The Final Day

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Black Hawk, which had crested over Linville Gorge just a few minutes earlier, came sweeping in low over frozen Lake James, crossed over the railroad bridge that spanned the Catawba River where it emptied into the lake, and came sweeping down the length of the snow-covered runway at well over a hundred miles an hour.

John shaded his eyes against the glare of the early morning sun, watching as it raced in, scanning it carefully with a pair of field glasses, feeling a touch of nostalgic pride at the sight of the chopper painted in faded desert camo, taking him back to the desert of Iraq so long ago when, filled with awe, he watched scores of them sweeping out ahead of his armored battalion.

He spared a quick glance to Forrest, who was watching intently, silently, wondering what this torn-up veteran of Afghanistan was feeling at the sight and sound of a machine that meant that friends were overhead, ready to protect, ready to attack anything in their way.

The chopper thundered past, the Doppler roar dropping in pitch as it passed, and then it pitched up in a steep turning climb.

The pilot was hotdogging a bit, but then again, if he was coming into a potentially hostile site, it was standard to do at least one high-speed pass and if they drew any fire to get the hell out fast.

He had more than fifty with him, concealed in several hangars and scattered in the wood line across the runway. If this was a setup for a trap, it was about to turn into one hell of a fight. Danny, who stood beside him, clutched a flare gun firmly in his gloved hand, ready to fire off the signal if anything looked even remotely hostile.

The day was cold, crystal clear, perfect for keeping a sharp watch aloft. Several of his people, concealed under white blankets, were doing just that, sweeping the sky overhead for any telltale glint or whisper of a contrail indicating that someone was hovering up at twenty thousand feet, just waiting to unleash a Hellfire or gravity-dropped munitions.

The chopper, leveling off from its high-speed pass, circled around, the sound shifting as the pilot throttled back, pitching the nose up slightly to bleed off speed as he started to make a landing approach.

“So far, so good,” John whispered as if to himself.

He looked around at his friends Danny, Maury, Forrest, and Lee, who stood to either side, all watching intently and waiting for the slightest suspicious act.

A hell of a world we have become, John thought. There was a time when we never would have doubted the sight of a helicopter with that star on its side. But now?

The chopper continued to settle, kicking up a near whiteout of swirling snow, the pilot edging it toward where John had ordered that Forrest’s 4×6 should be parked as an indicator of their presence.

“If this goes bad,” Forrest complained, “you own me a new vehicle and the gas that took it here.”

John said nothing, the chopper all but invisible as snow swirled about, a glimpse of it then touching down, turbine engines throttling back, and as the snow began to settle, he saw the side door swing open.

Even from this distance, he could see that it was indeed him. It was Bob.

John stepped out of the concealment of the hangar, ignoring the protests of his friends, Lee cursing and then stepping out behind him and protectively moving in by his side. The rotors continued to wind down, and he started to lift a hand to cover his face from the stinging blast but thought better; he wanted Bob to see that it was indeed him and not some sort of setup.

Bob leaped down from the doorway, nearly fell, and came up slowly, and John could see that his friend had indeed aged, remembering long ago how in so many training exercises, inspection tours, and their brief hours of combat together in Iraq, Bob would always be the first one out with a leaping bound and confident stride, radiating self-assurance and leadership. The snow from the three storms that had rolled in within as many weeks was nearly two feet deep at the level, even down in the piedmont region of Marion. The chopper’s rotors had blown most of the ground cover back as Bob moved slowly toward him. Perhaps, John realized, it was to make sure he did not slip and fall, and it be misinterpreted by his crew and what John could now see was a security team inside the chopper, that he had been shot.

Bob pulled back the hood of his parka, John doing the same, and with this mutual gesture, the two old friends could now see each other’s grinning features. Bob had indeed aged, his thick short-cut thatch of gray having gone completely white, features ruddy, heavy bushy brows squinting nearly shut from the morning glare and blowing snow.

They stopped half a dozen feet apart, and old instincts kicked in, John coming to attention and raising his right hand in a near-reverent salute.

“General, sir.”

Bob, coming to attention as well, silently returned the salute, the two gazing at each other, and then Bob made the final steps forward and threw his arms around John.

“My God, John! It really is you! Thank God you made it after all.”

“Sir, I thought you were…” John was overcome by emotion, and he fell silent.

“I wish,” Bob began. “I wish I could have seen Jennifer again, just one more time.”

Those words nearly broke John completely. Bob had stood as godfather for both of his girls. Childless himself, he had formed a special bond, especially with Jennifer, who used to call him “Uncle Bob.” A most memorable moment, at a formal review that was just wrapping up, Jennifer had shaken free of her mother’s hand and raced up to Bob, who was standing in the middle of the platform where he was at rigid attention, reviewing the troops marching by. She threw her arms around his legs and loudly asked what Beanie Baby he had brought for her that day. And in spite of all the formality of the moment, Bob had motioned to the ever-present aide that hovered by a general’s side. The young captain with grave features had reached into Bob’s attaché case to produce a stuffed golden retriever puppy for “my girl.”

And with that, the memory flooded to completion. The aide that day was Quentin Reynolds.

