Distance, Chapter 26

26

Sunday,

April Second

Eden Prairie, Minnesota

The restaurant had eleven patrons, all eating alone, separated by at least twelve feet on all sides.  The limited wait staff was masked, gloved, and utterly professional in their pressed shirts and slacks, working with quiet efficiency and superb presentation of the limited menu.  Doug had no idea who any of the other diners were, what they did, where they were from. The entire setting, from the background music to the sixteen-ounce Porterhouse was so out of touch with reality that Doug had to remind himself that he was actually there and not dreaming.

Now in the fifth day of this particular road trip, Doug had hit three Regent and allied facilities from Des Moines to Minneapolis, and had directed other corporate resources into the mix to meet the Regent Delta production schedules. The fourth road trip in the past thirty days, Doug barely had time to sleep.  Tomorrow would be a brief meeting with one of the Regent Delta targets, Carlyle.

Kliest was right about one thing: he was busy. The time behind the wheel of the company car though, left him plenty of time to think, when he wasn’t on the phone. The separation from Julie, the time alone, the lack of contact, didn’t lessen his feelings for her one iota.

After Kliest’s ‘visit’ in February, Doug thought long and hard about their conversation, replaying it in his head several times.  He then called Julie late that evening, and asked if he might visit the following day.

He rose early that day, knocking out four hours worth of work in two, and left his email and chat off-line for the entire time.  The weather was decent, and he made good time down to the Segher’s.  Doug made it a point to not make any additional phone calls to Julie on the Regent phone, nor did he send her his customary morning email from the company computer.  He wove through the barricades at the farm, and parked some distance from the house.  The phone stayed in the car.

“Good morning, Douglas,” Arie said, greeting him from the barn.

“Good morning, Arie.  I’d like to speak with all of you if I may,” Doug said. Arie’s expression changed immediately.

“Certainly. Maria and Julie are in the kitchen I believe, working on the noonday meal,” Arie said with his clipped accent.  Doug noticed he seemed to be limping.

“Are you hurt?”

“Bad knee from a long time ago. It catches me more often these latter days,” he said as they reached the porch.  Julie opened the door for them.

“Good morning,” Doug said.

“Morning,” Julie said with a wary smile. “Everything OK?”

“No. Not remotely, and that’s why I’m here.”

“Sit,” Maria said, pushing an enormous mug of coffee toward him, quickly followed by cream and honey.  A plate of butter cookies followed.

“Thanks,” Doug said, removing his parka. He sat, staring at the coffee for a minute before he spoke.  “I had a visitor last night from the corporation I work for. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“What happened?”

“Essentially, I’m being spied on. I would expect that they’re reading all of my emails, listening to all my calls.  They are obviously tracking my whereabouts and the people I meet and associate with. Which comes to you,” he said, raising his eyes to Julie, Arie and Maria. “They claim to know things about you as well. Your business dealings. Your political beliefs.”

Arie moved back in his chair, face stoic.

“They believe that my association with you, Julie included, represents a risk to the corporation.  I am involved with Julie. Julie’s brother is married to Molly Segher. The Segher’s are, and I quote, ‘unpredictable.’  They believe that there is information that I may provide you that will be used against me, or against them.  It seemed very threatening in tone.”

“What did you tell them?” Julie asked, unfazed.

“That I didn’t believe that you were anything of the kind.  The man did not seem impressed,” Doug said finally taking a drink of coffee, unaltered.  “I believe that my relationship with you could put you at risk. It felt like, ‘substantial’ risk. I’m sure they know I’m here now.”

“GPS in your car,” Julie said. “And your phone.”

“Yes. It’s not a stretch to see that they’re keeping a close eye on their ‘assets.’  I have that nice security system in the house.  I never thought that it might be watching me as much as it’s watching the property. I never thought that the phone might be used to listen to what was going on when I wasn’t even using it.”

Arie and Maria had been silent through his comments. “Do you plan to continue with this company?” Arie said.

“It’s all I have going for work. I’m good at it, but it seems to be going directions that I’m uncomfortable with.”

“Where it takes you is limited by where you allow it to go,” Maria replied. “That seems clear to me.”

“I have an employment agreement with them that is pretty much ironclad,” Doug said. “I spent a fair amount of time re-reading it.”

“Slavery is illegal, the last time I looked it up,” Julie said.

“It’s a contract.”

“So where do we go from here?” Julie asked, bringing the conversation to just the two of them.

“If I continue to associate with you, I put you at risk.  Those words weren’t spoken, but they were conveyed clear enough.  I can’t allow that to happen.”

“So you choose the company over me?” Julie asked.

“No, I choose to keep you safe,” Doug said.  “I have an nine month contract.”

