Distance, Chapter 43

43

Thursday morning,

April Twentieth,

Des Moines, Iowa

Site-generated electricity had been restored to parts of the Regent plant after cannibalizing an adjacent factory of circuit breakers, master switches, and generator transfer switches.  One generator refused to fire up, despite everything appearing to be in order.

With power, but without enough workers and raw materials, the plant remained idle. Worse yet, it was now a beacon for people within the area.  Security forces had their hands full maintaining the plant perimeter.  No one had any idea what was happening outside of their immediate neighborhoods most of the time; modern mass communication was non-existent. Ham radios and citizens bands were filled with rumor, little hard news, and endless conspiracies. Doug found it all irritating. Julie tried to decipher what she could, and made little progress. Before the temporary power came on, Doug told Julie that they could talk freely, in private; but when the power came back on, the chance of electronic surveillance monitoring their every word would be quite real.

During his first day and night back, Doug assigned what staff he had to inventory the plant and identify any system that appeared to have been damaged in the panic of the preceding days.  Thankfully, there was disorder, there had been looting, but nothing appeared to be permanently damaged. In the first hours after the generator had fired up, Doug sat in his office, trying to deal with an insurmountable problem: How do you bring workers to the plant when the city…the community, the civilization is crumbling around them? When they see no point or worse, only see danger?  When government was failing?

The answer came from government itself.  After five days back at the plant, and on the second day of having power back, a representative from the Iowa Homeland Security office arrived at the front gate with an Iowa State Police escort, asking to see the plant manager.  Doug fit the bill.

“Mister Peterson?” the short, thick man asked, entering Doug’s office. Doug thought he might have been a wrestler in his younger days.

“Yes. May I help you?”

“Steve Stroud.  I’m with the Iowa Department of Emergency Services, here on behalf of Governor Heinrich.”

“What can we do for you, Mister Stroud? Please, have a seat. Coffee?”

Stroud took a seat. “Real coffee?”

“Yes, of course,” Doug said, fetching a large mug.

“It’s been months since I’ve had real coffee,” Stroud said.

“Costa Rican, that batch. We’ve got connections. We’re in the biz.”

“That’s why I’m here. We have a crisis on our hands.”

“A lot of that going around right now,” Doug said. “We have some serious issues here, too.”

“We are going to have people starving in Des Moines and the larger cities in a matter of days,” Stroud said with necessary gravity.

“Yes, we will,” Doug agreed. “And we can’t do anything about it with what we have on hand and what we’re in the middle of.”   Doug had nearly resigned himself to the fact that the plant would never operate again.

“I’m here to try to help get you what you need. We need this plant back in operation to prevent this disaster,” Stroud said, leaning forward in his chair as if ready to spring.

“Are you talking with Freitag? Martin-West? Any of the other plants?” Doug asked.

“You have lights on and appear to be nearly ready to operate. Freitag is a burned-out shell. Martin-West was looted and the equipment appears to have been destroyed. Agnew Middleton’s offices are deserted, the production plant appears to have been secured, but there are no plant personnel anywhere. State Troopers are on location and are security at that location at the present.”

Doug was surprised by the news about the other plants, even more so about ‘A Middie’.  The Agnew plant was nearly twice the size of the Des Moines Regent facility.

“OK, not good news. The production loss of those plants is serious,” Doug said. “Losses of equipment in particular. People can be trained—if I had them to train, that is.”

“What do you need to get this plant operational?” Stroud said, taking a deep drink of coffee.

Doug paused for a moment. “In a perfect world, I’d have the original employees recalled and back on site. I’d have a trucking system that could bring raw materials to the plant and remove finished goods. I need a dependable water system, which I don’t know if I have because our lab staff is missing. I’d not have people shooting at my security people, throwing fire-bombs three blocks away, and I’d have communications with my corporate network and supply chain,” Doug said, refilling Stroud’s cup of coffee.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have any of that. I have less than thirty trained employees and seventy untrained people that actually might be worth something, most bedded down in our warehouse, which happens to have heat. I’ve assigned my wife to the personnel, scheduling and administration needs. She would be doing the job of a dozen people, if we were in operation.  I don’t have a mechanical engineering division, no machinists, no truckers, and no trucks. No line workers, packers, quality control.  I have two days of diesel left in the tanks, running minimal loads on the one surviving generator.  The generator will also need to be serviced, which means the plant is down because the other generator is dead. I have no communications with any supplier, none with my corporate offices, none with my network. Frankly, I have no idea if Regent even exists as it did last Friday. Do you have any idea?”

