Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent (11 page)

Marcus was flabbergasted, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral.

The speaker turned to Marcus and pulled a small box from his pocket. “These were mine, Marcus. President Regan pinned them on me personally. I would be honored if you would wear them.”

Marcus was stunned, unsure of what to say. After clearing his throat, he managed a weak, “Of course I would be proud to wear them, General.”

Nodding and winking, the older officer removed Marcus’s eagles and pinned a solitary star on each shoulder board, and then executed a salute.

Returning to the speaker’s podium, the presenter then announced what everyone already knew. “Furthermore, General Marcus is hereby assigned command of the newly formed Army of the Independents – South.”

From the side of the stage area, a stern-looking Sergeant Major ordered, “Teeeennnnnnnn hut!”

All of the attending military personnel snapped to attention while General Marcus was presented with the unit’s
colors, which were promptly uncased and raised beneath the American flag.

It required another hour to award each of the assembled soldiers the various medals they had earned. The ceremony officially ended with the singing of The Star Spangled Banner, the lyrics more poignant than ever. Small clusters of proud men formed, congratulating each other and mingling with friends who had attended the event.

Eventually, Marcus and the other VIPs from the council formed their own small group. “General, I’m sure the council is aware of this,” Marcus explained, “but I’m very concerned about how long this ceasefire will hold, sir.”

“Owen, let me assure you that everyone on the council is cognizant of how delicate this situation has become. No one wants to see additional bloodshed, but the other side is without leadership at the moment. There’s no one to negotiate with.”

“Someone’s going to make a mistake or get hotheaded, General. It’s inevitable. The last battle was started by accident, and it’s bound to happen again. There are too many weapons and armed men in too small an area for something not to go wrong.”

The older man nodded his understanding, and then added, “Our insiders believe the federal government is close to determining who the next president will be. That individual as well as his political orientation will determine our next course of action.”

Marcus nodded, already having realized everything he was being told, but happy to hear it from a trusted source. “Sir, the real issue is the uncertainty. My men don’t know what is happening to their families or loved ones back home. On Monday we think we’re going to be fighting our cousins and brothers, on Tuesday everyone believes we’ll be back to serving as one big, happy family. We saluted an American flag today, sir. We sang the same national anthem. This uncertainty is undermining our morale and making my command less effective.” 

The general sighed and looked his officer in the eye. “Just continue with what you’ve been doing, Owen. Prepare your forces for the worst, and hope for the best. There’s nothing more anyone can do right now.”

West Virginia

December 22, 2015

The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows was something a man never tired of. The rolling West Virginia mountains, trailing off into the distance provided an air of stability, of long-weathered resistance to time and change.

Senator Moreland’s thin frame was partially submerged in the cushions of his favorite
chair; a steaming cup of afternoon tea sitting nearby was taking second place to the scene he would always cherish. A wonderful aroma drifted past, sure evidence that Wayne was supervising work in the kitchen. The honorable gentleman didn’t even have to glance at his watch or the nearby antique grandfather clock to know it was approaching dinnertime.

At the moment, the ridge-top estate was quiet, but these days, that was the exception. Since the location had become the headquarters for
the Independents’ movement, solitude had been in short supply.

In addition to every spare bedroom and the guesthouse being occupied, several large
class-A motor homes resided on the grounds. One member of the management team had commented that Senator Moreland’s remote home had been transformed into a state park campground. In addition to the leadership council that included several ex-members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Supreme Court and numerous academics, Wayne directed a considerable security force that occupied the area. Moreland shivered, thinking of those hardy souls who spent the majority of their time outside during these winter months. It would take a determined military effort to breach the once private abode.

The long-serving politician hadn’t started
the Independents as a rebel force. There had been no campaigns of treachery or subversion. His original concept had been to organize an alternative political party and to work within the laws of the land. Then the world had collapsed, terror attacks nudging an already crippled nation over the abyss. Despite martial law and the deployment of military forces, the federal government couldn’t control the country.

The Independents
had stepped up, more to fill a vacuum of leadership than to seize power. As time went on, the president of the United States had made bad decisions and committed unlawful acts, including launching nuclear weapons against foreign powers without congressional approval. The leaders of the Independents had found themselves with no choice but to try to gain control of the country and initiate change.

Looking back now, Senator Moreland was still unsettled
by how quickly lines had been drawn, forces aligned, and a hot civil war had broken out. Thousands of men had died in the initial clashes, and for a while, it appeared as if tens of thousands more would be thrown into the fray.

Someone at Fort Bliss had made an attempt on
the president’s life. Moreland had been preparing to present the exact same plan to the council - his initial reluctance of considering such a heinous act overridden by the carnage of American soldiers on the battlefield in Louisiana. Before he could convene the small group and put the proposal to a vote, word arrived of an assassination attempt. Someone had beaten him to the punch.

Moreland shook his head, trying to imagine the bedlam at Fort Bliss. Military bases were known for their calm, orderly presence—a strict society of discipline. Bliss would have been chaos.

Whoever had organized the coup attempt had been exceedingly crafty. The few personnel on the base who were loyal to the Independents had been easily recruited—duped by a charlatan into thinking their own organization wanted to eliminate the chief executive.
Such is the weakness of a clandestine union
, thought Moreland.
Imposters are practically impossible to identify.
 

