The State (8 page)

CHAPTER 11

The Tiller Farm

Ian put his hand on the pod. The decision to form a militia was freshly minted between he and Bob.

“Let’s get the adults together after the sweep to discuss how to pull this militia thing off, but for right now, I want to see what’s in this thing.”

Ian opened his knife and slid it down a small channel until he heard a click.  Leaving his knife engaged in the slit, he unscrewed the pod as if it were a plastic Easter egg joined along the center axis.  With a little effort, the two pieces separated.

“Damn, that’s nice,” Bob said, followed by a whistle.  He recognized the equipment immediately.

Ian did as well.  He had used satellite communications gear most of his military and subsequent intelligence career.  This package came with a solar charger, headset and an encrypted code scrolling across an LCD display above a military grade keypad.  All field agents of the CIA memorize a specific decryption code that is unique to them alone.  His decryption of the rolling code would verify the legitimacy of who he was when using the radio.  The code rotated frequently for security purposed.  If the code were ever entered incorrectly, the radio would become an inoperable hunk of metal.

Also in the pod was a shoulder holstered .40 caliber Smith & Wesson pistol and four loaded clips of ammunition.  Ian checked the pistol and then put his arms through the mil-spec black strap holster; it felt comforting to finally have his own weapon.

“We can set that up next to my gear,” Bob offered.

“That’ll work,” Ian agreed, and lifted the radio off of the table and towards Bob’s desk of radio gear.

“Base, this is Momma B,” the two-way radio crackled.  “Tardis Blue and Tonto all report negative contact.  We’re headed back in.  Over”

Bob gently stood, his wounds causing him to move slowly.  He followed Ian to the radio desk and performed the only job he could do right now. “Roger that, Momma B.  Negative contact. Come back to the ranch.  Over.”

“Base, this is Double A, are we cleared to come back too?  Over,” Adam asked.  He and Anna were in the sniper perch at the top of the stable.  Ian had assigned them the codename of Double A as long as they were teamed together.  He’d let them choose their own individual code names later.

Bob looked at Ian, who, for all intents and purposes, was now the commanding officer of the militia.

Ian caught the look and knew that things had really just changed.  He was in charge of them all.

“Have them cover the others until they are back in and then they can bring it in.  Sounds like our friend on the ridge had bugged out.”

“Roger, that,” Bob said, swiveling his chair back around to put the order out.  He then slid his rolling chair next to Ian to help him with the setup of the new radio.

Within minutes the two had the radio assembled, the solar panel deployed and the small satellite dish mounted to a gutter on the roof of the front porch. The radio already had a full charge and only needed two things in order to communicate: the acquirement of a communications satellite and for its user to enter the proper code.

Ian put on the headgear and quickly entered his deciphered code into the keypad.  The radio showed signal strength on the LCD; it was a strong satellite signal.  He pressed the microphone button and spoke.

“This is PACK691, broadcasting in the blind.  I repeat, this is PACK691, broadcasting in the blind.  Over.”

CHAPTER 12

Carrollton, Georgia

Georgia National Guard Western Medial Processing

Tabby and Seth, along with hundreds of medical patients, had been relocated to the Coliseum on the campus the University of West Georgia.  The move had been arduous, with a number of critical patients dying along the 25-mile route from the temporary Villa Rica medical tent. 

The basketball arena, turned mass medical ward, was a step up from the heat, humidity and smell of the former medical tent.  The military repaired the building’s electrical systems and air conditioning and had set up massive generators outside to provide the power. 

Several of the nursing schools students that were still on campus, were pressed into service, learning life and death skills that college degrees could never buy.  These students were luckier than most; by not leaving campus during the chaotic first few days of the crisis; they avoided the freakers and senseless violence that follows tragedy.

Outside of the Coliseum, the scene was surreal; thousands of refugees had found sanctuary under the protection of the Guard.  Makeshift tent cities had sprung up across the intramural field and formally manicured football field.  The campus, now controlled by the military, funneled the refugees into camps that they were happy to occupy.

“Tabby stood outside of the arena, her hand over her eyes, she scanned the crowd for people she might know.”

“I don’t think she will be there,” Seth said, walking up behind her.

“But there are more and more people fleeing Alabama,” she turned to look at her husband.  “What if she’s one of them?”

Seth looked over his wife’s shoulder; the thought of catching a glimpse of his daughter was tempting, but not reality.

“We’ve got to go find her,” Tabby said, her voice low and the words spoken with authority.  “I’ve got to at least!”

Seth put his arms around his wife and hugged her.  “Tonight,” he whispered.  “If Raven does what she said she can do, we’ll go tonight.”

“God I hope you’re right,” she said, releasing the hug and turning to look at the mass of lost people.  “What about their care?”

