299 Days: The Community

Chapter 95 Jason’s Briefing (May 9)

Jeanie had two good nights of sleep in a row. Whoa. That was a record. She hadn’t felt this good in about two weeks.

She had her organic oatmeal and fruit for breakfast. The night before, they had veal kabobs with rice pilaf, which was very nice. They even had ice cream for dessert. Life was not bad at Camp Murray.

Jeanie hadn’t seen her boss, Rick Menlow, since they got there. She had no idea where he was. All she knew was that she was working hard to get the State of Washington’s message out to the people through the media. She was very good at her job. She was proud to help with the effort. Lots of people were doing great things—some of them dangerous—to make life better for everyone, but those great things had much more impact if the public got to know about them. Keeping the public calm and upbeat was as important, if not more important, than a load of some spare parts getting up I-5 to some water treatment plant or whatever the crisis of the minute was there at the Command Center of the Washington Department of Emergency Management.

As an insider, Jeanie was one of the people who got the 7:00 a.m. morning briefing. She was starting to actually look forward to the morning briefings. This was a fascinating time to be alive, and she was right in the middle of it.

Jason was giving the briefings every morning. He was an interesting guy, who graduated from Yale and worked in Washington D.C. for several years for the State Department. He had only recently come out to Washington State. Jeanie thought it was odd that he had some important federal job, but now had come all the way out to Washington State.

Jason was in his early thirties. He dressed very well, kind of East Coast. He was a handsome man, which reminded Jeanie that she hadn’t talked to her boyfriend, Jim, in several days. They traded texts that said they were OK, but that was about it. She missed him. But, she knew he was doing some important work with his National Guard unit.

Jason started off pretty chipper that morning. “Well, more good news. We have pretty much got I-5 flowing with essential cargo. Same thing with I-90.” That was the interstate going from Seattle east to Spokane and connecting Western and Eastern Washington State. “Local police and, in some cases, National Guard are at the onramps making sure only approved loads move. Like fuel, food, water, medicine, essential parts, communications equipment, military vehicles, those kinds of things.”

Jason put his hand up for emphasis. “The bad news is that civilians can’t travel on the interstates and they’re not real happy about that, which is why law enforcement and the Guard are there. There have been some incidents, but that’s not public information.”

Damned civilians, Jeanie thought. Getting in the way like that. Didn’t they understand how important the government loads were? It was weird. “Conservative” Jeanie, who used to be ostracized for wanting smaller government, was rooting for the government. But she had decided that this government was OK. They were helping people.

Then Jason dropped a bomb on them. “Here’s something that’s definitely not public information. One Guard squad on an onramp in Lewis County was ambushed. Seven killed, three disappeared. Probably taken prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” National Guard troops were being taken prisoner?

What? Was this a war or something?

Jeanie let that sink in. She couldn’t process it, but she was starting to see that there was at least a war-like feel to all of this.

Wait. A squad was ten troops, Jeanie knew from past conversations with Jim. Ten well-armed National Guard troops were ambushed, killed or captured, and there weren’t any bad guys found dead? Either the Guard squad didn’t know how to fight, or the attackers were very good.

Oh crap. Then again, nothing would surprise her anymore. Some once-in-a-lifetime amazing thing seemed to be happening about once an hour.

“Utilities are remaining on, which, I gotta say, is a little surprising,” Jason continued. “We are keeping parts and crews flowing to electrical and water plants. Hell, I mean heck, even sewage treatment is working.”

“Gasoline and diesel are a really big deal,” Jason said. “The price on the open market…well, there isn’t really an open market. I’ve heard up to $100 a gallon, but there isn’t really any place to get gas. We are getting fuel to federal, state, and local fueling stations. Like a city’s gas pump for police cars. Places like that are getting gas. We have diesel, under guard at truck stops, so our vital trucks can refuel at all the usual places. The civilian truckers are not too happy. There have been some problems.” A dozen pissed off truckers were a formidable force, as some truck stop owners, local law enforcement, and Freedom Corps were finding out.