“An odd length for a contract, nine months, yes?” Arie said.

“It expires at the end of their fiscal year,” Doug said. “It’s fairly common in the industry. As for you and I,” Doug said to Julie, “I love you. I don’t want that to end.”

“You will have to learn a new way to communicate.  Do you remember how to write letters?” Maria asked Julie. “Or do they read those too?”

Doug’s letters to Julie were hand-written, nothing in them related to Regent, the postage was paid for with scarce cash, and their relationship was maintained on the twice-weekly mail deliveries now provided to most of the nation. Doug’s mail was delivered to a post office box in town, which also happened to be the post office overseen by a distant cousin of the Seghers.  The mail went untampered. Doug also wrote his ex-wife in a similar manner, to keep her and her family off of the company radar. 

Doug sipped his glass of red wine, watching the staff clear a table and re-set it, quickly wiping down the chairs with an unknown cleaner.  At the entry, a line of other business-types waited, spaced several feet apart, each wearing gloves and their facemasks. The security guards were quite subdued, clad in black, and residing in the shadows just outside the building. One of the staff dicreetly checked the waiting customers for any sign of illness or fever with a small hand-held laser thermometer. Those in line just waited, some talking on their phones, others text-messaging, seemingly ignoring the procedure that might identify them as having the Guangdong Flu.

Restaurants and buffets still in business were doing so on financial reserves or on corporate subsidy, just to keep the doors open until a ‘recovery’ could take place.  When the outbreak became widespread, most people stayed away from crowds.  Restaurants were hit hard.  Four of Regents primary fast-food clients closed a full eighty-percent of their restaurants for the entire month of March, and were only now starting to talk about opening up sometime in April.  Of course, schools and universities had also effectively shut down, movie theaters, shopping malls….all were nearly out of business. The economy fell further as a result.

Kliest’s prediction of the peak of the influenza outbreak occurred more or less as he’d predicted, which disturbed Doug in its accuracy. It did not seem normal that someone from Bluestone should know of such things, but of course Doug obviously was lacking in the breadth and depth of the creature that was Regent Performance.

Since mid-February, Doug had been required to make twice-weekly video conferences at the Des Moines facility, meeting his virtual team, now numbering around a hundred-fifty, and scattered across the United States and eastern Canada.   He had been promoted to team leader, delegating much of the mechanics of integrating the RNEW line into the products of the new clientele.   His Western U.S. sales team didn’t have anywhere near the success of the two teams in the East, who’d achieved more than the target market penetration.  The Western team had been met with resistance almost from the start, and only fifteen percent of their goals had been met.  Each meeting therefore, had included a review of what had worked in the East, as a cheerleading effort for the West team.  It still didn’t really matter—the tactics from the East just weren’t effective in California.  Corporate effectively gave up on the effort at the end of March, releasing the West team for support of the East. The pre-occupation with the War, the troubles in the Pacific Northwest and the slow-motion collapse of the economy were the three strikes that finally convinced the leadership in Columbus that there were fertile grounds elsewhere.

Each trip to Des Moines allowed Doug to stock up at the Regent Preferred store; the in-house ‘elite’ brands of the Regent Performance Group grocery line. Doug purchased discounted products, of better quality than the normal retail product line.  He was still ‘banking money’ in his checking and saving accounts at the local bank, even with the substantial purchases that he often made in Des Moines.   The rent payment for the house was automatically deducted, as were utilities. His employment and purchases of basic needs directly through the Regent lines allowed him to avoid most of the ‘in-your-face’ financial chaos that the rest of the nation endured. He’d made a few purchases at the local hardware store, in cash, usually in hundred dollar bills.  More ammunition for his shotgun, some duplicates of items he’d bought in Chicago, often items that were on the ‘Sarajevo list’.  He’d never had to stand in line at the grocery store, waiting to be one of a handful of people allowed in at a time, having to go through the whole store to find it half-empty. 

At the end of this job, he’d have much more to move, and he considered it fair compensation. His basement was quite full.

The previous meetings with Agnew Middleton in Des Moines and with Carlyle in Minneapolis were moderately successful; their representatives ‘cautiously optimistic’ about the test runs of military-grade shelf-stable food and nutritional supplements.  No one could just straight out say, ‘Hell yes, this is great’. That just wasn’t done anymore. Doug would drop in on them tomorrow, ‘meet’ with them via video conference with him on one side of a wall, the Carlyle vice-president for product development ten feet away in their secured conference room. Doug would then wait another ten days or so, make another secure video conference call or God forbid, another road trip.  During that ten-day period though, the suits above Doug’s level would see to it that both Agnew and Carlyle would experience ‘volatility’ in their commodity supply lines and pricing.

