Prologue

        ansfahowdrpsvtrbadulifedklrnotwizdtaedlipetwkdaeworfrsbnole



Alex Marshall sat quietly in a small stand of trees on top of a low hill.  Below him
Highway 312 ran across the flatter ground, with a railroad running parallel for a
considerable distance.  The plain below him was the bottom of a prehistoric inland
sea, with the Pine River running across it.  The river was named for the thousands
of acres of old pine forest near the north end, miles away from where Alex was.
At this point in its course the river ran, wide and shallow, across the western
side of the ancient seabed.  Split into three channels at this point, the highway
crossed it on three bridges.  The center bridge was about two hundred yards long,
the ones on either side about half as long.

Alex was, as people said, in the middle of nowhere.  The nearest city was forty
miles to the west, and to the east it was close to sixty miles.  But one of those
cities was Fort Grant, North Kansas.  A small city of something over a hundred
thousand, it was on the Colorado border.  To the east was Springfield, several
times as large as Fort Grant and the second largest city in the state.  It was
located near an Fort Stuart, an army base that was home to the Third Special
Operations Group.

Originally, only two of the four battalions were garrisoned at Fort Stuart, the
other two were usually elsewhere in the country, or the world.  In recent years,
watchers of the military forces had noticed that the unit had been reorganized and
a security of the base had been reinforced substantially.  Ground traffic in and
out of the area was almost exclusively military, and there was not much of that -
most of it was by air.  The runway had been extended and new fences erected -
fences of steel panels that could not be seen through.

Not that secrecy was complete, though.  Alex, who had left the army several years
earlier, still had contacts with his former comrades, as did many former military
men.  And many of those men who were still in the armed forces, waiting for their
enlistments so end.  Thus there was a constant flow of information to the outside,
much of it ending up with people like Alex.  And one thing Alex had learned was
that the Third SOG had been substantially reorganized, with replacements for those
who retired or allowed their enlistments to expire coming from the ranks of
soldiers who were malcontents or troublemakers, many with a history of
disciplinary problems.  In just a few years the few remaining competent,
professional soldiers were all gone, and all that remained were the dangerous,
unstable rejects.

"It's scary" the soldier had told Alex.  "Even the officers in the Third are
rejects.  A lot of them are just incompetent, and others have been given the
choice between discharge or prison, or an assignment here. 

"I can barely wait for my time to be up.  And hoping they don't extend our
enlistments.  There's been talk of that.  Too many men leaving."

Alex was aware of that too - the Army had been deteriorating for years, and men
who enlisted without knowing how it was left as soon as their time was up.  And
now they were being used to deal with civilian matters - putting down disturbances
and even taking preemptive action against potential sources such as political
activist groups and citizen militias.  And the Third had just dealt with one over
in Colorado.  Alex knew some of the people involved.  Which is why he was watching
the road the convoy would be using to return to Fort Stuart.  

A voice in Alex's radio headset brought him back to the present.  "Visual contact"
said the voice. That was Red Leader, Alex knew.  Leader of the Red Squad, deployed
to the west. Blue Squad was on the east side.  Two dozen men on each side of him, 
armed with light automatic rifles and a few two inch grenade launchers.  The big 
grenade launchers, with rotary magazines holding twelve rounds, had been acquired 
by some knowledgeable ex-military members, while the rifles were the gift from a
mysterious benefactor.  A medium powered .30 caliber gun, they were good anti-personnel 
weapons, with the range of the current scenario of little more than 300 yards they 
would be quite effective.

But the rifles, and even the grenades, were more of an enhancement to the drama
that was about to be performed.  The road was closed at some distance in both
directions from his position, Alex knew.  They were becoming quite arrogant these
days - state police and some Army personnel would have stopped traffic to leave a
long stretch or road free for the convoy.  Not because it was necessary, but
because they could.  That would be their undoing - with only the military vehicles
crossing the bridges no civilians would be endangered.

"Last vehicle just passed" said Red Leader.  "Sixteen Rhinos, four M60s, eleven
cars and trucks.  The APCs are in the middle of the Rhinos, other vehicles at the
rear.  What's your situation, Trigger?"

Trigger wasn't a person - it was a six-man squad positioned across from Alex, in a
cover of light brush on the railroad embankment.  Camouflaged and in shadow, they
would be nearly invisible even someone looked in their direction.  They would
initiate the proceedings.

"Ready" replied the Trigger team leader. "Will arm when the first vehicle is near
the end of the middle bridge."

That meant that when the lead vehicle approached the end of the long bridge, they
firing team would arm the charges.  Just before it arrived at the next bridge,
they would set them off.  The massive explosive charges under the ends of each
bridge would completely destroy the structure, and would toss the twelve-ton M60
APCs around like toys.  The Rhinos might be in the air for a while, thought Alex.
This could be fun to watch.