There was a squeal of delight as she clutched the latest addition to her collection, Bob picking her up and showing her how to salute the last company of troops marching by as he held her. There was not a soldier in the ranks of that company able to conceal a grin as they marched by. It was the exact kind of gesture that rather than creating smirking laughter later endeared him even more to his troops and their families who had witnessed the moment.

It defined the man that John was now hugging with open warmth.

John finally broke the embrace and stepped back, but Bob reached up, for John towered over him by a half foot or more, and put his hands on John’s shoulders.

“Son, it is so good to know that at least you survived.”

“And you too, sir.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and the two reverted back a bit to remembrance of command, that at such a moment so many were watching them for the slightest signal or gesture, friendly or hostile.

John looked back at the chopper. There were at least half dozen heavily armed men in the crew compartment, while Bob’s eyes darted past John to take in the old airport, obviously evaluating.

“Yes, sir, I’ve got a lot of people concealed around here,” John said softly, “so let’s defuse them. Okay?”

Bob nodded as John turned away from him for a moment and raised his arms high, waving them over his head to indicate that all was well.

“We’ve got a woodstove ready to light in the airport clubhouse and packed along some MREs. Let’s get your team in and get mine out of the woods,” John announced. “This damn cold makes me long for the desert again.”

Bob motioned for his security team to get out, gesturing as well for them to sling their weapons, while John stepped away from the chopper so those in the wood line could clearly see him, waving his arms and shouting for them to stand down.

The six-man detail in the chopper got out, weapons slung over their shoulders but still obviously wary as they spread out into a loose circle around Bob, watching as Forrest stepped out of the hangar, M4 held casually in his one hand, followed by Maury, Danny, and Lee, who had yet to shoulder their weapons.

“Your friends?” Bob asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“The one-armed character with the eye patch?”

“Airborne. Sergeant in Afghanistan, Silver Star and obviously a Purple Heart.”

Even though he was moving slowly, Bob was still in his usual form as he walked up to Forrest and without going through the formality of a salute just extended his hand.

“Trooper, I’m honored to meet you.”

The gesture forced Forrest to sling his weapon, catching him off guard, and John breathed a sigh of relief when Forrest actually forced a bit of a smile and extended his hand.

“First time a damn general ever offered to shake my hand, sir,” Forrest announced. “Maybe you’re okay like John said.”

“I hope I am. If we get time, I want to hear your view on some things.”

Bob’s comment had a casual air to it, the type of line many in high command used as a friendly gesture but still a brush-off, but from Bob it was indeed genuine. When in command of John’s battalion, Bob was the type of commander who would swoop in on a unit before dawn, ignore any officers who might be fumbling around, head straight to where breakfast was being dished out, get a cup of coffee, and then start peppering the cooks and dishwashers as to how they saw the unit. Dishing out his own meal, he’d then sit with a table of enlisted men and ask questions.

At the end of more than one such inspection swoop, an officer might very well be on his way out to reposting in some godforsaken place. Chances were that regardless of their friendship, Forrest might be asked a few pointed questions as to how he felt about John’s leadership.

It was a technique John had learned as well. If you want the straight dope, go to those at the bottom of the food chain of administrations, not the middle or the top.

The two old friends turned to look back at each other.

“Any place where we can sit and talk one-on-one?” Bob asked.

“It will be crowded in the airport clubhouse. Let our people get out of the cold, grab something to eat, and mingle.”

John did not add that Forrest, along with Grace and several others, had been thoroughly briefed that if the two sides did get together, they were to break out a jar or two of moonshine and pump for any information they could glean. He realized that chances were at least one of Bob’s security team was his intelligence officer who would be doing the same. Forrest should be able to sniff that out quickly enough.

“The hangar we were waiting in is out of the wind and catching the morning sun; let’s you and I settle in there,” John offered, pointing the way.

John fell in by Bob’s side, subtly gesturing for his friends to leave them be and take care of their guests. He looked back to the chopper; the rotors were slowly turning over in idle.

“Your crew can shut down if they want; there’s no threat here, Bob.”

Bob just smiled but did not reply to the offer, and John did not press him.

Getting out of the snow, they stomped into the hangar. Its long-gone owner had turned it into an aviator’s man cave, posters of World War I and II aircraft papering the walls, along with a couple of classic pinups of nose art from that era. There were a couple of overstuffed lounge chairs next to a long-cold space heater, the chairs smelling unpleasantly of mouse or some other rodent. John dragged the two chairs into the morning sunlight while Bob examined the posters and, brushing the dust off the windshield, looked into the cockpit of a long-grounded Aeronca Champ, its tires cracked and deflated after years of sitting idle.

“I actually learned to fly in one of these.” Bob sighed. “Sweet plane, postwar version of that L-3 I heard you have up and running.”

John looked over at his friend. Of course he would know what John had.

There were so many questions, but Bob opened first. “John, what happened to Jennifer?”

The question took John aback, and with it returned all the pain of those tragic days. He looked away from Bob, gaze unfocused. “She died, Bob. The way so many died. In her case, diabetes.” He fell silent, not wanting to say more; it was not the conversation he wanted for now.

Bob reached over and in a fatherly gesture patted John on the knee. “Sorry I brought it up. Last time we talked, it was her birthday. Remember?”