The small drips of
real information coming out of Bliss that day had been confusing. At first, Moreland believed someone in his chain of command jumped the gun and actually gave the order. It was some time before enough information leaked out to paint a clear picture of what had happened. Even then, the intelligence received indicated that the Commander in Chief had not only survived, but had vanished. Neither side knew where the man was.  Some days later, more facts surfaced, and other details slowly drifted in. These included an account of a massive manhunt and a purging of any men at the base suspected of being part of the Independents. The next day, word had arrived that the president had died in some little-known Texas town over 100 miles from Bliss. Little was known of the circumstances that eventually led to his death.

The senator
sighed, exasperated by the bloodshed and senseless death. Without anyone in charge, the two armies facing each other would eventually cross swords. His hands were tied—the leadership of the Independents powerless. There wasn’t even anyone on the other side to negotiate with—at least, not yet. Even if the two opposing forces held their positions, every moment that passed meant the American people were suffering. That was the worst part—the tens of millions malnourished and ill. They deserved better.

Wayne appeared at his side, clearing his throat to announce his presence. “Senator, my read on your melancholy mood is that a light dinner would best suit your needs. Would some fresh, baked bread and a light soup be agreeable, sir?”

“Wayne, my old friend, yet again, you read me like a book. That would be prefect.”

“If you like, Senator, I can set up a table in here. The sun will be setting soon.”

“That would be fine, Wayne. And please join me this evening, won’t you?”

“Of course, sir,
as you wish.”

Wayne set up a small dining area for two, including wine, fresh bread, real butter, and an excellent corn chowder. Senator Moreland said grace, and then proceeded to unfold his napkin as his assistant began to cut the bread. The squawk of a walkie-talkie interrupted the meal.

“Wayne.”

“Sir, we have an inbound aircraft that is not following procedure.”

“A single aircraft?”

“Yes, sir. The bogie is approaching from the southwest on a direct vector. ETA is 12 minutes. Speed indicates it is a
rotary unit.”

Wayne flashed his boss a look of concern
. “Are you expecting anyone this evening, Senator?”

“No, Wayne. I was looking forward to some peace and quiet.”

The assistant’s vision automatically focused out the large windows, a futile attempt to visualize the oncoming threat. Without his gaze leaving the sky, he held up the radio and instructed, “Scramble five, but do not intercept unless there is a positive identification of a gunship. Let any other type of aircraft land or pass by.”

The voice on the other end of the transmission repeated back Wayne’s instructions, and then acknowledged the orders.

“Senator,” Wayne began, “we should consider moving you to the basement, sir.”

“Do you think that necessary?”

“I think it prudent, sir. Necessary is difficult to say.”

Moreland sipped his soup and then chewed a mouthful of bread. After dabbing h
is chin with the napkin, he responded. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Wayne. While I appreciate your diligence as my head of security, I’m too old to go running to the cellar every time there’s a storm cloud in the sky.”

“You’re probably right, sir. Still, I would appreciate it if you prepared yourself to move that direction quickly.”

The senator nodded, enjoying more of the soup.

A few minutes later, Wayne detected armed men taking up positions around the main house. While he couldn’t see them,
years of military training led him to expect that several more were getting ready in the nearby woods.

A small black speck
, complete with blinking lights, appeared in the darkening, gray sky to the southwest. Moving up the valley toward the senator’s estate, the single helicopter appeared to be taking the most direct route, the pilot clearly unaware that he was being tracked by two shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles of the latest design. Wayne’s radio squawked again, “Sir, the aircraft is not, repeat not, a gunship. It appears to be a non-military, government helicopter with 2-4 passengers aboard. From our vantage point, all occupants appear to be wearing civilian clothing.”

Wayne looked at his unflappable employer and shrugged. Moreland returned the gesture after his sip of wine.

Almost directly in front of the diners, the craft flared its nose and began a gradual descent onto one of the few flat landing areas available in the hilly terrain.

Before the rotors stopped spinning, two men and a woman, all in business suits and overcoats, departed the craft and began stretching
their stiff legs and spines. Their rumpled appearance was what would be expected of tired travelers having just flown quite a distance in the cramped confines of the small helicopter. Wayne looked at his boss and announced, “I’ll greet our guests.”

Moreland raised his glass of wine in salute.

A few minutes later, Wayne could be heard welcoming the newcomers into the formal living room. Drifts of conversation made it to the senator’s ears, but he couldn’t discern clearly enough to know what was being said. Before long, Wayne appeared again at his side. “There is a Secret Service agent, a congressman I’ve never met, and a senior researcher from the Supreme Court. They claim it’s urgent and wish to speak with you.”

Moreland snickered, “Are they here to arrest me for treason?”

Wayne grunted, “No, as a matter of fact, they act as if they are scared of you.”

“Moi?”

“Yes, their behavior was … umm, hard to read. Anyway, I told them you were dining and would join them shortly.”

The
senator nodded, and after one more bite of bread, he scooted his chair back and longingly threw one last glance at the sunset.
So much for a relaxing evening
, he thought.

On the way to the living room, Moreland noticed five extra security men discre
etly entering the residence. He was thankful Wayne wasn’t taking any chances with the visitors, but his inner voice told him the concern was unwarranted. 

Upon entering the room, all three visitors stood immediately, their demeanor reminding Moreland of how soldiers reacted when a general passed by.