Distance, Chapter 42

42

11:50 a.m.

Easter Sunday

Chapel of the Woods,

Elsen Farm

The small chapel had been filled with many of the local families for the third and final service of the day.  The pastor, a lifelong friend of the Segher’s, had to be well past traditional ‘retirement age’, but Doug could tell that the man thrived in the environment. He’d met with he and Julie between the eight-thirty and ten-thirty services for a brief counseling session. The question of a formal marriage license was dispatched by the local judge, who wrote up a license legal enough to pass muster on the spot.

Doug borrowed a suit from Peter, who was nearly the same size, and Julie had a choice of dresses, but chose a simple, timeless blue number that could’ve dated from the Forties.  Doug thought she looked gorgeous.  They readied themselves in the small dressing rooms of the farm chapel, meeting their attendants just as a recorded version of Trumpet Voluntary began as the wedding processional. Both were surprised to see that not only was the church full, there were more people attending the wedding than had been in the last service.  Roeland served as best man; Molly was Julie’s matron of honor.

A few moments later, Julie stood by Doug; walked down the aisle by her brother.

“We are gathered at this time on this most joyous of days, the day we remember Christ’s resurrection and victory over death, to celebrate the marriage of Douglas Michael Peterson and Julia Kristen Forsythe. Despite the tragedies unfolding around our nation and world, we rejoice in the prospect of this union of this man and this woman, a reminder to us all that we must look to the future,” the pastor began.

“I have not known either Doug or Julie for long; Julie a bit longer during her stay here with the Seghers, but Doug just since this morning. Without much in the way of preparation and due to circumstance, I have been provided the liberty to speak off the cuff on the topic of marriage,” he said, pulling out a piece of paper.

“This is your marriage license, which I have on good authority will be legal as soon as I sign it,” Pastor Dietrich said, which garnered a few quiet laughs from the congregants.

“But it’s a piece of paper.  That’s all…not a marriage.  The marriage is built over weeks and months and years. It is built through the triumphs and tragedies, the births, the deaths, the birthdays.  Through skinned knees and runny noses. It is built on faith, and hope and the knowledge that through it all, your spouse will be with you.”

“Many weddings have readings from First Corinthians thirteen. Today though, we go to the Gospel of John, but starting with a verse that seldom is seen as ‘appropriate for a wedding’, but there are few that could be more appropriate.  John fifteen, verse thirteen: ‘No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.’”

“Because the truth is this: Chances are very good that that you will never be asked to lay down your life for your spouse, but you will give yourself up for your spouse.  Marriage is the gift of yourselves to each other; not a piece of paper, not a ring. Every day you give yourselves to each other. That is a marriage.”

Doug and Julie exchanged their own vows, and with the introduction by the Pastor, shared their first married kiss. 

3:40 p.m.

What might have been a somber Easter dinner, given the national circumstance, turned into a more joyful wedding reception, attended by nearly all of the Segher extended families and a dozen neighbors. 

As the last of the neighbors headed home, Julie and Molly began to pack up Julie’s things for the drive first to Doug’s home, then to Des Moines.   The clear, bright morning had turned to a low overcast, with winds picking up from the northwest.  Doug felt he was a bit in the way, and was rescued by Arie.

“Douglas, if you’re not on the leash of your bride, a moment?”

“Certainly,” he said with a smile.  They headed out to the wrap-around front porch.

“I spoke with some of the men about your company. Rest assured the word will get out.  Expect it to be out within the next week or so. It will not be seen as coming from here,” Arie said.

“Thank you.  I never did meet Mister Krusen.”

“By design, of course,” Arie said with a sideways smile. “Things will be difficult now…and for a long time ahead.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

“Des Moines then?” the older man asked, leaning with both hands on the porch rail, looking west.

“Unless by some miracle there is some news at my home that there is a change in plan.  My neighbor—he’s Regent as well. He may know something I don’t about what’s going on in the City,” Doug said.

“If it’s as bad as I expect it could be, you might not make it there. You realize that of course,” Arie said, turning to Doug with his piercing eyes.

“Yes, of course.  We’ll travel carefully.  Off of the highways, on back roads where we can.”

“Still could be...will be dangerous. No telling how people will behave—either in the towns or the cities…or on the roads.”