It was just the way business worked these days. They’d play ball, it just would take a little more time. Regent held the best cards in the game.

The hotel adjacent to the restaurant was only two months before a four-star facility geared toward business travelers. The complex now sported substantially enhanced perimeter controls, hotel-provided armed security teams, and a minimal number of nightly residents per floor.  CDC-approved decontamination methods were used throughout, and all staff were completely screened and trained to deal with any aspect of the influenza outbreak.  

Doug had a suite reserved for him that was used by no other, even when he was away.  The entire seventh floor was reserved for Regent Performance.  The eighth floor was similarly held by an avionics company; sixth was held by one of the automotive companies…Doug guessed Ford. Room service was available, but human contact was appreciated, even if it was just seeing people and not actually engaging in conversation.

He’d completed everything that he really needed to have done for the day, and spending another hour or three on the computer wasn’t to his liking.  He flipped on the television, a giant flat-panel on the ‘living room’ wall. All of the hotel sets had the ‘home’ station of the hotel itself. In the old days, they’d spout off about the hotel restaurants, fitness centers, or tourist stuff.  The home station now reminded travelers of security protocols, health and infection prevention, schedules for shuttle services to key destinations, and unvarnished local news as it might relate to the security of the guests. Doug noted that some of the ‘canned’ messages had been updated.

“Concierge services for any need that you may have as a guest here at Millennia Place are complimentary, including personal shopping on your behalf.  We’ve made this available to better provide for your security, given an increasing level of criminal activity within the region.  Please, on a daily basis, review the security memo posted here on Millennia Channel One, which will provide you an overview of potential problem areas within the Twin Cities and on highways from the Cities….”

It wasn’t any secret that literal highway robberies had come back with a vengeance in the East, a cancer that was spreading south and west.  Regent’s own trucking network had been hit hard in New Jersey, New York and around Philadelphia.  Regent had responded by creating caravans of semi trucks accompanied by flat-black Chevy Suburbans. The Suburbans had a half-dozen armed men each.  Once word got out that this tactic was in the field, it had been adopted by nearly all other commercial lines. Individual trucks, those few still on the road, usually had at least two armed men, aside from the armed driver. In more isolated areas though, drivers had been killed with shots through the windshield, usually wrecking the truck in the process. Any survivors from the crash were also killed, and the truck looted for whatever was aboard, including the fuel. Anything left was burned.

Night travel was for anyone wishing to be killed for the attempt, especially within fifty miles or so of any major city.  Regent and some of their competitors had lost staff who ‘pushed through’ to try to extend their travels a little too far.  Some had never been found.  Those that had were usually unrecognizable.

Doug flipped over to the local news channel for the evening update.

“…driver shot back, hitting at least two of the robbers. Several passerby held the wounded men until police could arrive.  The attack, taking place on Thirty-Five East in Mendota, is the fifth reported day time carjacking in six days.  Neither of the two men held by police have been identified, and are in quarantine in Shakopee.” 

“Commercial flights into Minneapolis are projected to pick up as soon as the approval of the Commercial Airline Nationalization Act, expected to be on the President’s desk within the next few days.  Bankruptcy court findings for the ‘big four’ airlines, with the associated demands from creditors, have been set aside in a controversial move by the courts, citing the need to expedite national recovery efforts. Both Union representatives and shareholders are outraged by the findings, which strip Union pensions, benefits and job security contracts, as well as eliminate good-faith offers to shareholders put in place in early February.”

Doug thought pleasantly how nice it would to fly again, rather than rack up thousands of miles behind a steering wheel.

“Congress again today remained in a deadlock on the proposed currency re-valuation.  The House proposal, crafted by freshman Representatives, was resoundingly condemned by the Senate in a vitriol-filled press conference. Banking concerns, loudly demanding immediate action on the ongoing financial crisis, had to be escorted from the Capitol grounds after a New York lobbyist reportedly assaulted a Congressional staffer.”

“I’d have liked to have seen that,” Doug said as he opened the mini-fridge and took out a diet Coke.

“Hit and run attacks in northern Mexico continued today, claiming the lives of six American troops. Eighth Army commanders stated that ‘clean sweep’ operations would continue until all threats to American troops were eliminated.   It is reported that the soldiers lost today belonged to the Forty-First Division, from the Pacific Northwest. Enemy dead numbered more than a hundred.”

“Unlucky bastards,” Doug said to the television, not quite realizing what he had said.

Like most everyone still able to travel, Doug had become used to the obvious security in public places; the handfuls of National Guardsmen in ill-fitting uniforms here and there; and the changes in the way things looked and worked in every day life.