Stroud didn’t hesitate in replying. “We’re establishing a new communications system. Rather unorthodox.  We’re using shortwave radio frequencies to transmit data.  I don’t really understand it, but I know that it’s working,” Stroud said. “It will be a while before anything like the Internet we used last week is back up in operation, our information systems staff tells me.”

“What about radio? TV? Normal stuff?” Doug said. “People aren’t going to do anything except cradle a shotgun until they either know that they’re safe in their homes or until they’re out of shells. At that point, they’ll just club the intruders to death. I know, because I’ve tried to get some of the employees out of their homes and back...at no small level of risk for either myself or a dozen security men.”

“AM stations—three of them—will be broadcasting tomorrow. They should have network feeds as well. Television will be back in a week,” Stroud said, taking another drink of coffee.

“What’s the Federal government doing to help?” Doug said. “FEMA should have been here by now.”

“Sure they should’ve been, and they did in fact come. We had six FEMA people arrive on a fifty million dollar Boeing Business Jet, all ready to help us ‘organize.’ We received no supplies.  They have their hands full dealing with radiation, burns, evacuations.  We’re in great shape by comparison.”

“Nothing else?” Doug asked.  He was surprised. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been, he thought.

“No. They did ask for any medical professionals with burn experience to relocate to burn centers to deal with the victims, and they requisitioned supplies towards that end. The Governor of course didn’t resist. Right thing to do,” Stroud said. “We sent the FEMA folks back to where they came from.”

Doug thought for a minute, looking at the plant floor plan on his desk as he spoke. “In order for this plant to operate, I need people, power and raw materials. I can’t get people with the city in turmoil. They need to know that things are settling down. They need to know that the operation of this plant and others like it help keep them alive. We need fuel. We need trucks to move the finished product---even if we’re just moving it to locations in the city for distribution. If we get those things, we can help Des Moines first and other cities as we can.  We can inspect the Agnew plant, try to find some of their staff, and get it in operation the same way.  If we can’t get people, fuel, and raw materials, we’ll never open this plant again. We’ll run out of finished goods that’re keeping people here—security and staff people have to eat, too. We run out of fuel and it’s a matter of hours before this plant gets sacked,” Doug said. “We’re this close,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, “from losing it altogether.”

He and Julie had already discussed what might happen if the plant couldn’t be supplied, and the run back to the Segher Farm was anything but a sure thing.  The CB radio was filled with people calling for help, reports of looters, as well as the looters themselves using the radio to communicate between various gangs.   They’d already made plans to leave the plant before dawn, the day that the fuel tanks in the generators ran dry. Doug had already secured the RNEW line and several of the key components of the additive--‘secured’ in this case being ‘destroyed.’ Non-encrypted files had also been removed from the computer system, and any remaining hardcopies were in Doug’s desk.

“If you’re available, Mister Peterson, I’d like to arrange a meeting with some of our staff at the my office. You available?” Stroud asked.

“Yeah. When?”

“How about now?” 

The meeting with the Iowa Department of Homeland Security led to a systematic calming effort in Des Moines triggered by the Governor’s address to the State explained the situation in a single sentence: Iowa needs your help, or we all fail.

Doug helped get four major plants back in operation, putting to work more than ten thousand plant workers; organizing new supply sources; and negotiating leases for shipping on both ends of production.   Security issues near the plant and working into the downtown area and neighborhoods became much less of a problem, once there was food back in the stores and money, of a sort.   Within a week of the attacks, the State Legislature had put into effect ‘Iowa Scrip’ in lieu of ‘dollars’, which were neither trusted nor accepted by many sellers.  Along with the new currency, the State abolished all state and local taxes of varying rates, and implemented a five percent flat tax on finished retail goods.  For corporations like Regent, this amounted to a windfall---Regent didn’t produce anything for direct retail sale, and as such received a huge break on taxation.

It took until the Fourteenth of May for Regent Corporate to establish regular communications with the Des Moines operation, by which time the plant was in full operation and running three shifts.  Julie had continued on in personnel and she helped train the new staff—none of the previous employees returned. The new staff, coming from across the spectrum of Des Moines business, worked as a finely tuned team nearly from the start. 

Regent brought one of the corporate aircraft into the Des Moines airport, and unloaded radio equipment that was exclusive to the use of the company.  The equipment could broadcast voice and data in encrypted and compressed format, hundreds of individual frequencies at once. Far less capable than the Internet, as communications was limited to the Regent network, but much more secure and fast than other options.

