Pedestals of Ash (21 page)

Both the Independents and the Loyalist
s
believed they had lost. Both of their radio networks were filled with desperate requests for reinforcements. In New Orleans and Beaumont, the Independents had organized several brigades. Orders went out for these sizable forces to immediately proceed to Shreveport and relieve the 4/10.

The
Cav
was about to receive help as well. Thousands of men and hundreds of armored
vehicles had been on the move before
the beginning of the battle. Most were on their way to
one
city or another as part of the p
resident’s Operation Heartland plan. When news of the battle reached the
C
ommander
in
C
hief, many of these units were diverted to Shreveport with orders to bust ass, and save what was left of the Ironhorse.

For five hundred miles in every direction, units from both sides were converging on Scott’s Hill, now commonly referred to as, “Scott’s Hell.”

Many Christians believe the battle of Armageddon is to occur on the
Plains of Megiddo in the Middle East. Those who understood what was materializing in rural
Louisiana wondered if Biblical scholars, interpreting Revelations,
had
gotten
the location wrong.

Senator Moreland sat with head down, elbows braced on
his
knees
,
and face in his hands. The basement of his West Virginia mountain retreat more closely resembled a war room than the 1950’s pool hall it had been decorated to mimic. Two general officers, both formally members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, had joined the normal administrative staff running the Independents
’
daily affairs. Both of the senior officers had brought along several staff members.
All of them proudly wore
uniform
s
of the United States armed forces.

The satellite phones being used by their organization could transfer data as well as voice. Both modes were delivering bad news. All around the basement, laptop computers clicked and flashed as various staff me
mbers updated reports, issued
orders
,
and checked on progress. It had been difficult enough for the small group of staffers to handle running their part of the country before conflict. Now that a war was on, it was complete bedlam.

As the number of dead and wounded from the Mississippi Delta region increased, it became clear to everyone that a civil war had truly begun. The battle at Shreveport was the worst, but skirmishes had occurred all up and down the great river
that day
. In a few hours, the Independents had lost over 6,000 men
, many
dead and
many more critically
wounded. Enemy causalities were estimated to be nearly as high.

The senator lifted his head and stared off into space, speaking to no one in particular. “How did this happen? How did this escalate so quickly?”

One of the nearby generals shook his head in disgust. “Senator, it was inevitable. The frustration level of the average soldier on both sides is very high. We have thousands of armed men moving about the country in the same general area. Anyone who thought they wouldn’t fire on each other because they were ‘fellow Americans’ never studied the civil war.”

The honorable gentleman nodded his head in understanding. He had expected some minor skirmishes, but not pitched battles. He stood and rotated his neck in small circles trying to work some of the stress out of his muscles. Movement in the center of the room drew his attention
, and he strode
toward the pool table. There, a large map of the central United States had been spread out over the green felt surface. Someone had procured a few bags of green and white plastic toy soldiers and tanks. These were being moved around on the map to indicate the position
s of military
units
. The s
enator had heard th
e officers
refer to his pool table as
the
“sand table.” Each plastic toy had been fitted with a
toothpick
and a small pie
ce of white tape. T
he unit’s designation had been written in neat text
on the tape.

Even to someone without military training, it was clear that lines were being drawn. Both sides had recovered from the initial clash and were repositioning to fight again. The senator knew he couldn’t stop
now,
as they were committed. He turned away from the depiction of the looming conflict and shuffled to the stairs leading upward to the main level of the house. As he left the basement, his mind raced wit
h everything he knew about the p
resident and his advisors. Every meeting, political event, speech and even the man’s personal pr
eferences was analyzed for the
nth
time
, trying to guess the opponent’s next move
. Senator Moreland knew he couldn’t contribute much to the military side of the equation. His expertise was the political aspect of the situation
,
and he was desperatel
y trying to predict how the p
resident would react to recent events.

He was met at the top of the stairs by his long trusted aid
e
and friend. “Wayne, I’m afraid our worst fears have been realized in northern Louisiana. A battle has been fought
,
and thousands of young men are dead.”

Wayne looked at the s
enator long enough to judge how his friend was handling the ne
ws. After assuring himself the s
enator was okay, he looked down and said, “God rest their souls. God be with their loved ones.”

The two men walked silently to the mansion’s parlor. The room was actually small for a home of this size, and rarely were guests allowed to enter
. It had become the s
enator’s private retreat since the fall of the government
,
and his home becoming a substitute capital.

Wayne immediately knew where his boss was headed and accelerated the last few steps to
get the door. After his boss
entered, he quickly closed it behind him and threw the lock. Without hesitation, Wayne crossed to a small serving cart and quickly poured two glasses of brandy.

The head of the Independents nodded his gratitude and sipped the warming liquid. Wayne lifted the small glass to his lips, sampled the contents, and then exhaled a sigh of refreshment. “Sir, you knew this was a possibility. I know that doesn’t help mu
ch right now, but we all knew. Tell me, where do we stand?
”

Senator Moreland didn’t answer immediately. He took another sip from his glass and st
ared at the rows of leather-
bound books lining one wall of the room. He had always enjoyed their smell more than the contents. Many of his colleagues on Capitol Hill were surprised to find out that he preferred an e-reader electron table
to
the traditional bound volumes. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m old
-
fashion
ed
,” he had told them.