“Of course I remember.” John could not keep the bitter edge out of his voice. “Her last birthday thanks to whoever, whatever triggered all this madness.”

He looked back at his friend. It was, of course, not Bob’s fault.

“And you, Bob? How is Linda?”

“I’ll never know.” Bob sighed. “She was visiting friends in Florida when it hit.” A pause. “You most likely know what Florida turned into. I somehow knew she was dead within a few weeks. You know how that is with someone you love. You just wake up in the middle of the night, you know they are there in the room with you… and they are dead and have come to say good-bye. I just pray it was gentle and swift.”

“Jennifer’s wasn’t,” John said, and he instantly regretted it, seeing the hurt in Bob’s eyes. “I’m sorry I said that, Bob.”

Bob did not reply, the two old friends sitting in silence for a moment until John stirred from his seat. Remembering the thermos of coffee left by Forrest, he picked it up from the floor and motioned to it. Bob nodding agreement as John poured out the hot brew into two battered cups, handing one to his friend.

“The real stuff?” Bob asked.

John nodded and could see the look of surprise.

Bob reached into his parka jacket, produced a flask, motioned to John’s cup. John could pick up the welcome scent of scotch and looked quizzically at Bob, who just smiled while he poured several ounces into his own cup before raising it in a toast.

“I thank God you are still alive, John. Here’s to those we lost.”

“To those that we lost,” John whispered.

The two sipped their drinks, and it helped to relax the tension.

“Bob, a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“How the hell did you survive? You were in the Pentagon the day it happened. What happened up there?”

Bob looked down at his drink before taking a long gulp. “Some of us got lucky. Most tried for their homes to get their families out. Washington went into total chaos within hours. Those that had set out to try to reach their families, some with forty miles or more of a hike ahead of them? Never heard from again. Me? Linda was in Florida—no reason to try for home. Some of us struck out for Fort Meade and hunkered down there until we tried for Fort Belvoir, the rumor being that local assets were trying to regroup there. From there, well, for a while, I was out on a carrier. The navy with assets overseas fared better than the army on that count.”

“What really happened, Bob?”

“We got hit, and we lost.”

“That simple? ‘We got hit, and we lost’?” There was a sharp edge to John’s response.

“About all I can say.”

“All you can say, or all that you know?”

Again a moment of silence.

“John, you were on the phone with me when it hit. You know I and all those around me were as off guard as you and a minute later literally in the dark, same as you and the rest of the country. Pearl Harbor in spades.”

“And if I remember my history, a couple of lectures from long ago at the War College, the warning signs for Pearl were clear enough to read.”

“After the fact,” Bob interjected. “After the fact, the patterns fell into place. But before?”

“Some read it correctly.”

“Don’t tell me you are buying into some conspiracy shit?” Bob snapped. “You’ve too sharp an intellect for that.”

“With everything we had? Surely…”

Bob did not reply.

John fell silent and looked at his friend closely. Bob had answered a little too sharply and quickly. Was there something he was holding back? Even before the Day, Bob held many a secret that generals held while those under him were kept in the dark and knew better than to try to ask. He filed the suspicion away. Bob would only share what he felt he could share at this moment and nothing more.

Bob had aged ten, fifteen years since he had last seen him little more than three years ago. Though there was still something of his once sharp, penetrating gaze of confidence, there also seemed to be an infinite weariness behind the eyes.

His shoulders were rounded over slightly as if carrying some unspeakable burden. Gone was the ramrod-straight posture, that certain look and feel of command. There was a slight tremor to his hands as he held the warm mug. Was it just exhaustion of the moment or something far deeper?

“And out there?” John finally asked, shifting the topic away from the personal for the moment.

“Where?”

“The world. Everything, anything. We no longer trust Voice of America out of Bluemont. We try to glean what we can from the BBC, even China and their News to America program. What’s the straight dope?”

Bob sighed, set his coffee mug down, unscrewed the cap to the flask of scotch, and offered it to John, who took another ounce while Bob emptied the rest back into his cup.

It surprised him. Bob always had a taste for good twelve- and fifteen-year-old scotch, but only after hours and off duty.

“John, the world has gone three-quarters of the way to hell and is tottering on the edge of the final abyss.”

John sipped his coffee and waited.

“From the shores of the eastern Mediterranean to the Indian Ocean. Oil is no longer the export. Maybe when things finally cool down enough, they can sell glass where once had been a score of cities.”

“Who?”

“Israel against the rest. Their ballistic missile shield held protecting Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, but the rest. Their government is now underground in bunkers somewhere out in the Negev desert. It was a full exchange. Then Indian and Pakistan cut loose on each other. Not much left on either side.”

“Russia, China, Europe?” John asked.

“Holding off. Mutually assured destruction at play there. Russia was brushed by the EMP hit that went off course. Saint Petersburg abandoned. Moscow, word is some semblance of order there, the government holed up somewhere out in Siberia with their fingers on the trigger. John, the moment America was taken out of the paradigm of the balance of power, a vacuum was created. While survivors here were trying to just find the next meal, the rest of the world tottered to the edge and at least for the moment have held back from the final descent into the apocalypse.”

“It was the apocalypse here.” John reached over to the thermos to pour out some more coffee for the two of them.

