Distance, Chapter 29

29

Tuesday Morning

April Fourth,

Madison, Wisconsin

Doug didn’t notice the Suburban behind him until it accelerated and moved into the passing lane.  He slowed, giving the Chevy room to pass. It pulled along side and the passenger flashed a badge, and directed him to pull over.  The Chevy then fell back behind Doug’s Ford, and Doug noticed the law-enforcement LED array behind the grille.

“Dammit,” Doug said. He’d only had one run-in with law enforcement all year, over a burned out taillight.  That had resulted in a full search of the Explorer with three cops.  He lowered the drivers’ window and then fished out his drivers’ license, registration and insurance card. His heart was pounding.   In the rear view mirror, Doug noticed that three officers had weapons drawn and were advancing up the sides of the Ford.  He put his hands on the steering wheel.  None of them wore facemasks.

“Out of the car, hands where we can see them, face the front of the vehicle at all times,” the lone officer on the driver’s side said.

“Will do,” Doug said, moving slowly.  He opened the door, placed both hands above his shoulders, and faced forward.

“Step away from the vehicle, to the side,” the voice commanded.  One officer was now in front of the car to the right, the other straight to Doug’s right.  The man on his right had a shotgun leveled at his head.

“Hands on the hood,” the voice behind him said flatly.  “Tony, cover him. Lance, check the back.”

“What is…” Doug started to say.

“Shut up,” the voice behind him said. “Do as your told. Period.”

“Packed full, Lieutenant. Front seat, too.”

“Load him up,” the voice behind him said.

“What the Hell is this?” Doug said.

“You’re going to the can, pal,” Shotgun said.

“For what?”  Doug asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Doug’s hands were bound behind him with a large white zip tie, and he was loaded in the rear of the Suburban, no seat, just roughly parked on the floor.  His Ford followed the Suburban back into Madison.  The Suburban headed into a large concrete building that appeared to be a converted warehouse.  The Explorer, with all of his supplies and the Regent products, headed somewhere else.

He was ‘processed’ by ‘officers’ at an ‘intake’ room, but no charges against him were presented. He was relieved of everything but his clothing before the zip tie was removed. No Miranda Rights statement, nothing.  For three hours Doug was parked in a six by eight chain link cage, bolted to the concrete, surrounded by several hundred other people also in cages, many of them obviously sick.  Doug finally recognized the cages as dog kennels.  There were no toilet provisions, and the place smelled of it, despite the freezing temperature. He sat on what might have been the cleanest area of the cell. Finally, a man in a badged jumpsuit came and unchained Doug’s door.  He struggled to reach his feet.

“Move it or I’ll break your arm,” the man growled.

“OK,” Doug said. He headed out of the cell to the right. Apparently not moving quickly enough for the guard, Doug received a jab just below the ribs with a baton.

“What was that for?”

“Because I felt like it. Get your ass moving!”

The end of the aisle held a single painted door, chipped and dented.  Doug was directed inside, and then through the narrow hallway built of plywood to another room. Three men sat on one side of the folding table. He was shoved into the chair opposite them.

“Your name Peterson?” the man in the center asked.  He was a good ten years older than Doug, and quite fat.   The other two were boring holes through him with their eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“You were apprehended at Ninety Four and Windsor?” the question came out as more of a statement.

“I was pulled over as I was headed north. I don’t know why,” Doug said.

“You had a vehicle full of food and supplies?” Again, more as a statement.

“My vehicle is full of product. I am a sales rep for Regent Performance Group.  We’re a national distributor of commercial food products. Those are samples.”

“You were observed loading unlabeled boxes from Fairland.”

“Yes, I traded some our product for some of Fairland’s.  We’re trying to help them with distribution of their line.  Their current distributor’s going under.”

“Neither Fairland’s packages nor the Regent boxes in your vehicle bear the Wisconsin tax stamp.  Taxes haven’t been paid on any of that product from what we can determine.  We’re seizing it as a result. Your firearm is also not licensed in this state and you don’t have a carry permit. It is also being seized.”

“What tax are you talking about? This is wholesale product. It’s taxed at the end consumer level.”

“Not anymore.”

“This is about taxes? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious, Peterson.  If we find that you’re smuggling, you will go to prison. Simple as that.”

“Call my company.  I’m sure they’ll be responsive in paying your tax.  The number is on my business card.”

