Remnant, chapter 28

28

Tuesday morning,

November Twentieth

15:50 Hours

“Uniform suits you. Not,” Mike Amberson said from the doorway, pulling me out of the mental exercise of all the things that could go wrong on our mission.

“What are you doing here? And out of uniform at that?”

“Out of Sheriff’s livery, for sure. Active duty, effective eighteen-hundred. Sam Waybright’s the new head badge.” Sam was a couple of layers junior to some of Mike’s staff, but knew how to command, from what I knew of him. I’d only met him twice.

“Snagged your sorry butt and pulled you back in,” I said as I shook his hand. “Working for me again?”

“Not hardly. Real working unit, unlike your soft rear-echelon pukes.”

“Don’t look now, but three quarters of my brigade served in line units in Mexico, Iraq, and Afghanistan.”

“Good. You called it ‘my brigade.’ You passed your first test. Not bad for your first day.”

“Thanks. But seriously, where are you headed?”

“Like I said. Fighting unit. Rangers again. Second of the Seventy-Fifth,” he said, referring to Second Battalion, Seventy-Fifth Regiment, formerly of Fort Lewis.

“How’s Ashley taking this?” I asked. I could imagine the answer. New mom of twins, too many family lost over the past year, husband back in harm’s way.

“About like your Karen, I suspect.”

“Not that well, I think. You in some cushy staff job? Intel? Personnel?” I said, kidding. I knew perfectly well where he was likely to be.

“Hell, no. Operations.”

“Light Colonel?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I still outrank you.”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind doing your heavy lifting,” he said with a smile.

“I’m heading into a staff meeting. You free in an hour or so?”

“Should be. Got a call in a few minutes with Regiment in Walla Walla.”

“Had one of those earlier. You hear about Sixth Army?”

“Yeah. Right after Major Cross shanghaied me during a little dust-up in East Central. I stopped in at the house, grabbed my gear, gave Ash the news, and here I am.”

“A little harsh way for her to find out, don’t you think?”  I said, surprised.

“She knew before I did. The Major took care of that,” Mike said.

“Funny how she operates,” I said as Lisa, last name escaping me, beckoned me back into the conference room. Keeping me on time, I noted.

“I better run. Meet me in the Commons when you’re wrapped up,” I said, referring to the ‘official’ name of the cafeteria and lounge area. It must have been a machine shop of some kind, pre-War. It had a twenty-ton bridge crane, just over the buffet line.

At seventeen-fifteen, we wrapped up the briefing. I thought that now that everyone understood everyone else’s needs to meet our departure schedule, now less than two days out, the deadline was real, the provisions needed to be aboard NOW, the time for training was OVER and only the last minute stuff—which is usually equipment or stuff we’d miss most if we forgot it—was about all we had time for.

My Tuesday would start in Yardley, where our trains were being assembled component by component, in guarded train yard.  Once loaded, the trains would have more firepower on them than any other moving thing in the state, aside from the dozen B-52’s we had in residence at Fairchild.

And here I was, less than twelve hours in the Army, in command, with a staff who had every right to be completely skeptical about my abilities. I was certainly skeptical myself. Sitting in the commons, reviewing everyone’s personnel summary documents, I waited for Lt. Col. Amberson to show up. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Amberson’ would get some getting used to, I thought. 

In the Commons I was out of my staff’s way, reading yet another stack of paperwork—this one, the personnel manifest for the entire brigade. I’d have hours going through most of this.

“Mr. Drummond? What are you doing here? And in uniform?” Sarah Woodbridge asked, quite surprised. She was dressed in scrubs, carrying insulated coveralls and her parka and her backpack, I assumed for the trip ‘home.’

“Likewise, kiddo. What are you doing here?”

“Training in the infirmary. Two days a week here, one at Valley General, the rest at the community center.”

“Well, I pretty much got drafted. You heading home?”

“Waiting for the shuttle.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve got wheels, well, Mike Amberson does. You come home with Mike and me.”

“Cool! Now, I have to ask. Are you going to seen John? Are you going to California?”  John Martin was just a few days ahead of me, heading off for what passed for ‘basic’ these days.

“Afraid not. Heading someplace colder,” I said, being deliberately vague.

“Colorado then.”

“Can’t say, and you shouldn’t ask.”

“OK,” she said, before noticing my insignia with some astonishment. “You’re a Colonel?”

“Brigade commanders are apparently Colonels. Therefore, when in Rome….”

“You’re the new commander for Third Brigade then. You’re the talk of the post.”

