Chapter 3 wkdaeworfnswvtsfahowdrlzerndwmylvegecgdpulsrlyanenemrpriroi Gordon Williams looked out at the fields along I-44. On both sides of the road the fields were in various stages of preparation. Some were still brown - freshly plowed or planted with seed that had not yet emerged - while others were striped with green as the new crops began their brief lives. Occasionally he would see a large tractor covering wide strips of land. Not often, though. Modern agricultural equipment was designed to quickly prepare and plant the land, and in a few months it would be harvested just as quickly. He had one more stop before heading home, and it was in this vast area almost totally covered with fields punctuated here and there with farmhouses and occasionally a small town. He was heading for one of those towns now, to see one more old acquaintance before heading home. He knew from memory it was close - he needed no maps or help from the navigator in his phone, even though he had not been there in years. He watched the dark green sedan ahead of him. He had first spotted it as he was leaving Covington. It had been at the gas pump next to the one he was using as he refuled his car before departing. There were two men in it. While one was fueling the car the other one went over to a row of what looked like newspaper racks. Newspapers were nearly extinct, but there was still a considerable amount of print advertising in local markets in the form of small newsprint flyers distributed free of charge in racks like these. Intrigued by the man's actions, Williams watched. He opened each of the racks in turn, and appeared to be placing something inside. As he moved from one rack to the next, Williams could see that he held a stack of papers, and was placing some of them in the racks between the flyers. He worked quickly, as if to avoid attracting attention. After a couple of minutes he returned to the car, carrying a couple of flyers. His associate had by this time completed his task, and they got in and drove away. Williams finished filling his tank and replaced the nozzle, then replaced the gas cap on his car and closed the door. He then walked over to the paper racks and opened one. Inside was the usual stack of papers, about ten to twenty pages of tabloid-sized paper. He took one, and saw the white page under it. It looked like a typical page from a personal printer or copier, and was printed on one side. Returning to his car, he moved to a parking spot in front of the store and read the page: ATTENTION Law Enforcement and Military Personnel As of this day, 15 April 2112, you will no longer be safe from retribution if you continue to oppress the American people. You now know, or should know, that your agencies are committing unlawful, unconstitutional, and treasonous acts against American citizens and the nation. Many citizens have been injured and others killed, and others have been arrested without cause and held in prison without the legal recourse which is their right. Property of citizens has been damaged, destroyed, and seized by governments at all levels. In the past, we have been reluctant to engage in armed resistance against law enforcement authorities. That is no longer the case. Not only will we defend ourselves when attacked, but those who commit crimes against the people will be pursued and justice will be done upon them. This is the only warning you will receive. He folded the paper and put it into the inside pocket of his windbreaker, and returned to the highway. As he passed through a small town, one so small there were no traffic lights or even a single stop sign on the main road, he saw the green sedan exiting another business parking lot. This was a very small town - he had noted the population of 961 on the sign as he passed the city limite. If they were distributing their message at such sparsely populated areas, this must be a rather large operation. He thought of checking to see if they had left any at this stop, but wanted to keep track of the car. He stayed behind it for a while, recording the details with the modified camera mounted below the rear view mirror - he could move the camera over a range of forty degrees or so in any direction and zoom in on details. He thoroughly scanned the back of the car, noting as he did that it was rented. Most of the car rental companies placed a small decal somewhere on the back of the car, not so obvious as to attract criminals who preyed on travellers - a common type of crime for years now - but sufficient for a knowldegable observer to identify it. After a while increased his speed until he was close behind the car, then moved into the left lane and passed it. He was just below the speed limit as he passed, so they were being cautious. Travelling the highways, or even the streets at home, was a tricky process. Driving in a perfectly legal and cautious manner could attract the attention of police almost as readily as doing the opposite. Police were inclined to look at a driver scrupulously obeying the traffic laws as a potential violator of some other law, and would always find an excuse if they wanted to detain and question a driver. And with every local and state government doing whatever was necessary to acquire revenue to fund their operations, traffic fines were being used even more than ever as a source. Williams was not much worried. Being identified as a retired senior military officer would probably allay any suspicions, unless he was being targeted because of who he was, in which case nothing would save him. The men in the other car were probably another matter - apparently associated with some resistance element, they probably had a good deal to lose if they were caught. As the approached another small town, Williams stopped at what looked like an obvious target - a small gas station and convenience store, with a