by James Rosone
Dickman took one last look at the train before turning to head back to his vehicle. It was a short drive back to his headquarters, and he had opted to drive himself. There was no need to make a soldier drive him around. He was doing his best to give as many of his troopers as possible time off to be with their families before things got crazy and the rest of the division left the base. The current plan had them all boarding a series of commercial airliners, Air Force troop transports and trains the day after New Year’s. The entire division would descend on Syracuse on January second. They had orders from the President to be ready to begin combat operations by January 15th, and he fully planned on being ready to roll when the order was given.
*******
East Syracuse, New York
CSX Terminal
The CSX manager sat in his office with Colonel Jose Bender from the 3rd Infantry Division and two of his officers. “You know, we’re catching a lot of grief from the state and local government for letting you guys use our facility,” he said before he unwrapped a stick of gum and started chewing it with a smirk.
Colonel Bender was momentarily distracted by the view outside the window; the snow was starting to come down steadily now. He returned his gaze to the railyard manager. “I wish I could tell you something to ease your concern, Mike, but we’re just doing what we’re told,” he said. “I do have the check your company requested. All $790,000 you guys said it’d cost for us to use your facility for the next five days. If we need more time, we’ll let you know.”
The CSX manager reached over and took the government-issued check, examined it to make sure it was for the agreed-upon amount, and then placed it in a desk drawer for his secretary to collect on Monday when she came in. Most of the workers at the railyard had been given the day off to be with their families, since the company had turned the holiday into a four-day weekend.
“I sure hope you all know what you’re doing,” Mike responded. “A lot of people around here aren’t going to be happy when the rest of your unit shows up here in a couple of days. Not everyone agrees with the visible presence of the Army or the National Guard. You know, they sent our local National Guard unit down to Alabama and sent us a guard unit from Georgia.”
When the governor of New York had attempted to activate the state’s National Guard units, President Sachs had federalized them and sent them south. This was when thirty percent had broken off and formed the New York Civil Defense Force—that had been the catalyst for a whole series of events. A day later, the governors in several other states led by Democrats had begun to form their own militias, but that had been followed by multiple Republican governors doing the same. Tensions had risen nationwide, and there was a general sense among the population that battle lines were being drawn.
Colonel Bender just shrugged. “Well, we’re here to make sure those UN peacekeepers know to stay out of our country. Hopefully, this whole mess will get resolved without anyone having to get hurt, and we can go back to normal.”
With their business done, the colonel signaled for his men to leave. As they got up and headed out into the wintery mix, one of the other officers asked, “Do you think the governor’s militia force is going to cause us some problems?”
“You mean the New York Civil Defense Force?” Colonel Bender asked, crossing his arms. “No. They’re a bunch of untrained, underequipped, poorly led ragtag civilians who are pretending to play at Army.”
The officer who’d asked the question snorted but said nothing. They continued their walk through the snow silently. Soon, they climbed into their JLTV vehicle and headed out of the railyard to the makeshift camp their advance party had been working on establishing in a nearby forest, adjacent to the CSX trainyard. The clearing was a relatively wide-open area with a road that connected to the trainyard and was flanked on two sides by a nature conservation area. The only downside to the location was its close proximity to a high school and a middle school.
After a relatively silent ride down the road, they eventually came to the main entrance of their new camp. Rolls of concertina wire had been strung up around the perimeter to deter people from trying to check the area out. The entrance was also manned by five soldiers from the advance party, who did a quick check of Colonel Bender and his crew’s IDs before they waved them in.
As Bender and his men pulled into the camp, they saw dozens of large tents that had been erected in the forested area. The soldiers were doing their best to situate the tents between the trees, keeping as much of the open area as possible cleared for the vehicles and tanks that were due to arrive in two days. Despite all the progress, they still had a lot of work to get this place set up and ready. The initial goal was to turn this place into a supply depot since it was close to the railyard, but a long-term camp was being put together outside the city, closer to Buffalo. The 2nd Armored Brigade Combat Team was a heavy tank unit, and tanks need room to maneuver, something they wouldn’t have if they stayed in the city limits.
After parking their JLTV in front of the newly established command tent, Colonel Bender and his two officers got out and headed in to check on the progress of the other camp. Bender made a beeline toward a map board, which was hanging from some five-fifty cord along one of the tent walls.
“Parker, give me a status update on the new camp,” he said briskly.
Captain Parker, one of his newly promoted captains, grunted and nodded. “Yes, sir. Major Corker from the 9th Engineer Battalion said his unit is getting the Camillus Forest Unique Area set up. He said to tell you they’ll have the area ready to start receiving the brigade once they start to arrive. However, he also wanted me to tell you that they ran into a problem with the local sheriff.”
“What type of problem did they encounter?” Bender asked cautiously.
“He said the sheriff wanted to pass them a warning. He’d apparently heard word that the local militia defense force had made some threats in town about possibly attacking any federal soldiers that move into the area.”
Colonel Bender shook his head. “Did the sheriff say if he was investigating it, or was he just passing along the information?”