“No one is answering at that number.  I think you’re lying,” the man on the right said.  Doug couldn’t really come up with a descriptor for the man, other than ‘greasy’, only partly due to the slicked down hairstyle.

“Are you dialing my number, or the number for Corporate, on the back of the card?”

“Listen sharp, asshole.  You’re about three minutes away from the darkest hole in the state.  Lip off one more time like that and you’re done,” said the suit on the left. “We’re not screwing around with runners. They’re costing the state too much money.”

“Sorry…not trying to be a smart ass. Most people don’t look at the back side of the card,” Doug replied apologetically.  He was playing along as best he could. He was also exhausted, and was getting chills and his fever back.

“Kreig, go call that number,” ‘Right’ said to ‘Greasy’. ‘Greasy’ sneered at Doug, pushed back from the wobbly table, and left the room.  Doug just sat there.

“If I may ask a question?” Doug asked.

“Depends,” said the Suit.

“Are all those people in there,” Doug motioned “here for stuff like this?”

“Not hardly.  Maybe ten percent are runners.  Best you don’t ask too many more questions,” the Suit replied, cocking his head.

The two of them looked over a pile of papers in front of them. Doug thought they appeared to be files of other prisoners.  Ten or fifteen minutes went by in silence.  Doug felt his physical condition getting worse by the minute.

Another man entered the room. Not ‘Greasy’, as Doug had labeled him.

“Assessors Office, sir,” He passed the cell phone to the Suit. 

The Suit took the phone, and didn’t speak.  Doug sat and watched his expressionless face. He ended the call.

“Your company has agreed to pay the fines and the back taxes.”

Doug feigned surprise. “Thanks. May I go?”

“Your firearm stays.  No permit.”

“I didn’t need one in Iowa.”

“You need one in Wisconsin, and you only get it if the Dane County Sheriff and the Madison P.D. approve it. I assure you will not happen. Ever.”

“That was given to me by my father,” Doug said.

“Tough shit. If you want out of here in one piece, I suggest you do so within the next two minutes,” said the Suit.  

Doug left the room, where another guard showed him the way back out.  He collected his things from another ‘guard’ in a cage.  Hundreds of fat envelopes and boxes held the possessions of the prisoners.  A guard walked him outside, cradling a shotgun, staring at the back of Doug’s neck.

The Explorer was parked in the back row of a mess of vehicles. Doug fished the keys out of the box that was given him, noting that his cell phone battery and SIM card had been removed from the phone, both tossed haphazardly in the box. The contents of the SUV had been completely emptied, boxes cut open and searched. He didn’t see his Regent-provided emergency bag, or most of his clothing.  It might have been buried in the back…he wasn’t going to go looking for it at this point.  A second guard appeared, also cradling a shotgun.

Doug started the Ford and was waved to an exit gate, through a maze of anti-vehicle barriers.  A minute later he looked down at the dash. His fuel tank had been nearly drained…the dash indicator said that he had less than fifty miles of range before empty.

“Bastards,” Doug said, before elaborating further.

The area that he’d been taken to wasn’t far from the airport, and didn’t look particularly dangerous…but did it look all that safe, either.  Doug pulled into a parking lot, stopping in the center.  He checked his wallet, found it light of all cash, but the credit cards were still there. He checked his ‘secret cash stash’ under the dashboard and found the envelope, held in place with a piece of Velcro, there but also empty. He then reassembled his cell phone, shaking his head and getting angrier as the seconds went by. The phone came to life at once, with Regent Corporate Security on the caller I.D.

“This is Doug,” he answered.

“Good God. They didn’t kill you after all,” the voice on the other end said.  “I’m Ron Gorton. Head of Regent Security. You all right?”

“Not bad,” Doug said. “Minus my handgun and God knows what else. My car’s a mess. And out of gas. And they’ve managed to take all my cash.”

“That’s not bad. Doug, there are no secure locations for Regent people in the Madison area. The upside is that you’re likely not out of cash.  The Explorer was prepped by our people before you took delivery.  Are you in a location where you can do a little work?”

“Middle of a parking lot. Deserted, no cars in sight on the road or anywhere, for that matter,” Doug said.