restaurant and a handful of other typical small town businesses nearby. The green car also stopped, and he sat in his car for a few minutes before getting out, long enough to see them repeat the activity he had witnessed earlier. As he got out of his car and went into the store, he noticed the pair had switched positions - the one who had driven and refueled the car earlier was not the one inserting the papers in the racks. He also went into the store, and Williams was able to observe him without being noticed. He seemed a rather average, decent-looking man in his late twenties. Clean, dressed casually but neatly - he wore khaki slacks and a dark green shirt with long sleeves and two pockets with flaps. He wore black boots, with a low heel and rounded toe, not unlike the black boots that were part of some Army and Air Force dress uniforms. He wondered if the man was former military - there were a lot of them these days, as most enlistments were brief. Few men stayed around for a career, even with the rather generous pensions and other benefits. He reminded Williams of some of the Freeholders, who often wore military-styled clothing. Neither of the men paid any attention to him, and he wondered if they had failed to notice that he had been following them most of the way from Covington. While it would not be unusual on the long trips across the midwestern plains, an observant person would have had some curiosity. They might be inexperienced, he thought, or they might be sufficiently disciplined as to be observing him without giving any clues to their interest. It was possible, he thought, that it was part of a League operation, but they were not in open conflict at this point. Since the debacle in which he had first become aware of its existence, an uneasy truce had been in effect - the League had not taken any overt action, and the government, not knowing which potential target might be part of the League, or an ally, had found it necessary to curtail some of its operations. But that restraint was beginning to dissipate, and anything was possible. In any case, he thought, I'm about to lose them. He would be leaving the interstate highway shortly, taking a two-land road out into the hinterlands of western Missouri. There was not much there, just more fields like the ones he had been seeing all day. And an old friend. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The state highway was crossed by an occasional county road. Not many of them, few people lived out here and the roads were used mostly for transporting harvests to the processing and storage centers. He had not been here in a few years, but little had changed. The sign he was looking for soon appeared, announcing the presence of County Road 377. It was a left turn, he remembered, and about a quarter mile to Robert's home. Robert F. Lawrence. Along with Harry back in Covington, Robert was one of a handful of childhood friends he had been close to. Unlike Harry, though, Robert was not likely to be confused by current events. Somewhat eccentric but brilliant, Williams had enjoyed the time they spent together as children - he could relate a dozen generations of ancient kings from various parts of the world as readily as he could discuss quantum physics, restore an old car from rusting junk to new condition, and any number of feats, any one or two of which most men would be proud. He had enlisted in the army at about the same time Gordon went to the Army Academy. Due to his formidable intelligence and physical condition impressive even for a nineteen year old, he was recruited into the Mantis section, a small and secret organization seldom numbering more than twenty to thirty men. The combination of intelligence and physical ability augmented by intense training created a force of near-supermen, and they were frequently sent on missions that taxed even their abilities. He reenlisted for a second four-year tour, but was medically retired after that. He wasn't specific about the cause when he discussed it with Gordon, but Gordon now suspected he knew the reason. Some other issue likely caused a mutual parting with a medical retirement and a small pension. The corruption of the armed forces, the last stronghold for men of decency, courage and patriotism had begun earlier than he had thought. The special forces, some of them anyway, would have noticed if first - being sent on dubious missions, not for the security of their country, but for darker motivations of politicians and those who owned them. As a regular soldier with more ordinary duties, it took longer for Gordon to notice. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ County Road 377 was an ashpalt road, in decent condition but rather narrow. Wide but shallow ditches on each side were full of weeds, small trees, and other vegetation. The side nearest the road had recently been mowed, the other side was like a small jungle. On both sides cornfields were the only thing within visual range. The turn to Robert's home was marked by a pair of posts, painted white and with small round reflectors attached near the top. The quarter mile or so of private road beyond them was well maintained - covered with a layer of light grey to white crushed rock, along with a lot of powder created as the small rocks were constantly crushed by traffic. It was quite smooth and as wide as the public road Gordon has just left. The condition of the place was not surprising - Robert had not worked since he left the Army. Gordon knew his pension was not even enough for even a simple, frugal life. But people who got unusual assignments, especially during a war, sometimes found interesting things. Usually things made of gold or silver, perhaps gemstones or even large amounts of currency which could be quite lucrative if converted to a more stable material. He guessed Robert had done something