“And plenty of snickers, I’m sure.”

“Well, some griping, but that’s probably normal from what my Captain says. Mostly, that you’re shipping out like, Wednesday. And, that Third Brigade’s former commander is now a two-star.”

“That’s not quite right. He’s just a brigadier. That’s one star.”

“Fast track, either way. The career people are, ‘miffed’ I guess is a good word.”

“I’m sure. They may well have a right to be.”

“Word’s out that you were some kind of spy in your younger days.”

“Oh, not that crap again,” I said, suddenly angry that my ancient history, MY history, and a handful of other people who might still survive, was now being dredged up, embellished, discounted, distorted.

“So there is something there,” Sarah said with a furrowed brow. “Sorry I brought it up. Sounds like this bothers you.”

“It does, and it’s been twenty-four years.”

“I’ll not bring it up again.”

“It’s OK. Things you bury eventually come back to haunt. This particular part of my life was buried a long time. Sometime I’ll tell you about it. Call it a learning experience.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” she said, finally sitting down at the table, just as Mike appeared behind her. He was carrying two overly large duffels.

“Looks like our driver is finally here. About damned time,” I said with fake irritation, looking at my watch.

“Sorry Colonel, real soldier-business to attend to. I’m sure nothing you’ve ever troubled yourself with,” Mike said, shaking my hand.

“Probably right, Mike. You ready?”

“Yep. Your bags in the rig?” he asked

“Yeah. You need a hand?” I’d brought my new gear bags out earlier, and stashed them in Mike’s newly-assigned Humvee. This one, according to the motor pool sergeant, actually had a heater that worked. And, I noted as I tossed my two bags in the back, freshly painted, riveted-on patches covering a stitch of holes from automatic weapons fire on the driver’s side.

“Let a superior officer haul a Ranger’s gear? When Hell freezes solid around David Lambert’s tortured soul,” Mike said, referring to the former United States President, now President of the State of America.  Many creative insults had been fashioned about Lambert, some making hay on the ‘lamb’ in his name, many disputing his parentage, the only thing in common was the universal hatred.

Sarah laughed a little at that. “I was expecting another sheep joke, maybe with Secretary Canlin being the shepherd this time,” she said, referring to a popular string of jokes and cartoons about Lambert being on the receiving end of a lonely shepherd. Canlin was their Secretary of State.  Usually, in the versions I’d heard, it was the ISC being the shepherd. Lambert was universally on the receiving end though. The Internal Security Cooperative was even more hated than Lambert. ISC was the modern, North American equivalent of Hitler’s SS.

“C’mon. Let’s get moving before my cell phone rings again,” Mike said.

“Ashley?”

“Yeah. She said she had a surprise for me when I get home, and wanted to time it.”

“Food,” Sarah said.  “Gotta be.”

“Maybe,” I said, thinking it could be something else. “Might be something both aerobic and horizontal in nature,” I said, deadpanning it.

Sarah thought about what I’d said in my matter-of-fact delivery, before she realized what I meant. “You’re awful!” she said after a moment, turning red and laughing uncontrollably. “You men!”

A few minutes later we were off post, winding our way home behind a string of heavy trucks moving gear from the fort to God-knows-where.

“This thing ever going to heat up?” Sarah asked. “It’s freezing in here.”

“About the time we hit the driveway,” I said. “Mike, is Ash going to stay in the place while you’re gone? That place seems a lot to manage.”

“We’ve got help there now. I’ve got a retired State Patrolman and his wife helping out while I’m gone. And to boot, he’s a pretty good farmer. Had a place north of Newport, but his wife needed more medical care than he could get up there.  Seemed a good fit.”

“You do have the room for them, that mother-in-law suite and all,” I said before getting back to Sarah. “So, Sare, what are you picking up at the infirmary?”

“Tons of stuff. Holistic medicinal practices for depression, even aromatherapy, which I used to think was a bunch of hooey….except it works. Working my way through the thousand pages of the Physicians’ Desk Reference for Nonprescription Drugs, Dietary Supplements and Herbs. Wound trauma is kind of a continuing theme, but we’re also learning about use of colloidal silver, and purifying elderberry extracts for influenza and a bunch of alternate uses for other common stuff. Iodine is pretty cool.”

“All sounds pretty good to me,” Mike said.

“Plenty of downsides. Cancer victims can’t do much for them.  Heart patients lots of congestive heart failure. We can medicate a little with some diuretics, but not much more.  Organ recipients are going into rejection without their anti-rejection meds. Asthma has skyrocketed….and then there’s the lung scarring from the flu, plus no meds. Hepatitis patients going into end stage liver failure….”