The sun hung low over the horizon, the first moon was well up, delaying full
darkness for a while.  The second moon would soon follow, with its greenish glow
added to the blue-white of the first making the night like a cloudy day.  But the
show would take place in daylight, in another four or five minutes.

"ETA at first bridge one minute" said a voice on the radio.  Alex carefully laid
his rifle on a mat beside him and picked up his camera.  He wouldn't need the
rifle unless something went seriously wrong - he was here to document the event.
Across the road, he knew, was another man doing the same thing.  The video would
be useful - if everything went right.

He looked to his left, waiting for the first vehicle to appear.  They would have
their headlights on.  They always did, no matter the time of day.  He aimed his
camera at the road well beyond the first bridge and waited.

The first headlights appeared, and a string of Rhinos came into full view, with
the APCs behind.  Alex began rolling film, as it still called, even though video
recording had been digital for many years.  The Rhinos were crossing the first
bridge, and Alex adjusted the view to show the APCs and one or two Rhinos on
either end.  They were now in the area between the first two bridges, and he
followed them as they reached the middle bridge, again widening the view to show
all three bridges.

The lead Rhino was almost to the final bridge.  Myles judged them to be moving at
around fifty miles per hour.  Any second now, he thought.

The lead vehicle was almost across when Red Leader called "Fire! Fire! Fire!"

Not that he needed to.  As he spoke a quarter mile of highway erupted in a series
of huge explosions.  The charges went off almost simultaneously, hurling steel
framework, concrete slabs, and asphalt high into the air.  Most of the vehicles
went with it.  Several of the Rhinos looked like a child's toys tossed into the
air,  while the APCs also took flight, three of them landing in the river and
quickly disappearing under the deep water.  The last one had been barely onto the bridge
and landed upside down on the ground, bouncing, then settling, mangled and smoking.  
Alex continued recording as a silence settled over the scene.  

"Hold your fire" ordered Red Leader.  "Wait for my command."

He was waiting for the survivors to begin emerging from the wreckage, Alex knew.
The operation had been carefully planned.  He could see motion now - most of the
vehicles were in pieces, overturned, on fire or otherwise diffult to escape from -
but soon there were several personnel walking around the scene.  

There were probably two dozen out by now, walking around and looking for other
survivors.  They would have to finish soon, as a call for assistance had by now
gone out and helicopters would soon be on the way.  At least fifteen minutes
though, Alex thought.  We only need five to ten.

"Fire at will" commanded Red Leader. 

Both squads opened up, constant short bursts of rifle fire punctuated by the heavy
grenades.  Most of them ricocheted off the wreckage or kicked up dirt, but a few
found their mark.  The firing went on for a few minutes, and soon all the
personnel had taken cover.  Alex let the camera run for a minute or so, recording
the now still scene, before putting his camera away.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" called Red Leader.  "Withdraw to pickup points."  The
gunfire stopped as quickly as it had begun.

Alex wouldn't be withdrawing with the squads.  He and the cameraman across the
road would make their way to separate rendezvous points where a vehicle waited.
Just a short jog down the other side of the hill, the driver would be behind the
wheel while another associate stood by an open door.  They would be moving within
seconds of his arrival.  He stowed his camera, picked up the bag and rifle, and
headed up over the top of the hill and then started down.  

Back in Colorado, the Fourth Battalion of the Third SOG had left a few burning
buildings, thirty-two dead at last report,  and the ruins of a small dissident
group that had become too visible.  They hadn't actually committed any hostile
acts, other than forbidden speech a little too loud and too often.  Their
destruction was more of a warning to others.  The survivors would be packed off to
prisons, probably never to be heard from again even if they lived.  Alex knew
there had been women and children at the site, and their fate was unknown.  There
were reports, however, that it was likely to be unpleasant.  Especially any young,
attractive women or girls.  And given the rumored behavior of some of the military
and prison personnel, for young children as well.

In the car, he switched radio to another channel.  "Yellow Dog, are you there?" he
asked.

"Yellow Dog here, what's up Green Man?"

"We're egressing now - how's your video?"

"Looks real good." replied Yellow Dog.  "How about you?"

"Same here" replied Alex.  "Be safe, see you soon."

Yellow Dog was an operative with another organization, working with Alex has he
had on several occasions previously.  Most of the effective rebel organizations
were of necessity small, often only five men or so.  A security breach could take
out an entire organization - not so easily, perhaps, as the hapless group in
Colorado, but they had been amateurs and never evolved to the stage of being a
serious threat.  

At least, Alex thought as the car moved away through the twilight, this time they
had paid a high price.  Such activity usually diminished for a while after an
incident like this, but the pauses were shorter each time.  The vast majority of
the sheep-like population now cowered in fear and tried not to attract attention.
Of course, they had always done that, which was the cause of the problem.