Captain Parker just shrugged his shoulders. “Major Corker didn’t say. He did want to know if we could spare any additional soldiers to increase their guard force. He also wanted to know what his rules of engagement were, in case they were attacked.”
Colonel Bender sighed at the question. “OK, listen up, people!” he shouted. “This is the last time I want to go over the rules of engagement. We’ve gone over this before, and I don’t care if we’re in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, or freaking New York City. The rules are the same. If someone is shooting at you, or is posing an imminent threat to your life or the lives of your soldiers or innocent civilians, you have been authorized to use deadly force. For better or worse, and whether we agree with it or not, the entire country is under martial law and has been for the last six weeks. The public has been made fully aware that they aren’t to threaten or attack federal or National Guard soldiers. If they do, deadly force has been authorized and will be used. Period. No more asking me what the ROEs are—they haven’t changed, so get used to them and enforce them!”
Bender popped his knuckles and then turned back to the captain. “What is the status of 1st Battalion, 67th Armor? Have their soldiers arrived yet?” he asked.
Parker nodded. “Yes, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Flute reported in a half an hour ago that they landed at the Syracuse Hancock Airport. They’re working with the Air Force to collect their vehicles now that the C-5s have arrived.”
Colonel Bender’s expression warmed into a smile. “How much of their equipment is arriving on this first trip?”
Captain Parker looked down at the clipboard on the table next to the map board, then read off the first load: “Twelve Bradleys, sixteen of our heavy expanded mobility tactical trucks or HEMTTs and fourteen of our M113 tracked vehicles. The Air Force also brought about sixty of our standard 463L pallets—mostly food, ammunition and othe
r critical items we’ll need right off the bat to get started.”
“Excellent work. Best news I’ve heard all day,” said Bender with a nod. “Tell Major Corker that as soon as 1st Battalion has collected their equipment from the Air Force, they’ll head his way to shore up his positions. We’ll continue to work with our skeleton crew here until the rest of the main body starts to arrive in a couple of days.”
The advance party would be incredibly busy over the next seventy-two hours or so, getting things ready for the pending arrival of 3,800 soldiers and hundreds of tanks. The one exception to the busy schedule Colonel Bender was making was his concession to allow all his soldiers time to visit the local Denny’s or IHOP for a solid New Year’s Eve lunch or dinner. They might be deploying for a possible fight along the Canadian border, but until that threat materialized, he was determined to allow his troopers to have a decent holiday meal on the local economy.
*******
Watertown, New York
As he drove down Arsenal Street, Roy started to slow down. He flipped his right blinker on, then turned down Breen Avenue, driving past Pete’s Trattoria. He went a little further down the road and then pulled into someone’s driveway briefly so he could back out and turn around. Then he drove past a few houses until he stopped his truck near the front entrance of the fine Italian restaurant.
Not seeing a lot of cars in the parking lot, Roy began to think they might have come a bit too early. He knew he couldn’t leave the truck running on the side of the street with his hazards on if they had to sit down and wait inside the place, so he pulled his truck into the parking lot. He made sure to back his truck into its space, so he could peel out of the parking lot when the time came.
Looking to his right, he saw Dillon, checking his Glock for what must have been the tenth time since he’d picked him up and given him the weapon thirty minutes ago.
“Stop fiddling with that thing. You’re going to shoot yourself, not these soldiers,” Roy snapped at his partner.
“Sorry, I guess I’m just a bit nervous, that’s all,” Dillon replied.
“Look, we’ve gone over this a couple of times already,” Roy asserted. “We know that every night, there are several soldiers eating at this place, either by themselves or with their families. We’re going to walk in there, find ’em and shoot ’em. Just like in The Sopranos, OK? This isn’t any different. Now, let’s get going and do this thing.” Roy proceeded to get out of the truck, leaving it running so all they had to do was hop in and get out of Dodge.
Roy Cutter was the newly appointed CDF leader for Jefferson County, which included Watertown, the next-largest city adjacent to Fort Drum, home of the 10th Mountain Division. A couple of days earlier, Roy had been given orders to start assassinating soldiers from the base. They needed to send a message to the soldiers that they were not welcome in New York.
The two of them got out and walked towards the front door of the Italian restaurant. Dillon grabbed the door and held it open for Roy as he walked in. They stopped briefly at the hostess’s stand and scanned the restaurant for any soldiers or people dressed in civilian clothes that looked like soldiers.
“Just the two of you?” asked the college-aged woman as she grabbed a couple of menus.
With his train of thought broken, Roy stumbled. “I, um, I’m sorry—what did you just say?”
Smiling, the woman repeated her question, to which Roy nodded. “Sorry. Yes, it’s just the two of us. Can we sit at that table over there, by the wall?” he asked.
“Sure thing, sir. Just follow me,” she replied.
The hostess guided them over to their table. “Your waitress will be here shortly with some glasses of water, ready to take your orders,” she said.
When she left, Dillon asked, “What do we do now? I don’t see any soldiers here.”