The sun was climbing, radiating at least some warmth into the hangar, the icicles hanging along the eaves dripping puddles of water near their feet.

“John, we hang by the slenderest of threads. We still have a lot of nukes; the navy’s boomers are still out there, each one packing a couple of hundred warheads. The surviving carriers and their escorts pack more.”

“Surviving?”

“Guess we wouldn’t admit it. When all hell broke loose in the Persian Gulf the week after the EMP strike and we launched on Iran in retaliation, they took out two of our carriers with nearly all hands. In the wake of that, with the emergency back home, the assets we had over there, we pulled out.”

He nodded to the Black Hawk fifty yards away, rotors stilled but turbines still humming if things here went sour and Bob decided to pull out quick.

“John, most of what we have here now in the States we pulled out from the Middle East and Europe. After North Korea was taken off the map, equipment from the Pacific was pulled back stateside as well. We try to keep China in check by letting them know if they try anything with nukes, a boomer parked out in the Pacific will hit them with over two hundred nukes—starting with an EMP, of course. Sword of Damocles over their heads if they push us too hard.”

“But Bluemont is ceding half our country to them, Bob. I don’t get it.”

“Let’s just focus on the here and now,” Bob replied, obviously diverting the direction the conversation was taking.

That triggered another suspicion for John, but he knew better than to press the issue—and besides, Bob was right. It was the here and now that he had to focus on.

“Blunt question, Bob, for the ‘here and now.’”

“Go for it.”

“You got other assets nearby just in case this meeting went bad?”

Bob nodded. “Couple of Apaches and an extraction team set down on the far side of Linville Gorge. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

“Hell of a position for two old friends, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“So why are you here?”

“To talk as we are right now.”

“Why?”

“John, you most likely know the political and military situation for our country. BBC has been rather close to the mark, and I assume you’ve been monitoring that.”

“We have.”

“I eventually was assigned out west, commander center in Cheyenne Mountain for a stint. We all knew it was a no-win with China. Sure, humanitarian aid was the guise; they wanted it to look like another Marshall Plan, with ‘hearts and minds’ thrown in. Can’t blame the folks out in California and on the rest of the West Coast. Infrastructure down, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, even Vancouver turning into snake pits of chaos. Someone trying to keep their family alive, feel that our government has utterly failed to protect, and container ships flying red flags start coming in. Rations, water purification plants, medical supplies.”

He paused. “Things like insulin, John. What would you have done?”

That barb, if it was intended as such, stung deeply, and he did not reply.

“Their first troops even wore UN-blue helmets. Three-quarters of the population out there already dead? People forget LA was built on what was near desert. Without the Colorado River being pumped in from hundreds of miles away, along with a dozen other reservoirs off-line, people were killing each other for a lousy bottle of water after just three to four days. Someone hands your kids water and a meal—”

“So they are there to stay, is that it?”

“Unless we want to go to nuclear war, yes.”

“These reports that we are abandoning the line along the Continental Divide, military assets pulled back to east of the Mississippi?”

“It’s being defined as neutral air space to defuse any chance of a confrontation. That and Mexico, with backing from half a dozen Central American countries pressing up over the Rio Grande. What do we do?”

“It was once our country, Bob.”

“Argue that with Mexico, who now claims we ripped them off in a long-ago and forgotten war.”

“And they ripped it off from those who were there before them.”

“History, John. It has always been thus. Take the veneer of civilization off, a major power receives a visceral blow and totters. Nature abhors a vacuum. Amazing—the years of political correctness pumped out in our colleges became an education of national guilt. Some out there along the West Coast actually say we deserved what we got for our past sins and welcomed a chance to try out socialism. Just feed us, and we’ll get along with whoever is in charge.”

“Anyone fighting back?”

“Yeah, Texas, of course. Voice of America isn’t reporting it, but some group in Texas declares they’re the new government, cite what they claim was the original treaty of annexation from the 1840s, and they are justified in withdrawing from the Union. They got representatives with them from half a dozen other states saying the same. It is ripe for a blowup. Logical, therefore, that our regular military pull out completely to avoid the prospect of this going really bad and what is left of our country getting sucked into the conflict.”

“Meaning nuke?”

“The Chinese are just as afraid of that as we are. They know if we popped three or four EMPs over their mainland, they would be in the same boat we are. But if we do that, they blanket what’s left of our country with ground bursts. We do the same back. Who wins other than death?”

“Thus we concede west of the Mississippi, and Bluemont focuses on bringing everything east back under their control. Are those the orders you’re following, sir?”

Again, Bob did not directly reply. “Full-scale war with China now?” he finally said. “Then who gets to grab what’s left of the radioactive pie? Mongolia?”

John actually chuckled and shook his head.

“Some years back, I was over there for a conference,” Bob continued. “Great people, beautiful country. Remember camping with the head of their military up in a northern province for a weekend of fishing.” He smiled wistfully and took another sip of coffee. “Anyhow, we were finally talking shop. That guy said they assumed someday it was all going to hit the fan. Russia against us, China against Russia, or just the whole world goes crazy. He then said, and I swear the guy was serious, that when the dust settled and radioactivity cooled off, they would mount up and ride again. Maybe that’s who wins if this unravels any further. John, we are balanced on a razor’s edge. A couple of third-rate powers triggered all of this; I swear that pudgy nutcase in North Korea did it just to see if they could do it. Iran joins in on the plot for whatever it was they used to believe about their hidden imam returning. We allowed them to get their nukes and missiles to hand off to terrorists like ISIS. Damn all who allowed that to happen. Any idiot could see eventually they’d go for us.