Doug’s first trip beyond the Des Moines plant showed some lasting modifications to the Iowa landscape in the form of the many roads that had been blocked off permanently from the main highways.  The trip had taken him north to Minneapolis, and then back on Interstate Thirty-Five.  North of Des Moines, in decreasing quantities as he headed north, were dozens of abandoned cars, trucks and RV’s.  Near Clear Lake, up to the junction with Interstate Ninety, no cars at all.  North of Ninety, hundreds of cars on the sides of the road.  Most had been there long enough to be filthy from splashed road grime or buried in the snow. Subsequent trips had fewer abandoned cars.  Doug didn’t think much about it.

One trip, with Eau Claire as his destination, had a mid-way stop in Albert Lea, Minnesota, with the SUV overheating. He wasn’t about to stop on the open road, even during daylight.

Doug had only been “in” a few small towns since he’d resumed traveling, none had involved anything other than driving through.  Albert Lea shocked him, though:  The AmeriMart was a burned out wreck. The three or four auto parts stores were boarded up or gutted. There wasn’t a functioning gas station that he noticed.  The sole grocery store he found had a long line of people waiting to enter…spaced out by a dozen feet each.  Doug noticed a half-dozen or more armed men guarding the place. He finally stopped at a farm supply store, hoping to find a safe haven to look at the engine and maybe find radiator coolant.

He’d parked well away from the guarded store, gaining the attention of the two men flanking the doorway. They were standing behind heavy steel panels, rifles out. He put on his flu mask, was careful to get out of the Ford and show his empty hands, and waved at the men.  He opened the hood and found the radiator cap mangled and a hole in the hose from the radiator to the coolant tank. And a hole in the fender, inner fender liner, and air intake. 

The car had been hit with a bullet from the passenger side.

Doug stood there, staring at the damage for a minute, realizing that if the bullet had hit a few feet further back, he’d have been struck. 

He was able to repair the hose and patch the rest of the damage with supplies from the store, paid for with his Regent card, which again was verified prior to being allowed into the shopping area of the store. As a traveler with adequate gasoline, he was viewed with substantial suspicion by the store people.  He explained that he was a sales rep for a food distributor, and he was then suddenly escorted around the store by a manager, who was pumping him for information on how to “get in” with Doug’s company. Doug paid for the parts with a case of Regent Preferred samples, products that he’d received for free but were approaching their expiration date.  He put the parts and patches on the Explorer while the guards watched out for him. In exchange, he gave them a case of the Preferred samples, as well as his thanks.  He did pick up the business card for the store manager, in case they could work something out in the future.

His mind the rest of that trip, when he wasn’t in meetings, was on that bullet hole. On the way back home, he made sure that he had as much mass around him as possible, in the hopes that it would at least slow down a bullet if it happened again.

Remnant, Chapter 26

26

Sunday evening,

November Nineteenth

It is, and should be, something that will forever alter your view of humanity, seeing lifeless bodies in the street, either in person or through television or still photographs.  On this night, with intermittent power and television signals, we were watching commercial television news of the attacks on American citizens, caused by American citizens.   I think the Drummond family was more in shock and sadness, that this could happen, that this should be, ‘on purpose.’ 

The Los Angeles attacks might have been the worst, or most graphic, I could not decide which.  The commentators, constantly warning that the images should not be seen by younger viewers or that they were particularly shocking, eventually ran out of adjectives as the hand-held, and helicopter mounted cameras showed block after block of dead in the streets, most wearing the customary California casual wear.  Three major theme parks were hit, just two weeks after reopening for limited runs. Four other major outdoor shopping areas, and one shopping mall, were hit, nearly simultaneously. It appeared to me within a few minutes that there had to be multiple delivery methods to deliver whatever agent was used, with the common factor that it was an airborne agent, or perhaps several agents.

Many of the bodies had burns and blisters of some kind while in other locations the bodies were relatively unmarked.

In L.A. alone, there appeared to be thousands dead.  Little television footage was shown of the attacks in Dallas, again at an outdoor market; no visuals from Phoenix or the attacks in Florida.  I suspected they were at least as effective as what we had seen in California. Very little was said of the attack in Colorado. I assumed that this was due to censorship, rather than for lack of available information.

I got up from my spot on the couch, sandwiched between Karen and Kelly, and cleared the dinner dishes from the coffee table.  Carl shut off the television. I think we’d all had enough.

Before I reached the kitchen with my armload of soup bowls and mugs, Buck and Ada were up and moving toward the door, just as I heard the front gate rattle.

“Easy, you two.  Carl, see who might be on the way in, please,” I said. 

“Got it,” he said as he reached for the twelve-gauge with his left hand, holding back the window blinds with his right.  “Army…It’s Major Cross.”

That got Karen up and moving. She’d been staring a little too long at the blank television screen after it was shut off. I’m sure she was thinking the same kinds of things that I was. 