Jason looked at his notes. “Speaking of trucks, we’re commandeering them. Oh, I mean ‘requisitioning’ them—thanks for the word of the day from yesterday, by the way. We don’t have to requisition them too often. Most of the truckers will run a load for us just to get the fuel to get closer to their homes, but they’re not the most trustworthy drivers now that most things they’re hauling have become worth 100 times what they were just a few days ago. We prefer to have people we can trust driving the rigs.” It sounded so stupid for uptight white-collar Jason, with his DC metrosexual clothes and hair, to call a truck a “rig.”

“Food,” Jason said. “That’s a big one, too. The good news is that America has a bunch of food in warehouses. The bad news is that the warehouses are pretty far from where most people live, but with the interstates basically being turned over to the trucks, things are actually getting out. Perishable food is a little sketchy. There have been electricity outages periodically, especially in southern California where a lot of the goods are. But most perishables are OK and many trucks are refrigerated. We are focusing on staples and non-perishables. We’re getting food to government installations, of course,” that went without saying, “and we’re getting grocery stores in larger population centers supplied.”

Jason checked his notes again and said, “More good news. On two fronts: fuel and food. Fuel is scarce but we’re, well, actually the Feds, are arranging for our domestic oil production to get to the refineries. We imported about two thirds of our oil before the Crisis. A good hunk of that came from Canada, who is still selling to us. Another hunk, unfortunately, came from Mexico and, um, obviously, Mexico is having trouble producing anything right now. So we have almost half of our oil from ourselves and Canada. But here’s the good part: oil consumption is a fraction of what it was pre-Crisis. No one is driving. No more fifty-mile commutes from the suburbs to the office. So, we actually have enough oil and refining capacity to run things. Well, essential things. We requisitioned the oil, refineries, and trucks to get the fuel out.”

“There’s a catch, though,” Jason said, looking troubled. “Most of the oil and many of the refineries are in Southern states that aren’t exactly cooperating with the federal government right now. But the oil and refineries are run by companies who are loyal to the United States. More importantly, the Feds have extremely potent military strength in, and around, the oil and fuel facilities. So, bottom line, we have enough fuel now and in the future for vital uses, such as government.”

Vital uses such as government, Jeanie thought. That sounds right. It used to sound wrong. But, now with the Crisis…

Jason took a breath. He smiled as he began discussing the next topic. “Regarding food, this is a political gold mine. The Feds have basically nationalized the farms. Most are owned by big companies who have worked with us before.” That was an understatement. Federal farm policy, and subsidies, had made the giant agribusinesses very wealthy and powerful. They were now returning the favor to their friends in government. “The Feds are buying food on an emergency basis. We’re getting unemployed people to the farms and putting them to work. Kind of a jobs program. The regular farm workers realize they have nowhere else to go and, believe it or not, we actually think we can get some potatoes and wheat out of Eastern Washington and to some places for some processing. Not processing into french fries or chocolate cakes, but some food that people can eat in a few weeks. Mashed potato and biscuit mix and that kind of thing.” Jason smiled even bigger, “Courtesy of your government.” The political message was unmistakable.

His demeanor changed. “Here’s the problem. The smaller areas, rural areas, the hick areas. Well, they’re a second priority for food deliveries, to be honest. We can’t do it all. If you’re on the I-5 corridor, you probably have enough food. If you’re in Hickville, where the teabaggers are pretty much revolting, then you’ll have to wait until the civilized people get a first chance.”

Civilized people? That statement jarred Jeanie. But, then again, the government was doing the best it could to get the most supplies to the most people, and to the ones who supported the effort. Besides, Jeanie thought, the rural people were better equipped to take care of themselves. Seattle, with all the rioting welfare recipients who had been cut off, was a powder keg. Keep that place calm and let the teabaggers take care of themselves, she thought.

Jason went on. “One big problem is medical care. The hospitals are overrun, and have been for quite some time. Most medical supplies have run out. Re-supply is a priority, and some have been getting through. So many Americans are on a medication of some kind. Most of them have run out by now. People are dying. They just are. We have no solution for this. There’s not much we can do.”