“Anyhow,” he said, sighing wearily and staring into his coffee cup, “I saw the report that where the well is that their imam was supposed to come out of is now a crater a thousand feet deep. Same is true for the cities controlled by the terrorists and all of North Korea. Some vengeance.

“That’s all moot now as far as you and I are concerned. It happened, and we lost. The job now is to pick up the pieces of what is left and try to reassemble some sort of united front. A United States out of what is left and project outwardly that, though our backs are to the wall, we’re standing again as a united country. If not, we completely cease to exist.”

There was a long moment of silence, the two friends sipping their scotch-laced coffee, a cold breeze sweeping into the open hangar so that they zipped their parkas back up, while outside the helicopter turbines continued to turn over with a low steady hum.

John wished he had not accepted the scotch. Never have a drink, even with a once trusted friend, until whatever issue was between them was settled.

“You’re here to either pull me in or take us out, is that it, Bob?”

His friend looked over at him and slowly nodded.

“What exactly is your job now?”

“Military governor of this entire region. Everything east of the Appalachians from Charlottesville down to the wreckage of what was once Florida. Navy is working the coast; I’m to deal with everything inland.”

“I assume you know what happened between us and that idiot Fredericks that was sent down here back in the spring.”

“Yeah. Don’t look at me, John; I had nothing to do with that screwup and the idiotic idea of the Army of National Recovery. Those of us left from the regular military were appalled with that idea. You can’t pull a bunch of kids out of surviving communities where they are needed most right now, throw a weapon in their hands, given them twelve weeks of basic, and send them into hellholes like Chicago, Pittsburgh, or what had once been D.C. or New York City. It was the same kind of stupid thinking about how to fight Vietnam, and remember, I’m old enough to have been in on the tail end of that one. Draftees who barely knew how to wipe their own butts out in the jungle without getting jungle rot or snake bit didn’t stand a chance. Same with the ANR. After that battalion got taken prisoner in Chicago and every last one tortured to death by the gangs running that place, the whole concept was quietly dropped.

“That’s why what is left of our regular military was pulled back from the face-off with the Chinese and Mexico out west and redeployed here. We got to get things back into a single, unified whole—at least east of the Mississippi. That’s my job now.”

“Did you send a courier to me by the name of Quentin Reynolds?” John asked.

“He was a good man.” Bob sighed. “Said he grew up in the area, knew his way around. After we took Roanoke, I wanted to get word to you outside regular channels.” He paused, obviously carefully choosing his words. “Let’s just say that Major Quentin took it upon himself to try to reach you with that and some other things.”

“What other things, sir?” John asked.

“Let’s stick to Quentin for now. He left with several others in a Humvee. Did he get through?”

“He’s dead, Bob. Don’t know about those who came with him. Some of my people found him along Interstate 26, on foot, badly beaten. It is still no-man’s-land up in parts of these mountains, and he met the wrong folks. Only thing one of my men got out of him before he died was that you sent him and wanted to talk.”

Bob sighed and then stared straight at him. “Obviously, he had some contact to you; otherwise, you wouldn’t have tried to reach me. What exactly did he say?”

The way Bob spoke the last few words, John could sense his friend was tense. “I never spoke to him directly, sir. He reached an outlying community run by my friend Forrest, the one-armed Afghan vet. They fetched me back to meet him, but Quentin died before I could talk to him.”

Again silence from Bob.

“Why him?” John asked. “A trek from Roanoke to here by land, that is damn near suicide, especially at this time of year. Why not just send a message in the clear? You got the air assets.”

John nodded out to the Black Hawk that, in a profligate display, was still burning precious Jet A fuel.

“I couldn’t, John.”

“Why?”

Bob stood up, downing the last of his coffee and setting the cup on a cluttered workbench next to the dust-covered Aeronca Champ.

“Because I have orders to kill you. Kill you and either rein this so-called State of Carolina into line or wipe it out.”

Bob turned his back on John as he spoke, and John wondered if his old friend and mentor did so because he could not look him in the eye as he spoke.

“John, I would like you to come back to Roanoke with me to talk this thing out further. I promise you no harm will come to you or your community while you are away. I’m asking you to trust me on this.”

“Is that an order, sir, or a request from a friend?”

“I’d prefer the latter.” He paused for a moment. “John, I’m doing this as a dark op. No one further up the line knows I’m here talking to you privately. I’m doing this as a favor to a trusted friend. Please come back with me for your own good and that of your community.”

“And if I say no?”

Bob sighed and turned back to face John.

John shifted his focus to the pilots in the chopper. One appeared to be talking, attention focused toward Bob. Had there been some sort of signal? Was something being called in if he refused Bob’s “request”?

“John, I hate to say it, but I think you can assume I can bring hell down on this place in less than five minutes. I assume that the men who were with you when I landed are some of your closest friends and advisors.”