“Carl, Kelly, you two take care of the dishes. And there’s laundry to fold downstairs,” Karen said as she opened the front door for Elaine.  Both dogs then lowered their guard and went into attention-getting mode.

“Good evening, Major,” I said as I came back toward the door. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” Elaine said, taking off her Kevlar helmet and non-Army scarf.   The bitter winter winds were coming back in from the East.

“How’s Bobby doing?” Karen asked of Major Crosses’ young son.

“He’s doing OK. That elderberry stuff is great.  He’s just being a pill now, is all. Jenny’s back to almost full steam and starting to drive my Mom up the wall,” she answered, before a pause.  “You’ve seen the news.”

“We have,” I said, saying with two words what many might not adequately convey.

“Come in for some tea,” Karen added. “You must be frozen.”

“I’m OK. It’s pretty tough to keep up a good attitude when you’re stuck outside all night though,” she said as she took her camo parka off and sat at the dining room table. “Our neighborhood patrols tend to do their watching from inside warm buildings.”

“Can’t say I blame them. We had enough nights out in the snow last year to last a lifetime.  Any problems? I mean other than the obvious.”

“No. Cold’s keeping most everyone inside. That and the word is out that breaking curfew will get you killed for your effort.”

“Seeing what’s on TV, that shouldn’t be a surprise,” Karen said, pouring a cup of steaming tea. 

“It shouldn’t be,” she repeated.  “That’s why I’m here. Rick, they want you early,” Elaine said apologetically, looking more at Karen than me. Karen did not seem surprised. “There’s an outfitting  session for your unit tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred.  Have you wrapped up your transition at the County?”

“As much as need be, yeah. There’ll always be loose ends,” I said. “How soon before we ship out?”

“No more than a week, I think. Can’t really go into it in detail, more because I don’t know anything in detail.  They’re aiming at a big call-up. The Army is expanding dramatically, more than I would’ve ever expected.”

“Here too?”

“Yes. I don’t know if Mr. Bauer or Mr. Martin will get called up or not.”

“I doubt either would be accepted,” I said. “Ron’s got a heart condition, and Alan’s not exactly a kid,” before adding. “Of course, neither am I.” 

“Honestly, Rick, if they’re breathing and can carry a gun, they’re pretty much eligible.  They might get lucky and get passed over as performing an essential civilian function, but this will be huge.”

“What about the kids? How young are they going?” Karen asked.

“Not sure. Eighteen at present. I doubt they’d take anyone younger unless they were orphaned or emancipated or something.”

“How bad is Colorado, Elaine?” I asked, referring to the cryptic information we’d heard over the radio, and the story relayed to us by one of the Guardsmen down by the store. We’d heard updates on all of the civilian targets, but nothing more about the lead story, since it was first broadcast.

“I don’t know much more than I knew this afternoon. Nothing’s being broadcast, which should tell you volumes,” she said.

“Size of force attacking? Size of target? Casualties?” I said, getting a little impatient and frustrated, yet knowing that she probably didn’t have any more information than I did.

“Rick, honestly, I have no idea.  I suspect we were hit very hard. I’m sure that we had a large force in the field.”

I paused for a few moments and leaned back in the captain’s chair.  “There really won’t be any going back from this. Even after the betrayals that we’ve seen in the past….this sort of atrocity demands no prisoners.”

“I cannot disagree with that,” Elaine said. “I doubt that anyone in uniform tonight would.”

“How did the United States of America come to this?” Karen said rhetorically. “The Founding Fathers must be spinning in their graves.”

“And have been for quite some time,” I added.

The Founders expected all of our troubles of course, and gave us ample and repeated warnings in the Declaration, the Constitution, and many other pieces of correspondence that made up the history and anecdotes of the founding of the United States.

Laying in bed, hours after Karen had drifted off to sleep, my mind went back to a time before the war, to electronic discussions with other like-minded men and women on ‘the future of our country.’

It was apparent to everyone that the whole system had become a fraud; that political parties only existed to increase their power; that banks and insurance companies and rating agencies and talk-show hosts were in out-and-out collusion to sucker the American public and the American business into a lose-lose game of gambling with the financial future.  

I’d counted myself among a large handful of people ready to start a new political party, once based solely on the beliefs and guides given us by the Founders, a return to Constitutional guidance and uncommon, common sense. Unfortunately for the ‘Federationists’, time ran out before common sense could prevail.  The backlash of nearly a hundred years, maybe more, of erosion of State’s rights, our personal rights, our financial engine, our international entanglements, were all spelled out for us in advance.

We refused to learn those lessons we now faced the harshness of remedial education.  We’d grown as a culture too complacent, too dependent, too lazy to stand up. Maybe it is true that people only learn from personal experience, and that history is too abstract.  