“I understand…but I think it’s smarter for us to at least leave the farm and get back up to my place. I have no idea how Regent might react to any of this...if they’re expecting me back after the attack, whatever.  I cannot imagine though, that they are doing anything but trying to capitalize on the crisis, and that cannot be done with the plants closed and the systems down.  That means that I’m valuable to the point of having them look for me.”

“You turn back, the first sign of trouble. You don’t look back. You understand, Douglas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Things like this have happened before, just not in America. I had four uncles who didn’t leave Europe in time to avoid the troubles. Two talked of leaving and wrote my father, but the tie to the land was stronger. They were never heard from again…none of them. My uncles, their wives, sixteen children…all gone to Hitler.  This can happen here. It can happen in Iowa. You need to understand this, ya?”

Doug took Arie’s quiet, forceful words to heart.  Perhaps for too long he had thought himself immune to, even above, the problems around him.  The trip to Wisconsin, the Explorer being shot up outside of Des Moines, neither hit him as hard has Arie’s determination to make Doug understand plain facts. 

Neither the Germans, nor their collaborators in their occupied countries, had a product like RNEW to make them check their conscience at the door. Without drug-addled brains, fully aware of what they were doing and willingly turning a blind eye, they slaughtered millions.

What could happen with those in control of a population motivated by RNEW, instead of those motivated by a mere Fuhrer?

5:30 p.m.

4121 Parker Road

Fairfield, Iowa

The rain was just starting as Doug pulled into his driveway, noting that neither his home nor Augie Kliest’s had any lights on. The house appeared unmolested.

“Welcome home,” Doug said as he squeezed Julie’s hand.

“A Company home,” she said skeptically.

“Well, yes. That is true,” he said as they got out of the car. “You ready?”

“For what?”

“Threshold, of course,” Doug replied with a smile, unlocking the front door, and then returning to the car. Without giving her the opportunity to protest, he swept his surprised bride off her feet and carried her inside to her mild protests.

Two hours later, they unpacked the car.

Monday afternoon

April Seventeenth,

Des Moines, Iowa

The drive to Des Moines had been chaos, only matched by the roadblocks in the industrial areas manned by armed guards, all privately employed, with all Army National Guard units deployed to Mexico. The military staffing remaining was barely able to man the empty Reserve Centers.

Doug had backtracked the route he’d taken just days before, but the experience was very different.  Like other parts of the Midwest earlier in the year, roads were blocked off through the use of heavy equipment—farm roads in particular—making them inaccessible from the main roads. The closer he and Julie were to Des Moines, the more abandoned cars and refugees they passed.  Only a few tried to stop them; the remainder looked resigned to their fate. Doug wondered to himself if they were RNEW consumers.

The plant was completely shut down, and only a handful of the day-shift staff--normally numbering in the hundreds--was present in the building. Regent Security forces were seemingly fully staffed.  Doug had no problem entering the compound with his I.D., and Julie wasn’t questioned.  It seemed that the security forces were looking for someone in charge, and Doug fit the bill.

“This doesn’t look good,” Julie said after they entered the production area.  At least it was intact.

“No, not a bit. Emergency generators are either dead or out of fuel. Without power, we’re screwed,” he said, flipping a light switch. Even the battery powered emergency and exit lights were dead. “This way—my office is in the Administration area.”

Francine Redmond’s desk was empty, along with all the others.

“What next? Where do you start?” Julie asked.

“Good question. I don’t exactly know. Won’t be long before we hear, one way or the other, from Corporate.  No idea how that’ll happen though.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I just do,” he said, holding her hand. “Let’s get to my—to our apartment. You can get settled in.”

“Cooking will be interesting,” she said. “Or do you have things on hand?”

“I have stuff, don’t worry. Water, too,” he said as he unlocked the door to the apartment wing.

“How many apartments here?”

“Fifteen. Five occupied, or they were last Friday,” Doug said, noting the empty Information Systems department.  “Will you be OK getting settled by yourself?”

“Of course, as long as you’re coming back,” Julie said, sneaking a kiss. “It’s not like we have a lot of stuff to bring in from the car. Two or three trips and I’ll be fine.”

“Try to keep me away, Missus Peterson,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to try see who’s here. I’ll be back by six, OK?”