“They are.”

“If this goes bad, they will be caught up in it as well.”

“I know that.”

“Therefore?”

John looked into his eyes and could still see his old friend, a commander he respected and would have given his life to protect. Was he really capable of doing this?

“Why, Bob?”

“Orders.”

That left him stunned, and he lowered his head. “I recall an ethics class you personally taught at the War College,” John said softly, voice tinged with sadness. “A code that stated that an officer must refuse an immoral order, even if it meant his career or even his life. Bob, I know you too well to accept that you are—and God forgive me for saying it—only following orders.”

Bob bristled at the reply and did not speak.

“I sense this order is one that you yourself have inner questions about, sir.”

“What the hell do you think?” Bob replied sharply. “An order to either arrest or kill a man I saw as a son, his children substitutes for grandchildren I would never have? Just what the hell do you think?”

“You know I won’t go with you.”

“I kind of assumed that.”

“So I guess this is at an end,” John said, coming to his feet. “It’s your call, Bob, and I’m leaving it to you. You asked me what Quentin had said. And as I just told you, by the time I reached his side, he was dead. But he did spill something beyond the fact that you were alive.” John paused. “At least what he rambled about to my friend Forrest and the nurse trying to save him. Like I said, the poor man was damn near dead when he was found and out of his head.”

“And he said what?”

“Something about another EMP.”

Bob stiffened and broke eye contact.

“Bob?”

“John, I’ll ask you one more time. Come back with me to Roanoke. We can talk further then. Bluemont wants you dead. If I’ve got you stashed away in a safe place, believe me, it’s for your own good.”

“Sir, I’m not going back with you, and if all was reversed, you’d say the same.”

“Yeah, I assumed it would be thus.”

“So, what’s next?” John asked. “You’re free to go. I won’t stop you, and you knew that before you even stepped foot off that chopper. You get your people back in, lift off, I tell my people to scatter, and in five minutes, you and I are personally at war. Is that it?”

Bob did not reply.

“Kind of like what we read happened at West Point a long time ago, when the superintendent was ordered to hold on charges of treason any cadet or faculty that would not renew the oath of allegiance to the Union. Instead, he told the secretary of war to go to hell and let his old friends and students—now enemies preparing to serve the Confederacy—leave without a fight. Is that it?”

Bob nodded. “I’ve served my country over forty-five years. If not for this current mess, I was about to retire out, settle down with Linda; she was already picking out a place down on Marco Island, and you know how it is. Old soldier writes a book or two, kills the boredom by fishing, and quietly grumbles how the country continues to go to hell but there is nothing he can do about it. And now, instead, I’m here, freezing my ass off.”

“Then why did you really come, Bob? Really? Your comment a few minutes back tells me that if I don’t go, you are most likely expected to lift off, and five minutes later, this place is toast. Is that what Bluemont expects?”

Bob did not reply.

“So why not do it?”

“In reply, John, I assume there are at least a few heavy weapons stashed in this hangar and you got extra personnel in a hangar next door to this one. You could hold me hostage and back out. Chances are if I’m taken prisoner, in spite of my orders to hit you even if I am being held, my people would hold back on a strike, allowing you to escape.”

John sighed, shook his head, and gestured for the general to sit back down by his side. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you, and unless this damn war has twisted you inside out, I know you won’t order a strike on me, at least not like this.”

“Oh, damn all this shit to hell,” Bob whispered, and with a weary groan, he returned to sit at John’s side. “It’s cold out here, so damn cold.”

“Yeah, I know.” John emptied the last of the thermos, most into Bob’s cup, the last few drops into his.

“What did they used to call it? A Mexican standoff or something like that, though I guess that became politically incorrect to say years ago.”

“Something like that. ‘Mutually assured destruction’ kind of fits better at the moment. Both of us die or both of us walk away.”

“Stupid, all of it.”

“You need not tell me, sir. So who ordered me dead?”

“Bluemont.”

“Again Bluemont. Can you give me a straight answer?”

“Maybe.”

“Just who the hell are they? They claim to be the legitimate government of the United States. Claim line of succession as defined in the Constitution. But who are they really?”

“They are the government, John. At least that’s something.”

“How did they survive?”

“By coincidence, on the day things went down, there was a simulation attack training exercise, with some people evacuated up to the FEMA fallback position, which was the Bluemont facility. You know the president went down while aboard Air Force One. Damn fools in charge had never hardened it to the current level of a high-yield EMP. Congress wasn’t in session, so nearly all those people were scattered around the country. Therefore, the survivors lucky enough to be at Bluemont were it.”

“You ever meet them or been there?”

Bob looked down at his coffee, swirling it around in his cup before drinking down the now-tepid brew. “No. I was bounced around after the Day, out west, briefly in Cheyenne Mountain—like I said, out on one of our surviving carriers that for a while served as a joint command center. Then took over assets coming back from the Middle East and the Far East that began to deploy out of what was left of Norfolk with orders cut several months ago to, as I already told you, reestablish control in the southeast. No, I’ve never been there. At least on the inside.”

“Mind if I ask a few questions, sir?”

“Maybe.”

“Why keep meeting me a secret? Do your friends in Bluemont know you did this?”