Trying not to look angry or mad, Roy replied, “We wait. Just keep your gloves on. I’ll order us an appetizer. If we haven’t spotted any soldiers walking into the place by the time we’re done, we’ll go ahead and order dinner. I’m pretty sure we’ll see someone walk in by then. If not, then I guess you just got a fancy dinner, compliments of the CDF.”
Dillon laughed, but he was clearly nervous. He was starting to sweat. When the waitress brought them their water, his hand had a slight tremor to it as he grabbed the glass. The waitress didn’t seem to notice. She took her order pad out. “What can I start you guys out with?”
Glancing down at the menu, Roy replied, “Can we get an order of your maple bacon Dijon scallops and an order of your tomato bruschetta?”
“Sure thing, luv. Do you gentlemen want a glass of wine or beer to go with your appetizers or dinner?”
“I’ll take a standard martini,” blurted out Dillon.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic myself,” Roy added as he gave Dillon a glare.
“OK, no problem, guys. I’ll get your appetizer order in and bring your drinks over,” she said. Then she whirled around and headed off.
Once the waitress had left, Roy leaned in and quietly tried to talk his partner down. “Dillon, close your eyes and take a deep breath. Pretend you’re with that stripper from the other night. Put your mind somewhere else until it’s time. You need to calm yourself down.”
A few minutes went by and she brought them their drinks. Dillon practically downed his in one sip and ordered a second. Roy whispered to him to go easy on the alcohol. He didn’t want him so drunk he couldn’t help him out when the time came.
Just then, the door dinged as some more guests walked into the restaurant.
The waitress brought the two couples around to a table not far from them and sat them down.
“I think these are our targets,” Roy said quietly to Dillon.
“They’re in civilian clothes. How do we know they aren’t just guys who have a short haircut? I mean, your hair looks the same,” Dillon countered.
They both hushed up as their waitress brought out their appetizers and their second round of drinks.
They ate their appetizers and just listened to the conversation of the two couples a few tables down. Roy eventually heard them say something about their unit possibly being deployed soon. That was it—now Roy knew for sure they were soldiers.
“Dillon, this is it,” Roy said. “I’m going to stand up and walk over to them. I’ll shoot both of the men and then we’ll walk out of here, OK? All I want you to do is stand up and be ready, in case someone else pulls a gun or tries to stop us.” He pulled his own Glock out from his waistband.
Dillon just nodded as Roy stood up and walked toward the two couples. He got within a few feet of them before one of the men noticed him. The soldier had a look of surprise when he saw Roy stop next to their table. Then his facial expression changed—he must have sensed danger.
Before the man could react, Roy raised his pistol up and shot the man a few feet from him in the back of his head, splattering blood and brain matter over the couple sitting opposite them. The soldier on the opposite side tried to lunge at Roy, but he’d already shifted his aim and he fired two more shots, which both hit the man in the chest.
The two women at the table screamed hysterically at the scene unfolding before them. Roy realized that the second man had been hit by both of his bullets, but he appeared to still be alive. Roy aimed his pistol at the man’s head and fired a third shot.
As he turned to head out of the restaurant, Roy saw that Dillon was practically frozen in fear. “Come on. We need to get out of here,” he ordered. He ran past his partner to the front entrance.
Two seconds later, Roy was out the door and racing to his truck. Dillon was hot on his heels. They both swung open the truck doors and hopped in. The engine was still running, and Roy threw the truck into drive and raced out of the parking lot.
They could already hear the police sirens wailing in the distance as they turned onto Arsenal Street. Now it was a race to make it out of town to their safe house in the countryside.
Fortunately for
Roy, several police officers in town had already pledged their loyalty to the CDF, so he knew they’d help impede any investigation into the shooting. He just needed to avoid getting caught during his escape. He made a series of elaborate turns, winding down some side roads that would take them through some neighborhoods as they continued to get themselves outside of town.
A couple of minutes later, Roy started to breathe a lot easier. He was pretty sure that he’d managed to lose his tail.
*******
Fort Drum, New York
Major General George Hays was not a happy camper. Two of the soldiers in his 10th Mountain Division had been shot dead the night before while eating at a restaurant in town. Not only had the shooter not been caught, but the local police chief was doing nothing to track the people down. It crushed him that two of his guys had been killed around Christmastime, and they weren’t even in a combat zone yet.
One of the majors walked over to General Hays and handed him a sheet of paper. “General, the scout platoon from the 1st Battalion, 22nd Infantry Regiment reports they’re in place,” he announced.
General Hays hastily read over the report, then nodded in approval. “Excellent. I’m glad the ground wasn’t too frozen for them to get those seismic sensors in place.”
“If we’d waited another month, the ground would probably have been too hard, that’s for sure,” the major acknowledged. “These sensors should give us a heads-up if that UN force is on the move or approaches the border,” he added.
The scout platoon had crossed into Canada the night before and placed a series of seismic sensors along a number of the major approaches the UN force might take. Since the official border between Canada and the US had closed nearly a month ago, the vehicle traffic between the two countries had ground to a halt. Nearly all the traffic now consisted of small clusters of Americans trying to cross into Canada to join the renegade American National Guard units and militia forces.