“Fine. Beneath your windshield washer reservoir you will find a hard-shell plastic box with a wire harness going into it. It’s glued to the bottom of the reservoir, which is bolted to the sidewall of the engine compartment. Tear that loose. It’ll come out with a little work—it’s just contact cement. You’ll find eight hundred dollars in small bills. That’s step one.  A second packet like that is beneath the cover to your air cleaner. It looks like a factory installation. Another five hundred.  Chances are you do not have much time, and you want to get out of Madison and Dane County as soon as you can. Do it now. Get both of them. Just put the phone down and I’ll stay on the line.”

“OK,” Doug said, baffled. He had no idea that Regent had a ‘Security Department’ that would be anywhere near as sophisticated as they seemed to be.  He popped the hood, got outside and quickly found the first box where it was supposed to be. The second though, would take tools to access. The air cleaner was held in place with screws.

“Got the first one. For the second I’ll need tools,” Doug said, setting up his phone as a speakerphone. He noticed his headset was missing.

“No matter. Get moving. You don’t have much time,” Gorton said.  “Good chance the local cops will be looking for you next.”

Doug started the Ford, put his seatbelt on and drove out of the lot.

“All right, any clues where I can get some gas?”

“Yes. Head west from your location,” a female voice replied.  Turn right on Stoughton. It’s a divided highway. Get in the right lane. First major street to the south is Anderson. There’s an open gas station at that location. Expect to pay at least twenty dollars a gallon. Do not quibble. Pay it and get moving,” the woman said.

“That’s my assistant Carol. She’s monitoring your location on GPS. The cops will be wondering where you came up with cash after taking all of yours, which will give them probable cause,” Gorton said.

“Jesus. What a mess,”  Doug said, spotting the intersection and the gas station across the way.

“Could be worse,” Gorton said. “Do not waste time.”

Doug pulled into the gas station, where two ‘attendants’ watched him, both armed.  He was becoming accustomed to having to flash some cash or a credit card.  This station was ‘all cash’.

“Filling it up,” he said after paying in advance.

“Check all your lights. Make sure they haven’t broken anything. They’ll pull you over for nothing,” the woman said.

“OK,” Doug said, straining to get out of the seat. He flipped on the headlights and emergency flashers and walked around the vehicle. Everything seemed to be working. “Checks out OK,” he said as he heard the pump ‘click’.  Four hundred and twenty-five dollars worth…one tank of gas.  

“Good. Get out of town as soon as you can.” Gorton said.  “You’re still headed to Wausau, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.  I’m not over this bug yet.”

“Trust us. You don’t want to try to stop somewhere outside of Wausau.  Don’t speed, just get there in one piece,” said Gorton’s assistant. “If you leave now you can just make it before curfew.”

“Curfew?” Doug asked incredulously.

“Yeah. Effective today, courtesy of the new Governor.”

Doug muttered a few expletives and left the gas station.

“We will check with you when you hit Wausau. We have a facility there that you can stay in this evening.”

“Sounds fine,” Doug said through his own personal fog. He ended the call.

Sure enough, a Madison police cruiser was trailing him.  Doug headed north a five miles per hour under the speed limit.  When he hit the city limits, the Dane County deputy took over. He was happy to see the deputy turn around at the county line.

The snowy roads weren’t helping Doug’s travels.  The rushed nature of his departure from Madison hadn’t allowed him time to find any of his personal supplies, including those of the fever reducing kind…assuming that they hadn’t been stolen.  He drove as fast as was prudent, pushing through the snowy right lane.  The left lane hadn’t had any traffic.   Doug was ten miles south of Wausau when Regent called, giving him directions to head west, five or so miles west of the downtown area.

The warehouse yard was dimly lit, but a yard-worker spotted him and directed him to an abandoned-looking packaging plant.  He parked inside and shut the engine off, all but collapsing from fatigue.  Masked Regent staff helped him to his quarters for the night, following a visit to a very well equipped clinic.   His clothing was taken, and he was provided a stack of new clothes.

He was asleep almost as soon as he hit the bed.

Wednesday Morning

April Fifth,

Wausau, Wisconsin

A soft chime sounded in Doug’s darkened room, and the room lighting came on slowly.  He felt better, but still was obviously fighting a cold, not influenza. He needed some more downtime, and doubted that he’d get it.

The bedside clock read seven a.m. The chime rang again, and the lights were fully up. The bedside table held a telephone as well, and the message light was flashing. 