He continued. “Crime is a problem, to put it mildly. Lots of people on mental illness medications are off their meds, as I mentioned.”

Jason took a drink of water. “One thing that is a state thing is the rioting and looting. Downtown Seattle has a lot of it; mostly petty criminals. There are well organized gangs running pretty much wild in the larger cities. Kind of like the L.A. Riots, I’m told.” Jason was young enough to somewhat remember the L.A. Riots, but not really. “That’s a National Guard thing. We have that under decent control. We have control during the day. The freaks come out at night.”

Jeanie raised her hand. “Is there media coverage of the night riots? I mean, I haven’t seen any video of it.”

Jason said, “And you won’t. We have an arrangement with the broadcast media and the papers. They understand they shouldn’t show that stuff. It will just scare people and encourage the looters and terrorists.”

“What about cell phone footage getting onto YouTube?” she asked.

“YouTube and other websites are not a problem for us. We have arrangements with them, too.” Jason left it at that. The wasn’t any need to scare every one about how the Feds had a virtual switch—the “internet kill switch” as it was talked about before the Collapse—that could shut down any website they chose.

Jason went on. “Oh, and the terrorists. Yes, there’s been some of that. The Red Brigades, and now some ‘Patriot’ groups. Militia teabagger whackos. The ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ people. Assholes.” What Jason didn’t say was that the “teabagger” terrorism was great for the government, politically speaking. It was almost like some of it was staged, Jason thought to himself with a mental wink.

“There’s some interesting graffiti popping up,” Jason said. “The Right is spray painting things like, ‘There is no gov’t,’ and ‘Gov’t can’t protect you.’ It’s in gold or yellow spray paint, like the color of their ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ flag, the Gadsden, I think they call it.”

“Red paint is the Leftist graffiti,” Jason explained. “Those are the predictable ones like ‘Rise Up,’ and ‘Revolution.’ That kind of thing.”

Jason paused. “Here’s a highly classified topic that’s being discussed. The Governor has issued a variety of executive orders to provide emergency powers, but she hasn’t declared full-on martial law. Should she declare martial law?”

Silence. Jeanie’s first thought was “yes.” People couldn’t have normal liberties without order. And there was no order out there.

Someone from the Governor’s Office asked, “What are the political ramifications?” That debate on went on for a while. The general consensus was that most people would want the Governor to take bold action. They would understand that martial law was temporary.

“It will take their minds off the budget,” one of them said.

The budget. That’s right, Jeanie thought. The State of Washington doesn’t have any money. So she asked, “How is all this going to be paid for? I mean, we don’t exactly have any way to pay for this.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” said the chief of staff for the State Treasurer. He had been used to saying that. It really meant, “We have no idea how to pay for anything.”

“There’s an answer for that, too,” Jason said, with yet another smile. “FCards. We are using the trillions of dollars of money people have in their bank and retirement accounts that they can’t use right now due to the Crisis.” The government could demand that people sell things to it for whatever price it set—and it had all the country’s money to use. That would solve a lot of problems, at least for a while.

Jason got serious again, “So, to answer your question of how do we pay for this, the answer is with FCard credits. The military, police, Freedom Corps members, and key civilians, like us, will get FCard credits. There will be enough in the stores we can go to.”

“There should be enough food in the regular stores for the regular people,” Jason said. “It will take an FCard for them to get food.” Jason smiled, “That’s their incentive to get with the program. You know, play ball.”

Jeanie realized that FCards were the ultimate entitlement. The authorities controlled the FCards. Therefore, they controlled the people. It was better than anything they did in the past, like having only a portion of the population dependent on them with welfare. The FCards were the ultimate entitlement and the ultimate control.

A military person asked, “How do we enforce martial law? I mean, we have a squad taken out by some hillbillies or a gang or whatever. We can barely keep I-5 and I-90 flowing. I’m a logistical guy. How do we pull off martial law?”

A discussion ensued. It centered on the fact that they had no choice. It wouldn’t be a well-enforced martial law. It would be a better-than-nothing martial law.