I wondered how many years, (or perhaps a generation or more) before we would return to the definitions, the respect, and the obligations of freedom and accountability?

It was tough getting to sleep, and once I finally did, it was a very short night.

Monday morning,

November Twentieth

5:50 a.m.

The alarm rattled me awake, followed by the ascension of both dogs onto the bed.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” I said as Ada licked my face, Buck jockeying for position next to her.

“Morning,” I said to Karen, still snuggled under the covers. 

“That is a matter of debate,” she said, sneaking over between the dogs and giving me a kiss.  “What time are you going in?”

“Right off. I figured seven.”

“Get much sleep?”

“After a fashion, no.”

Karen snuggled closer, nudging Ada out of the way. “How old would your Dad be today?” she asked out of left field. That’s right, it was Dad’s birthday. I’d forgotten.

“Ninety-three,” I thought after doing the math.

“He’d be proud of you, you know.”

“No more than me of him,” I said cuddling her close by, despite Buck’s desire to take over the bed.   “You going to be OK?” I said, before thinking a moment. “I mean…”

“No, but we’ll manage. I just don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Remember what I said, before my last misadventure. I will come home to you.”

“Maybe I need to be more specific,” she said with a little laugh. “’Come home in one piece and undamaged.’”

“That’d be good, too. Someday when we get through this, I owe you a trip someplace nice. I’m thinking Maui.”

“I can hardly think that far ahead. I don’t think you can either,” she said.

“I can hope.  This can’t last forever.”

“No, but it can last a long, long time,” she said.  “What if this is eighteen sixty-one all over?”

“What if it’s eighteen sixty-four?” I answered.

“Elaine looked worried.  She knows something.”

“I imagine a lot of people looked scared, after seeing what happened yesterday. They’re targeting anything. Everything.”

“Your unit isn’t supposed to be near the front line, though….”

“No, we’re not, but this is war and things change.”

“You are too old to be doing this,” Karen said.

“Better me than our children, hon.  You know I’m not exactly one to go looking for trouble.”

“What these people did was unthinkable…and you are going after them.”

“Yes, because it needs to stop. If I weren’t already being called up, I’d volunteer.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious. My wife and children and my future grandchildren mean more to me than I mean to myself. If I can help stop these bastards, I will. Heck, if they ‘win’, I’m dead anyway. There’s no way they’d tolerate someone like me, someone who’d stand up to authority. And from what I’ve read, by extension, any of my relatives.”

Karen didn’t have a response to that.

“Honey, I’m going to do whatever I can, work with whatever men I can, to make sure that isn’t going to happen. With God’s help, we’ll win.”

“Don’t forget your gun this time. Take your Dad’s with you.”

“Planned on it. Army might frown on it, but it hasn’t let us down yet.”

“I have a surprise for you…well, the kids and I do anyway,” Karen said, finally giving up and letting Buck have the center of the bed. It was time to get up anyway.

“What’s that?” I said, finally putting my feet onto the cold floor.

“We’ll show you after you shower. You better get moving. I’ll get the fire on and get breakfast ready. Move it, soldier,” she said, giving me a kiss as she put her heavy robe on.

After my shower, I dressed in decent work clothes, figuring that I’d be wearing something in green by the end of the day.  I’d also taken some time the night before after Elaine had left, to pack up some civilian clothes and other items to take with me during my time away.  All of that fit in a medium sized pack, leaning against the damaged oak buffet in the dining room.

Downstairs, Karen had the fire in the woodstove going and Carl was trying to coax some more heat out of it. Kelly and Karen were making pancakes and eggs in the kitchen.

“Morning, you two. How’s our day looking?”

“Great if you like cold, dark, and cold,” Carl said.

“Carl, you’re such a grouch,” Kelly said.

“Not so much into cold, no,” I said, tousling his hair as he fed more maple kindling into the firebox. “Any new snow?”

“Didn’t look like it.  More news, or I guess, more of the same on the TV.  Local radio’s had just the curfew notice and weather. Rest of the time it’s network.”

“Hmmm,” I said as Karen handed me a big travel mug of tea. “Thank you my dear,” I said as I gave her a hug.

“Ready, kids?” Karen said.

“Sure,” they said in unison. “My get,” Carl said.

“We hadn’t really planned on giving you this until Christmas,” Karen said. “It’s hardly a traditional gift.”

“OK, now I’m intrigued,” I said. Carl emerged from his room with a long, well-finished wood case, complete with brass corner protectors, four latches, and a tooled leather handle. “Well now, what do we have here?”

“I think you’ll like it,” Carl said.