“This is Doug Peterson. Messages please?” he said to the receptionist.

“Certainly, Mister Peterson.  One moment please, I’ll put you through,” she said.

Doug looked around the room for the first time. He’d just gone straight to bed the night before.  The room could have passed for any of the thousands of hotels he’d stayed in, with the exception of the lack of windows. 

“Doug, this is Pete Bollard.  How’re you holding up?”  Pete was Doug’s immediate boss.

“Good morning, Pete. I’ve been better.”

“Medical said you’ve just got a cold. If it’d been the flu, we wouldn’t be talking, would we?”

“No sir. Rough couple days out there.  I wasn’t expecting the reception I received in Madison.”

“We’re seeing this happen in several states now. We expect it to get worse.  As a result we’re going to have to adapt to it.  You were lucky though.  Our southeast rep didn’t make out in one piece.”

“They killed him? For what?”

“Call it a city-sanctioned murder.  We weren’t prepared to be negotiating with every city, big and small, for taxes, fees, permits and licenses. So we lost a man in Atlanta. Won’t happen again.”

“It’ll happen there again, with half a chance. I’m surprised I was able to leave with as much product as I had left. They did manage to take all of my cash, probably all of my personal effects. They got away with it.”

“No, Doug, it won’t happen again. Atlanta has been taken care of. Madison will be taken care of as well. Along with a dozen other problem areas.”

“How exactly?”

“We have teams in the field that are acting on our behalf to eliminate these threats to our organization and allied organizations.”

“What kind of team?” Doug asked cynically, envisioning a bunch of lawyers.

“The half-dozen or so ringleaders in the Madison Tax Authority who are running that particular extortion ring will be dead by the end of the week.  People that are improperly imprisoned will be set free. It will be called it an organized rebellion.”

“There are hundreds of people in there.  From what I saw, there wasn’t enough to eat, no water, nothing.” ‘Dead by the end of the week? Good God. How do I play THAT?’ Doug thought to himself. ‘Just be cool.’

“It will be taken care of,” Bollard said soothingly. “Doug, things have been going well on your end of the company. You’ve made remarkable progress and have met every single goal put in front of you. I want you to rest up, there in Wausau for a few days.”

“Thanks, Pete, but I’d actually like a couple days off up north. My ex and her kids are up there.  I’d hoped to be able to stop by on this run.”

“Take a week if you like. When you get back to civilization, we’ll need to go over the company’s plans for the next two quarters. We have some substantial opportunities in front of us, especially east of the Mississippi. We’re just about a week from nailing down the deal.”

“Elaborate!” Doug said, still feeling a sick feeling in his stomach.  While he’d made slow, steady progress with the RNEW product, his team was spread relatively thin, and was constantly plagued by the changing market place, the economic-political chaos.

“Can’t really go into it too much, but there will be a whole lot of people eager for Regent product, soon enough.”

“That’d make marketing easy,” Doug said.

“Free. Even better,” Pete replied. “Listen.  Get your team lined out today from your palatial Wausau location,” he said with a laugh. “They can run the ball for a week without you. Need anything from here?”

“Not sure what the Madison folks did to my gear.  I do know I’m minus my handgun.”

“Don’t worry about any of that. Wausau will get you resupplied.  Give me a shout when you’re back on the grid.”

“Thanks, Pete. Much appreciated,” Doug said.

Doug showered and shaved, and found when he left the bathroom, that his own clothing had been washed and stacked neatly on the bed.  

Breakfast was held in a central lounge area, where Doug and several other Regent employees were seated at well-spaced tables.  Doug enjoyed Eggs Benedict and orange juice, fresh coffee and fruit.  He hadn’t had any food of this quality in a long time…even at the corporate hotels.  This was just…better.

“Good morning, Mister Peterson.  I’m James, with Regent Information Systems.  Do you have a moment?”

“You bet,” Doug said. “Please, have a seat.”  The younger man sat across from Doug.

“Our security team swept your vehicle last evening after you arrived. Are you aware your laptop is missing?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Probably at a pawn shop in Madison,” he replied. “Along with a lot of my personal things.”

“Worse than that, actually. It’s in the hands of the Madison Tax Authority. They’re trying to leverage us for a payment for it,” the young man said. Doug guessed him for mid-twenties. Very well put together—he’d be at home in a boardroom, except for the thinness of years. 

