The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) (4 page)

Conner didn’t reply. He picked up his pace as they headed toward his vehicle.

“Everything all right?” Pat asked.

Conner stopped and looked at him. “No, it’s not all right.”

Pat had never seen Conner this way. Gone was his mild-mannered demeanor; in its place was a man who was stressed and agitated.

“What’s the matter?”

“These people are looking to me to keep them safe, and to be honest, I don’t know if I’ll be successful against the PAE. We keep bombing them, but it doesn’t seem to slow them down. This emperor keeps taking town after town. My own reluctance to use nuclear weapons against them is now causing untold death.”

“Then nuke them, get it over with,” Pat answered simply.

“It’s not that easy when you’re the one pressing the button. Listen, I killed millions of people months ago after I launched a nuclear barrage against every enemy old and new. Without thinking of the consequences, I ended so many lives. That decision changed how our allies viewed us until I was able to convince them it wouldn’t happen again. How many people died here because we didn’t get the aid we needed sooner? I promised myself that I wouldn’t just do that again. Believe me, it would end this whole thing, I know that. And I know it sounds odd, now when I have all the justification in the world, but I can’t do it.”

“Stop beating yourself up.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one everyone is looking to,” Conner quipped.

“I get it; I’m not making light of your responsibilities.”

“What would you do? If you were in my shoes, what would Pat do?”

Pat remained quiet.

Conner finally broke the silence. “See, not that easy when you have to start considering all the ramifications.”

“I mean, are you really asking me for my advice here?”

“No, I’m asking you what you would do. Don’t advise me; God, I get that daily. I’m asking you to step into my shoes and make the decision.”

With this knowledge, Pat again paused to think. “I, um, I don’t want to tell you what to do.” He took a deep breath. “If I were you, I would have to know everything; I couldn’t make a decision that large without looking at all sides of the issue.”

“What information would you need?”

“Um, I don’t know, would one weapon work or would I need more? What happens after? Is there fallout?”

“See what I mean? Not easy. When all of sudden all the weight of a decision is on your shoulders, you think twice.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think about that.”

“No shit, you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for. But you have to determine which is worse, the contamination of your country from this enemy force or from the fallout.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I needed to vent a bit,” Conner said, a tinge of defeat in his voice.

“Hey, let’s fall back to the shop and grab a drink,” Pat offered.

Just as Conner was about to accept, a guard leaned in. “Excuse me, sir, General Baxter is looking for you. He has some important information.”

Conner acknowledged the guard then turned to Pat and said, “Another time; duty calls. Do me a favor, jump in the chase vehicle. They’ll take you back. I need to go back to the office.”

Once inside his vehicle alone, Conner sat in quiet reflection. He wanted nothing more than to hammer the PAE, but he couldn’t do what he wanted without the consequences of losing allies again. He found himself pulled in so many directions, attempting to satisfy many different thoughts and groups. There was pressure from one side to reconstitute the other two branches of government, there was pressure to sue for peace, there was pressure to fight it all out, there was pressure to openly negotiate with radical groups, so forth and so on. He could barely even keep peace with his own staff, who argued loudly and passionately for their causes.

Recently, Conner had been looking back on history for examples to follow, and one came to mind: Lincoln. Before the lights went out, there were some academic circles that referred to Lincoln as a tyrant because he implemented policies that were construed as unconstitutional. Some asked, “How can a president save the constitution by destroying it at the same time?” It was a fair question, but history proved Lincoln’s actions were sound. In order to win a war, you must not only defeat your enemies, you must crush them. As each day passed without a clear plan to victory over the PAE, Conner began to reassess his own policy of what he termed moderated combat. Maybe, just maybe, he needed to take the gloves off and say to hell with what anyone thought.

 • • • 

Baxter was patiently waiting for Conner outside his office. The fact that Baxter wanted to meet now portended a lengthy evening.

Seeing Conner, Baxter jumped up and got right to it. “Mr. President, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“I’m always one that likes to get my bad news first, but before you start, let’s step into my office,” Conner answered.

Baxter followed Conner into the executive office and took his usual seat.