“Sure.  Dinner will be a surprise. How do you want me to cook with power off?”

“There’s a two-burner propane camp stove in the utility closet. There’s a pack of propane canisters on the top shelf.”

“Your company thinks of everything.”

“Nope, that was purchased at AmeriMart in Chicago.”

“I have a forward thinking husband. Good for me,” Julie said.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I’m just lucky,” Doug said as someone entered the apartment corridor. Julie took the key and opened the door. “See you later,” he whispered.

“Mister Peterson? I heard you were back,” Rob Dowling said from the darkened corridor.

“Yeah. And married, by the way,” he replied, walking toward Rob.  “You staying here now?”

“Commandeered an apartment. I can’t get to my place without a good chance of getting skinned alive. Married? Seriously?”

“Yep, long time coming, finally did it yesterday.”

“Some honeymoon,” Rob replied. “She must be very understanding.”

“She has been so far.”

“You brought her here?” Rob asked, quite surprised.

“Safer than leaving her alone at our house down south. Strength in numbers.”

“Sure, if you’re not in the center of a target,” Rob replied.

“Des Moines isn’t going to get hit,” Doug replied dismissively.

“I wasn’t talking about Des Moines. I’m talking about the plant. Security fired on people last night. And again this morning.”

“Jesus….”

“Yeah. Not good. Warning shots, this time anyway,” Rob said as they entered Doug’s office.  It looked just as he’d left it.

“What happened?”

“All hell broke loose.  Too much for the local cops to handle. Stores are stripped bare. Power went down, about the same time that Huntsville got hit we figured. After that, it’s been a free-for-all. The Governor instituted martial law after dark. Looters get shot. Frankly, I’m surprised you made it in.”

“Never hit a checkpoint that we weren’t waved through,” Doug said, thinking for a moment.   “Who do we have on site?”

“Maybe twenty line workers. Two or three supervisors. That’s it,” Dowling said. “It’s not like most of the staff live within walking distance, and with the lock-down, no one’s willing to put their lives on the line for a job.”

“Anybody from plant engineering?”

“No,” Rob replied.  “But I haven’t exactly scoured the bowels of the place.”

“Let’s say you go round up a handful of the security folks outside and do just that.  I want all personnel in the production training room at three o’clock. We need to assess the plant and see what we can do about getting the place running.”

“You know sir, that main power is off line for the whole city, right?”

“Was at our place, too. There are five diesel generators on this site. If they weren’t damaged, they should be able to power the plant for a week.”

“What then?”

“We’ll get to that later. If the generators are done, then so are we. If they’re not, people will want our product. People out there,” Doug pointed to the windows, “need our product.”

“Making us too important to loot,” Rob said. “Hopefully.”

“Yeah. That,” Doug said with a grin. “I’m going to try to find the emergency procedures manual.”

“Francine’s desk.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. She printed about a dozen of the updates last Friday,” Rob said.

“Did she know something that we didn’t?”

“I’m sure she knows a lot of things we don’t know,” Rob said, obviously referring to Francine’s reputation.

The plant Emergency Operations manual was prefaced on having critical staff on site to actually implement the plan.  The creators of the Ops plan had done a thorough job of creating various scenarios for plant emergencies, from explosions in the adjacent rail yards to severe winter storms; national emergencies to tornadoes.  A half dozen of the scenarios had large-scale, widespread and long-lasting power disruptions affecting the region.

None of the scenarios involved electromagnetic attacks, war on the North American continent; fallout, radiation or economic collapse. Almost all assumed that the management and production staffs would actually be present for a recovery process, rather than running away or staying home either in fear of what was outside, or fear they’d be attacked in their own city.

Rob Dowling had rounded up fifteen production workers and a half-dozen security men from the complement of forty-two.  In Rob’s opinion, half of the security men (no women in the group at all) could not be trusted, and were likely on site to case the joint and get first-pickings. They were eyeing everything in the place that wasn’t nailed down, and half of bolted in fixtures.

“Good afternoon,” Doug started in the half-darkened room. “For those that haven’t met me yet, I’m Doug Peterson, plant manager and general corporate fixit man.”

“You’ve got a lot to fix here, mister!” one of the more overweight security men said, getting a few quiet laughs.