Corporate had a long, probing conversation with Doug regarding the lack of RNEW enhancements in current production in Des Moines.  One of the accountant-types on the other end of the radio transmission seemed unimpressed with Doug’s explanation that the raw materials just weren’t available. The bean counters were impressed though, that production had been increased by sixty-five percent over pre-War levels within a month of plant re-start. With Doug’s obvious organizational skills in dealing with the multiple Des Moines plants, Corporate immediately identified him as a candidate for reassignment in other areas ‘critical to corporate objectives.’

By June Sixth, he’d be reassigned, but still ‘based out of Des Moines.’  Corporate didn’t elaborate on his new duties, but did tell him that the work involved extensive travel and long-term temporary duties outside of his base office…that told them all he needed to know.  Staying in Des Moines alone, Julie would serve as personnel director for the four Regent-run operations…or she could quit, move back to Doug’s company house, or the Farm.  Doug and Julie made a trip down to the Farm for Memorial Day to discuss their options with the Seghers.

Memorial Day

May Twenty-Ninth

The Segher Farm

“Staying is not an option, Douglas,” Arie said.  “Staying in the city…in any city is not a place for a woman alone. But you know this, ya?”  Roeland stayed silent, leaning forward on the welding table that served as an impromptu conference table.

“Yes. I do not…we, do not that is, want to be a burden.”

“Julie is no burden at all. As for your own home, that I believe is even more tenuous, despite any assistance that your neighbor may provide you.  He is the one on the inside? The one spying on you?” Roeland asked.

“August Kliest—yes, or so I thought.  The more I talk with him the more I believe that he doesn’t trust the company, either.  I just doubt that he knows the whole picture.” 

“Is of no matter,” Arie said.  “I see no reason not to tell him that Julie will be staying elsewhere when you are away on business. You have said they know of us already.  Anyone who is paying attention knows not to be alone these days, or even in small groups.”

“I believe August would agree.  I don’t see a problem on his end,” Doug said.

“But your travel concerns, you, ya?” Arie asked as Maria entered the equipment shed carrying travel mugs of tea. Julie was taking a well-deserved nap, having been up most of the previous evening with a stomach bug.

“Yes. I’m decidedly in the dark on what Corporate is expecting of me. No idea where I’m going, what I’ll be doing, how long I’ll be gone—but they told me to expect a minimum of a week. I won’t know anything until I get to Columbus on the Sixth.”

“You’ve said that you see two seats of corporate power—one in Denver, one in Columbus, right?” Roeland asked.

“Yeah.”

“Safe bet that you’re going to be in both of those, and go from there.  Outside bet though, especially with the needs of the Feds in recovery, that you’ll be ‘helping’ them…don’t you think? I mean, isn’t it still logical for Regent to get their hooks in as deep as they can on the Federal level to push RNEW?”

Doug realized that Roeland was right, and that Doug was going to be the victim of his own strategy, one that he himself presented to Corporate more than a month before.  He could be the lead agent of Regent influencing the Food and Drug Administration regulators either directly or indirectly—just a ‘temporary assignment to help organize,’ he remembered—his own words.   He knew that at least twenty former FDA workers had jumped to Regent in the two years preceding the collapse, and that most of them had been ‘made available’ by Regent to ‘assist’ the FDA in ‘recovery.’ Despite the disclosure agreements, each of the ‘former’ Regent personnel stood to gain considerably during their time ‘away’ from the company.

“Last I heard the FDA was still based in Denver.  They were planning to be back in D.C. by September.”

“Assuming that the military manages to get the radiation cleaned up,” Roeland replied. “Which is quite unlikely.”

Starting almost immediately, Arie rounded up as many hands and vehicles as he could to relocate the majority of Doug and Julie’s things from Doug’s house. Ninety percent of the food supplies and all of the medicines, vitamins and supplements made the move.  Doug fueled up his company pickup from the diesel tank, and then filled or topped off all of the Segher farm trucks.  Augie Kliest dropped in during mid-move.

“Doug, how are you? Been a while,” he said.

“Pretty busy, Augie.  I’ve been reassigned up the food chain,” Doug replied.

“So I’ve heard.  Doubling up?”

“What’s that?” Doug asked.

“Doubling up.  Moving in with the in-laws.  Lot of that going on these days—safer.”

“Pretty much, yes.  Julie will be staying with the Segher’s.  We’ll still keep most of our stuff here, but things she’ll need more often we’ll move out.  Can you keep an eye on the place for us?”

“Sure.  Not much else to do—Corporate has been promising that the network will be back up to full strength any day now, but that day never seems to come.  So we garden, store up, and watch out.”