“Definitely a guy present,” Kelly said, amused but eager to see me open the case.

Carl placed it on the table in front of me.  The case looked like furniture-grade cherry I noticed as I snapped open the latches.

“Merry Early Christmas,” they all said as I opened up the top.  Inside the padded case was a beautifully restored and reworked Springfield 1903A3, and matching personalized leather pouches for ammunition and accessories. 

“Wow…I don’t know what to say….other than thank you!” I said as I picked up the weapon. “Is this my grandfather’s?”

“No, we liberated one of your shooters. Annika did all the work except the stock.  She’s got a guy in Greenacres who did that.”

“Black walnut?” I asked. 

“Yeah,” Carl said.

“Like it?” Karen asked.

“Absolutely. I’m going to like trying this out,” I said, hoping I had time to do so before I shipped out.

“That one’s the fancy version,” Kelly said, coming back into the dining room from the kitchen. “This one’s more for work,” she said, handing over a second case, this one of stained plywood and painted steel fittings.  This one was much heavier.

“TWO?” I exclaimed.  “Unbelievable,” I said, opening up the second case.

“Pretty much the same custom work on both rifles. Synthetic stock on this one obviously.  Anja called this a ‘serious, bad-ass sporter’,”  Carl said.

“The scope tells me that much. Holy smokes,” I said, picking up the weapon. “Man this is light.”

“That one’s not one of your originals,” Karen said. “Anja built that one pretty much from scratch.”

I noticed there were more custom leather pouches in this case.

“Ammunition. Half of those are black-tip,” Carl said.

“Where on earth did you get that?” I asked incredulously. Black tipped 30.06 was armor piercing, very scarce pre-War and very, very expensive. My private stash had cost me several hundred dollars, pre-Domino.

“Actually, our old friend Scott McGlocklin sent that. Said you’d appreciate it.”

“This just gets better and better,” I said. Gunny McGlocklin was now down in Oregon, out of the Marines, and trying to keep a lid on things in the Oregon Zone.  I hadn’t heard anything from him directly since the Spring. He took a distinct liking to my treasured Garand, and an equal amount of interest in my three Springfields. “It’s not every day a guy gets armor piercing ammunition and a finely crafted lead slinger, let alone two. These had to cost a fortune.”

“That is none of your concern,” Karen said, rubbing my shoulders. “And you need to quit drooling over your new presents and  eat up. It’s getting late.”

“Yes’m,” I said. “She could be a drill instructor,” I said to the kids, who both grinned a little.

“I heard that,” she said from the kitchen. “And no, I couldn’t. I couldn’t stand dishing out or taking that kind of abuse any more than you’d like taking it.”

“Duly noted,” I said as she put a heaping steaming plate in front of me.

“Now eat. Enough chatter,” she said as she turned, whacking the back of my head along the way.

Carl pretty much monopolized our breakfast talk as he told me more about the re-worked, former ‘shooter.’  Built to National Match standards, including extensive trigger work, a hand-fitted stock and many hours of fine machine work to truly bring out the best possible performance.   The ‘sporter’ had a composite stock, all the same machine and trigger work of the beautifully finished walnut-stock model, a custom-built Weaver-type scope mount that didn’t mess up the original firearm, and a Zeiss Conquest scope, that I was completely unfamiliar with. A scoped 1903 in general, I’d be unfamiliar with, I thought to myself.   The stock ‘03 had a pretty good accuracy out to a couple hundred yards, at least for me and my aging eyes, and probably an effective range of not more than five hundred yards overall, but I hadn't experience with that. A ‘new and improved’ 1903….the possibilities were interesting, to say the least.

The morning’s activities included my formal swearing in, with Karen and the kids attending, in a private room at Camp Overbeck, administered by none other than General Robert Anderson himself. 

Karen told Bob, “You keep him out of trouble, General, or I’ll hunt you to the ends of the Earth.”    

“I will do my best ma’am.”

“You better,” she said, before turning to me. “See you tonight?” she asked me.

“Hope so. I’ll let you know. I have your number now,” I said, giving her a quick kiss and hug. I noticed Bob talking with Carl, from what I could overhear, about my 1903’s.

“You two take care of your Mom. I’ll call you later,” I said, giving both a hug and a kiss.  With that, they made their way out, and back home.

“You have a delightful family, Rick,” General Anderson commented.

“Yes I do, sir. They tolerate me far better than I deserve.”

“What’s this about an -03 your son tells me?”

“Two. One was a casual shooter that they had rebuilt for me, more like transformed. Beautiful to the point of artwork.  The second was, for lack of a better phrase, created out of thin air. I haven’t had a chance to use either of course.  The second is more business. Synthetic stock. Big scope. Complete with AP rounds loaded up on strippers.”