“Again, not surprised.”

“You were using the Regent security protocols, were you not?” he asked. Regent had a serious encryption system for logging in to the computer.

“Of course.”

“And it wasn’t written down, anywhere? Just in your mind?”

“Of course.  Silly to write it down.”

“Good to know. We’ve already wiped the hard drive remotely, as well as disabling the computer from any use in the future, from here. You will be issued a new laptop, along with the latest in communications equipment for the network and will have your files restored to the new machine.”

“How are you able to do that? I had a bunch of stuff on that machine that I’d created after the last time I was logged into Regent.”

“Stored in the Cloud. The network servers and all workstations are automatically connected, whether you’re formally accessing the network or not. Columbus Data Center has everything. Redundant backup out West.”

Doug suspected as much, and as a result had not stored any personal information on the Regent system whatsoever.  “That’s great news.  I’d hate to lose a week’s worth of work.”  He hoped that his hand written notes were cryptic enough to be overlooked.  Those notes would expose his continuing relationship with Julie such as it was, not to mention a whole laundry list of supplies that weren’t Regent that he hoped to be able to trade for. He realized he was sweating.

“We should have your machine back in your hands in an hour or so,” ‘James’ said as he stood.  “Kevin Martinez would like to see you when you’re done with breakfast. He’s part of Security. Down that hall,” the young man pointed, “third door on the left. I believe he’ll want to be talking about your personal security.”

“Company buying me a bodyguard? Or a tank?” Doug said with a little smile.

“Nothing that elaborate, I’m sure. Don’t expect to be carrying a .32 though,” ‘James’ said as he turned and left.

‘How, exactly, did Regent know that my father’s handgun was a .32?’ Doug wondered, nodding at James with a slight smile, play-acting. ‘What am I into? Who the Hell are these people?’

Remnant, Chapter 29

29

Tuesday morning

November Twenty-first

05:30 hours

“Coffee’s on the table, Daddy,” Kelly said as I came downstairs. Karen was working in the kitchen, making something with a wonderful aroma.

“Thanks, Babe. And what are you doing up so early?” I asked, as she looked over my digital camo uniform, with mixed approval.

“Figured I better so I can see you before you take off tomorrow.”

“Saving up then,” I said.

“Sort of, yeah. Carl’s downstairs—he’s getting some stuff put together for you before you go—don’t let him know that I told you that though.”

“Surprise for me, huh?”

“Care package in advance, Mom said.”

“Nice. I’ll appreciate that I’m sure.”

“Is it true what they’re saying on TV about the soldiers?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it,” I said, being technically correct, as Carl came into the room.

“They said that fifty thousand died in Colorado,” Karen said, interrupting, before I gave her another good morning kiss. “That was on the national news.”

There wasn’t much point in denying it. “True. The number is fifty-three thousand two hundred and six, or so I was told. More than were lost in Gettysburg on both sides.”

“And you’re going into that?” Kelly said.

“Actually, and I’m breaking rules here, Third Washington is going to bring those men and women home. We’re tasked with setting up and recovery.”

“How close to the fighting?” Kelly asked.

“Honest answer, no idea. It’ll be farther east of us, I’m certain. Not sure how far,” I replied. “We are not a front line unit. We’re support.”

“Sure, and we live in a safe suburb,” Karen said.

“Honey, I will try to be as safe as I can within reason. I will also keep my men as safe as I can within reason,” I said. “You know what it’s like out there now, all three of you.  Nothing is sure, nothing is secure. We’re on permanent Condition Yellow all the time, and half the time on Condition Red. Maybe someday we’ll go back to Green. I know that if we don’t win this war though, if attacks like this continue, things will go downhill from where we are now to someplace just this side of Hell on Earth. Stuff I’ve read about the Statists would turn your stomach.”

I picked up my coffee, and Karen went into the kitchen, returning with a platter of pancakes. Carl brought out a pitcher of milk.

“Raspberry pancakes. Thought you might like these,” Karen said. “Sorry for the tone,” she said quietly.

“I think you’re justified. And I’m a little surprised you’re holding up so well with all this, and your Mom on top of it all.”

“Resignation. I can’t make you stay. I can’t do that much for Mom.”