The question kept coming back to who would enforce it. Jason said, “Well, we have the Freedom Corps. We could use them.”

The military guy rolled his eyes. “A citizen auxiliary?” he said. “Are you serious? This is a very bad idea. Sorry, but it is.”

It was quiet for a few moments.

Jason said, “OK, I’m hearing that martial law is not a preferred solution because it will be hard to pull off, but it might be necessary, anyway. Do I have that right?” Most people nodded. Jeanie found herself nodding, too.

Jason walked over and closed the conference room door. Whatever he was going to say must be juicy. If the door stayed open for “the Governor is thinking about declaring martial law,” Jeanie wondered what the next topic could possibly be.

“Oath Keepers,” Jason said softly. “They are becoming a real problem. Everyone familiar with them?” Everyone in the room had heard of them, and nodded silently.

“The question is how many regular, Guard and Reserve units, and police departments are loyal, and how many are Oath Keeper units.”

More silence. Was this really happening? “Loyal” military units? In America?

“The Feds are having real problems with this,” Jason said. “Oath Keepers have most of the units in the South. Texas and surrounding states have privately told the President that they are ‘opting out.’ That means secession.”

Silence.

One of the staffers, a thirty-something woman dressed very well, said, “OK, so the rednecks want to leave the U.S. Let ‘em. Why should we worry about what southerners are doing way up here in Washington?”

“The military up here, like many of them at Ft. Lewis and McChord Air Force base across I-5 from us are Southern,” Jason said. “Have you ever been driving around here, near the bases, and noticed all the Texas, North Carolina, and Georgia license plates?” Jason asked. “A lot of the military guys up here are Southern.”

The staffer who asked the question said, with an attitude, “I don’t exactly hang out at military bases.”

“Well, those license plates show that the military, even at bases up here, is chock full of Southerners,” Jason said. “So, if they are loyal to the Southern states, we have a real problem. They’re thoroughly mixed into the military everywhere.”

Jason tried to smile. “This ‘opt-out’ thing of the Southern states is probably bluffing. Some political game.” He didn’t believe that, but he was trying not to be an alarmist. Then he got serious again.

“We don’t know, with precision, which units would go with the Oath Keepers,” he said quietly. “It’s not like some units have declared allegiances or anything. The intelligence people say the situation is fluid. We have been told not to count on the loyalty of any given military unit. Not that most are defecting, but we shouldn’t count on them.”

More silence. The military guy who spoke up earlier looked dismayed. He could not believe what he was hearing.

He spoke up. “My loyalty to my commander in chief, the Governor, since I’m a Guardsperson, should not be questioned…”

“Of course not…” Jason interjected.

The Guard guy continued, “But, since you asked my opinion, I will give it to you now that I have factored in this latest revelation. Do not declare martial law. Do not. Oath Keepers will view it as war. The people will view it that way, too. It will be the thing Oath Keepers use to peel off units. You will have a civil war on your hands.”

Civil war? What? Shit.

Jason started to laugh. “Civil War? Really? You can’t be serious.”

“Yes, sir, I am,” he said. “Do not declare martial law. That’s my advice to the Governor since I was asked for it.” He stared at Jason until Jason looked away.

More silence.

The meeting broke up. No one was talking. They were too stunned.

Jeanie tried to sum up what she had learned. She would be talking to the media all day, so she needed to get her story straight. The truth was that in the short term, things were going reasonably well. Better than they had been. Food and fuel was getting where it needed to go. Well, it was getting to the Seattle metro area and to government installations. In the medium term, they had a plan for getting more food and fuel out. They even had a way to pay for it with the FCards. Well, not “pay” for it, but to distribute it. The majority of the people would be taken care of. This wasn’t the end of the world, just the end of the world as everyone knew it. The pre-Crisis world was gone, but people would still eat.

The long term was a little scarier, with the Southern states talking about “opt-out.” And there were even loyal versus Oath Keepers military units. But, if things worked out, like food and fuel distribution, then there would be a lot less reason for people to fight a… she couldn’t even use the term.