“Yeah, so it seems. First off, no news from corporate of course, so we’re on our own to figure out how to get the plant up and going again,” Doug said.

“Do you think that’s possible?” one of the younger line workers asked. “I mean, I need this job.”

“I’d like to say right off the bat, Hell yes. Honestly I don’t know. I need people with experience in electrical operations to help figure that out. Anyone got that in their background?”

One hand went up. “OK—there’s a start.  What’s your background?”

“I worked as an electrician’s apprentice in residential construction back when there was residential construction…”

“OK, See me right after we wrap up here,” Doug said, then heading into other key production roles.  Half of the people were just line workers, with no experience outside of building boxes or loading or feeding machines. Doug noticed as he was questioning the small group that two of the security men were acting suspiciously, looking at the workers as if they were making lists of their own.

Doug asked the other workers of their specialties, and assigned them to review their areas for anything that needed repair, replacement or general work before the line could restart.  Those assignments were in fact busy work, but they needed something to do, and the work would need to be done sooner or later.

“Good. Who’s head of plant security?” Doug continued. 

“Greg Rollins. Right here,” one of the security men said—Doug was pleased to see he was not one of the ones that had been eyeing the workers.

“Can you break any of your men loose for plant operations if needed?”

“We can talk about that—my contract with Corporate doesn’t really allow a lot of latitude in that area,” the man replied. Doug thought he had stated that for appearance’s sake.

“OK—good enough. According to the Emergency manual, there are supposed to be personal supplies for emergency operations in the Personnel and Security offices. Is that correct?”

“If they’re still there, I’ll be surprised, sir,” Rollins replied. “When things started going south over the weekend, the plant workers helped themselves.”

“Please check on that.  Lighting in particular—flashlights, batteries, that kind of stuff.”

“Will do,” Rollins said, looking at one of the men to his left, again apparently a trustworthy-type. The man nodded without a word.

“All right, that’s all I’ve got for the moment. Plant staff, you’re welcome to stay here of course for the duration.  Completed product is in the cafeteria, along with bottled water.  There are a couple of empty suites that can be used for the night as well. We’ll look further into longer-term on-site accommodations.”

The workers filed out, followed by the suspicious security men. Three of the more trustworthy types trailed them.  Rollins stayed behind, along with the electrician’s apprentice.

“I’m Brandon Hackworth. Good to meet you, sir.”

“Thanks Brandon. You as well. Can you give me five minutes? I need to speak with Mr. Rollins here for a few,” Doug said.

“Sure—no problem.”

“Great—meet me in the plant engineering office. Three doors down that hallway on the left,” Doug said. The young man headed down the hallway.

“Mister Rollins, you have a couple men there that don’t look altogether honest.”

“They’re cousins of the former plant manager, Mr. Peterson. Not my hires.”

“Fire them. Immediately.”

“That could be more trouble than having them here, sir.”

“OK. Your discretion then. But I don’t want them in the plant at all. No access to product, supplies, or equipment. Is that manageable?”

“Absolutely. I’ll pair them up with known men and keep them busy.”

“Excellent. Now, another assignment—this one’ll be off-property. You OK with that?”

“Sure.  I just told the assembly that for the benefit of appearing inflexible. Which I am, for most audiences.  What do you need?”

“I need men—I need the men that operate this plant.  We’re toast without them. I need you to track them down if they’re still in the area. Even in the outside chance that we can get the generators working, two dozen people cannot do the job of hundreds.”

“I can give it a shot. Not personally. I’ve got a couple men in touch with law enforcement. Might be better—safer—taking that route.”

“That works,” Doug said. “What’s the status of law enforcement in the city? Martial law I hear? Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Rob Dowling told me that you had to warn people off overnight. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Fair sized crowd of urban youth decided that they’d make a go on the east fence along the rail lines. Directed some fire near enough to make a point. A couple loners this morning. Fired a little closer that time.”

“Any issues with the police on either of those?”

“None. They don’t have time to look into it or resources to either help us or stop anyone.  We’re all that stands between a plant that might recover or a looted burned out shell.”

“What’re the fires north of here?”

“It was a liquor distribution warehouse. It was overrun early Sunday morning. It’s been burning since then.”

“How are you getting information? Are you hearing anything from farther away?”