“I take back my comment,” Mike said in reply. “I didn’t think about that stuff.”

“We really saw the first wave…losing patients, that is…back in the spring when the really medically dependent people lost their regular meds. Most of those we’re losing now were on maintenance drugs. Some were undiagnosed.”

“Let me ask a hard question. Maybe you’ve talked with your instructors about this. ‘How long until you lose the majority of these patients—and you, ahem, have a stable population?’”

“Hard question. Much discussed. No more than a year.”

“Wow,” I said. “That has to be unbelievably difficult to deal with.”

“I think the staff is used to it, honestly. I know I’m not. Some days are really tough. I can’t do the kids cancer ward anymore. I just can’t handle it.”

“Sarah, I’m sorry I brought this up,” I said, turning to face her in the back seat.

“It’s OK. It’s good to talk about it. I kinda bottle that up inside.”

“I’m guilty of that too. It’s not all that healthy.”

“Villa Drummond, on the right,” Mike said as we slowed to turn into the driveway.

“Oh-six-hundred, Colonel. Do you need a wakeup call?” Mike asked, laying it on a little thick.

“Not hardly. We’re heading over to…”

“Security, Colonel. Need to know and all…” Mike said, reminding me to shut my mouth.

“Sorry. Thanks for keeping me out of the stockade.”

“Somebody’s got to.”

“C’mon, Sarah. Mike’s got a hot date.”

“Or a nice dinner, I think.”

“I’ll not wager,” I said as I grabbed my bags from the rear seat, piled next to Sarah.

“C’mon. Stay for dinner,” I said, inviting her in.

“Thanks. That’d be nice,” she said as Mike’s Humvee pulled out and headed back up the road.  She took one of my bags watching me struggle a little bit.  “So, before we go inside, can you answer a question for me?”

“Sure, unless it’s classified. Of course, I could forget it’s classified….”

“Do you think we’ll win?”

“Yes,” I said. “No doubt about it.”

“How can you be so sure? They’re drafting more people I hear, starting like Monday. And we heard about a recall of all former military, no exceptions. Is that real?”

“Probably, yeah. On both counts. I’m probably an example of some of that, despite the fact I wasn’t in the armed forces. And I’m no kid,” I said as we reached the front porch.

“Will John come back here? Will he be in…your command?”

“I don’t know the answer to that. I do suspect that he’s going to be one of the last to get shipped out for ‘basic.’  They’re going to have to start training locally,” I said, not really answering her question. “Sarah, I pray that he’ll stay safe. I don’t know that he will. I’ve seen a lot of crap in my life that has shaken me to the core. When John was born, Libby and Ron were scared for him then, he had some issues at birth. I knew that he’d be OK though, and I don’t know how I knew that, I just did.  I hope that he still will. I just don’t know.”

“Thanks for being honest.”

“Some things need to be said straight out. These are those kinds of days.”

“Let’s get inside. Karen’s watching us,” Sarah said with a little guilt.

“She’s a mind reader. I suspect she knows you needed to talk. You need to take advantage of her listening ability. She’ll be there for you. And you should take the same opportunity with your future mother-in-law.”

“I will. Thanks,” she said as she opened the front door.  Karen was setting the table. Buck and Ada were waiting for me, sniffing my new uniform, bags, and rifle case.

“You two have a nice talk?” she said with a smile.

“Yes we did. Thanks,” Sarah said.  “How are you, Karen?”

“Good now that my hubby’s home. This news is depressing,” Karen said as I gave her a kiss, taking off my Army issue parka.

“Where from?” I asked, seeing Buck snag one of my heavy gloves from the parka pocket.

“Los Angeles, Texas, you name it,” Carl said from the kitchen. “And Colorado, but they’re not talking about that on TV. Plenty on shortwave though.”

“Hmmm,” I said, looking at the dining room table, now extended to its full length. “OK if Sarah stays for dinner?”

“Absolutely. The Martins will be here any minute. Alan and Mary are over with Mom. Rache and Marky are upstairs with Kelly.”

“Great! Sarah, make yourself at home,” I said, “but that does not mean you’re peeling potatoes.”

“Right. She can help with the beets instead,” Karen said with a wink.

“How’s Mom doing?” I asked.

“Ornery. Wants out as in ‘right quick.’”

“Nothing happens that quickly these days,” I said.

“No, but the Woolsley’s house plans are coming along,” Karen said. “Thanks to Ron and Alan and their contacts.”