“Thanks.  Yes, Corporate is a mess.  I caught a ration of crap for going out on my own to get things up in Des Moines going again, apparently not in the Regent manner.”

“Columbus seems to be run by egomaniacs, fair warning,” Augie said.

“I’m probably going to Denver on assignment; back when I can get here.”

“Doesn’t matter.  Same mindset: Empire builders. That is not a compliment.”

Doug didn’t know what struck him about August’s comments, but in that moment he decided that Kliest probably didn’t know about RNEW, and wouldn’t approve of it if he did.

“August, you have no idea,” Doug said, before turning to Roeland.  “Roeland, Augie and I are going to have a talk, if you don’t mind.  You OK here?”

“Ten minutes and we’ll be done.  You can just meet us back at the Farm when you’re done.  I think your bride is working on her letter of resignation.”

“Much appreciated.  Thanks, Roel.”

“So this is what Corporate decided was ‘executive level transport?’” Augie said, patting the dull paint on the half-ton Dodge pickup. 

“There’s a little more to it than meets the eye, Doug replied.  “Diesel for one, which wasn’t stock they tell me.  The big thing is the body armor.”

“No,” Augie said in surprise.

“Yes.  My Explorer had it too—and I made use of it, but I guess diesel fuel is more stable over time.”

“It is at that.  What’s on your mind?”

“You mentioned ‘empire building’ earlier.  You’re right, you just don’t know how right you are.”

For an hour and a half Doug and August Kliest talked about every aspect of RNEW.  Kliest of course new of the RNEW line, but not exactly what it was about, its effects, or an end-goal. He took a step backward when Doug told him of the mental effects on the consumers of the product, eyes narrowing first in anger, then in resolve.

“That explains a lot. Missing pieces in the puzzle are no longer missing,” Kliest said almost to himself.  “So you’re sticking with it? After what you just told me?”

“You ever hear of Kevin Martinez?”

“Yeah. Sadist that runs the Personal Security Division.”

“You’ve met,” Doug replied.

“Once.  He seemed to be on a mission to prove himself better than others with any weapon at hand,” Augie said.  “I had to disappoint him.  I don’t think he had much use for me after that.”

“He has implied several times over the past couple months that he is watching every move I make.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, but physically it’s not possible.  Your security feeds are dead at the house; most of the Corporate network is hopelessly hobbled by communications bottlenecks.  You aren’t staying on the inside because of that piece of work.”

“No, I’m staying in because I’m trying to mitigate the damage,” Doug said honestly. “And, because I think they’ll kill me if I leave. I know too much.”

“That is almost certainly correct,” Augie replied. “I take it you’ve found a way to get information out about this?”

“Yes, but how do you know that?”

“A) I’m a former military intelligence officer. B), a dramatic change in sales trend occurred the third week of April for Regent. Absolutely hit a wall. Discounts aren’t working; relief supplies have been rejected in favor of other, inferior products—words from the Sales Division, not from me.  They’re not selling anything in the South and Southwest, nor are they selling anything in the far West…and that trend is creeping eastward. You responsible for torpedoing their plans?”

“With any luck, yeah.  I might be.”

“Then you’ve made the right choice and a difference. Probably not much hope for the East.  They’re demanding more every day.”

“So I’ve seen.”

“You know about the sales trends then?”

“No. I have not been privy to that. Nice to hear that, though.”

“You realize of course that if I were fully engaged with the company plans that I’d put a bullet in your head right now, don’t you?” Kliest said, shocking Doug. 

“Yes,” Doug replied. “But I have the feeling that you are not that kind of man.”

“Trust your feelings, young man.  You may live longer that way.” 

Remnant, Chapter 43

43

Sunday

December Third

13:50 Hours

The hospital appeared to be remarkably intact, like most of the town, unlike many of the other towns we’d seen, either through pictures or first hand.  No electricity of course, but there were cars and trucks in the parking lot, most showing that they’d been driven recently.   Fifth Battalion men were in place all around the hospital, in their snow camouflage.  I parked the Humvee in a normal parking stall, just like anyone, pre-War.

“Looks in good shape,” I said.

“S.A. was only here in force for a day or so.  Didn’t have much time to make it like home,” Schaefer said. “Between the Marines and that gang from Texas, I don’t think they had much time at all.”

We climbed out of the Humvee, and were met almost at the curb by a half-dozen medical types.

“Colonel Drummond, Third Washington,” I said, introducing myself to an elderly man.  His name badge was illegible, or it was to my eyes anyway.