“Shortwave.  Some of our radios are working, most aren’t,” Rollins said.  “Fried, we assume. Batteries were good. As far as commercial bands, there are precious few stations broadcasting. Cell and landlines are done,” Rollins said.

“Making me wonder how we’re supposed to function as a business.”

“That’s yours to figure out. E-Branch.”

“Yeah. Lucky me.” 

Remnant, Chapter 42

42

Sunday

December Third

We’d departed early, earlier than I might have liked.  I’d hoped to attend the first worship service in North Platte since July, not long after they were occupied by the forces that became the S.A.  Services would be held in several locations, but none of the churches, temples, stake centers, or worship centers were left.  Charlie and Dog Six left at 0700, in the near dark, in blowing snow.  I’d been up since 0430, and took forty-five minutes to get back into physical conditioning in one of the crew cars.  Weights, a couple spinning machines and treadmills helped burn off some of the pent up energy as well as keeping….or in my case, obtaining, increased physical ability.  Breakfast was coffee, some biscuits, and more coffee, taken at my station in the command car.

A half hour out of North Platte, we received a radio signal—coded—that S.A. units remained active in the area ahead of us, despite the area being overrun with Marine and Army units.  It would seem that the S.A. filled the vacuum after the U.S. units passed through, and pushed further East. Without stable support and ‘occupying’ forces, the S.A. just melted away, and then moved back in.  Within a half-hour, were barely moving.

“Colonel, track report coming in from up line,” Greg Shand said. “Still decoding.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

“Sir, we’re also getting some chatter on the S.A. frequencies. Trying to get it cleaned up.”

“Let me know when you have something. Anything from our friends from Texas?  They were in Grand Island yesterday, correct?”

“Yes, sir. Expect they’re still there.  Weather’s ugly.  The Texans and the Marine units are bogged down on one side of the storm front, the S.A. main force is on the other.” 

“Sir, we’ve got a blocked track ahead,” Private Kittrick said.

“How far out?” I asked as I stretched my side. Ribs still hurt.

“Town called Cozad.  The auger unit cleared to that point and is returning.  Said they also took some small arms fire as they reversed.”

“Distance to Cozad, Mister Martin,” I asked.

“Fourteen point two miles, sir.  Auger unit will be parked on a siding at Gothenburg.”

“Gothenburg status,” Captain Shand asked one of the other techs.

“Marines report six hours ago said no one alive, sir, within five miles. And IED’s all over the place.”

“Affirmative, sir.  Remote sensing coming on line, should have a sat picture any second now,” Corporal Martin said as the screen flashed white and then went to the ‘blue screen of death.’ “Holy crap!  Comm failure on the sat link.  Kittrick, Get Dog Six to verify uplink status.”

“What’s going on?” I asked as everyone scrambled.

“Bird just died, sir.  S.A. just took out the satellite,” Kittrick replied, and then waited for confirmation. “Confirm that, sir. Central U.S. satellite is down…..Sir, San Antonio reports Air Force is tracking multiple launches from S.A. territories.  Have to be anti satellite missiles. Dog Six confirms and is tied into Air Force tracking radar.”

“Get the word out to all units ahead. Now,” Shand ordered.  “While we can.”

“Yes, sir,” Kittrick said.

“Martin, get a status update to both trains. Might be warm up ahead,” I said.  “Tell the engineers to park us five miles outside of Cozad until we’re ready to proceed in.”

“Yes, sir. Could be losing comms with Command pretty quick, Colonel.”

“Things have been going a little too well, Captain.  Counteroffensive had to happen sooner or later. Looks like sooner. Gents, get every position of U.S. forces downloaded to the protected server.  They pop an EMP this gear’s in a world of hurt.”

“Done, Colonel.  Automatic trigger and isolated, protected data storage,” Kittrick said. “Western U.S. satellite down. Dammit. Inbounds heading toward Eastern satellite…..one point five minutes max.”

“Kittrick, where are they launching from?”

“Detroit region, sir.  Can’t tell for sure. Two different profiles. Mid U.S. satellite was definitely an airborne launch due to the speed of intercept.  Other two were ground launch for sure.”

Nothing that I’d read or seen spoke of anywhere near this kind of capability. If anything, I thought that Command had overstated the case, hammering on the lack of technological sophistication of the S.A.

“Any other ballistic lauches?”