similar, but never asked. Robert was an honest and moral man, but taking advantage of certain opportunities was not of necessity immoral. Turning off the road onto a wide driveway, he saw that the place not changed much. When he acquired the place, Robert had bought a slightly used mobile home and installed it near one corner of the forty acre tract. He eventually added a couple of large portable buildings and build a large vehicle shelter, all of them nearly touching the mobile home. The vehicle shed held a pair of large travel trailers, both old and with faded paint but Gordon knew they were quite comfortable inside - he had spent a night or two in them on occasion. A couple of acres around the living area - not exactly a house - were fenced, so that one not familiar with the situation would believe that was the entire property. The remainder of the large area - a quarter mile on each side - was also fenced with an ordinary cattle fence. The area was wooded in places, grassy meadows in others, with a few small ponds. Robert enjoyed being outdoors, and regularly walked all over the place. He was doing so now, Gordon noticed, seeing a man near the far side of the property. He walked about, now and then stopping to examine a tree or something on the ground, in no hurry at all. Gordon knew he had seen his arrival and would make his way over in his own time, so he lit a small cigar and sat in car with the windows down. By the time he finished the cigar Robert was only a hundred or so yards away. He extinguished the cigar in a portable ashtray - cars had not had ashtrays for some years now, and his rental was quite new. Gordon got out of the car as Robert approached. He hadn't changed much since he had last seen him, five or six years earlier on one of his leaves of more than a few days. He had just arrived at Fort Reed and took a couple of weeks to take a leisurely drive from his former post on the east coast, and had stopped to visit Robert. He had stayed overnight and part of the next day, mostly talking about old times. It was several years before Gordon's rather unplesant enlightenment as to the state of affairs, and they had not spent much time discussing the state of the world. "Come in and have a beer, man" said Robert. "If you're staying over tonight, that is. Can't have one of my last remaining friends getting arrested for drunk driving. Besides, cops these days are as likely to shoot you for fun as to arrest you." "Yeah, that's what I've been hearing." replied Gordon. "Of course, I'll be happy to stay over." "Did it take retiring to notice what's going on?" asked Robert. "Not exactly" replied Gordon. "But you were there for a while, and you know what a sheltered existence that can be." "That's for sure" said Robert. "I got my eyes opened early, and got out. What happened to you?" "Penn Creek" replied Gordon. "I wasn't there, but it was the fuse that lit the big bomb that woke me up." "Yeah, I heard about Penn Creek. They buried that one deep, but as you know, I know a lot of people. How did you get involved?" They walked up the steps to the deck on the front of the mobile home, where a small table and some comfortable-looking chairs waited. "Grab a seat" said Robert. "I'll get some beers. The usual?" "Sure" said Gordon. The 'usual' was a private joke - Gordon had no preference in beer beyond reasonable quality and temperature. He had his preferences in whiskey, and a few favorite brandies and wines, but beer was rather like coffee or tea for him, and whatever the host provided was fine. He sat down, and shortly Robert returned with a pair of cold bottles. They opened them and took a few sips, then set the bottles down. "I guess the last time we talked, I was probably the naive one." said Gordon. "I'm guessing you were already wired in by then, but didn't know where I was." "Pretty much," said Robert with one of his usual semi-humorous smiles. "You were just a colonel, after all, and you know how we enlisted types are about colonels." A perennial joke in the armed forces was that colonels were the worst. Until that point they were just officers and generally easy to deal with, above that they were generals and were too busy doing whatever generals did to bother the enlisted types. But a colonel was almost a general, and wanted to be one in the worst way. And according to enlisted men's wisdom, would do anything to make it happen. Gordon smiled too. "Yeah, but the star was a bribe, or a reward for being an obedient tool. At least they thought so." "How was that?" "As I said, Penn Creek was just the connection to me. As you noticed, they buried it pretty well, but miscalculated in a big way. "Apparently, it was just a diversion to cover the assassinations that had gone down some weeks earlier. They had no idea who actually did it, but needed to do something to avoid looking helpless, and to dissuade other dissidents from acting. It seems the intention was to go into a little commune, a religious group of some sort, and kill some people and burn some buildings, arrest a few of the survivors and give them a show trial and lock them up." "Pretty standard procedure for quite a few years now" said Robert. "Solomon's Creed, the Penrose affair, and quite a few that didn't get so much attention. But worse in recent years. Apparently the Penn Creek operation went wrong, seriously wrong. Another organization interfered, one that was well organized and well armed. Killed a few of the government personnel, blew up their vehicles, and thouroughly humiliated them. Right in front of the news crews from all the major outlets, there at their invitation. "But if you weren't there, how did you get involved?" "The outfit that interfered" said Gordon, "deliberately left enough clues for the government to find them. Believing them to be nothing more than a similar dissident organization, but with more