For some reason, that struck me as a statement that excluded me. I didn’t like it. 

“Do tell. They had a busy day I’d bet.”

“Lots done. I won’t spoil their thunder—they’ll tell you over dinner. Now, spill it,” Karen said. “What’s the word?”

“Wednesday morning.”

“East?” she said, obviously having listened to the radio broadcasts, official and otherwise.

“Yep, although I’m not at liberty to say where.”

“I can guess. The guys figured as much, and with Mike shipping out too, and this new draft coming…”

“I’m not in a combat outfit, hon,” I said, knowing that really didn’t matter, and not caring that Sarah and Carl were in the room.

“Right. And that long-gun is for what exactly?” she said, pointing to my ‘California’ in it’s slip case.

“Varmints,” I said with a smile. That really didn’t soothe her deep concern.  “Now, what’s that nice smell coming from the kitchen?”

“Baked chicken, and you know that very well,” Karen said with a ‘tone’ in her voice.

“We are nothing if not regular in poultry, Sarah,” I said, further trying to lighten her mood. “Sometimes to the point of distraction.”

“Sorry, Chicago deep dish pizza wasn’t available at Costco.”

“Costco isn’t available at Costco. And when, seriously was the last time you had a decent pizza?” Sarah said, laughing.

“About the same time I had a really nice shrimp scampi,” I said.

“Now let’s not go down that route,” Karen said. “We’ll all just end up depressed and hungry, rather than just depressed.”

The dogs ran to the back door, hearing our dinner guests crossing the yard, despite the snow cover.

“I’m going to go change quick,” I said, moving to get into civilian gear.

“Oh, no you’re not. Not until we get pictures with you in your uniform,” Karen said.

“Jeez. Like Easter when I was a kid. ‘Stay in your dress clothes until we get all the pictures done!’ It’s not like it’s my dress outfit,” I said. Digital camo isn’t exactly chic.”

“Holy smokes. You look like you’re wearing a slipcover,” Ron said as he saw me.

“Better to blend in to the local living rooms, watch a little TV, and move on,” I said.

“Securing popcorn and ESPN for all,” Alan said.

“Well, that and freedom,” I replied, shaking his hand.

“At least you now have clothing to match that haircut,” Ron countered.

“You two really ought to go into standup.  I could probably arrange that with the local draft board…”

“Don’t you dare,” Libby said. “I’ll have your….oh, I better not say that.”

“You just said it without saying it, Lib,” Ron said to his wife.

“One piece of good news for you both though: Your chances of getting drafted aren’t that good. Too soft,” I said, kidding of course. “And you’re classified essential, for some reason known but to God and General Anderson.”  

“It’s our general contracting ability,” Ron said to Alan. “I told you word’d get out.”

“Stellar barter negotiations. That’s my bet. Half the county’d starve without us.”

“The mutual admiration society factor is definitely kicking in,” Sarah said. “And me without my hip waders.”

“Lib, this young lady has your husband and my brother in law pegged.”

“She does at that. Only took me five years!” Libby said with no small amount of love.

A round of home brew and fifteen minutes of digital photographs later, I was able to change into jeans and a flannel shirt, my native garb.

Over dinner with the grown-ups (Alan’s young ones had been excused to watch Brave Little Toaster), everyone studiously avoided asking me about my orders. That was appreciated, but it was handled almost to the point of ignoring the obvious, even that stuff that had been publicized, officially and otherwise.  Only over dessert did the discussion nose into areas that I couldn’t talk about.

“You going to Denver?” Ron asked. I could see that Carl wanted to ask that.

“Can’t really say. Doubtful. Now do me a favor and don’t ask. Next subject.”

“I spoke with one of my cousins today in Fresno,” Mary said. “So there’s your next subject.”

“You did?” Alan asked, obviously shocked. “And you’re keeping this a secret?”

“Some good news, some not. I wasn’t quite ready to share.”

“Is Diana OK?” Alan asked.

“She is—but she wasn’t home. She’s working at the Fresno Army Terminal. She lost Pete to the flu,” she said. Pete was her husband, I remembered. “She remarried two months ago. Everyone else down there—our aunts and uncles, all of our cousins except Jeanine, went back to Texas right after the market tanked. My Uncle Clay had a big ranch down there. They figured it was safer.”

“Did you get their phone number?” Alan asked.  I watched and listened.

“Tried it. No answer.”

“How’re things in Fresno?” I asked.