After a
short pause, he returned Wayne’s gaze
and answered the question. “We still hold the ground around Shreveport, but I don’t know for how long. Only twenty percent of the military has joined us
,
and we seem badly outnumbered.”

Wayne nodded his understanding. While the number of officers and men joining the Independents had been gradually increasing since they had started recruiting from the military, the overall percentage was still small. It took time to convince men to do something as drastic as switch allegiances, especially during troubled times. This topic had been thoroughly discussed by the leadership during the past few weeks. The consensus had been that the intelligence gathered from their network of spies would offset their overall lack of numbers.
The Independents knew what the p
resident and his staff were
doing before most of his military commanders did. Almost every remaining government organization had people inside who were loyal to the Independents. Radio operators, clerks, managers and even the heads of some agencies had pledged their allegiance some time ago, and provided a constant flow of information. Every military commander knew that information was a very powerful weapon.

Senator Moreland looked at his old friend and trusted advisor with a scowl on his face. “I never thought this would escalate so quickly. I miscalculated their response. We can’t ma
ke the same mistake again. The p
resident is on his way to Fort Bliss
,
and I have to wonder if there isn’t more to that trip than an effort to boost morale.”

Wayne pondered the senator’s thought for a bit. “Our sou
rces are not that close to the
ir inner-circle
,
sir. There’s no way to know that. You’re not considering that other option
,
are you?”

Wayne was referring to a proposal that h
ad been floated soon after the p
resident’s trip had been verified. The Independents had a significant number of men stationed at Fort Bliss. Originally assigned to slowly recruit new converts, they were to otherwise conduct themselves as normal and remain quietly embedded in the ranks. One of the military commanders had suggested that the men stationed at Fort Bliss could all but insure the Independents
’
success if they were to “chop off the head of the snake,” or in other words, assassinate the President of the United States.

Senator Moreland and some senior members of the Independents had rejected the plan outright. Moreland’s primary justification was an innate dislike of subterfuge. The senator believed the movement tainted its legitimacy by even considering such activities. To his surprise, several of the senior members d
isagreed with him. Their position in the debate focused
on saving lives and rebuilding the country as soon as possible. If an end to
the
American people’s suffering could be accelerated by skullduggery, so be it.

By the end of the meeting, Moreland had to admit the point was valid. A vote was taken, and the coup attempt lost – but just barely.

Moreland looked at Wayne and
retorted
, “My vote isn’t the final say of this organization
,
my old friend. Our directio
n is determined by majority ballot
. I must tell you though, we are going to have another meeting tonight, and after the battle in Louisiana, I’m afraid that plan will be revisited and approved.”

“Senator, you are too humble. Your voice carries a lot of weight with the council. If you argue against assassination, it won’t happen.”

Moreland nodded his understanding of Wayne’s point. After smiling at his aid
e
, the senator finished his brandy and stared at the empty glass in his hand. “I’m not sure I want to argue against that plan
,
Wayne. I’m not so sure at all.”

Colonel Marcus was running on pure adrenaline. He had moved his field command to t
he outskirts of Shreveport in order
to be close to the makeshift field hospital. The facility had been hastily set up in a
middle school gymnasium.
Even after 15 years of warfare in the Middle East, the colonel was shocked at the carnage. He remem
bered being briefed before the F
irst Gulf War on the anticipated causali
ties. He had been a young shave-
tail l
ieutenant then and had sat wide-
eyed when shown slides detailing the tons of medical equipment being stationed behind the Saud
i/Iraq border. That war followed a very different track,
and those medical supplies had, for the most part, been shipped home. He would give anything for even a small portion of that cache now.

Marcus
was
visiting the wounded troops from both sides. The gym was lined with row after row of cots filled with burned, wounded
,
or dying men. Poles with bags of fluid and
dangling tube
stood like sentries next to dozens of cots. Large plastic bags, overflow
ing with bloody bandages, scrap
s of uniforms and medical wrappers were scattered throughout the area. Men and women moved hastily back and forth carrying blankets, syringes,
medications, and all too often – body
bags. Several nearby classrooms were now makeshift morgues
,
and they were almost full. Medical personnel,
chaplains,
and enlisted men hurried from one man to another
,
trying to do the best possible humanitarian work. Marcus was thankful when two civilian doctors from Shreveport had heard the battle and shown up to help.

He had already given blood twice and had organized shifts so the 4/10
’
s remaining men could get a
little down time and donate too
. The school’s cafeteria had been converted into an operating room. As he walked past, he noticed groups of exhausted doctors and nurses standing in small groups or sitting with head in hands. Many of t
he operating room personnel wore
sky blue masks over their faces, but Marcus could tell from the body language th
ey were wearing thin. Outside
the operating room, scores of litters lined both sides of the long hallway – men being triaged and waiting for their turn in surgery. Two nurses moved from man to man, and Marcus watched as they covered one soldier’s face with a sheet.
Another one that
didn’t make it to surgery.