“D.C.?”

“The other end. The state.”

“Welcome to Cozad. Larry O’Connor.  I’m the managing director for the hospital.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. O’Connor. What can we help you out with?”

“Surgeons, nurses, supplies, electricity, food. That’d be a start. You’ve already got some of your corpsmen and doctors working inside.”

“We’ll see what we can do about more supplies,” I said.

“Already on their way, sir,” Jim said. “Supplies and most of our corpsmen.  We’ve also got two medical cars on the trains that include full surgical suites.”

“Don’t have the staff to use them,” O’Connor said. “Statists took all the supplies and every doc and nurse that wasn’t hiding someplace.”

“Now that Cozad is back in the United States, supplies and utilities will be more regular, I suspect. What’s your population here, Mr. O’Connor?”

“Around three thousand.  About five before the War.”

“How’re the rest of your supplies? Food in particular.”

“Again, what wasn’t nailed down…”

“Got it. We’ll see what we can help out with.  How about your city leaders, police chief, and all?  Where can we…”

“Dead. All of them.  First to go. Pastors and priests were the next.”

“I’m sorry.  Seems to be the pattern of the S.A.,” I said.

“Killing children seems to be as well,” O’Connor said.

“Unfortunately, yes, that too.”

“Colonel, if you have chaplains, we could use them here.  There are a hundred broken hearted families up at the middle school….trying to identify their dead children.”

“Jim,” I said. A chill went down my spine.

“On it, sir.”

“What happened, Mr. O’Connor?”

“C’mon inside.  It’s marginally warmer in there.”

We filed into the darkened hospital foyer, lit with several of Third Washington field lanterns, and passed the body bags of fifteen Third Washington men killed in action.  The foyer was packed with people, many wounded.  I saw down the hallway a row of bloodstained gurneys.  We headed to the administrative area of the hospital, littered with files and overturned furniture.

“Men, lend a hand while Mr. O’Connor and I meet,” I said to our two security men.  Jim Schaefer was talking with Second Battalion’s commander, working on clearing the eastern side of town, and moving north.  The last of the S.A.’s mechanized capability in Cozad was running hard north, a single tank, I was picking up on my headset.  A Russian-made T-90 variant.  ‘Front-line main battle tank.’

We sat in what was left of a small conference room, out of the commotion in the corridors. 

“The S.A. gathered up most of the kids and used them as leverage against the city. We don’t know what else they did with them. When the Marines were on the horizon, they told everyone to stay in their houses and that if they were on the street, they’d be shot on sight.  The night before the Marines and the Texans swept through, most of the S.A. faded away east,” O’Connor said.

I sat there, leaning forward on the table, as he continued.  In my headset, Second Battalion was credited with destroying the T-90 and its crew.  Secondary explosions aboard the tank prevented any detailed look at the wreckage.

“The kids were put into a secure room at the school.  That room is all concrete, part of the tornado shelter.  No way out.  They threw in grenades. Dozens of them.”

I felt sick. “My God,” I said quietly.

“God had little to do with that, Colonel. They’re nothing but butchers. Soulless, heartless, mindless butchers.”

I tried to gather my thoughts, struggling to find words. “We’ll do what we can, Mr. O’Connor, to get some help here.  Our brigade has seen what they can do.  They slaughtered more than fifty thousand soldiers in Colorado a couple of weeks ago. We helped retrieve their bodies.”

O’Connor was shaking.  “I cannot believe that men could do this to each other.  The senselessness of it all,” he said, voice trailing off, tears coming to his eyes.

Later in the afternoon, I visited the school, a typical American middle school, which in the future would be mentioned in the same hushed tones as Beslan, Treblinka, Auschwitz.  There are sights that words just cannot describe.

I’d asked volunteers to serve at the school in remains retrieval, and had more than two hundred men respond.  Twenty-five were selected. Along with representatives of the city, they retrieved the remains of the children, most unidentifiable. They were gathered and placed in a common grave on the grounds of the school.   The burial service was one of the most emotionally powerful events of my life.  I had to pour myself back into my day job to relieve my mind of what I had seen.

17:40 Hours

“Sir, we have one of the Marine units on secure line, I’ll patch you through to your station,” Private Kittrick said with some excitement.  The comms guys had been working on getting some sort of communications going since the attack on the satellites, and repairing the damage to the secondary communications array at the rear of the train.  Two of our techs were wounded when an anti-tank round penetrated the car, but did not detonate.