“Jeanine said things were pretty bad, but not like up here. Most of their problems at first were labor related—as in, no one to work the fields and farms—all the Mexicans left when the economy started going down. Things have gone to pot since then.”

I thought about that for a minute. “Funny how that sounds better than up here, so much better I mean.”

“Other people’s troubles always sound better than your own, until you try them on for size,” Libby said.

Mary had more details of course, one of the more interesting to me anyway, was of the mega-farms that produced single crops mostly for export out of the region, failing due to the lack of market.  How many million acres of nuts do you really need, when what your body needs is a balanced diet? The factory farms of the Central and San Joaquin Valleys as I remembered them were anything but diverse. The failures were spectacular, with walnut groves going up in flames after months of no irrigation; massive dairies slaughtering milk-cows for lack of feed and water. I wondered in a morbid way, what were the artifacts of the factory farm, and would lessons be learned or just as quickly forgotten?

We talked until quite late that evening about how the Metro stores had evolved, the barter network had expanded, and of the many shortages that were now appearing as more and more wear and tear on everyday necessities caught up with precious supply.  The growing problems of security, of seed for next years’ crops, of failures of food preservation.

Our own crops would sustain us, but the labor to produce the food was staggeringly high. The storage effort, along with everything else just normal ‘life’ in these depleted times demanded, was wearing on us all. There were so many around us that had so little to live on, really, that our own security felt inadequate.

The problem with sharing, is that there are some who see you as rich, when you have merely saved; that you have plenty, but what you really have is a closely held belief to help; that you have more than you ‘deserve’, even when some—those that will not work to save or provide for themselves—never have enough.

It was easy for the lot of us to see that we might be able to make it another year before some event or other—a breakdown of a water system at the wrong time, a change in local leadership, a crop failure, whatever—made our ‘recovery’ effort fail. Our damaged infrastructure and our devastated distribution system and our crashed economy would do us in without some dramatic ‘good news.’

That ‘good news’ had to be the war. If we won and a restored United States of America were able to devote the resources of the nation to true recovery, then we might be OK. If we lost the war, there could be no recovery. There could only be further collapse, balkanization, tyranny, more death.

It was a half-hour before midnight before we were talked out and tired, but did take time for another bite of dessert before bedtime. I thought that Karen probably understood better at that point why I was called up, why I was going, why it was so important.

Everything depended on us winning. 

Remnant, Chapter 27

27

Monday afternoon,

November Twentieth

Never having been in the military, I had no idea how much crap you are responsible for in the way of uniforms, boots, manuals, gear, and stuff that would never realistically be used. By fourteen hundred hours, I had more duffel bags of stuff than any soldier, or anyone in charge of soldiers, ought. Dress uniform (as if there should be an opportunity to wear one) fully equipped with nameplate, colonel’s birds, uncomfortable dress cap. At least the utilities were comfortable, the winter gear seemingly well made, the boots comfortable. I’d never seen digital camouflage in whites, grays and black. I hoped never to see red on any of it.

The surprises were the twin .45 caliber side arms, complete with small Picatinny rails and suppressors. All built around a relatively familiar frame, this one the Colt XSE.   And of course the M-16C. I could not get over how light the weapon was, similar to the feeling the first time I picked up an unloaded Glock, versus my 1911. Unreal. Same mag as the standard M-16, which is where the real weight was for the ground troops, hogging all that around, using it a bit at a time.

One of Camp Overbeck’s master armorers walked me through both weapons, as well as general familiarization with many others that we might encounter in the field. I think I surprised him by being able to field strip a half-dozen of the Communist-bloc weapons without instruction, reassemble them, and in the case of the SKS, point out the fact that a spring-loaded firing pin and a recoil buffer would help improve the weapon, especially the firing pin using American-made ammunition. The soft Western primers behave differently than the ‘hard’ Russian primers. It’d be embarrassing for two or three rounds to go off at once with the American made stuff. The spring-loaded pin helped prevent that.

With twenty minutes in the hundred-yard indoor firing range on the assigned weapons, all rounds from the California were in the black, but three of sixteen from the Colt were outside the black or on the edge.  If I had time to practice, I might again shoot as well as I did at twenty-two, I thought. ‘Never mind the fact that your eyesight sucks,’ I said to myself.

“Pretty good shooting for a…a newly minted officer,” Chief Warrant Officer Tim Vanhoff commented.  “Generally speaking, officers can’t hit the paper, let alone the black.”

“Thanks, Mr. Vanhoff. That rifle is amazing,” I said, ignoring his stumbling for words as I placed the weapon on the cleaning bench. “I haven’t had to qualify on anything in, well, let’s say a long-ass time.”