“This is obviously important and couldn’t wait, so what do we have?” Conner asked.

“The Aussies won’t supply combat troops.”

Taking in the bad news, he asked, “What’s the good news?”

“They will supply us more arms, jets, and tanks.”

“That is good news, but do we have the people who can fly or drive the equipment?”

“The good news was two parts; they will provide us with advisers to train our people. Bringing in all assets from military installations to come support us here was smart. Their troops levels were depleted but having them here will help.”

“That
is
good news. How soon can we have it here? We don’t have much time; the PAE will be breathing down our necks soon.”

“I kind of left out the second part of the bad news.” Baxter grinned sheepishly.

“Shit, do I want to hear this?”

“The ships should be pulling into Houston by late July.”

“Late July! Damn!”

“I know, I hate to beat this drum, but this really highlights our need for a new strategy. The meeting ended with you wanting to wait for word about additional troops coming from our allies. Well, it’s not going to happen. You saw the PAE’s location—they’ve picked up momentum. If we’re going to strike we have two windows where the effects of a nuclear strike will be diminished . . .”

Conner held up his hand. “I hear you, General, but I’m not confident about the decision to deploy nuclear weapons.”

“I don’t mean to step out of line, sir, but this is an easy decision. I understand the dance we have to do for political purposes, but this is now truly a self-defense situation, unlike the earlier strikes.”

“I know the concern and the timetable; I’m just praying another way will present itself.”

Baxter stopped talking, knowing that right now wasn’t the best time to try to convince the president about this issue. The topic of striking the PAE was being discussed ad nauseam, heatedly debated earlier that day. Conner’s staff was divided into three positions: ones who supported a nuclear strike, ones who supported a nuclear strike only if given consent from allies, and those who were absolutely opposed. His top three staff members all fell into a different camp—Baxter in the first, Cruz the second, and Wilbur the third.

“Colonel Barone really screwed us. We needed his men on the move weeks ago. I knew, I just knew we couldn’t trust him,” Conner lamented. He rubbed his eyes, clearly exhausted. “General, I don’t need another comment about nukes; I know what’s at stake. Let’s meet in the morning with all staff. I want to go over the two areas we have found that are preferable for striking.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll contact everyone and set up a time,” Baxter said.

“Ah, one minute. As it pertains to Barone out in Oregon, I want to know exactly what’s going on there. The spotty reports of an uprising is an interesting development. I know we don’t have assets available to deal with him, but I want to know precisely what he’s up to,” Conner stated. His mind was swimming with ideas.

“I don’t know how we do that. We’ve sent several teams out there but they can’t make it past his checkpoints. His perimeter is incredibly secure. The colonel has that town locked up tight and we don’t want to cause an issue by forcing our way in. It’s not the most ideal situation but we know he’s contained.”

“Contained for how long? Listen, we weren’t sending in someone he knew and trusted. Who was the man who escorted the vice president?”

“That guy? I can’t remember, but I’m sure the vice president or Secretary Wilbur will remember.”

“Let’s ask her tomorrow. That man is our ticket for getting the intel we need on Barone.”

“So, what makes you think this guy will have better luck? Again, sir, don’t we have enough to worry about?”

“We can chew gum and walk at the same time. Plus, if something happens to the guy, who cares?”

“True. And knowing what we’re dealing with there will help our long-term strategic plans,” Baxter replied.

“Exactly. So find the man and get the operation in play.”

McCall, Idaho

On his way into town, Gordon had stopped by and picked up Sebastian. There were two reasons for this. One, he knew Sebastian would want to see Gunny again, and second, Gordon loved awkward reunions and this could prove to be one.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Gordon said to Sebastian. Both men were standing just outside the interrogation room.

“Not a problem, brother.”

“Hey, how’s Annaliese, is she feeling any better?” Gordon asked.

“She just feels out of sorts, she’s complaining of abdominal pain and has bad diarrhea,” Sebastian said, the stress of her illness weighing heavy on him.

“Is she pregnant?”

“No, we tried one of the pee-on-the-stick tests and it came back negative.”

