She’d been trying to make it work, fighting for Henry, but she was sure he did not see it. He perceived threats. He accused her of having an affair, not realizing the real threat came from him.
The Pack had become a mistress, cruel and demanding and all consuming. There was nothing left of Henry to give her when he was home. She’d filed for divorce because she saw this would never change. Hope was gone. He would never leave his brothers. There would always be a crisis somewhere that kept pieces of him, stole parts of his soul.
And now, with talk of open war within the country, she knew it would be even worse. Whatever it was he did, he would be gone. She would be alone with Taylor. She decided it would be for the best to formalize the end. He would feel betrayed, blindsided. She didn’t see any other way.
Suzanne drifted up to fifteen feet for the last safety stop, checked her watch and her air. It was going to be close. The surface was light and the water gentle and she could hear the waves slap the hull of the boat. The school of barracuda had risen from the depths with her, and they eyed her with toothy curiosity as they floated through the clear ocean.
CHAPTER TWO
Irreconcilable Differences
MALMSTROM AIR FORCE BASE, MONTANA
Henry sat up in his rack, the familiar sound of packing, clinking, and rustling in the barracks. He opened the footlocker at the base of the bed and took out a fresh uniform. His fatigues bore no insignia of rank, unit, or even branch. Nothing had come over the comm, but something was happening. The men were preparing for a fight. He’d find out soon enough.
He strapped a holster to his right thigh along with a Beretta 9mm pistol with extended magazine. His Tac V assault vest contained additional magazines for the nine mil, and also longer mags for the Heckler & Koch MP7/10A4 submachine gun. His black Nomex coveralls were lightweight yet resistant to wind, water, and cold. He bloused them into his assault boots.
His head was clear and he moved with focus and practiced efficiency. Gadget bags on his vest contained flashlights, lighters, maps, a med kit, suppressors for his sidearm, and the submachine gun. He also had advanced optics for the HK. He carried flash bangs and three frags in pouches on his left hip. He hadn’t heard anything over the comm, but the tension in the barracks buzzed and throbbed.
His rucksack contained a lightweight tent, duct tape, emergency SATCOM, gloves, MREs, a full water bladder, and more magazines.
Despite the amount of gear he carried, it was still less than what he’d grown accustomed to as a Ranger. It came to slightly over sixty pounds, much of it in the extra magazines.
“Whoa, Sleeping Beauty, nice of you to join the living,” Carlos said, lacing up his boots. Carlos was the largest man in the unit, a towering black man with thickly corded muscles at his neck, shoulders, chest, and, it seemed, eyelids. Muscle layered upon muscle. Henry was smaller, leaner, at only six feet tall and less than two hundred pounds. The men in the unit tended to be of middle height and weight. The really big guys couldn’t usually handle the endless humping and running the training entailed. Carlos could, though.
“What’s happening?”
“Dunno. Base is swarming with activity. Nothing on the comm. Can’t reach Big Dog.” Big Dog, or Alpha Dog, was what the men called Colonel Bragg. It was mostly a term of endearment. Mostly.
“What’s got everybody so spooked?” The Wolves never kitted up at a military installation unless they were about to go on an operation, and they never went on an op without hours of briefings beforehand and usually at least a week of mission-specific training and rehearsal. “It’s all over the net,” Carlos said, looking up at Henry from his boots. “There’s gonna be war for sure now. The entire southern block of senators and representatives just walked out of emergency meetings in Congress. A lot of the western states are with them.”
“Good God,” Henry said. He’d really thought Congress would figure this out, despite all the rhetoric plaguing the country.
“Exactly. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a western state. Montana doesn’t care much for Washington these days.”
“But on base?”
“Hey, soldiers are from everywhere. If the base commander is sympathetic to the separatists, well, that ain’t good, now is it?”
Henry thought about what that might mean. Carlos spelled it out for him.
“They might be rounding people up; trying to make us choose sides. You’re a good ole boy from Georgia, so you might be all right. They might not take kindly to me, being from New York. Then again, being that none of us are even in the army or air force, we may have a problem. They’ll figure out we work for DC.”
“I thought we all did.”
“You know what I mean.”
Henry walked to the bank of windows and looked out at the base. There wasn’t much to see. The buildings were low and gray, and snow covered the ground. His breath fogged the window, and he stepped back, noting the pair of helicopters sweeping overhead.
Secession had been discussed openly for more than a decade, at first only by politicians on the fringes of sanity. Henry, along with the rest of the country, assumed clear heads would prevail. But as the middle class shrank, the idea of secession began to seem possible, if still insane. The schism within the Republican Party left the party vulnerable and floundering. Democrats had been in control of the White House for almost twenty years. The influx of immigrants into the country, combined with a lack of clear purpose from Republicans, enabled the Democrats to maintain control of the executive branch, and the country was mired in mudslinging and angry discourse while few laws of use were passed.
Liberals pointed fingers at conservatives, claiming the Republicans were obstructionist, favored the wealthy, and were motivated by religious zeal. Conservatives howled that the ivory tower liberals were socialists bent upon destroying the country, stripping individuals and states of rights. In Henry’s opinion, both sides made some valid points. The ban on handguns, an executive order that went into effect on December 1, two weeks ago, seemed to be the final straw.
Much of the country felt that the federal government no longer existed to serve the will of the people and viewed the continued intrusions of the government into their lives with hatred. The media on both sides elevated the rhetoric, pandering to paranoia, infl passions, creating the illusion of a world of black and white.
The divisions within the country were not reduced to geography; the racial divides between Anglos and everyone else were a great part of the unrest. In much of the nation, white people were now in the minority, and they didn’t care for that. The growing disparity of wealth was a part of it, too, and the richest segments of society continued to pull away from the rest, retreating into gated enclaves with private security and cameras.
Militia groups popped up in every part of the country; most of them were vocal but nonviolent and consisted of doomsday preppers and gun-rights folks. They were loyal citizens who loved America, and were stressed and worried about the future of the country. But as time passed, a few groups began to take action. White Pride organizations saw their membership rolls swell. There were bombings and sniper sprees and assassinations. The federal government responded by increasing domestic surveillance and tightening restrictions on firearms. By 2016, more than 30,000 unmanned drones proliferated over US airspace. Now, in the last month of 2024, the number had tripled. Big Brother was indeed watching.
Henry had no problem taking down a terrorist cell bent upon destruction. He’d seen the stockpiles of ammunition, the heavy machine guns, mustard gas, dirty bombs, and even some biological weapons like anthrax in the hands of extremist groups. He believed he was saving lives.