“You’re not Army trained though. You’ve got some idiosyncrasies in your stance, your form, and your targeting. Too late to make you unlearn it though. It seems to work for you.”

“Let’s just say my training was more, freelance in nature. My form’s a little rusty because I can’t quite move like I did when I was a kid. I’ve been driving a desk for too long.”  I didn’t mention the fact that my ribs hurt like heck.

“You’ll do OK with this outfit. God-willing, you won’t have to see much action.”

“Thanks for the instruction. I’d love to spend another week on these,” I said as I put one of the range-room’s Colts, and the empty magazines, on the cleaning bench.

“So, level with me if you would sir, where’d you pick up your background on firearms? That Glock in there, you stripped like you’d been doing it all your life.  And the AK, and SKS…”

“Frederick County, Maryland.”

“D.I.A.” Vanhoff said, referring to the Defense Intelligence Agency.

“Yeah, just after the last Ice Age.”

“I didn’t really take you for a spook,” he said, before adding, “sir.”

“I was quite young. I had a very short tenure. I got the Hell out. End of story. And, I never considered myself a ‘spook’, either.”

“Well, a lot of that training stayed with you. It’ll serve you well, Colonel.”

“Thanks, I suppose. Frankly, I’d hoped all that was long-forgotten. And I’ll never feel that I’ve earned that title.”

“Not your choice in getting it, sir. Therefore no point in fussin’ over it.  Anything else you need, see me before you ship out.”

“Will do. Thanks, Mr. Vanhoff.”

“Oh, and sir? If you have a chance, pass on my compliments to Annika and Randy Thompson. I’ve got their fifth B.A.R. off the line. I understand you’re neighbors.”

“True enough. My original was handy for them in modeling up the trigger assembly on the computer, so they could re-engineer it.” I then remembered talking with Kevin Miller about the shoot-off between Army, Air Force and Marines, using the first six Brownings.  “Were you one of the shoot-off competitors?”

“Guilty as charged, sir.”

“I assume you’ve fired a stock B.A.R. before?”

“Yes, sir. One that saw service in Vietnam. Heavy bastard.”

“So are the new and improved models that much better?”

“Unbelievable.  It’s my new favorite classically engineered weapon.”

“Colonel?” I heard from behind me. “You have a call from Walla Walla holding,” one of the office secretaries said.

“Be right there,” I said as I shook his hand. “Tim, you’re a Renaissance man.”

“I just appreciate great engineering.”

“And you probably treat January twenty-third as a holiday,” I said with a grin.

“John Moses Browning’s birthday ought to be a holiday, sir.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I said as I headed toward the door. The secretary, whose name I had yet to memorize, was waiting, a little impatiently.

“Sir, I apologize—it’s not a phone call. It’s actually a teleconference that’s scheduled to start in less than five minutes. Most of your senior staff will be attending, either here or in Walla Walla. Sorry for the short notice.”

“No problem. Lisa, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have that list of my command staff? I think I left mine in the office,” I said, entering the large conference room where I was promptly saluted by two young enlisted men. I returned it, somewhat awkwardly and added “As you were,” as if I knew what I was doing. I felt like a bad actor.

“It’s in your folder. Your staff should be here any minute. You’re missing your S2 and S6, medical and chaplain. Everyone else should be here,” Lisa said as she ushered me into the room, 

I struggled for a minute to remember what the S6 officer did, finally gave up and looked it up in my briefing folder. ‘Communications.’ S2 of course was intelligence.

About a minute later, the room was full, and I rose to meet many of my new staff, informally.

“Please excuse my lack of military protocol. Until this morning I was a chicken rancher, storekeeper, and jack of few trades.”

“Sir, that goes for about a third of your senior staff, up until a month ago or so,” my executive officer, Lieutenant Colonel Jim Schaefer said.  “As far as my own career, I left the army after the Gulf War. Didn’t look back until six months ago.”

“I know we only have a minute before this starts, but I’d appreciate your keeping me on the straight and narrow.”

“Sir, we’re ready,” one of the enlisted men announced.

“Seats, everyone. Here it comes,” I said, not knowing of course what ‘it’ might be.   The screen was filled with the Pacific Northwest Command insignia, overlaying the ‘new’ United States flag.  I thought for a moment, does one salute an officer on television?

“Afternoon, everyone.  For those that do not know me, I’m Brigadier General Rodney Howard. This is a briefing across the entire command, regarding the attacks on the United States by S.A. forces,” the General began.