money more men, and better equipment, they attacked their home base. They apparently figured all they needed to do was bring more of their own stuff and it would be no problem. Big mistake. "They came in with a couple of APCs and a small fleet of Rhinos, four attack helicopters and two Harrier troop carriers. Almost all the equipment was destroyed, the entire force - except for the Harriers, which never went in once they saw most of the force destroyed - was either killed or captured. "I was in command of the cleanup crew - we went in and retrieved our dead and wounded, then went back later to transport the prisoners when they were released. Some fairly high-ranking operatives were there. I still don't know what they did to make the government capitulate so readily, but it seems to have curtailed their operations to some degree - they're afraid of crossing those people again." "Would 'those people' be a large, well-orgnized and well-financed organization that practically no one knows anything about?" Rober inquired. "That's a pretty good description, I believe" said Gordon. "I only know about one - the one that was attacked. I met the leaders and got a fairly decent impression of how big it is, and it's big. Part of my job in retrieving the bodies was finding the pilots of the four choppers they shot down, and they were scattered over several square miles, all of which was apparently their property. As for others, I suspect there are quite a few, but how many and where I don't know." "That's the impression I get from my own investigations," said Robert. "Hard to believe something that big can be kept secret. They must be quite a disciplined bunch." "I believe you're right" said Gordon. "So you've been wired into this for quite a while, I guess." "If you mean the growing insurrection, I have." replied Robert. "It's been going on for quite a while. I have a lot of contacts from my Army days, and some who are still active. I suspect you do as well." "I do" said Gordon. "Most of what I get from them is related to the current state affairs in the Army, though, and it's mostly bad. My other investigations have been on the street. Literally." "It's a big puzzle," said Robert. "There's this big outfit you ran into, a number of small organizations that are run fairly well - very secret and effective when they strike. You probably heard about the ambush of the convoy that carried out the raid out in Colorado. Shot up a small commune, burned most of it." "Third SOG, I believe" said Gordon. "I've heard some bad things about them." "Indeed." said Robert. "The Third has been reconfigured to conduct its special operations against the American citizens. And they're getting bolder, as that last operation shows." "So who shot up the convoy" asked Gordon. "Now that is something I do know" said Robert. "Couple of small groups, no more than fifty, sixty men in each. They got together and set up an ambush on the road they were on - blew up the bridges over the Pine River, where it's split into three channels, those bridges were long enough to trap the entire convoy on them, or between them. Destroyed four APCs and a bunch or smaller vehicles, then twisted the knife by hosing down the survivors with machine guns and some grenade launchers, stolen from Army inventory by the way, for a few minutes before withdrawing. More to the point, they had a couple of guys recording the whole thing - really good video from both sides of the road. Copies were sent to various news outlets, but nothing has been shown publicly as far as I know. But the videos are circulating through the usual underground channels." "I haven't see the video" said Gordon. "But it seems to have been well done." "I'll show you" said Robert. "Let's go inside." Just inside the door was a large and comfortable living area. Seated again in comfortable chairs, Robert use his computer to call up the videos on one of the large screens. "Impressive indeed" said Gordon. "Quite professional." "Some of these groups are" said Robert. "Others are just a lot of angry men with guns, but at the right time even those can be useful." "Do you know anything about this?" asked Gordon, handing him the paper he had retrieved from the paper rack during his trip. Robert gave it just a brief look, his expression indicating that he recognized it. He handed it back and said "Yeah, that started a few weeks ago. Rumor has it the target distribution is somewhere in the millions - covering the enteir country." "They seem to be doing that" said Gordon. "I saw a couple of guys dropping them off in small towns on the way out here. Any idea who's behind it?" "Nothing definite" replied Robert. "As I said, there's cooperation between some of these groups, like the one in the video. And I suspect it's something like that. Unless it's the ones you met up with." Gordon thought for a moment. "I doubt it" he said. "They seem to be up to something big, but I don't see them involving outsiders. Secrecy is the biggest thing of all with them. Do you read that the way I do?" "If you mean escalation, yes. They're telling the law enforcement and military people to make their choice - get out while you can or risk getting whacked. For almost our entire history, the police and armed forces have been respected and generally off limits to criticism or attack. But now they're part of the problem, and they're being told that their uniforms and badges will give them no cover. "That's the way these things always go when a government goes from being the servant of the people to being their master. It's all one big police force now. We're probably close to the crackdown now, they would like to be making mass arrests and filling up the prison camps now, but they're afraid of what will happen if they move too soon. The folks you met up with, some outfits I know about, and just mobs of angry armed