“Understood. Thanks, Mr. Kittrick,” I said, putting on my headphones, and taking my attention away from the computer screen with the loading reports for our wheeled vehicles.   The work was a good distraction.

“Secure channel, sir. You’ll be speaking with the second in command.”

“This is Colonel Richard Drummond, Third Washington.”

“Colonel, I’m Major Stevenson, First Marine Expeditionary Force.”

“Major, how’re you standing? Are you and your men going to be able to hold out until reinforcements arrive?”

“S.A.’s holding their own, sir.  We’re keeping them in check along with our Army friends from Texas.”

“Supply status?”

“Thin, sir. Could use a resup. We’ve had no contact with command most of the day.”

Perhaps he didn’t know about the satellites being knocked out, I thought. “Satellites are down, Major. S.A. took them out. Regarding resupply, we’re working on that right now.  S.A. popped a bridge down onto our track and blew a bridge over the river, so our train isn’t an option for the immediate future.  Trucks are being loaded with everything they can carry and will be on the way by twenty hundred. What’s the status of the highway up to Grand Island?”

“Other than what’s left of fifty or sixty S.A. tanks and trucks and their dead, it’s clear, Colonel.”

“All right, Major. I’ll pass you off to Lieutenant Colonel Atwood.  Atwood is head of Fifth Battalion and will be point on the resupply. Wait one,” I said.

“Much obliged, Colonel.”

“Bryce? He’s all yours,” I said.  Atwood joined the conversation from one of the other communications suites.

Between the two trains, we had sixty Humvees of various models, and twenty trucks loading.  Some of our mechanics had also retrieved some civilian vehicles from Cozad, and put them back in running order.  Food, ammunition, and medical supplies were being loaded into them by every available hand, with a handful of Humvees remaining in and around town.  Those men that weren’t loading were working on the river bridge, building a rubble abutment from steel, broken concrete and whatever they could lay hands on.  Three local engineers had been found to provide Third Washington an impromptu bridge design…what should take months to do, we required immediately.

The highway bridge was a different story.  The smaller pieces were being removed by hand by the men and women of Cozad and our crews. The larger pieces—most of the bridge deck—would have to be broken into smaller pieces and then moved out of the way. Tricks learned from our trained combat engineers would be used for the heavy work.  IED’s of our own, placed in strategic locations within the wrecked bridge deck, would break the pre-stressed concrete deck into smaller pieces.  Multiple draglines on tanks would then pull the pieces out of the way. The damaged track and roadbed would then be rebuilt.  

“Mister Kittrick, a moment please,” I said.

“Sir?”

“How did you manage to raise the Marines?”

“Uh, we bypassed all military frequencies to establish initial contact, then had the Marines match our frequency on their encrypted gear.”

“You just described how you established encrypted contact. How did you raise them in the first place?”

“Well, Morse Code actually, on a shortwave freq.”

“And they had someone on the other end listening in?”

“Yes, sir.  Comm tech by the name of Juice.”

“You know him personally?”

“I’ve been in communication with him since we hit Colorado. Haven’t met him personally.  We set up a, well, contingency plan in case our normal channels were unavailable, Colonel.”

“Helluva job, Corporal.”

“Sir?”

“You just got promoted. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

Colonel Atwood completed his coordination with the Marines, and joined me for a ‘dinner’ MRE, in my case spaghetti with meat sauce.

“Bryce, I’m expecting that you and your men will be engaged alongside the Marines until we arrive.”

“Counting on it, sir.”

“Let’s do what we can to all come back alive, Colonel. You’ve got a lot of green troops under your command.”

“Been there, sir. We’ll do O.K.,” he said.

“Hope so, Colonel Atwood. We lost fifteen men today, and experience didn’t weigh into their fate.”

The last of the gear was lashed down and covered by nineteen-thirty hours, and Atwood’s’ detachment pulled out almost immediately, drivers and spotters with night-vision goggles and illuminators on the vehicles.  The full moon provided some light, with the thin, high cloud cover. Fifteen minutes later, Charlie Six was quiet again, and I made a pass through several of the bunk cars.

The days’ efforts had taken a toll on the men, with empty bunks and our dead stored in transport caskets, with an honor guard. Two of our large tent shelters were set up in anticipation of civilian need, but only one was being used, mostly to stage supplies before delivery into the community. Weapons were being cleaned, the off-duty men were mostly resting in their bunks, playing cards, or alone with their thoughts.

On-duty crews were still helping civilians in Cozad with food and supplies to get them through a few days, and picket-line security, ringing the town and the train yard. One of our Abrams was towing the large hunks of the downed overpass from the main track and the siding. I hadn’t seen any of our chaplains for most of the day. 