“Getting her close by, and into a situation where she has the right amount of care is much more than you might think,” I said. “C’mon, you all sit down here and have breakfast. There’s no way I’m eating all of this,” I said. “And Mike’ll be here any time.”

“OK,” the kids said in response.

“Now listen up, and listen good,” I said, putting some butter on the hot pancakes. “I’m going to do what I need to do. I’m doing it because they asked me to, and given what we know today, I’d be more than half-tempted to volunteer anyway. I do this to try to keep that evil from coming here. Stop it now. Ron and Alan feel the same way, but they’re probably more important here than in a uniform just to keep things running.   A whole lot more men and women are going to get drafted. Service is going to be compulsory. People are in this for good versus evil now, and I think they’re finally starting to realize the stakes involved.”

None of them said anything. “I can’t remember who said this, or something to this effect: ‘Let the troubles come in my time, rather than in the time of my children.’  Well, the troubles are here. You’ll see them for quite some time. Maybe your children will be free of them.”

They finally dug into breakfast, the radio broadcast and interviews droning on in the background. Yet another curfew notice repeated, as the dogs stirred and went to the door, knowing it was someone friendly on the other side.   I finished my last bite of pancake as Carl got up to unlock the door, finding Alan on the other side.

“Well, good morning!” I said as both dogs sniffed him up and down, and Karen gave him a hug.

“Back atchya.  Big day today, huh?” he said as I shook his hand, noticing the fresh snow on his coat sleeve.

“Meet the troops, check out the gear, put on a show.”

“You know your guys are all over TV today, right?” Alan asked.

“Uh, no,” I said. “I haven’t had it on.”

“Crew’s over at Yardley with some PR flack from the Army.”

“Nice operational security we have going,” I said.

“Well, things change,” he said, turning on the television.  The big former Burlington Northern locomotives were in the background, behind the talking head. 

“This looks like a repeat from a few minutes ago,” Alan said.

Sure enough, the reporter said that this was Third Washington’s outbound train, heading east for ‘the War Zone,’ they were calling it.

“Now, let me ask, what are you doing up so early?” I said to Alan. “Curfew’s still on, right?”

“Your Army boys down the street asked the Metro stores to be open at six, closed by noon.”

“All of the stores?”

“Yep. The corporal said that by having the stores open early, and closing early, they’d probably throw off the troublemakers.”

“Sure, they’re probably still in bed. That’ll work until they get used to a new schedule.”

“Right, unless the Army…or Guard, or whoever is running the show, constantly changes the schedule,” Alan said.

“Sounds like something you’d find in Russia. ‘Trains are always on time’ and all.”

“Well they were, since the schedules were never set,” he said with a little grin.

“My point.”

“And I need one more thing, before you head out,” Alan said.

“What’s that?”

“I need you to read this through sometime today. It’s a proposal to set up a private bank,” he said as he handed me a thick envelope.

“Whose idea is this?” I asked. “And why me?”

“You’d be the primary investor for one thing. As in supplier of physical capital. Ron and I’ve looked at it, it seems to make sense. And, it came from Dan O’Malley.”

“I won’t find the words, ‘fractional reserve banking’ in here, will I? Or ‘fiat currency?”

“You won’t find anything in there that resembles any bank that has operated in the last fifty years, that I know of anyway. As a stockholder you’d get a portion of crops, product, whatever, is being produced with invested capital.”

“When did you have the time to look this over? Why didn’t you bring this up last night?”

“Got it yesterday at lunch. Honestly, we both forgot about it. Too much on our plates. Same thing today, with the store and work next door.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “Breakfast?”

“Already had some. Just wanted to drop that off.”

“One more thing. This curfew and getting the Woolsley’s house done. How’re you going to manage that? How’re you going to get the labor here?”

“Bribes. Works just fine, not too expensive.”

“Careful with that.”

“They’re just the post down the street—and all the labor’s within walking distance anyway. Tools are plenty, materials are a problem, but not enough to keep us from making do.”

“Right man for the job,” I said. “Just be careful.”

Mike showed up just after Alan left in the old, ethanol powered Ford pickup.  We’d picked up another couple inches of snow overnight. It was still coming down, now like light feathers in the still morning.

“Spring in your step today, Colonel,” I said as I invited him inside.

“It is a lovely morning,” Mike said, sharing the inside joke. “Good morning, Karen.”