“Can’t tell sir. All satellites within line of site and single point relay are gone.”

“AWAC’s?”

“None in range sir. Preservation of assets, I believe the Air Force is calling it.”

“So U.S. forces could be on the receiving end of a ballistic missile attack and we’d have zero warning,” I said.

“Afraid so, sir,” Kittrick replied.

“Charlie Six, I want you putting together a work around for distance communications with the field units.  Dog Six on analysis of the attack pattern and communications options with Command,” Greg Shand ordered, “With the Colonel’s approval.”

“Don’t wait for me,” I said. “We don’t have time.”

Ten minutes later, we were in mid-conversation with both Austin and San Antonio, when the signal went dead.

“Gone, sir. Not sure we can get them back,” Martin said, fiddling with his computer, as the other techs scrambled as signals disappeared.

A few moments, later, Kittrick stated, “We’re in the dark, sirs. Systems operational, no data out there to collect.”

“Alert all battalion commanders,” I said.  “Things will be interesting when we hit Cozad.  Bet on it.”

Signals officers from Dog Six prepared the attack analysis against U.S. communications systems, and had it ready for a hurried Brigade briefing at nine-hundred hours. All Brigade commanders were attending either in person or electronically.

The outlook wasn’t favorable.

All civilian and military bands were affected, with multiple small EMP detonations in near space. Hardened military satellites were destroyed through direct impact, with airborne launched anti-sat weapons and several small ballistic missiles.

None of those capabilities were in the capability models created by the Department of Defense. The airborne launch alone proved that the S.A. had high-altitude fighter or other high performance aircraft capable of launching a missile able to target a satellite. The ballistic capability of course proved that they had the ability to drop a nuclear  weapon wherever they pleased, assuming advanced targeting capability.

Charlie Six signals teams were testing on-board communications gear, finding no faults, and testing the typical battalion communications gear.  Thus far, everything was working. The secondary communications suite was trying to communicate with anyone not aboard either train. 

“We’re not quite back in the stone-age, Colonel. We can see it from there, though,” Captain McGowan said.

“Last knowns of U.S. forces. Major Ryder?” I asked.

“Marines are inbound to Grand Island after a detour up north, numbering thirty eight hundred six, down from forty-four hundred. Lone Star is in and around Grand Island, fielding forty-three nineteen, sir.”

“Between them, they’ve lost twelve hundred men. They’re down thirteen percent in less than ten days,” I said.

“Affirmative, sir.  No counts on the New Mexico or Arizona units. They’re south of us. Haven’t heard from them since oh three hundred.”

“Georgia. Where’re the Bulldogs?” I asked.

“Due south of Grand Island. Town by the name of Hastings.  They’re down to thirteen hundred and twenty, Colonel.”

“Down about two hundred since Sterling.  Between the units that you’ve listed, and the known killed-in-action, we’re out of men in a few weeks….or days. All these units have been doing is a harassing campaign as the S.A. retreats. We need reinforcing units. NOW,” I said.  “There is not one damned reason that the S.A. couldn’t mop us up right now. All right. Last known on the S.A. forces…Major, headcount.”

Gerry was hesitant to answer. “Well in excess of fifty-thousand, sir.  Probably closer to seventy-five thousand. At least forty-thousand are split between Omaha and Kansas City, with the balance in the field against U.S. forces as they pull back east, sir.”

“So our units are down thirteen or more percent, fighting the stragglers,” I said.  That comment was met with silence.  “We continue on like this, and we’re done.  We need serious manpower in this area and we have nothing.”

“Recommendation, Colonel?”  Third Battalion commander, Lt. Colonel Hugh Epstein forwarded.

“Absolutely, Colonel Epstein,” I said.

“If we can find a means to communicate to the other Guard and Regular Army units, we need to consolidate in defensive points and stay there, until the U.S. can muster enough manpower to counter the S.A.  There’s more men out there, they’re just in the wrong place.  In light of our communications breakdowns, continued movement east without reliable intel is suicide, sir.”