“Bring it with you when you go. You might have a chance to use it.”

“So if I may General,” I said before being interrupted.

“Bob is fine, Rick,” he said, introducing a more casual conversation. “Let’s walk. I have an office in this maze somewhere.”

“OK, Bob it is, in private.  What is it that brings you to Spokane on this cold, snowy day, right before Thanksgiving? And why am I being called up early?” I asked, as a couple of young Air Force airmen passed us in the hall, saluting in a bit of a surprised manner.

“In the office,” the General said, waiving me into a smaller-than-average office, at the end of the hall. Major Kurt George came out of the office just as we prepared to enter.

“General, report’s on your desk, current as of fifteen minutes ago, including comments from other commands, five minutes old,” the Major said. “Colonel Drummond, good to see you.”

“You, too, Major. I expect I’ll have a uniform one of these days to go along with my rank and command….”

“You will, I’m sure.  Lieutenant Banks on the left there will set you up,” he said, pointing to a cubicle down another aisle.  The General was right. It was a maze of a place.

“Major, convey my thanks to Communications in getting this so quickly,” the General said.

“Will do, sir.”

“Colonel, close the door,”  he said moving to the desk chair, and flipping open a red folder.  I closed the door and…waited for orders. “Take a seat.”

I moved to the chair opposite the desk and sat down. ‘This will take getting used to,’ I thought.

“You up to speed on that Command Summary that Walla Walla sent up?” Bob asked as he read the file, not looking up.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now file it. Things changed yesterday, a lot.”

“Understood.”

“Well, you think you do. That’s OK.  Sixth Army was wiped off the map yesterday in Colorado. I mean, gone. Fifty-three thousand two hundred and six men and women, dead.”

“Holy sh•t.” I said, a chill going down my spine.

“Yeah, pretty much what I said, too,” he said, finally looking up from the report. “That isn’t all. Air Force and Navy air units were hit with similar effects, on a much smaller scale just due to population concentration, at seventeen installations all around the country. Alert facilities were locked down immediately and most of them had environmental controls that slowed the attack. Ground personnel didn’t have that option. Dead.”

“How…”

“Neurotoxins. Odorless, colorless, no symptoms until lethal concentrations are achieved, then it’s death within minutes as you suffocate. Dispersal through the use of UAVs in some cases in most there were remotely detonated canisters set in and just upwind of troop and population concentrations. Silent release, sometimes at night, kills as you sleep, exposed to the airborne agent.  Within thirty minutes of release, the agent neutralizes itself within normal atmosphere. Some key agent combines with airborne nitrogen and becomes inert.”

“So the enemy needs to be more than thirty minutes downwind,” I said, thinking about the clinical detail, rather than the up close and personal.  “Which is why they found miles and miles of empty in Colorado. They were out of range.”

“After the agent became inert, the Statist forces moved back in, stripped communications gear, food, weapons, ammunition, armor, in some cases uniforms. And moved back West. We watched this on satellite and on UAVs. Our dead army is still on the ground, in the snow, where they died.”

“Jesus Christ. That means they’ve got open access to us. They can infiltrate us at will…”

“They think that, yes. It’s not quite that easy, although they don’t know that.”

“How’s that? They’ve got gear identical to ours.”

“Everything is RFID chipped, quite covertly, and is easily tracked. Uniforms, weapons, ammunition magazines. Tanks. Everything. The Statist commanders don’t know that. We can also remote detonate the tanks when we’re of a mind to. Goes for some other key gear, too.”

I didn’t have anything to say.

“Rick, your new assignment will eventually be as it was described, just as it was before you walked in this building. First, you’ll be doing that in addition to shuttling men and gear to the line.  Going in, you’re running supplies and troops. Your orders are to help create a forward support base out of the wreckage that the S.A. forces have left, whatever the Hell that means, so that we don’t fight over the same ground twice. That piece of Colorado has already cost us more Americans than Gettysburg did on both sides.”

“Bob, how do we fight this? Our troops could be going right back into a trap.”

“Working on it. Air Force is bombing the sh•t out of them right this minute. Anything that had an RFID tag on it that moved west beyond Sixth Army’s position won’t be an issue. The line will be reestablished, with our troops in full-on chemical gear, shortly. Anything that crosses a predetermined frontier is taken out from the air.”

“You said earlier, that ‘going in’ we’re running troops and supplies.’ What about coming out?”

“After you first arrive, your transported troops will secure the battlefield. You will have media with you—press release on the attack goes out tomorrow morning. Your Brigade’s first mission will be to bring Sixth Army back. We are not leaving them there,” he said, looking at me, and through me, at the same time. “Questions?”

“No, sir. Not a one.”

“Godspeed, Colonel.”