“As has been reported, both military and civilian populations were hit with a neurotoxin delivered through various means. Unmanned aerial vehicles. Manned aircraft, crashed into targets of opportunity. Car bombs. Bombs planted within structures, underground, or otherwise concealed. These weapons were coordinated largely without an extensive communications network therefore, they have been planned well in advance of the attack. We lost more than fifteen thousand civilians. We lost the entire Sixth Army—that alone was more than fifty thousand men. We’ve lost much in the way of airborne capability due to the deaths of more than ten thousand off duty pilots and mechanics, electronics technicians and weapons techs. Our airborne capability has been seriously affected.”

“Within the next few days, you will see a general call up of all former retired military personnel, regardless of age to fill the gaps and train new soldiers. You will also see dramatic clamp downs on movement of refugees—many of the attacks have been traced to transient movement through porous battle lines and those enemy mingled freely in civilian populations…..” I thought about that for a moment. We’d seen a significant inrush of refugees as the weather grew cold. Did we have that element among us?

“….were made using unmanned aerial vehicles, smaller than a single-engine plane in many cases; truck and car bombs in market areas; or in the case of Sixth Army, the weapons were concealed along a line within a thousand meters of the Army. The Sixth was manipulated by numerically insignificant S.A. forces to be where they were when they were attacked. What seemed like a dominating position for the Sixth Army turned out to be a massive trap. S.A. forces had evacuated the area to a safe distance, calculated to be thirty minutes downwind of the detonation points.  The devices were also silent, according to sources who survived long enough to report.  Think, compressed air, released in a high volume low pressure manner.  It also came when most of the Sixth Army was down for the night.”

“Once Sixth Army was attacked, all units were put on alert. The problem of course was that no one knew what to be on alert for.  Within six hours, the entire attack wave had been completed.  As a note, we do not know if follow-on attacks are in the offing. There, at this point in time, is no way to know.”  

“To our men in the field, there is not enough MOPP gear to go around. There is no warning for this airborne agent. No odor, no sensation, until lethal concentrations kill. No warning whatsoever. No antidote.”

“Elements of the Texas Guard are now on site at the location of the Sixth Army massacre, and will hold this position until reinforcements arrive in the next eight hours.  Airborne elements from California, New Mexico, Arizona, Alabama and Georgia are in transit at this time to reinforce the line. The One Seventieth and One Seventy Second brigades will be in place in twenty four hours. Pacific Northwest Command will deploy front line and support personnel in the effort to secure the line and reinforce the front line troops. Two brigades of the Forty First Division will deploy within thirty-six hours. The Fighting First Washington under command of Colonel Todd Hauser. Third Washington Engineers  under command of Colonel Richard Drummond. First Washington will deploy in support of the One Seventy Second’s mechanized battalions. Third Washington in support of the One Seventy Second’s combat engineering battalion and other units as needed and as available.”

“Gentlemen, what I am about to tell you will not sit well. Word will filter out in the media, but the brutality of the S.A. attacks is by no means contained to military forces or civilians far behind the lines. The S.A. is taking no prisoners. The S. A. is executing civilians. They are putting them in buildings and burning them alive. They are doing this to men, women and children. Their tactics are to terrorize, to utterly shock their opponents into submission. Anyone who does not comply immediately will either be summarily executed or shipped off to slave labor.  Satellite intelligence show mass graves.”  The general fell silent for a moment, and took a drink of water before continuing.

“This is what you are up against.  You are now being passed more detailed briefing packets on your assignments. I wish you Godspeed in your persecution of justice. That is all.  Good day.”

With that, the screen switched back to the flag, and then fell to black.   Sealed packets were passed out to everyone at the table.  Before we opened them, I decided to address the officers and men in the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as I said earlier, until this morning I was a civilian.  My most recent employer was Spokane County, where I served as County Administrator.  I’ve not served in the military. I have had some government service, quite a while back. I appreciate the confidence that Governor Hall puts in me by honoring me with this commission. I would ask you to indulge my civilian manners as I learn the ropes here.  I will do my best to make sure I don’t do anything stupid and get us all killed.”  That at least, brought a couple of snickers.