“Morning, Mike. Everything OK?” she asked, a little suspicious of his broad smile, as the kids said their good mornings.

“Just fine, thanks. Ashley said that she’d take you up on your offer for the baby clothes when you get a chance.”

“Thanks. Figured she could use them,” Karen said. “Here’s a couple travel mugs of tea. Sorry, coffee’s all but gone.”

“Much appreciated, thank you.”

“When did you talk with Ashley?” I asked.

“Yesterday. Phone, remember?” she said, holding up the cell phone.

“Yeah. Right. I remember phones….they used to interrupt me at all hours.”

“And shrink the world,” Mike said.

“That too,” I said.

“You ready?”

“As much as ever,” I said before turning to Karen and the kids. “See you this afternoon. Should be home around five.”

“We’ll be ready for you,” Karen said as she gave me a fairly intense kiss. There was something she wasn’t telling me, but I didn’t want to pry. 

“You two,” I said to Carl and Kelly, who were expecting orders, “Go easy on your Mom.” With a hug, I grabbed my day bag and hit the door.

“See you tonight.”

On the way out to Yardley, we were stuck, oddly enough, waiting for a train to pass moving all of a mile an hour, and it was probably a mile long.  

“Good thing we’re early,” Mike said.

“That ‘drop in and surprise the troops’ tactic isn’t exactly going to work at this rate.”

We had a good chance to talk about how we landed where we were now, covering a wide swath of the past decade.

“….no, I didn’t vote for him. I voted my conscience,” I said. “Thought you knew that.”

“Figured you voted the party line.”

“I haven’t really believed that there were differences between the two in almost ten years. I mean look at what we’ve had in the last few years.  The worst of Chicago politics. One termer booted out along with all his minions, but not before the damage had been done. Pendulum swung too far the other way, with that joke of a Texas cowboy, trying to resurrect the glory of Imperial America, a lot of patriotism and spending more money we don’t have, obviously didn’t learn a damned thing from his predecessor’s mistakes. We lose him to the flu, end up with a phony conservative who’s actually a fascist.”

“Can’t really argue with any of that,” Mike said, with a bit of a chuckle.

“The facts are self evident, unfortunately,” I said. “You know, I hope one day when we’re on the other end of this, we can sit on the front porch as old men, with grandkids on our knees, and tell them how screwed up things really were before the War.”

“You think this can be taken care of in a generation? I mean, undoing the brainwashing?”

“At least there are still some of us that realize that we’ve had that for the two generations ahead of us, and that there actually can be something better,” I said, not saying, ‘if we win.’

“Rick, the depth of belief in what is not real, or what wasn’t real, looking back on it now that it’s gone, is just astounding,” he said.

“No argument. There were just damned few of us before the War that knew it and we were all looked on like we were Grade A chrome plated nut jobs. I felt like one more than once, too, bringing home a case or two of ammunition, storing it, building lists of things, for the ‘just in case.’”

“You weren’t a conspiracy theorist, though, or at least I don’t think you were,” Mike said.

“No, Sheriff, I was not. Maybe I ought of have been.  You look back at the way that debt went from evil to being marketed as something that you had to have to be one of the successful people, you know, ‘take that vacation, you deserve it!   That home equity, it’s just sitting there! Put it to work for you! That new boat! It can be yours! The cancer spread of course across anything financial with insurance companies getting into banking, mortgage companies buying off underwriters and selling class C junk as AAA bonds. Banks getting into everything, convincing the public that they deserved that new house that they couldn’t afford, that new boat, convincing us that our home equity was just a wasted bank account, and since everything was intertwined, put at risk and collapsed when the fat lady sang.’”

“Pack of lies.”

“Sure it was.  But it was an exceptionally well marketed pack of lies, that’s what made it successful. And the financiers loved every minute of it. Think, a population too stupid to figure out what the meanings of ‘assets,’ ‘liabilities’ and ‘equity’ really mean.  They voted for bread and circuses and bankrupted us all.”

“You’re doing OK,” he said, looking at me with a bit of envy.

“Through little fault of my own. I mean, I had some money in the markets, sure. My brother saved our asses. Not just mine, but all of our brothers—through bailing us from equities into physical commodities, silver and gold, as things came unspooled. If I’d put enough thought into things, I would have done that myself at far earlier and better prices than he ended up paying, and had way more than I do now,” I said. “Now let me ask you something, you don’t have to answer.  How are you and Ash doing financially? You doing OK?”