Seth knew that she was asking about the medical care of the mass of people.  They had been on constant call until they had reached the college campus.  Here, at least, they had help from the nursing students and several more doctors from the town.

“It will just have to be,” he answered.  “There is more staff here than back at Villa Rica, and we need to find our daughter.”

That is what Tabby wanted to hear.  “I agree,” she said.  “I’m going to go check on a few patients, see you inside,” she said, walking away slowly.  Her eyes still scanning the mass of people as she moved.

Six hours later, as the sun set in the west, Tabby and Seth approached the motor pool of dark green Humvees parked along the side of the arena.  They each carried backpacks full of medical supplies, water and food rations.   Both doctors were wearing military issue ACU, or Army Combat Uniforms. Both had medical insignia designating them as doctors and both had been given field commissions of Captain by Colonel Horn. 

Horn needed them to stay; his doctors in the Guard were either dead or missing, and he didn’t have the time or the training to deal with medical support.  So, without a medical command structure in place, he created one with what he had.  As luck would have it, what he had was two world-class surgeons; and he needed them to be in charge of his wounded.  The officer commissions gave the doctors the power that Horn though they could use to become part of the mission.  He never suspected that they would use the rank to leave.

Raven stepped out from behind one of the vehicles.  She also had on ACUs and a backpack.  She wore no rank, but the last name HORN was fastened to the front of the shirt, and she had the Guard’s patch on her shoulder.  Finally, she was armed with an M4 standard issue rifle.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Both Seth and Tabby were slow to nod, as they took in the newly minted soldier.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tabby asked.

“Well, the truck is checked out to me, which is a perk with the last name Horn, so I’ll need to be onboard.”

“What about escorts?” Seth asked.  He had been out on two scouting mission as the medic and knew that there was always four in a vehicle, with at lease two serving as military protection.

“I guess that’s where Reed comes in,” Raven said, motioning at someone to step from behind the Humvee.  “This is Reed.”

Reed was one of the Guardsmen.  He was dressed in battle gear, and also armed with an M4, but his had heavy modifications and attachments.  He wore the rank of a Specialist, placing him equal to a corporal and just below a sergeant.

“Ma’am, Sir,” Reed said, snapping of a quick salute.  Neither Tabby nor Seth returned the salute.

“Reed just returned from a deployment last year, and that is when we met.  My dad doesn’t know about us,” she said, hoping she had just successfully justified Reed’s presence.

“The Colonel is your commanding officer, right?” Seth asked the soldier.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you worried about retribution?”

“Sir, if I had knowledge that the Colonel’s daughter was about to steal a Humvee and drive into known enemy territory, and I didn’t, 1: Stop her, 2: Report her, then I sure as hell better do, 3: Make sure that she is protected,” he said, speaking with military logic.

Seth nodded.  “Alright son, that makes sense.  Do you have a first name?”

“Yes sir, its Mike, but I respond to Reed, or Specialist a whole lot faster,” he said with a smooth southern drawl.

“Alright, Reed it is.”

The soldier nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

“We’re going to take this one, Raven said, opening the back door to the Humvee.  She had loaded the vehicle with gear and supplies.   “We only have about 10 minutes before they change shifts at the gate, so we need to move.  Oh, and one more thing,” she said reaching into a black bag.  “You two are going to need these.”  She handed the doctors each their own pistol with holster and two extra clips.

Both doctors hesitantly took the weapons.  Neither one had ever shot a gun before.

“Raven, we’ve got to go,” Reed said, looking at his watch.  “If we want to be the last ones out before they close the gate, we need to book it.”

Three minutes later, Reed pulled the Humvee to the gate.  His buddy from his last deployment was the guard. “Wilson, you sure you don’t want to go with us, I know we’ll find some Chinese ass to kick out there,” Reed said quietly to the other soldier.

“No man, not today,” Wilson said.  “My dad just checked into the camp this afternoon, and well, mom didn’t, so.”

Reed nodded, and swallowed hard.  “That sucks, man.”

Wilson shook his head; it did suck.  “Listen, I got your six here, I’ll get my shot later.  See you then.”   He raised the gate and saluted to the two officers in the vehicle.

Reed nodded appreciation and accelerated the Humvee away from the safety of the Guard strong hold.  He navigated onto a back road and headed west towards Alabama.

CHAPTER 13

The Pipeline Terminal

Wu left the cover of the forested hill and the enemy soldiers behind.  He crossed the field that he had been shot on days earlier. The pipeline terminal was to his left, and the burned out shell of his platoon truck was still sitting on the side of the road.  Once he saw the rebels deploy the mounted soldiers to sweep for him on the hill he had decided to withdraw back to the pipeline terminal.

