The End (26 page)

“Okay, let's finish the conversation in the morning,” Dan said, then turned around and left.

Gordon watched him go. He didn't know what to think of Dan's apology, but the intelligence on the Villistas was a good break for them. Gordon was tired and would think more about it later. The one reprieve from the insanity was his nightly arrival back home. The door wouldn't close shut before he would be greeted by the happy squeals of Hunter and Haley. Their innocence and tenderness was a sanctuary from the horrors outside the gate.

A good decision is based on knowledge, not on numbers.

—Plato

San Diego, California

The banging on the front door startled him awake. Whoever was on the other end was in need of his attention urgently. Gordon ran downstairs as fast as his feet would take him. He unlocked and flung the door open to find Max standing in front of him sweating and breathing hard.

“What's going on?” Gordon asked, concerned.

“We had a few people attempt to break into the clubhouse and steal food,” Max said.

“Did you catch them?” Gordon asked. He was now putting his boots on in the foyer.

Still unable to catch his breath, Max answered, “Yeah, we got them.”

Gordon stood up, grabbed his jacket and shoulder holster, and stepped outside.

“You all right?” Gordon asked, looking at Max, who was leaning against the front of the house.

“Yeah, I'll be all right.”

Gordon looked at Max and thought to himself that he still looked chubby. Even with all the food rationing, Max looked like he wasn't losing weight. Gordon didn't give anymore thought to it.

“You ready? Let's go,” Gordon said.

“Gordon, that's not it.”

“What do you mean?”

 • • • 

When Gordon reached the end of the street he saw the flames. The clubhouse was aglow with twenty-foot flames. A dozen people had gathered and were running buckets of water to put out the intensely hot flames shooting out of the clubhouse.

Eric ran up to Gordon and asked, “What the hell?”

Gordon just stared at the clubhouse.

“What happened?” Eric asked again.

“Some assholes broke into the clubhouse to steal food. When they were confronted there was a fight and somehow a lantern was turned over. The place went up in no time.”

“Oh my God,” Eric gasped.

The flames illuminated the sky with an orange glow. More people began to show up; many just stood and watched in horror at what food rations they had go up in flames.

Gordon could see one of his sentries talking to a few people who were sitting on the ground. He knew those must the people who attempted to break in.

He began to march over to the suspects with a defined purpose in his step. When he reached the first one, a middle-aged man, Gordon reached down, grabbed him by the throat, and yanked him off the ground. He pushed him against a tree and began to choke him.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Who do you think you are?” Gordon yelled at the man. The man could not defend himself because his hands were tied behind his back.

The man just gargled as he attempted to speak. Gordon pressed the man's body against the tree with even greater force. Gordon was in a rage. He reached down to grab his pistol but was stopped when Eric came up behind him.

“Gordon, that's enough!”

Eric's voice brought Gordon back from his rage. He let go of the man, who then fell to the ground coughing and hacking.

“Who was on post here tonight?”

“Him right there,” Max said, pointing to a man in his twenties who was standing a few feet away.

“Gordon, I'm sorry but—”

“What happened, where were you?” Gordon snapped at him.

“I haven't been feeling well, like diarrhea, and I wanted to go home to use the bathroom. I thought this would be safe for ten minutes or so,” the man said. He was nervous and ashamed.

“Whatever,” Gordon said looking away, disgusted. He then gave his attention to the four others who had been detained. He didn't recognize a single person. After years of living in the community and even after having closer contact with his neighbors since the attacks, Gordon still did not know all his neighbors.

“So, what's going on?” he asked them.

A man in his mid-fifties with white hair answered, “We're hungry, we have run out of food, and what we're getting daily from the rations isn't enough.”

“There's not enough food at all,” the woman next to him said.

“We're starving, Gordon, we need more food,” another woman quipped.

“I understand that the food rations are smaller than before, but you just can't break—”

“I have two children and they are hungry. What do I say to them?” the fourth person, a man, quickly asked, interrupting Gordon.