“We’re doing all right. Things get tight from time to time. We have a load of credits at the Metro commissary, but that doesn’t cover everything. It’s not like they have anything anyway.”

“You know if you need anything, you just ask. Or, if you don’t ask, I’ll make sure that an anonymous donation ends up in your lap.”

“Rick, we’re doing fine.”

“Mike, I have, well, the Drummond-Martin-Bauer group has accumulated a fair amount of working capital. We loan out some, start businesses…”

“I know,” he said before I cut him off.

“Mike, we’re really not in any of this to make out like bandits. Fact is, we just break even. Money we earn over and above what we need to keep up the place and try to keep stocks up gets plowed back into something else. It’s an unorthodox way to invest, but it’s investing in the people and the enterprise, rather than in the machine of making money for money’s sake.”

Mike was quiet for a moment. “Let me ask a stupid question.”

“Perfectly all right. I’ve heard you ask plenty in your time,” I said with a laugh, “Like, your bachelor party. You asked that dancer, ‘Are those real?’ and she answered,”

“’Real expensive,’ I remember that part of the night.” Mike said, a little smile on his face. “Rick, you could’ve ended up owning this city with the money you have. Why haven’t you gone down that road, even a little bit?”

“Simple, although it sounds simple minded. I’m not wired that way. I have more than I need now. There’s a whole lotta folks that would think that I’m an idiot for doing what we’re doing,” I said. “Mike, I’ve seen what twenty dollars can do in places where two hundred dollars is a years wage. Miracles. Changes peoples’ lives. They have reason to work, employ others, grow, change economies, make their villages and towns better. Gives them hope. Money’s just a tool, a store of labor. We’re just using the toolbox.”

“Helluva philosophy.”

“In the old days, we had an abandonment of reason, from what was good and honest and wise, to latch onto whatever passing financial fad came through. Remember the price to earnings ratios that were double or triple digits to one? How many people really realized that you paid two hundred dollars, in the case of the triple digit P/E, to earn ONE dollar of earnings? How stupid were we?”

“Your words, ‘self evident.’ We’re sitting on the edge of a civil war, caused by the financiers.”

“Yep, and their greed for more,” I said, seeing the trailing car of the train approach. “Last car, finally.”

“Good thing, this tea’s starting to freeze up.”

“I thought this had a heater?”

“Occasionally, it does. I’m not sure what it takes to get the magic back to run the fan.”

We pulled ahead, getting into the queue for the Yardley train yard, where dozens of light towers lit up the yard like a circus. It had to be the brightest place in town.

“So what’re you ordered over here for?”

“Same as you, more or less. Except we’re on the next train behind you. We’ll leapfrog you at some point.  You have a chance to read the operational plan for deployment?”

“That which wasn’t Greek. Why in God’s name does the Army insist acronyms when words suffice?”

“Question for the ages,” he said, finally getting the move-ahead to the vehicle search and storage lot. We’d be afoot from there on in.

“Any idea where I’m supposed to go?”  I asked.

“Building Twenty-one sixty. Over there,” he pointed as we parked the Humvee, under the watchful eye of a body-armored soldier.

The deployment plan was to stage a series of trains, like our own, which were being constructed and assembled by the small army of yard workers, running twenty-four seven.  Hundreds of transport containers had been converted already, more transport railcars than I’d ever seen collected in Yardley, being loaded by the yard cranes and the self-loaders. We would advance along the cleared lines east, and we’d determine on the fly where the Brigade would stage for ‘recovery’ of the civilian areas.

That plan of course would be after the initial push to Sixth Army.  My late-night reading showed that our first train would have about half the brigade aboard, followed immediately by the remaining men and gear. Both trains would carry thousands of body bags and remains transport cases. A third train would carry still more cases.  It would take all three trains to provide enough transport ability to return Sixth Army to a to-be-determined final resting place.

“Don’t forget your gear bag,” Mike said. “Hate to have a newly minted Colonel have to beg for a pad and pencil.”

“That’s what supply sergeants are for. See you for lunch?”

“Sure. Warning though stay away from the stew. I hear it’s mixed meats.”

“Good to know.” Mixed meats could mean almost anything.