“Now, on to business. We’ve all seen some evil at work over the past year. I think that what we just heard tops it all.  How we react to this as a nation will help define us for many decades to come. I might sound like I’m some politician on a stump speech. I’m not. I’m as far removed from that as I can get. My gut reaction is that these bastards need to die, and that I want to help them along that end. I know that we’re a support brigade. I know that we’re not supposed to be on the line. I also know that plans are perfect until you implement them. I want everyone in the outfit fully armed just like a combat brigade. This brigade needs to be ready for whatever shit storm comes our way. Questions,” I stated, not asking.  None came, but there were a number of glances exchanged.  “Very well,” I said as I stood, picking up my packet as the staff rose to attention.  “I want everyone back in here at sixteen-hundred, up to speed on these orders, and no, I haven’t read them,” I said as I slapped the packet down on the table. “And readiness, staffing, and schedule for departure.  Dismissed.”

In a few moments, the room was empty. “Private,” I asked of a young man just outside the door, “Can you find me my office?”

That made him smile. “This way, sir. It’s just this side of Communications.”

“Thanks. Work to do.”

“Yes, sir. There is at that.”

The Communications room was a darkened maze of computer servers, monitors, and perhaps thirty personnel working on a myriad of problems. The room had been carved out of the massive warehouse, with framed in, heavily insulated walls, ceiling, and fat bundles of network cabling behind the racks of computers. I was pretty impressed.  

My office was an eight-by-eight square, one high window on the inside wall facing the open cube farm populated by Camp Overbeck’s command staff, desk empty except for my initial briefing packet. My hastily dumped gear bags resided in the two non-matching side chairs. Before I dug into the file in any depth, I thought I’d give Karen a phone call. I actually remembered the last time I called her at home: Friday afternoon, January thirteenth. I always called to let her know when I was leaving the office for the day.  I called the new cell number that Elaine had given me.

“Well good afternoon,” I said, pleased to hear her voice.

“How’s it going?” she asked. “I miss you.”

“You most,” I said. “Going OK so far. I have another meeting to get into in a little while, and some paperwork to go through first.”

“You home for dinner tonight?”

“Should be. Probably around eighteen hundred before I get free though.”

“We’ll be ready. Pork sausage and rice.”

“That’ll make me hungry if I think about it long enough. Everything going OK?”

“Weird without you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I’m in a Twilight Zone episode of my own.”

“And nothing you can talk about.”

“Affirmative.”

“That’s OK. I probably don’t want to know.”

I thought a moment before answering, which was enough of an answer for her.

“Thought as much. Back to your paperwork. Dinner will be ready. And Alan has a nice bottle of wine for us too.”

“Good for him. See you in awhile.”

We finished up with our customary ‘love yous’ and I set about to reading.  

The trains that Third Washington would take would be pulled by militarized versions of General Electric-built Burlington Northern locomotives. Militarized, in the form of armor being installed over exposed radiators and hydraulics, with provisions for ballistic glass installed in the cabs, along with shuttered windows. On the railcar immediately behind each engine, an Abrams tank would reside, fully crewed.   Once the ‘command’ units, supplies, tanks and bunkhouses were offloaded, the locomotives and empty flats would move back west, be reloaded with the rest of the Brigade and gear, and meet up with the first shipment on the ground.  Fifteen hundred men per load.

Our soldiers would ride in lighter armored converted shipping containers.  Pre-War, several companies specialized in converting shipping containers into transportable office or disaster relief units, with wide ranging options in their design and construction.  Some of the units were set up as strictly ‘transport’ units, with rudimentary seating arranged for maximum capacity with limited passenger comfort.  Most were set up as triple-deck bunkhouses.  We’d have a couple ‘office’ units, two command and communication units, a pair of medical/surgical suites, laundries, bathroom and shower units, power generation units, two pharmacies, and a substantial amount of supplies, far more than our brigade would need, it was hoped.  The occupied units would be stacked on half-height supply cars, cut down from full-height cars. The half-height cars would contain most of our provisions, including fuel, water, food, ammunition and supplemental weapons, and relief supplies.  Resupply trains would follow along behind us in theory, carrying more men and gear for ‘the War Effort.’

We’d be second in, after a Marine Expeditionary unit secured the Sixth Army battlefield. 

DEPARTURE: 11/23 0700 hrs. depart Spokane for points east. Transit time estimated at four days to destination, Sterling, Colorado.   Upon arrival, set up temporary HQ for retrieval operations.  Second train containing remainder of Third Washington will arrive within four hours.  249^th Engineering Battalion, Company B, ‘Prime Power’ will be on station within twenty-four hours of arrival.  Third Brigade will assist in retrieval of KIA, support of Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU), and restoration of utilities to Sterling.  Further movement east will follow line units in similar duty.

“So much for Thanksgiving dinner,” I said to myself.

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.”