“Thanks, Colonel,” I said. “Can’t really argue with that.  Once we hit Cozad, we’ll have some time to plan while we figure out how to clear the tracks.  Battalion commanders, expect an update on comms enhancements as soon as we get some news. In the meantime, First and Second Battalions, we’re five miles from Cozad and we’re taking Charlie Six in first. Dog Six hangs back a country mile in reserve.  First and Second will deploy as soon as we approach the blockage, barring something unforeseen. You will secure the area and we will assess the damage to the tracks.  If Cozad is anything like what the Marines said about Gothenburg, there probably aren’t any civilians left, or left alive. And probably IED’s as well as hostiles. Saddle up. Dismissed.” I said and the video feeds to the other railcars went dark.

“All right, communications boys, let’s have you work some magic,” I said to the staff in the communications suite.  “Sergeant Travis, double our crews in the defensive cars.  I want a dispersal map for First and Second with real-time positions plotted on the last satellite maps we have, uplink feeds from platoon leaders and leaders on up to battalion level. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. No problem,” Private Briggs replied.

“You say that now, Briggs. Shooting hasn’t started yet.”

At eleven-thirty hours, Charlie Six began the advance into Cozad.  The Defensive cars were fully manned and weapons-free, and both assigned battalions were in full gear ready to deploy.  

Within a half-mile of our intended stopping point, both the engineers and the communications teams said that they could see the blockage ahead. Almost simultaneously the train came under scattered small-arms fire.  The command car was better armored than much of the train, and we could hear the occasional rounds ‘spang’ against the superstructure of our car.

“Briggs, any word on damage to the train?”

“None so far, sir. Small arms at significant distance, according to the crew in the forward D-car,” he said, just as the resounding ‘whump’ rattled through the train. Briggs answered before I asked.

“Ours, sir. Abrams just let one off,” he said to me before directing our defenders to other likely targets.

“Shooters atop the grain elevators, right above us to the north and east on the other side of the downed bridge,” Briggs said, quickly switching video feeds to serve as spotter for our crews.  “Sir, forward Abrams just targeted another tall structure just south.  That one’s gone, sir.  Screen feed sixteen,” Brigs said.

With a few keystrokes, I could select any one of two dozen video feeds from aboard the exterior of the train. Most were fixed view, but some had the ability to zoom in on the image. Feed Sixteen showed the collapsing remains of a five or six-story concrete tower, hit mid-way up by a round from the rail car mounted Abrams tank.  Feed Ten showed, with a pan-and-zoom camera, small arms fire from the grain elevators.  Our own trigger-pullers in the defensive cars—D-cars—were waiting for the right moment.  First Battalion began their scramble out of the train and moved for cover.  Second Battalion was waiting for their “go” signal from the rear command car.

Within a few moments, I could see the enemy start to fall systematically as Third Washington engaged them in some force.  I knew though, that there weren’t more than a half-dozen of our men doing the shooting.   Feed Five had the rear defensive car, along with audio.  I watched, my heart pounding, as the cry came in from the rear command car.

“RPG!”

The shouts and pandemonium in the rear defensive car, and through the open audio feed of the rear command car only lasted a moment until the rocket-propelled grenades hit.

The defensive car took five hits before the rear Abrams and the chain guns found the shooters’ locations. The rear command car took one grenade, severing our link with the rear of the train.  A moment later, Private Martin yelled, “incoming!” as the forward portion of the train was targeted. Three violent shocks later, I picked myself up off the deck.  Several of the video feeds were blank, I saw, but the remaining feeds showed First and Second Battalions streaming out towards Cozad to our north and south, into the industrial side of the tracks, leapfrogging with fire-and-cover as they went. The D-car chain guns were making hay.

“Men down! Men down! Medic!”

The RPG fire ceased, but not soon enough.

13:03 Hours

“Dog Six, back it up,” I heard Briggs order the engineers aboard the second train. “Med Team Five, standby for deployment.”

“Colonel, you ready?” Jim Schaefer asked.

“Yep. Let’s move,” I said.  Four battalions were in the field in Cozad, eliminating the S.A. in their entirety. Lieutenant Colonel Schaefer and I were heading east to survey the blockage on our tracks.

“Sir, make sure your comm link is active, please,” Briggs asked before I put on my helmet.

“Done,” I said. “Thanks, Briggs.”

“No problem, sir.  Battalion commanders are on Three-Echo, with subroutines programmed to contact smaller units.”