Back in the command car, two communications techs were working on one of the damaged video displays, while two others continued to attempt to re-establish contact with military units further up the food chain.

“Sir, we’ve got incoming friendly aircraft, rotary, distance forty miles….make that multiple, Colonel,” Private Jenkins said. “Three birds, sir.”

“You sure they’re friendlies?” First Battalion commander Shawn Miller replied.

“IFF codes check out with current data sets, sir. Two Chinooks and a ‘Hawk.”

“Sergeant Baumann,” Miller said into his headset, “We’ve got inbound friendlies. I hope for your sake that LZ’s ready….”

I listened to Miller’s half of the conversation as he chewed a platoon sergeant a ‘new one,’ and roused several hundred of his men to action.  I grabbed my parka and helmet and headed to the door.

“Nice work, Colonel Miller,” I said.

“Never hurts to have an LZ handy, even if most of the Air Force seems to be parked, sir. One of these days, today for instance, we might have need of one.”

“Captain Shand, hold down the fort. Colonel Miller and I will go greet our guests.”

“Yes, sir,” Greg replied. “We’ll get the mess moving along as well.”

“Very good. Thanks.”

Outside, a few hundred feet south and west of our command car, Baker Company had cleared a large landing zone, and was setting up beacons to identify the LZ to the night-vision gear worn by the helo pilots.  We could hear them approach far sooner than we could see them, skimming low along the highway, without anti-collision lights. 

The lead helicopter landed straightaway, perfectly aligned with the ground beacon, followed by the twin-rotor Chinooks.   The Blackhawk’s passengers immediately disembarked and bee-lined it over toward us.  The three helicopters engines shut down quickly.

“Colonel Drummond, Third Washington Engineers,” I said.

“Commander Daniel Evans. United States Navy.”

“Welcome to Cozad, Commander.  I’d like to say you were expected, but you’re certainly welcome. This is Lieutenant Colonel Miller, First Battalion commander. How many men have you got with you?”

“Seventy-six, Colonel. A whole lot more pretty quick, sir.  I’ve also got orders for you from Command.”

“Thanks.  Command car is over this way.  We’ll find space for the men for the night, and can round up some dinner, I suspect.”

“Much appreciated, Colonel. If at all possible, I’d like to sequester them from your troops.” 

I looked over my shoulder as a non-com barked at the men as they grabbed their gear and double-timed it behind us.

“Shouldn’t be a problem, Commander. Looks like you’ve got a Sergeant Rock back there.”

“Einreich.  He’s the real deal, Colonel.”

We walked a little further, and Evans noted the honor guard, and looked a little surprised.

“Sir?” he said.

“Lost fifteen men today, Commander. Twenty-one wounded.”

“Sorry to hear that, Colonel.”

“Thanks. Seven hundred fifty-five enemy dead, confirmed at this point, a fair percentage of them killed by the citizens of Cozad. With axles, shovels, picks, and baseball bats. You’ve seen line action against the S.A., Commander?”

“Behind the line action, Colonel.”

“Well, when you get back behind the lines, I hope you prosecute your mission with extreme prejudice.  Unspeakable things have been done in these towns. Here in Cozad, they loaded a classroom up with kids, held them hostage, and when the Marines showed up, they grenaded them.”

Evans said nothing.

We headed into the conference car, where coffee, soup and sandwiches were just being placed by one of our mess crew.

“Have a seat, Commander. How are things outside of direct radio range?”

“We’ve got some new comm gear for you, Colonel. Four sets, to be precise.  That should patch your unit in with Command through ground relays.  To answer your direct question though, sir, San Antonio and Houston were both targeted by S.A. ballistic missiles with nuclear warheads. Six separate launches. All were destroyed in flight by airborne lasers, still in boost phase.  That rained warheads and wreckage on both sides of the front. Two detonations, both in northwest Arkansas.   The team outside is tasked with infiltrating the northern third of the S.A. territory and taking out that capability.”

“Know where you’re headed, Commander?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not asking, just want to make sure you’re not on a snipe hunt.”

“We have good intel, Colonel.”

“All right then, Commander. Let’s get your boys set up and you whatever local intel we can without compromise.”

“Thank you, sir. Probably the last warm night my men will have for awhile.”

“Feel free to use this as your HQ,” I said as the mess soldier came back in. “Sirs, chow’s ready in fifteen for the Navy men. Should I bring up more here, Colonel?”