“Listen, I understand; but this is everyone's food, not just yours,” Gordon responded pointedly.

“When are we going to get more food?” the first man asked.

“We need more food!” the woman next to the man said with emotion in her voice. She started to cry.

Gordon knew it was futile for him to even have this back and forth. He didn't know what to do with them, but he knew now he couldn't trust them.

“Look at what you have done!” Gordon exclaimed, pointing to the remnants of the clubhouse. Gordon knew it was a waste of time to even attempt to put it out, it was a total loss.

“We're sorry, we didn't mean for this to happen,” the elderly man said.

“Intentions are nothing. You've now left us with nothing except what you have in your own homes!” Gordon screamed at the man. He was so disgusted he couldn't look at them any longer. He turned around and approached Eric.

“What are we going to do with them?” Eric asked.

“They don't belong here anymore. They leave tonight.”

Eric nodded.

Overhearing what Gordon had told Eric, the man with two children screamed, “You can't do that!”

Gordon turned around and answered the man by saying, “Decisions have consequences.” Gordon then turned back to Eric and said, “Make it happen.”

All of the detainees began to cry out and beg not to be thrown out of the community.

Gordon ignored their pleas and walked off.

Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

“General, what you're proposing is treason,” Houston said with a concerned tone.

“I like the president, but I don't believe killing millions of people without the full knowledge of who attacked us is the correct plan of action. He constantly has emotional outbursts and doesn't seem to be in command of all his faculties. I don't believe he has the moral authority to lead,” Griswald answered with passion.

“I just don't know,” Houston said. He rested his arms on his legs and put his head in his hands.

“The information we're getting from the Aussies isn't conclusive. They've been told by one of the terrorists that they were trained in Iran, but they don't know where the missiles or the nuclear warheads came from.”

“Why won't you tell the president that intel? You seem worried that he'll nuke everyone but if you tell him we have evidence it was Iran like you say, then he'll just respond to them.”

“You're right, he'll respond and he'll kill millions of innocent Iranians.”

“But they just killed millions of our people and even more millions will die. I don't understand the fucking problem.” Houston was upset with Griswald and frustrated by the conversation.

“That's just it, he'll nuke them. Will he just nuke Tehran or will he nuke all the cities? Where will he stop, how big of a nuke? Once we unleash this type of weapon, where will it lead?”

“Are you kidding me right now? That type of weapon has already been unleashed against us. What is your problem with doing something?” Houston shot back.

“There has to be a different way, one that doesn't up the ante and kill more people,” Griswald said. He was also getting frustrated with the conversation. He was now regretting that he had opened up to Houston about this.

“Gris, I disagree with you one thousand percent. We have an obligation to protect this nation, or what's left of it. We have a job to do. If our president says jump, we answer, how high?”

“So you are not with me on this?”

“I'm afraid not. Who else follows your line of thinking?”

“I have six others who agree that we need to take more time and look at other options of retaliation, plus they have expressed desire to replace Conner.”

“Well, you can count me out. I cannot go along with this. If we know that Iran was a party to this attack then we need to strike them now and the fact you're talking about overthrowing President Conner is crazy.” Houston stood up. “This conversation is over.”

“Where are you going?” Griswald asked him as Houston stepped by him to go to the door.

“Gris, I need to inform the president of this situation. You are a good man but you are making a bad decision here,” Houston said, standing next to the door.

Griswald stood up just then and walked up to Houston.

“I'm really sorry to hear that, but I understand. You are a loyal and trustworthy officer.”

“Sorry Gris,” Houston said, then turned around. He reached for the door handle but was stopped by Griswald, who put him in a stranglehold.

Houston attempted to break free of the choke hold, but Griswald's tall stature and strength prevented it. Griswald took Houston to the floor and began to apply greater pressure to the hold. Houston was kicking and punching but his resistance was futile. Griswald had a solid hold on him.

“I'm really sorry. I truly am,” Griswald said softly to Houston as he applied more pressure.

