Chapter 61 -- CATGQIXQFZOFIC
General Anthony scrolled through the news briefs on his computer screen. In front
of his desk three large television screens had been set up, each showing one
of the major news channels. A control panel in one corner of his screen
allowed him to adjust the volume on any of the screens without having to pick
up the remote. At the moment all three were showing news desks with mostly
attractive young women speaking. Occasionally one or the other would go to a
split screen and another person would appear and begin speaking. He watched
the text at the bottom for anything interesting.
Two days ago the letter distributed by the People's Liberation Army, as it was
now universally being called, had suddenly appeared all over the country. The
speed of its spread could not have happened, he was sure, without a large
organization behind it. Very large, and likely well-funded.
People's Liberation Army. Black Friday. Terms like those were last used much
in the 1970s, maybe the 1980s, but were seldom seen outside of unrest in the
various third-world backwaters that rarely made the news. Today it was always
'social justice' slogans, with acronyms. Ideally three-letter acronyms, as if
the optimum length had been found. Except for one or two longer ones, which
occasionally had letters added to them as new aggrieved groups were identified.
This was different, however. At fifty-three, Anthony had been born in the 70s,
when the college riots and marches in the big cities were flourishing, and
then the main themes were civil rights and anti-military. And much of that
had been financed by the Russians, who these days were preoccupied with
internal problems and mostly limited their meddling to their local region.
The Chinese were the only player big enough to launch something like this, and
it was completely the opposite of their goals. They very likely would not
even wish civil unrest on the country, as their progress in buying it was
going as well as it was. 'Who then?' he thought, even as he suspected what it
might be. Something plausible in principle, but unlikely to ever happen in
the present environment.
He consulted a list of general officers in critical positions, found the one
he wanted. He clicked the call button, waited for the secretary to answer.
As he did, a chyron on one of the screens caught his eye. He clicked the call button.
"General Talbot's office," the secretary said.
"This is General Anthony. Put Myles on, please."
The phone system would have already verified him as authentic, and Major General
Myles Talbot answered immediately.
"Yes, sir."
"Myles, can you get one of the news channels on and hold for me please?"
He didn't wait for the standard 'Yes, Sir' but increased the volume on one
of the televisions he was watching. The announcer was in mid-sentence.
"...in Phoenix. The repair crews found the problem. This enormous
transmission tower, carrying much of the electricity to Phoenix, completely
toppled over. We don't yet know what happened - we have a reporter from KKYK-
TV in Phoenix. "Andrea, do we have anything new?"
"Myles, do you have the news on?" Anthony asked.
"The news from Phoenix, sir? I've got it."
"Keep watching."
"Yes, Heather. The utility crews believe they've found the cause, sort of.
As you may be able to see, or maybe not from here, but these huge towers stand
on four legs, fastened to concrete piers that go deep into the ground. All
four legs seem to have become separated from the pier, and with the strong
winds out here, it fell over. At least two other towers, the ones on either
side, have sustained damage as the wires were pulled by the falling tower."
"Do we have any idea how that could happen?" Heather asked.
"At this point we don't know," the reporter replied. "We can see vehicles around
the area where the tower was standing, but we don't yet have any word on the
cause."
Anthony turned the sound down slightly, then turned his attention back to the
conversation with Talbot.
"You still there, Myles?"
"Yes, sir."
"Sorry, that came on just as I called. Go ahead and watch the rest of it. It
may be important. Afterwards, I need to see you here in DC tomorrow morning.
Technically, I can't order you - that would have to come from General Talley.
But I need to talk to you first. This is very important. Tomorrow's Saturday,
can you catch a AceJet up here in civvies. Call me when you leave and I'll
pick you up at the airport."
"Yes, sir. I'll be there."
Anthony looked at his directory again. He personally knew a half dozen or so
of them fairly well, and had met some the others a few times. He knew the
ranks of generals, particularly in the army, had been diluted with malleable
types who would do anything expedient to preserve and advance their careers.
It was easy enough to do - the men of conscience retired rather than submit,
or objected and were fired. Either way, most men who would place their duty
first were gone, not only among the generals but among the lower levels of the
officer corps. And social engineering had polluted the enlisted ranks even
more.
He sometimes wondered what most of his peers would say if asked if they were
abiding by their oath. He suspected most would affirm that they were without
thinking. Without thinking that their oath was to the constitution, and that
the government was in the process of making the constitution irrelevant.