“Up to the Commander, Mister Pierce. I expect the Commander and his staff have some business to attend to this evening.”

Commander Evans and his senior staff met in the conference room as the remainder of the SEALS grabbed dinner and would try to get some sleep.  Sometime during the night, this group of men would head east for points unknown.  Our orders, provided by Commander Evans in a sealed envelope, directed us to proceed to Grand Island immediately and ‘stage for large-scale support of up to fifty thousand troops for an extended period of time.’

I reviewed the orders, as well as several dispatches from Austin on other events ‘influencing civilian understanding of the prosecution of the war.’ I tried to wrap my head around that statement, and gave up. The ‘events’ though, were self-explanatory:

--As I had suspected, the S.A. had distributed, before destroying the military and remaining commercial satellites, video illustrating the Sixth Army engaged in a massacre of civilians in suburban areas of Denver, of course refuted by the video from Lt. Susan Kirchener’s team.

--Bulk food stockpiles and shipments had been poisoned in several major cities, throwing all bulk food shipments and storehouses into doubt.  These included food warehouses operated by several religious denominations, bulk public warehouses operated by government agencies, and commercial vendors. The S.A. published reports that the United States Government was behind the poisonings, in the name of population reduction and generation of fear, creating dependence on the U.S. government.

--Continued sabotage of utilities, refineries, rail lines, and public facilities seemed to be increasing; probably along the strategy of the “swarm” we’d seen in Spokane County.

--The S.A. broadcasts touted defeat of ‘rebel’ forces throughout the Great Lakes region, pushing through the Dakotas into Montana.  Complete fabrication, as the U.S. held the line, well within the Minnesota border.  The strategic weapons throughout the Dakotas, as well as bases in Minot and Fargo, were well defended.  I wondered how my brother and his family were, in Minnesota. It’d been many months since we’d heard from them.

--Finally, the S.A. broadcasts boasted of reopening New Orleans and Charleston, South Carolina, to State of America commercial shipping, providing ‘free access to commerce necessary for the reformation of the State.’  I’m sure that was a surprise to the few thousand residents of the remains of New Orleans, not quite abandoned but nearly so, after the last big Gulf hurricane; and to Charleston, which was deep inside of United States territory.

I finished Austin’s incoming, and began my own assignment.

Dr. and Mrs. John Miller

Veradale, Washington

Dear Doctor and Mrs. Miller—

It is utmost sorrow that I write this letter about the loss of your son, Mark. There are no words to adequately convey this loss or the enduring memory of the space in our Brigade that he filled.

Third Washington has been in the field a few short weeks, and during this time, your eldest proved himself to be a natural leader and a man who deeply understood the sacrifices that have been made to preserve this nation and to see it free.

I had the privilege to work alongside Mark in Sterling, Colorado in the retrieval of those lost in the Sixth Army massacre. It was most difficult and challenging work, and it weighed heavily on us all. Mark and I discussed his personal relationship with the Almighty during this work, and I am confident that your son is at peace and in the presence of God.

These words, I pray bring you comfort. For a man of just twenty, he cast a very long shadow on the men around him and the Brigade as a whole.

Respectfully,

Colonel Richard J. Drummond

Commanding

Third Washington Engineering Brigade

I had just finished the last of the condolence letters for each of the men lost, along with the Brigade status report.  The fifteen men we’d lost included a West Point first lieutenant, two senior sergeants, a corpsman, and eleven men who had yet to reach twenty years of age. Six were injured when two RPG’s hit near their location, the rest were hit by small arms fire before they could find cover.

The Brigade status report would be radioed back to Command, with the condolence letters.  The status report gave our current equipment, fuel and supply load (decreasing rapidly), and requests for resupply that might vary from our ‘standard’ resupply.  I wondered, how could there be a ‘standard’ resupply when even we didn’t know what we’d need and when.

The packet from Command contained a slated schedule of troop trains and supply trains to arrive in Grand Island over the next several weeks. The United States was about to go after the heart of the S.A., in the middle of the winter.   Third Washington had several options moving east by rail, depending on the progress on the Front. In no case, did our potential routes travel more than another three hundred miles.   I heard a knock on my door, and Kittrick announced Commander Evans.

“Commander, get your men all settled in?”

“Looks like we’re here until around oh four-hundred, Colonel.  We’ll head up to Grand Island and hop east from there.”

“Pretty good chance you’ll see some of our men up there.  We sent a slug of our men and vehicles loaded with everything they could carry up there before you arrived. Marines and our friends from Texas were running a little low.  They’ll need more soon enough.”