“Did what?”

“Came down here like this, based on a somewhat cryptic transmission back and forth? Why didn’t you tell them?”

“John, to be honest, at the moment, I’m really not sure.”

“Come on, sir,” John replied sharply. “Do you trust Bluemont?”

“What?”

“Just that. You claim you have never met anyone up there face-to-face. Do you trust them?”

“I trust the Constitution of the United States, which I am sworn to uphold. We have to have something to hang on to. There’s nothing else out there now, John. Bluemont is at least something.”

“I took the same oath, sir, to defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” He emphasized the last word, domestic.

Bob stared at him and finally nodded. “I’m not in the loop on a lot of what is going on. Just rumors—you know how it is—and my focus is the mission to bring this entire region back under control. Your community, what you folks are calling the State of Carolina, is part of that mission.”

“But you’ve been hearing rumors.”

Bob nodded in reply.

“Quentin rambling about an EMP—is that a rumor or fact, and from whom?”

“John, my entire life I’ve served. I served under some brilliant men in the White House, and yes, some that I thought at best were naïve when it came to the harsh realities of the world and what warfare truly is. And yeah, I served under more than a few I thought were an outright danger to the survival of my country, at least my country as I saw it. But always, in the end, I saluted.

“I recall Lincoln once declaring that across four years, no president could do ultimate fatal harm to the Republic, and at the end of those four years, the people could vote him out and replace him with someone they thought more capable. Even when I passionately disagreed with a president, I took solace in that and forced myself to salute even when I felt the person I was saluting was unworthy of that. At such moments, I saluted the office and not the person.”

“EMP, General Scales,” John pressed in, unable to contain the question any further. “Fact or rumor? If fact, by whom and when?”

“I can’t give you a straight answer.”

“Because you aren’t sure yourself, or if you are sure, you can’t say?”

“Damn it, John, don’t press me on this!” Bob shouted back, an action so rare in the past when they served together that it startled John.

He stared straight into his old commander’s eyes. “I believe you at least suspect something is up. That perhaps I’m even tied into it, directly or indirectly.”

Bob returned his gaze without blinking.

“I suspect you are disobeying them right now,” John whispered as if someone might overhear their conversation. “You said you had orders to detain or kill me. But here you are when it would have been just as easy to lure me into this meeting, confirm I was here, and then take this whole place out.”

Bob stood back up. “I’m freezing. Let’s at least go outside and stamp around a little bit and stretch.”

John followed him out of the hangar. The glare reflecting off the snow was so intense that John wanted to put on his old scratched sunglasses but decided against it. Sunglasses were often the cheap trick of concealing a man’s eyes—or worse, the way some cops used to wear them to intimidate.

The air was sharp, crisp puffs of wind kicking up crystals of snow that glimmered and danced in the morning sunlight. If not for the presence of the Black Hawk, the landscape would have been one of peace. It was an unnatural sound now after more than two years of near-total silence with the death of nearly all man-made machines. There were times he missed those sounds, the hum of traffic on the interstate, the near-constant whispering of jets passing high overhead, all the multitude of sounds of an advanced technological world.

Now it was usually silence except for the whispering of wind in the trees, the delightful sound of summer thunderstorms coming down off the mountains, and what had always been his favorite, the winter sound of wind cracking the ice out of trees, the hissing and tinkling of snow swirling down, and the scent of wood fires carried on the breeze. As they walked along the row of hangars, he could catch a glimpse back to the airport’s cinderblock clubhouse. Smoke was wafting up from the chimney, a bit of a crowd gathered outside, weapons shouldered, his people pumping Bob’s for information, and Bob’s troops undoubtedly doing the same.

His orders had been that if such a situation developed to be friendly but reveal nothing about their numbers under arms, praise the food situation as well supplied—though the reality was that it would be tough going by spring—and convey confidence that all was well. The precious supply of moonshine that Forrest had brought along was to be applied liberally to any of Bob’s people who were willing to try a swig, but except for Danny and Forrest, who seemed to have a prodigious capacity for holding their liquor, the others were to refrain.

He assumed nearly the same orders had been given by Bob to his personnel.

“Things seem okay over there,” John announced, nodding back toward the clubhouse.

“I understand you have created a highly capable fighting force.”

“Old tradition of militia. Remember a favorite movie of ours, Drums Along the Mohawk. We had to defend ourselves or go under.”

“John, there are a lot of places like yours, actually. Not around the cities—they all became death traps. The enclaves of those who had tried to prepare beforehand, some survived a year or more, and then the barbarians just finally overran them. You most likely know that every major city of a quarter million or more east of the Mississippi is gone—a twisted, burned-out, perverted wasteland. They just were not sustainable without modern technology. That and all social order broke down within a matter of days.

“But once you got farther out, some of the smaller cities like Asheville somehow hung on. Those in the south had a better chance during the first winter, but even in the north, remote rural areas banded together. A fair part of West Virginia rallied around an eccentric old congressman a hundred miles west of here in Tennessee; there’s an area nearly as big as what your community claims to be the State of Carolina. They’re reviving the old name of the State of Franklin. More than a few, especially in mountain areas where folks rebuilt long-abandoned hydro dams, even have power again. So you are not just the only pocket of survival.”

