hands as he said, “Poof. Dead.”

  Daniel’s face showed his horror as he considered it. “That’s sick. But it sounds like something we’d do.” He looked down at his own feet. “I need smaller feet. And some metal soles.”

  Jensen laughed. “I don’t think we ever did it.”

  Daniel shook his head, no longer thinking about napalm. “We never weaponized influenza before either. Thanks for putting that shit in my head.”

  As he made that statement, Daniel saw Marcy walking back from the woods. He and Jensen headed toward the building. She waved as she saw them approaching and stopped on the sidewalk. “Good morning, boys! How did everyone sleep?” she asked.

  Daniel quickly responded. “I think that was the last good night’s sleep I’ll ever have. This asshole,” he pointed at Jensen, “decided to tell me about nanobots drilling into the soles of peoples’ feet and killing them.”

  She laughed at the odd statement. “Oh honey, that’s nothing new. There are several types of parasitic worms that drill into peoples’ feet. There was a news story about worms crawling into tourists’ feet in Cuba last year.” She winked at Jensen. “You might not have heard about it because the flu news stories were picking up around then.”

  “Et tu, Brute?” Daniel asked. “Why do you all hate me so much?” He glared at them balefully. “You both have just given me PTSD. I want you to know that.”

  “You already have PTSD,” Jensen told him.

  “I know that, but this feels like a new PTSD, and it’s all your fault.” He looked down at his boots. “And I have big feet, so it’s like a personal attack on me.” Suddenly he grinned and looked at Marcy. “You know what they say about guys with big feet?”

  “They wear big shoes,” she retorted.

  “They’re more likely to get parasitic footworms,” Jensen quickly added.

  “Not where I was going with that, but you both suck. I want you to know that.”

  Chapter 23

  By mid-afternoon, the remaining personnel in Franklin had loaded up to head north. A long line of vehicles stretched along the road between the football field and the school. It was a strange mix of hulking military vehicles, a couple of semi-tractors with trailers, sleek electric cars, and blocky delivery vehicles. Most of the smaller military vehicles were parked in a large lot near the entrance of the school.

  Strenke indicated the Humvees and light armored vehicles as he spoke to Jensen. “We’re going to leave these here for now until we can get enough fuel to bring them back with us.”

  Jensen surveyed the dozens of vehicles they were leaving behind. His eyes lit on an M1117 painted a dark gray. He pointed at it. “That one reminds me of my tub a little bit.”

  Colonel Strenke smiled and slapped Jensen on the shoulder. “We’ll have your tubs in Junaluska within a couple of days.” Jensen nodded in appreciation before he turned toward the silent convoy lined up on the road and asked, “Why are we leaving the armor and taking the delivery trucks? It doesn’t seem to make sense.”

  Strenke glanced that way. “Oh, those run on LP; we don’t have enough diesel for all of the trucks right now, so we used the fuel from the ones we’re leaving behind to fill up the convoy. We’ve got plenty of liquefied petroleum gas, though, so we’re using the delivery trucks.”

  “Is it still stable enough?” Jensen asked. “I know fuel is getting pretty iffy at this point.”

  Strenke laughed. “That shit will last forever I think. Have you ever had a propane tank go bad?”

  “I thought propane was a gas,” Jensen told him.

  “Nope, same thing. Propane is a type of LP. Those little bottles you buy are full of liquid, and it becomes a gas when it depressurizes.” Strenke swung an arm toward the delivery trucks. “And there are a ton of little cabins out there which use LP for heating, so we should be able to get enough fuel to run these for quite a while. I just wish we’d been able to find more of them.”

  Jensen nodded. It made sense, and these trucks were designed to haul several tons of goods. He turned toward the football field and the RVs which were still parked down there. “What are they going to do?”

  Strenke told him, “Some of them are going to tag along with us, but most have decided to stay.” He looked around the quiet landscape. “This is a pretty good place, and they have enough weapons to defend themselves against most threats.”

  “What about Snead’s men?” Jensen asked.

  “I said ‘most’ threats,” Strenke replied. “If any of those militia groups or the Sentry Group fighters come through here, heaven help them. Hopefully they’ll leave them alone if we’re not here.” He looked grim as he continued. “We aren’t going to force them to come with us. It’s still a free country.”

  He lowered his voice and leaned in as he said, “To be completely honest, I think some of these good ol’ boys are going to head south anyway. Word is that they’ve got electricity and rations are being handed out regularly. There are plenty of vacant homes for them to move into.” He looked around and shrugged. “And I’m pretty sure they’ve come to the conclusion that the Coalition of Southern States is the new Confederacy. I’ve been inside some of those RVs, and more than one has a Confederate flag on the ceiling.”

  Jensen shook his head. “I saw plenty of that down around Fort Benning. I’m not sure why they do it. I keep hearing ‘heritage,’ but that doesn’t even make sense.”

  The Colonel gazed at Jensen, as to size him up. “When did your family come to the United States?”

  Jensen thought for a moment. “Pretty sure it was the early 1900s for most of them. My great grandfather came over from Germany after World War II.”

  Strenke nodded. “I figured as much. Keep in mind, some of these peoples’ families have been in this country since before the Revolutionary War. Their ancestors were killed, their lands burned and pillaged, and their entire way of life, as backward as we know it to be now, was destroyed. There’s still a strong current of resentment throughout the South as a result of the Civil War, and more than one southerner would be more than happy to give it another go. Did you hang out with the locals much when you were at Fort Benning?” Strenke asked.

  Jensen shook his head. “I didn’t, really. Early morning PT, work, grading papers, and all the extra Army stuff. When I had free time, I usually got the heck out of Dodge.”

  “If you had, you might have noticed most southern stories end up being about getting in fights or eluding the law. It’s a culture based on defiance of authority, probably as a result of what they call the ‘War of Northern Aggression.’ So when they fly a rebel flag claiming heritage, it’s not about bringing back slavery or cotton fields, it’s more about defiance and a wil
l to fight,” Strenke finished.

  “Oh damn, that actually makes sense. So when I see a raised 4x4 with no exhaust and two Dixie flags, what I’m seeing is a man who is letting me know he’ll fight me over tacos,” Jensen told him.

  Strenke gave him a grin. “Strange way of putting it, but yes. If the south does rise again in earnest, the results won’t be the same as the last time. And I very much fear that will be the case. Snead is raising an Army, and unless he’s worried about a foreign invasion, it can only be for one reason.”

  “You think maybe the Russians?” Jensen asked.

  The older man shook his head. “No, they have the largest country in the entire world and the population wasn’t all that much to begin with. There was enough land for every person to have a few acres of their own. Now? They’ve probably only got forty or fifty million people left in the whole country. I don’t think they’ll come knocking for at least a hundred years.

  “They’re going to be more concerned with trying to hold onto those countries in Eastern Europe right now, anyway. I’ll bet the Baltic States are using this as an opportunity to regain their independence.” Strenke looked thoughtful as he said, “I’d be surprised if there aren’t more than two hundred countries in the world by the time we climb back out of this.”

  “What do you think is going to happen here? You think we’re still going to be a single country when this is all over?” Jensen asked him.

  “I don’t know what’s going on in the rest of the country but based on the anger in the U.S. over the past few years and what’s happening here, I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up as a few smaller countries,” the colonel replied. “The United States was barely holding together as it was.”

  Jensen looked grim. “That’s a pretty dismal picture. I can’t say I’d be sad about losing California, especially if we could stop them from buying up all of Colorado.”

  “Are you from Colorado?” Strenke asked.

  “Yeah, I grew up in a little town called Florence,” Jensen told him.