Moss cleared his throat. “Most of ’em. Two had clothing, a lot of it old outdated stuff. One was filled with boxes with Chinese markings. We haven’t gone through that yet, but it looks like noodles and other edibles. Only one had any weapons and as you can imagine they were AKs and boxes of 7.62 rounds.”
“At least there’s some good news,” John said, trying to stay optimistic. “Arming your men was the primary objective and so long as you have enough rounds for the weapons you’ve found, that part is done. Of course, it’ll take some getting used to using AKs over ARs. The 5.56 round is smaller and more accurate.” John stopped. “Are they full auto?”
Marshall nodded.
“Russian military,” John said, tapping his finger on one of the boxes. It made a hollow sound. “What are the drivers saying?”
“We’re not sure,” Moss said. “They don’t speak any English. Sounds to us like Russian, but who the hell knows.”
This was quickly going from bad to worse. “I know what a lot of you are thinking, that we’re being invaded by Russia and possibly China,” John told them. “And you may be right, but we need to at least be open to the possibility that this convoy was one of many intended as aid.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Marshall admitted, “right up until we found the weapons and ammo. I mean, darn right we were hoping for rifles and bullets. Everyone here knows that. But we thought they’d have a US Army decal on the side instead of a foreign flag.”
John’s head was spinning. For every question they answered, ten more seemed to take their place. If the US was being invaded and these shipments of food and weapons had been sent by the Russian and Chinese military, rather than by an aid organization, then it begged the question: What president was the Chairman really working for?
Chapter 29
Back in the command tent, John and the others continued to discuss what they’d seen in the trailers.
“On the bright side,” Moss said, sweating profusely in the noonday sun, “at least it means we have food and weapons.”
John was in Rodriguez’s seat by the radio. “If we can trust it, that is. For all we know this is some elaborate ploy to poison us. I think it’ll also be worth testing the weapons to make sure they work properly.”
Marshall drew in a deep breath, his wide chest expanding under his vest. “I don’t see any other option but to go ahead with Operation Hammer Fist.”
John looked up at him, puzzled. It was the first he was hearing about a secret operation.
Seeing the confusion, Moss elaborated. “We have an agent in Oneida. He’s been tasked with gathering intel. That part you know. What you don’t know is that we’ve also sent orders to initiate an assassination of the Chairman.”
Marshall cleared his throat. “Given what we’ve discovered, I just don’t see any other way. We need to cut the head off the snake, and the town should fall quickly. A bloody battle will only endanger the very loved ones we’re trying to free.”
John couldn’t agree more with the last part, but certainly not the first. “And what do we do if we’re wrong about this?” he asked.
“Wrong about what?” Marshall asked, rocking back on his heels as though John had taken a swing at him.
“What if the president really did declare some type of martial law and put men like the Chairman in charge of small cities and towns all over the country?”
“But if so then where’s the military?” Moss argued. “Wouldn’t they be rolling through the streets?”
“For a small town like Oneida?” John countered. “I doubt it. New York or Atlanta, sure. Don’t forget we live in a country with over three hundred million people, most of whom are either dead or have turned to looting and lawlessness because they weren’t prepared for a prolonged blackout. The military could be concentrated in large cities, trying to regain control. Perhaps these shipments are part of a multinational relief effort.”
The others looked skeptical and John thought that skepticism was perfectly justified. He didn’t necessarily believe what he was saying, but making an informed decision meant not going off half-cocked and latching onto the most obvious conclusion. Sometimes being the single voice of dissent was the only way to ensure that. “If we kill the Chairman and he is who he says he is, we’ll be branded as criminals or worse: terrorists.” John drummed his fingers against the desk, racking his brain to come up with a solution. “All I’m saying is let’s be smart about this. Without email or phones or television, the Chairman should have arrived with a piece of paper bearing the president’s seal. You said yourself he showed up in town with official-looking documents. If we can find those papers then it may help us prove he’s a fake.”
Marshall was quiet while he contemplated what John was saying.
“I don’t know what kind of president would revoke the Constitution even under such extreme circumstances,” John continued. “On that level alone, he’d have quashed every reason I have to be loyal to the man. The very purpose of his job is to protect the Constitution. But here’s the thing. Why should we slaughter the people of Oneida simply for being caught in the middle? They’re Americans too, don’t forget. If they think the Chairman’s legit, no matter how reprehensible, then it’s our job to prove that he isn’t. If we do that then I guarantee you the whole house of cards will come tumbling down. If we simply assassinate the man, who knows what tyrant may take his place?”
“Either way we’re in trouble,” Marshall said, weighing both options. “If the Chairman’s been put here legally, then it means we have a dictator for a president who’s stripped all our rights away.”
“And if he’s not?” John continued. “Then given everything we’ve seen, it could mean the Chairman’s a fifth columnist and foreign troops are already on American soil, perhaps even headed this way.”
“Fifth columnist?” Moss asked, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.
“An expression from the Spanish Civil War and used throughout World War II,” John explained. “It refers to a small group of individuals sent in to subvert an enemy’s ability to fight. Near the end of the war, German troops in stolen American uniforms made it behind enemy lines to misdirect traffic and supplies during the Battle of the Bulge.”
“Sneaky buggers,” Moss shouted, grinning, his dark mohawk standing as rigid as the plumes on a centurion’s helmet. “How’d they finally catch ’em?”
John gave him a sly grin. “Tripped ’em up in a way they never expected. At checkpoints, US forces would ask questions only Americans would know. Like which league did the Chicago Cubs play in, or who’s Betty Grable? Most of the German spies had near flawless American accents, but stumbled over simple trivia.”
Moss slapped his leg and howled with laughter. The childish side of the young Patriot was shining through and seeing it brought home the stinging memory of Emma and Gregory. For a brief moment, John said a silent prayer they be kept safe.
I’m coming, kids.
As John grew quiet, all attention returned to Marshall, who stood scratching the edge of his bristling chin. “I’ll need more time to make a decision,” he told them, dismissing those assembled in the command tent.
Chapter 30
As they shuffled out, John pulled Rodriguez off to the side.
“Has your man in Oneida found Diane and the kids yet?”
“He has,” Rodriguez answered without elaborating.
John paused, his guts twisting in knots. Even though he knew he was talking to Rodriguez, he couldn’t help seeing First Sergeant Wright’s thin face looking back at him. His hands went to the radio operator’s shoulders. “Tell me they’re all right.”