citizens - they could do a lot of damage. "Speaking of doing damage, it's getting late. Can you stand some of my cooking? If you'll give me a hand we can whip up something before bedtime. With enough booze we should be all right." Robert was joking, of course. Gordon knew he kept a well-stocked pantry and was as handy in the kitchen as he was at a great many other things. They settled for grilling steaks and making a token salad, knocking down a few ounces of whiskey as they cooked and ate, and then a brandy before bed. Things were becoming a little fuzzy even for Gordon, a veteran of many late sessions at the Officer's Club, as he made his way to the trailer where he would spend the night. Robert had known he was coming, he thought, even though he had not called beforehand. The large comfortable bed was ready, and the small kitchen had the necessities for a quick and simple breakfast ready. He was definitely going to need the coffee. He never had any trouble going to sleep, and tonight it was even less than usual. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gordon woke early in the morning, as he had done for many years. Retirement had not yet changed some of his habits. After a cup of coffee and getting ready for the day, he walked over to the main house to find Robert was also already up, having a cup of coffee on the deck. "How about some breakfast?" he asked. Gordon admitted that seemed a good idea, and they went inside. They quickly prepared a breakfast of ham and eggs that must have come straight from the farm. "I own part of a small farm" Robert explained. "A lot of people smart enough to get out of the cities are doing the same. Produce their own food, usually have some left over to sell. Almost like getting free food, and better than you can buy in the grocery store." "Have to wonder about those who weren't so smart" said Gordon. "There are millions of people in for some nasty surprises." "That's a certainty" said Robert. "A lot of people are like me, out in the middle of nowhere. They would starve to death before they could make the trek out this far. Those closer to the cities are in, or can quickly get to, well defended communities. Well armed, with plenty of supplies." "A lot of people may die, people who did nothing wrong other than not pay attention to what was going on around them." said Gordon. "The enduring dilemma." said Robert. "Where do you draw the line? At what point does not paying attention become a crime one should die for? The fact is, our society long ago became so fat and lazy, so self-absorbed, you have to wonder if anyone deserves to live if they haven't worked to prepare. So many people we don't normally think of as being bad people, nevertheless have been obsessed with always having more of everything - houses, cars, clothes, stuff you only need so much of. Living in the fantasy world of the entertainment the watch on television and the net. But I don't need to tell you that." "Yeah," said Gordon. "If we knew the answer to those questions we would be quite wise. Too bad no one seems to. I just visited an old friend, you know him, back in Covington. He's not a bad guy at all, but had no idea what was going on. Or almost no idea. He noticed things going wrong, but had no idea how bad it might be, or what to do about it." "Ole Harry" mused Robert. "Haven't seen him in ages. I never went home after I left the Army." "You knew I visited Harry?" asked Gordon. Robert grinned. "I still hear from people all over. Pete called me and said he had seen you and Harry having lunch at Libby's. Thought you might be headed my way." "I should have known someone would notice" said Gordon. "Everyone in town goes to Libby's, like they have for a hundred years or so. I barely remember Pete - wasn't he usually in some kind of trouble or other?" "He certainly was, back in the day." replied Robert. "He got smarter along the way, though, and became a fairly competent criminal. Mastered the art of paying off or intimidating whomever he heeded to, or both in a lot of cases. He owns most of the politicians in Faulkner county and most of the ones nearby, along with quite a few in the statehouse. In another time we wouldn't have anything to do with men like him, but the government is infinitely worse. At worst he's useful because of what he knows or can find out, at best he can be a handy henchman. And to be truthful, he's a likable guy. Never was into violence, drugs, things like that - he was more about various theft and fraud on people who were themselves dirty, and so couldn't complain about him without putting themselves at risk. "Anyway, he's younger than me, so you wouldn't remember him. He was a little guy, thought, and got beat up a lot by mean kids at school. I used to defend him, got him interested in martial arts. He eventually built himself up physically and learned to fight - no one messed with him then. He still appreciates what I did for him back then, and calls me up now and then to see if I'm all right. Insisted on visiting a couple of times when he was out this way, as do a handful of other acquaintances. I have a modest house over in Cherry Valley, my official home. I direct people like him there - this place doesn't officially exist. "Anyway, he's in a position to find out things, and in the kind of situation we likely have coming can be useful." After breakfast they toured the estate on foot, taking about half the day. It was an interesting place, thought Gordon. Like his ranch, a pleasant and private place. But in the end, he suspected, both would be consumed in the approaching apocalypse. Even if the resistance managed to stop it, and perhaps restore order to something resembling the past, the fire would consume many. He decided it was time to get back home and begin preparing. Starting with determining what part he would play in the coming events.