Houston continued to kick and punch, but his attempts to pry Griswald's arms from around his neck would not work. The struggle seemed to last forever, but in reality Houston's body went limp within twenty seconds. Griswald did not relent even after Houston's body became lifeless. He wanted to ensure that he killed him, not just knocked him out. Griswald held him in this deadly embrace for another thirty seconds before dropping him to the cold hard concrete floor. Griswald checked for a pulse but found nothing. He was now fully committed to his plan to stop the president, even if it meant killing for it.

USS
Makin Island
, Pacific Ocean

“Hey Tomlinson, come here,” Sebastian called out. He was just finishing his dinner when he saw Tomlinson walk into the mess hall.

Tomlinson nodded and proceeded over to his table.

“So what's up with this slop,” Tomlinson remarked, tossing his tray onto the table.

“You should feel fortunate that you have something to eat,” Sebastian reminded him.

“Not another pep talk, okay?” Tomlinson quipped back.

“I'm just saying, there are people in our country starving now.”

“Well, they can have this shit,” he said as he pushed food around on his tray with his fork.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Sebastian said, looking around at the other tables to see who was in the mess hall or who might be listening. With the ship having to feed twice as many Marines as usual the mess hall was full and loud.

Looking down at his food in disgust Tomlinson answered, “What about?”

Sebastian leaned in close and whispered, “What do you think about all of this?”

“What do you mean?” he said, looking up at Sebastian

“I mean this whole mutiny thing, now that it's been a week plus and the raid on DG, all of it. What do you think?”

“I'm cool with it, it makes sense. Let's get back to Cali and take care of everyone's family.”

“I was cool with it too until Diego Garcia. I mean, what's next; we're going to attack Hawaii? I'm not feeling too comfortable about it all.”

“I trust the colonel, so I've got his back. Why you asking, anyway?”

Sebastian looked around again before answering. “As soon as we hit California soil, I'm gone.”

“Why?”

“I just don't like this anymore. If our country is gone, then I don't want part of all of this.” Sebastian gestured with his arms, pointing to everything around him.

“You're fucking crazy, Corporal Van Zandt. I always knew you were,” Tomlinson responded. He shook his head and went back to picking at his food.

“I'm serious, shithead, this isn't a joke. I'm asking you if you want to come with me.”

“No way, man. If you want to take off and go UA that's your choice. My family lives back east and I don't much like them anyways. The Corps is my family, so I won't be going with you. Hey, I'm not hungry so I'm going to take off,” Tomlinson stood up, grabbed his tray, and left.

Sebastian watched as he walked away. He then caught Gunny looking at him from an adjacent table. Gunny was just staring at him. Sebastian looked at him briefly, nodded, and broke his gaze. He picked up his tray and started to head for the exit when Gunny called out.

“Corporal Van Zandt, you gotta minute?”

“Ah, yeah,” Sebastian answered nervously.

“Sit down, Corporal,” Gunny said, motioning toward the seat across from him.

Sebastian took a seat. “Yes, Gunny?”

“You okay, Corporal?”

“Yeah, Gunny, I'm fine.”

“You don't seem fine. It looked like you and your spotter were having a lover's quarrel over there.” Gunny was talking with food in his mouth.

“Ah, no, Gunny, we are five by five, all good.”

“This new mission should make you happy. Now you get to go home and check on your big brother,” Gunny said, taking another fork full of food and stuffing it into his mouth.

“Yes, Gunny, going back to California is exactly what I wanted.”

Gunny stopped chewing and looked at Sebastian. He stared into his eyes. Sebastian forced himself not to look away.

“You sure you're all right, Corporal?”

Sebastian paused. He wondered if he should open up to Gunny about his reservations about what took place on Diego Garcia and his uneasiness with the direction the new mission might be going.

“Gunny, I'm fine. Just tired.”

Gunny Smith stared again for a few seconds, then said, “Okay, Corporal, that's all. Go hit the rack and get some shut eye.”

Sebastian said goodbye and got up. His instincts told him Gunny knew something was up. Sebastian walked quickly for the exit, praying that Gunny wouldn't call him back.