Gordon could see how worried he was, and wished he could do something. “Take her into town tomorrow to see Doc, get her checked out.” One of the main institutions that was kept intact and operating was the McCall Hospital. Even without power and equipment, they were open for business.

“That’s what we were planning on doing. So, let’s get to this, shall we?” Sebastian said, clearly wanting to move past the conversation about Annaliese.

“Sure,” Gordon answered. He opened the door and they both entered the small interrogation room.

“Jesus Christ, Smitty, I thought I saw the last of you months ago!” Gordon exclaimed.

The men embraced and Gunny joked, “You can’t get rid of an old dog like me that easy.”

“Obviously,” Gordon replied with a smile then continued, “I brought a friend.”

Sebastian walked in right on cue with a smile stretched across his face.

“Holy shit, Corporal Van Zandt!” Gunny exclaimed upon seeing Sebastian. He looked at Gordon and then replied, “I’m so glad you both found each other. There’s nothing I love more than a happy ending.”

The men shared small talk then sat down to discuss Gunny’s unexpected arrival in McCall. Trusting Gordon, Rainey allowed him and Sebastian to talk privately before he interjected his own line of questioning.

“Well, I know you know what I’m going to ask, so go ahead,” Gordon put forth.

“Gordon, all hell has broken loose in Coos. The colonel has totally fucked everything up.”

The jovial mood created by the reunion melted away after Gunny’s statement.

“What do you mean?” Gordon asked.

“Not a week after you left, the Colonel massacred hundreds of unarmed civilians in the streets. We’re talking men, women, and children. The lunatic bastard even had the children shot.”

“Oh my God,” Gordon gasped.

“I told you, Gordo, the old man had gone a bit loopy,” Sebastian chimed in.

“Unfortunately, your brother’s right. I didn’t always agree with him on everything. The mutiny, I could live with, but this move? Nope, I can’t understand it, nor will I go along with it.”

“So, you left and came here?” Gordon asked.

“Not right away. Many Marines and sailors joined those civilians who rose up to oppose Colonel Barone. We fought back, but what the colonel lacks in couth he makes up for in resilience. For every step we gained, he’d hit us back so hard, we took two steps back.”

Gordon was flabbergasted by this. He leaned back in his chair as if to rest from the heavy news. His thoughts soon raced to Brittany and Tyler.

“The woman and her son?” Gordon asked with concern.

“I don’t know. The last I saw of them was well over a month ago. She had joined in the resistance, but I lost track of her, sorry.”

“Brittany was fighting against Barone?”

“Who’s Brittany?” Sebastian asked curiously.

A bit annoyed by Sebastian’s lack of memory, Gordon reminded his brother, “The woman who I saved, remember?”

“She’s quite a looker too,” Gunny joked.

Ignoring Gunny’s comment, Gordon pressed on, “What else?”

“The colonel has taken a firm grip on Coos Bay. No one is allowed in and it’s tough as hell to get out . . .”

“Not about that. Brittany,” Gordon interrupted.

“Afraid I don’t know anything else. I saw her at a meeting. She left and that’s the last I saw of her. I’m sorry, Van Zandt; I wish I had more info for ya.”

Gordon’s mind was racing. In some ways he couldn’t help but feel responsible for Brittany’s fate. Had he known Barone would’ve been capable of such brutality, he wouldn’t have convinced her to come with him. She stayed in Coos Bay because it promised to be a safe haven. Now, in an instant, Barone had turned it upside down. He couldn’t imagine why she’d get involved with resistance efforts, though. He knew she was a capable person; she had proven those skills time and time again in their travels. But now she was facing a force of well-trained and heavily armed men. Anger began to rise in him.

“Hey, Van Zandt!” Gunny barked.

“Um, what?” Gordon answered.

“Sorry to interrupt your daydreaming, but can you tell the police chief we’re good to go?”

“Ah, yeah, of course. How many men do you have?”

“It was a fucking miracle, but we managed to get out of Coos with four Hummers, a shitload of weapons, and a dozen people.”

“Should be easy to house a group of jarheads somewhere around here. I can attest to how having the Marines can be helpful for our security.”