Busy as Parrott was calling in a medevac request and slapping on tourniquets, he paid no attention to a lone civilian armed only with a camcorder. The mysterious figure peering out of a third-story window down the street was neither a curious bystander nor some perverted war voyeur. He used to be a lieutenant in his country’s military, before the American Army invaded and forced him and so many of his compatriots into the underground resistance.
Thanks to the video, his fallen fellow insurgents did not perish in vain. His leaders would pour over the footage to study the American army’s drills and reactions in detail. Next time the guerrillas would be better prepared. In addition, thanks to the judicious use of editing software and the internet, they’d post a great propaganda video to YouTube by the morning.
Within a quarter mile radius, over a thousand confused and terrified civilians huddled in bathtubs and under tables. Forbidden to go outside after midnight and too scared to peek out a window, they didn’t have a clue what was going on in the streets. The explosions and shooting stopped, but what did that mean? Some would wonder who won the fight. The military or the terrorists? Most didn’t care one way or the other. They hated both sides just as intently. All they wanted was for the death and destruction to end so that life could get back to normal.
How naïve they were. For the last three months since the US invasion, war was the new normal in Miami, Florida.
Nothing could change that anytime soon.
Part I: Cold War
“Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant to step the ocean and crush us at a blow? Never! All the armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined, with all the treasure of the earth (our own excepted) in their military chest, with a Bonaparte for a commander, could not by force take a drink from the Ohio River or make a track on the Blue Ridge in a trial of a thousand years.
At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer: If it ever reach us it must spring up amongst us; it cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen we must live through all time or die by suicide.”
Chapter 1
Click
“…Live from Kansas City. As you can see, Gretchen, federal troops continue massing on the border. The locals here are terrified about what might happen when the regime in Washington unleashes their big tan war machine loose against this peaceful city. Judging from the buildup and rhetoric, it’s not a question of if, but only of when.”
The unbiased camera panned northeast across the empty “Heart of America” bridge separating Missouri from Kansas. Or, as they were known nowadays, the United States of America from the United Republics of America. Only birds fluttered around this once bustling corridor. A maze of six-foot high, dirt-filled HESCO baskets and sandbag bunkers blocked the Missouri side of the bridge. Behind the sandy ramparts, well-armed federal soldiers surveyed their rebel counterparts to the west through field glasses. The Stars and Stripes, brazenly including all 50 stars, waved defiantly above them in the chilling wind.
The mirror replica of these hasty fortifications faced east from the Kansas side of the bridge. A mixed unit of fourteen National Guardsmen, one from each state in the URA, kept their game faces on as they sized up their former colleagues through binoculars. None had a clue what they were supposed to do if attacked, other than serve as a propaganda stunt to help demonstrate the solidarity of their new Union. A bunch of bullshit, if you asked those young soldiers on the line. Not that anyone ever would.
Hundreds of miles to the east, Jessica Sinclair sighed and changed the channel again. Same story, just from a different side of the bridge.
“As you can see, Christine, rebel forces continue their preparations for invading the United States and overthrowing her constitutionally chosen government. These domestic terrorists grow stronger every day. It is not a question of if, but only of when will they unleash their reign of terror across the heartland of America?”
The camera panned across the same bridge, but focused on that familiar URA flag snapping in the wind. She had all 50 stars as well, but only 14 were white. The rest were shaded black. Signifying their status as occupied lands, according to the rival Federal Government’s spokespeople in California.
Jessica finally turned the idiot box off. Every channel a different slant, but always the same crap. War, war and more war. The Second American Civil War was all anyone ever talked about nowadays. She finally quit procrastinating and went back to packing her bags. There wasn’t that much; she always traveled light. She should have been done already, but some part of her waited for something.
Without even realizing it, she grinned when the bathroom door opened. Jessica began shoving things in her suitcase with gusto. A tall, dark and handsome… caveman strutted out naked, leaving his wet towel on the floor. Typical. He started grumbling before even getting his jeans on.
Not for the first time, Sergeant Major John Brown tried chewing her out as if she was one of his soldiers. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We talked about you taking that trip to California. I told you it was a bad idea. Quit with this damn foolishness.”
Jessica couldn’t help herself. She savored his frustration. She hadn’t clawed her way up the ratings to become one of the most influential war correspondents in history by being easily intimidated. “Yes, we did. I said I’d think the job offer over. Now I’m finished thinking; time to get ready. Are you going to be a big man and try to put your foot down?” She did stop packing, just long enough to whirl around and wave her hairbrush in his face like a bayonet.
“Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? You are not my husband; you’re not even much of a boyfriend! What gives you the right to toss your weight around my home?!”
Brown reeled under the onslaught, struggling to adjust. Deep down, Jessica could sympathize with his confusion. Just twenty minutes ago they were in bed, going at it like wild teenagers and now they were back at each other’s throats. Shouldn’t have been surprising. They repeated the same scene daily. The last month he spent on leave with her was a rollercoaster of screaming and make up sex. “Jesus Christ! Look, baby….”
“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me you damn Neanderthal!”
“Jessie, I’m worried for you. California is the home of the rebel movement. This cold war is going to heat up one of these days and you want to fly right into the middle of the insanity?” His face lit up with sudden cleverness. “How are you even going to get a visa? You live in the USA. You’ve worked for newspapers that the URA labels Washington propaganda outlets. They’ll never accept you.”
His epic ignorance only angered Jessica more. “My new network is based in LA and they don’t care about my past reporting. They’re pros. All the company cares about is the ratings boost. As I’ve told you a hundred times, they’ve already arranged the paperwork. Do you have any idea how big a career move this is? I’ve been stuck in the middle of this war story since the election crisis last year. If I stay here, all the big name celebrities will sideline me. Always a sidekick. If I go to LA, well, they promised me my own show. That’s something even you should understand. I can’t just quit now. You sure as hell know what it’s like to never give up.”
She never understood why referring to his time trapped behind enemy lines in Florida made him so defensive. Obviously, there was more to the story than he told her. Didn’t matter now. The important thing was she had a way to make him feel the frustration that she felt.