“So why does Bluemont want us suppressed?”

“I saw my mission as assimilating back in.”

“Ever hear of the Borg? Jennifer was fond of the old reruns of that show. And, Bob, it looked like you had one hell of a fight going around Roanoke when I was up there a few weeks ago. Obviously, whoever was there was not happy about being assimilated.”

“It hasn’t been easy. I heard about that Posse group you took care of. There’s a lot like that still out there. Most have pulled back into what is left of the cities, gleaning whatever can still be looted and raiding out into nearby countryside. That’s why nearly every major urban center is dead ground. As for Roanoke, that was what we were fighting to put down. A number of decent folks were hidden in there and glad to see our return, but there were holdouts who we had to finish off. Did you know a group of maybe a thousand or more are still dug in at Winston-Salem? Chances are they’ve been eyeballing you for some time.”

That did catch John by surprise. Of course they would be fools not to assume that Charlotte, Winston-Salem, and major urban area were hotbeds of groups like the Posse, who had taken to settling in to one spot and systematically stripping out anything that could provide another meal until absolutely nothing was left and then striking out again. It was a good bit of intelligence. With the small city of Hickory coming into the State of Carolina, he’d have to look at beefing up their security.

“Thanks for that info.”

“It is the upside of why I took on this assignment. The ANR was a total failure. I saw my mission as reaching out to communities like yours. In more than a few, I had to separate the wheat from the chaff, and it got tough. But most survivors want to be pulled back into the fold. Bring stability and law and order back. That is the upside of my job, tough as it is. Network them together. I heard you’ve got electricity strung up. Sooner or later, after you get some electricity flowing again, you might start digging around in closets, basements, and realize that computers that had been tossed aside and not online the day we were hit just might still be functional.”

That caught John off guard. Had someone leaked that info, and if so, how had it reached Bob so quickly? Surely it had to be a guess or an observation of what had happened somewhere else. But as he looked at Bob, he was all but certain that it was a warning that someone within his own community was at the least talking too openly, or perhaps far worse, was a spy for Bluemont, maybe slipped in by Fredericks.

“Interesting guess, Bob.”

“Just an observation, that’s all.”

“Sir, we’ve drifted from the question I asked earlier.”

“And that is…?”

“Do you trust Bluemont? Are they truly the legitimate government of the United States as defined by the Constitution?”

There was no reply.

“Do you?”

Bob remained silent, finally breaking the moment by shading his eyes to look at the snow-covered mountains to the north. “Beautiful spot you have here. Linda wanted us to retire to Florida and after following me from pillar to post for near on forty years—how could I say no to her? But this is where I wanted to come. I even remember visiting this airport once. Thought about after retiring, getting my pilot’s license again, buying a plane like the one in the hangar we were just in. A nice club here to join.”

“Sir, dare I press that you are dodging me?” John said softly.

“Yes, John, I am.” The old general sighed and slapped his hands together several times to get the circulation going. “I’d better head back.”

“So that’s it?”

“Kind of.”

“It’s good to know you’re alive, sir.”

“And you too. I have a strong sense of faith, John. Your reason for coming here so many years ago was motivated by a tragedy, the illness and impending death of your wife and a place to raise your girls after she was gone. But as I look at it now, I feel you were led here by God for a higher purpose.”

“You helped to lead me here, sir.”

“Be that as it may. I’d like to think there is a purpose to all of this and a purpose for the position I know you must take.”

“If it means we will wind up as enemies, it is one I can barely grasp after everything you, I, and our country have been through.”

“You’ve given me food for thought. The trip was worth it.” Bob reached out, taking off his glove to grasp John’s hand. “As used to be said back during the Civil War, if a day comes when you and I must face each other across a field of conflict, each of us doing what we believe our duty compels us to do, know that I will do what I must do as my sense of duty and honor compels me to act.” He sighed, his voice going thick. “And it will be the worst day of my life.”

“For me as well, sir.”

The handshake turned into an embrace. Looking over Bob’s shoulder, John could see that the gathering outside the clubhouse stood silent, looking their way. John finally let go of the embrace, stepped back, came to attention, and saluted. Bob stiffened and returned the salute.

“God be with you, John.”

“And with you, sir.”

Bob started to turn away, hesitated, and then turned to face John again. “A word of warning: watch your back. Please watch your back every single minute until we meet again.”

John stood silent, parka hood back, hand up to shield his face from the stinging blast kicked up by the rotors as the Black Hawk lifted off. Fortunately, he could explain the tears clouding his vision as a reaction to the bitter cold.

“I think we’d better get the hell out of here!” Danny shouted as the chopper lifted heavenward. “I managed to get one of those guys a bit toasted; some of what he had to say doesn’t sound good. They’ve got four Apaches just on the other side of Linville. They can rip the shit out of us in five minutes.”

John nodded. “Order everyone to disperse, no vehicles. Just scatter out for an hour and see what happens. If we don’t get hit by then, we rendezvous and head back to Black Mountain. But it won’t happen now, today; I’m certain of that.”

“Why?”

“I trust him.”

“A general working for Bluemont?”

“No, because I trust him as a friend. He came here to warn us.”

“Of what?”

“That a war is coming.”