“Haven’t read the manual, Briggs. If I get in trouble, I’ll just holler,” I said, Briggs of course knowing that I had read the manual on the complicated communications headset, and had tried it out earlier.

Outside, the transportation crews had unloaded most of Charlie Sixes Humvees, with the last one off the train parked near my command car.  This particular unit had a manned top-mounted gun and was up-armored.   The gunner, and a following support truck were weapons ready.  All eyes were looking for targets, weapons ready.

“Care to drive, sir?” Jim asked.

“Hell, yes,” I said.  “Tired of sitting around.”

“Should be a couple hundred yards up the line….the first blockage that is, sir.”

“Multiples?” I asked.  “Thought we only had the highway bridge down on the tracks. Saw it on the enhanced monitors.”

“Oh, more than that, sir, from what the point men out west are saying.”

“Great,” I said. “No IED’s spotted yet?”

“Sir? I can field that one. Sergeant Kinlin, First Battalion, Delta, er…sorry, D Company,” he said, correcting himself. The more modern phonetic alphabet, Alpha-Bravo-Charlie-Delta was widely used by the S.A.  The U.S. forces reverted to Able-Baker-Charlie-Dog. “We cleared a hundred meter swath on either side of the tracks and about two hundred meters down the line.  Couple squads from Easy Company are clearing further out.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” I said. “I appreciate your work out there.”

“Years of experience, sir.  Three tours in the Raq and two in the Stan. Could really used a Short Bus out here.”

“Short Bus?” I asked.

“MRAP, sir.  Mine Resistant Ambush Protectant. Look like a short bus, Colonel.”

“Pretty much guarantee we’ll never have one of those handy when we need it, Sergeant.”

“Universal truth of combat, Colonel.”

We headed east several hundred feet beyond the lead engine, where the first blockage stopped us cold.  The S.A. had detonated an IED and took down a concrete overpass, blocking the rail line with an impassable barrier thirty feet wide and five feet thick. I headed south of the blockage, around the downed bridge and down the embankment, which was easier said than done with the Humvee side-slipping on the icy slope.   A few hundred yards east of the overpass, they dropped one of the rail bridges into the river…the Platte River, I assumed.  The Interstate 80 bridges though, were intact, or at least, hadn’t been blown, yet. 

“This is gonna suck,” I said. “Have any bridge engineers handy?” I asked Jim Schaefer.

“Nope, we sure don’t, Colonel. Nor any bridging equipment or heavy equipment to clear any of this.”

“Resupply to any unit east of here depending on rail service on this line just ended from this point until we get this figured out,” I said just as a rifle round hit the Humvee. 

“Not quite secured out here, sir,” Kinlin said.

“Ya think?” I said. “We’ll get back toward the train and get into town.  Sounds like our boys have a few areas swept out.”

“D Street by the hospital, as far north as their middle school, everything west of that. East and north of there, well, the civilians are kicking ass up there Colonel, ahead of our men.  One of the squads said they were killing the S.A. with shovels and axes.”

“Whatever it takes, Sergeant,” I said.  “Any guess as to civilian headcount?”

“Three thousand if there’s a one, sir. Probably more.”

“Probably no way to get them to let us do the job,” I said.

“Not one chance in all of Hell, Colonel.”

I drove south, slowly, along D Street, passing dozens of dead S.A., one face down in the snow with a pickaxe buried in his back, his blood soaking the snow and ice. To a man, or an animal, as my opinion of the S.A. line fighter was now defined, the dead appeared to have been beaten to death by a mob.  I noticed there appeared to be no civilian bodies.

“Sergeant, the S.A. ran out of ammo, I’m thinking.”

“Probably so, sir.  Civilians lit out after them and killed who they caught.”

“Victor Two,” I said into my headset after switching to the right frequency.

“Two,” I heard in my ear.

“Estimate enemy remaining,” I asked.

“Six hundred plus. Civilians and Dog Company are in pursuit.”

“Rendezvous at location Sugar after you secure the area. Victor Five out,” I said.

“Jim, how long you think mop-up will take?”

“Two to three hours.  First units in are about a third through the building sweep.  No completed IED’s so far, except at their airport, but a shitload of material to build them, sir. Excavations all along the Interstate, and three arterials. Didn’t have time to finish them.”

“All right, enough of my sightseeing.  Let’s see how this hospital looks.”