'So what are you going to do about it?' he asked himself. A few days earlier
he might not have had an answer. That there was nothing he could do. If his
suspicions were right, there not only was something he could do, but something
he must do. Even though the eventual consequences might haunt him afterward,
they could not be as bad as the consequences for doing nothing.
He had a feeling he was about to get another call. This incident was very
likely sabotage, and if it was it was likely either the PLA, as he had begun
to think of them, or someone incited by their letter. And if that was the case,
the probability of suppressing it by any available means was low. If this was
a war, as they said, things could get very ugly. The nation had been in a
precarious position for some years now, with the festering inner cities, the
masses of illegal immigrants, and the near complete breakdown of responsible
behavior.
If if blew up completely, he was certain that at some point the option of
martial law would be invoked by the brain trust holding the president's strings.
And the Army would be responsible for carrying out the orders.
He doubted that the pressure from the civil unrest, no matter how severe,
could persuade the government to reverse its policies, even a little. Their
hubris, now reinforced of years of almost no resistance, would likely be
insurmountable. Even in the current state of fear, they would not consider
negotiating with any opposition. And before long, in the absence of further
attacks on their persons, fear would turn to a desire for revenge.
In all his years he had never felt so helpless. And being in this position
was beginning to make him angry. Tamp it down, he told himself. Acting out
of anger is what they would do. Think, damnit! Think!
He searched for a name in the list. Harris. Arthur Harris. What happened to
you, he wondered. Old as me and only two stars, commanding an infantry
division based in Georgia. Harris, he now remembered, was one of those who
had opened his mouth when he shouldn't have, offended a senator or someone important. He would end
his career as a Major General, probably fairly soon. An officer, especially one
who has made it that far, knows when his career is finished. Harris was
probably trying to finish his thirty years to maximize his pension. Control
of an infantry division could come in handy for what Anthony had in mind.
He continued down the list, checking out the current assignments of the men on
it. He would need men he could trust, but they would have to be in positions
where they could make certain things happen. By the time Margaret looked in
to see if he needed anything before he left, he had a half dozen more names.
In the morning he and Myles would make some phone calls.
As he was preparing to leave he checked the news channels again. The mystery
of the collapsed transmission tower was at least partially solved. It seemed
that all four legs of the tower, bolted to large concrete piers, had become
detached, allowing the tower to fall over. Phoenix had experienced blackouts
for several hours as the power was rerouted, and repairs were expected to take
some time.
Anthony was relatively certain the detachment didn't happen without some help.
He wondered if he could act quickly enough to prevent the worst possible
outcome to the situation. One of the worst would for the current regime to
succeed in crushing the rebellion, whatever form it might take. And it looked
like some sort of organized action was underway. If the rebels
were to be successful, a great deal of destruction would be necessary. And if
other, unassociated elements joined in, it would be worse. He wondered if
there was a way to reverse the government's intent, short of eliminating, at a
minimum, dozens of the top-level officials.
'Eliminate', he thought. Not ready, yet, to say what that meant. The PLA had
already decided, and he suspected they were right. He was reminded of the
quotation of Thomas Jefferson that was often invoked by the dissenters. Of
how the tree of liberty must be refreshed with blood, the blood of patriots
and tyrants. The true patriot, he thought, must accept that his own blood may
be required. How many people today, he wondered, are ready for that. To take
the blood of one's oppressor is a relatively easy decision, putting one's own blood risk
takes more courage. Do we have it? he wondered. Do I have it?
He had thought often about losing his life on the battlefield. It was part of
the deal whey you signed on. He was the one military man in the mix. The
others had never taken a risk greater than having their career threatened by a
mistake of their own or an attack from a rival.
The plan was beginning to coalesce in his mind. It would be complicated, and
require great care, beginning with his selection of the participants. He
looked up at the screens. Another 'BREAKING NEWS' segment was being announced,
but he was about to be late getting home. He wanted to take his wife out to
dinner, she dined alone too often as it was, and he already didn't see her for
the entire day. He called her, asked if she could go. She could, she said,
and would make the reservations.
He looked once more at the screens, saw video of a train at a crossing, moving
slowly. Maybe just a train wreck, he thought. He picked up his briefcase,
turned off the lights and went out.