He approached the charred truck with some sort of hope that there was something that he could use to communicate with his commanders.  He had all but given up hope on getting near the stolen helicopter that was parked in front of the rebel’s barracks.

Wu was cautious as he approached from the tree line at the rear of the death scene.  He had watched the rebels sweep the area after collecting his murdered comrades and burning their bodies.  He knew that they had taken anything of value, including their weapons, but he held out hope that he could find something that could be a lifeline to his commanders.

Wu crouched against a tree, waiting to see if there was any activity around the truck or the pipeline terminal.  The smell of the scorched truck and burned bodies was still fresh on the wind, and it made his stomach churn. After ten minutes of no activity, he crossed the distance to peer into the remains of the truck.

All that was left of the military troop transport was the heavy metal chassis and the wheels.  The ammunition that the platoon carried onboard had obviously exploded when assaulted by the guns of the helicopter.  The result turned the troop transport into a carriage of death.

Satisfied that there was nothing to salvage from the truck, Wu turned towards the pipeline terminal.  This had been his core mission, to support the engineers as they disengaged the terminal from the underground flow of oil to the Americans in the east. He had failed.

Wu walked through the gate of the chain-link fence and could clearly see where the rebels had been pinned down by his platoon.  Bullet marks were all along the steel pipe, showing their concentrated firepower.  He bent down to see how the rebels might have viewed the approach of his platoon.  He could see their bullet casings on the ground mixed with the casings from his homelands rifles.

“Why would they be shooting our weapons?” he asked himself.  He looked around again, trying to puzzle out the timeline.  “That’s it,” he said, picking up one of the Chinese casings.  “They had already killed the engineers, taken their weapon and stole their helicopter.  They used our own weapons against us,” he said with a snarl.  He threw the casing at the chain-link fence in fury with his good arm.

That is when he saw the boot. 

What is that?

Wu put his rifle between two massive valves and aimed at the large storm drainpipe that led under the asphalt road.  Peering through the small scope on his rifle, he could clearly see the boot.  It was one of his soldier’s boots, and the toes were pointed up.  Wu swept his rifle around to see if anyone was watching, mindful of any rebel tricks.

After a minute or two, Wu moved out of his hiding place, along the fence line and out of the gate.  His rifle was trained on the drainpipe the entire time.  Before reaching the pipe he smelled death.  He pulled a black cloth out of one of his pant pockets and wrapped it around his face before approaching any closer.

Wu stood at the entrance of the pipe, and could clearly see the other side of the road through the pipe.  He could also see that this was the pilot of the stolen helicopter.  Even though the man’s face and skin was bloated and covered with flies, the uniform was all that he needed to see.

Wait!  The uniform! 
Wu thought to himself.

He kicked the boots of the body, sending hundreds of flies soaring into the sky for their own protection.  He then quickly grabbed the man’s boots and pulled him out of the drainpipe and into the sun.

It’s there!

Wu drew his knife and knelt near what was left of the man’s head.  He could tell that the pilot had died from a deep cut along his throat.  With the knife, he cut the upper portion of the right sleeve off of the dead man and backed away from the body to throw-up.

Two minutes later, Wu knelt in the shade of the trees.  He cut at the mesh fabric, trying to get to the device, but the fabric was designed to protect the equipment, and was resistant.  Finally, Wu pierced the fabric freeing the green metallic device.  This was the same device that had been sewn into Wu’s uniform, and had deflected part of the bullet when Wu had been shot.  It looked like it was not damaged. 

The device was about the size of a matchbox, painted olive green and was driven by a small internal battery.  The Chinese had modeled their version of the Battlefield Combat Identification System or BCIS, on the version scrapped by the US Army.  Wu knew that their version was several generations improved over where the American’s had abandoned the technology.  But, for the system to work it had to be within 25,000 meters, or roughly 15 miles of a relay terminal. He also didn’t know if the device was working or not.  Pilots had the ability to switch their devices on and off with an RFID key, but the practice was frowned upon by the commanders.  Wu was sure that the RFID key was with the stolen helicopter.

The only way to know if the transponder was working for sure was for him to crack it open.  Using his knife, he opened a small compartment on the device to see that the switch to the transponder was in OFF mode. Wu made a face and looked in the direction of the dead pilot’s body. 

“Stupid man.”

Wu flipped the switch on the transponder to an emergency setting.  He was rewarded with a blinking red LED.  He knew that the blinking light was a sign that the transponder was working, and that his signal had been received by a relay station.

Wu allowed himself a smile.  “Now it is our turn to burn your bodies,” he said preparing himself to be rescued.

Wu checked his watch.  He knew that this was the day that the territories in the United States had to change their allegiance to his homeland.

“This is the day that will decide the rest of your lives,” Wu said softly, as he looked across the field.  “This is the day that you finally learn that the State knows what’s best for you.”