Until the last op in the hills to the north, children had never been harmed. He believed in the preservation of the Union, but now he was questioning his role. The unit was unconstitutional, and while he’d justified it in his mind in the past, he was increasingly uncomfortable. He knew he was not alone in his thinking.
The comm implanted in his head came to life. “
Big Dog en route. Prepare to extract.”
There was a kind of clicking sound in his head Henry had never heard before.
“ICS no longer secure.” That explained the sound. An un-hackable system had been hacked.
Henry shouldered his ruck and weapon.
Somewhere outside, the sound of gunfire echoed from buildings. At first, just a few rounds. Then it became more urgent, the rolling chaos of a full-blown firefight.
Henry helped overturn bunks to make some cover. The Wolves were skittish, communicating with hand signals. Some of the men took up positions near the rows of windows, back far enough so they would be harder to see, but placed so that they could cover the snow-covered grounds outside.
Henry took position just inside the doorway, off to the side, his submachine gun slung over his neck with a strap.
The firefight subsided outside the barracks and there was the sound of shouting and the rumble of helicopters and the scream of jets. The idea of American troops firing on one another was unthinkable. Shattering.
Sergeant Major Alex Martinez, from his position near one of the windows said, “Two birds inbound. They’re ours.”
Henry recognized the distinct sound of the stealth helicopters. He leaned around the door frame. The rotor wash from the birds blew snow into the air as they touched down. He could not see any other soldiers outside.
“Move out!” Sergeant Major Martinez ordered.
Henry jogged toward the LZ and then halted, crouched on one knee, weapon at ready, providing cover for his fellow operators. The men who had been on his heels out the door did the same.
Less than a mile away, something exploded. Maybe a bomb, perhaps an ordinance dump. The Wolves bounded forward and climbed into the waiting helicopters.
An armored personnel carrier lumbered around one of the nearby buildings off to Henry’s right flank close enough that he could see the gunner on top. A gunner behind a .50-cal, the long barrel swiveling.
Henry was out in the open courtyard, no cover to hide behind. The helicopters were on the ground and vulnerable. The APC had them dead to rights.
Henry ran, that naked feeling in him, the sense of being a target, being hunted and waiting for hot metal to cut him in half. The APC never opened up. Henry jumped into the nearest Blackhawk, strong hands pulling him onto the flight deck as the bird lifted. He turned once he was fully aboard, looking over the door gunner’s shoulder as the base swept past below. Smoke roiled over the airstrips in the distance, oily and dark, and some of the buildings on the base were burning.
In less than a minute, the helicopter was over wilderness, white and green and eternal, and the chaos of the base was behind them. The pilot flew nap of the earth, skimming the treetops and hugging the terrain. Henry held on to a strap mounted to the ceiling as the bird banked and dipped and his stomach lurched.
After half an hour, the pilot seemed to relax, and the flight became less white-knuckled. Sergeant Major Martinez grinned at him.
“You all right, Wilkins? Ya look a little green around the gills.”
“Good to go, sir,” Henry said. “What the hell is going on?”
“Dunno,” Martinez said. “You know as much as I do. Big Dog is in the other bird. I guess he’ll fill us in.”
Carlos leaned over and smacked Henry on the back of the head. “That was close.”
“Where are we heading to?”
“I don’t know. Calgary, maybe. We’re flying north. Calgary then maybe Seattle or San Fran,” Martinez said.
Henry wished he had a tablet, but personal electronic devices were not permitted during operations. He had no way to access the net without using his ICS, which was out of the question. He needed to know what was happening in the rest of the country. He was cut off from the rest of the world.
A civil war in America. It didn’t seem real. Talk is one thing. But bases going up in smoke? If that was happening here in Montana, then what did the rest of the country look like? Soldiers were killing each other. The cities would be burning as the conflict spilled out onto Main Street, from suburbia to downtown urban areas.
Suzanne and Taylor were in grave danger. Henry wondered what was transpiring at the naval air station in Key West. If Florida went with Texas and the rest of the South and West, what would Florida be like? From West Palm Beach south all the way to Key West, it’s like a different state. Sweet Jesus. South Florida wouldn’t want to leave the Union. I’ve got to get home to my wife and child. Her old man might be able to protect her, but then again, if there is open war, the base might look like Malmstrom or worse.
Henry had been in combat more times than he could count. He was calm and steady under fire. He was not a man given to panic. Yet thinking about Suzanne and Taylor alone in Key West, he felt a deep cold fear in him. There would be food shortages, water shortages, and potentially general breakdown of society. He needed to get home, and there were thousands of miles separating him from his family.
KEY WEST, FLORIDA
Suzanne surfaced at the stern and removed the regulator from her mouth, breathing the warm ocean air and blinking against the bright sunlight. As she slipped out of her BC she saw Bart, his hands on the stern, peering down at her. He was sun bronzed and blond, and sometimes when they walked around town people assumed he and Suzanne were brother and sister. Bart’s wife, Mary, appeared at his shoulder. She looked worried.
“You gotta stop doing that,” Bart said.
“What?” Suzanne handed Bart the long speargun.
“Leaving your dive buddy, then chasing fish to the bottom of the damn ocean. You have to be about out of air.”
“Well, I’m safe and sound,” Suzanne said. Bart gripped her tank along with her BC and hauled it into the boat. She removed her weight belt and pushed her mask onto the top of her head.
“He was about to go in after you,” Mary said.
“Okay, jeeze,” Suzanne said. Bart offered his hand but she ignored it and pulled herself onto the dive platform, removed her fi<…>
“It’s dangerous, is all I’m saying,” Bart said. Mary produced a towel while Suzanne stripped out of her wetsuit.
Suzanne dried off and put on sweatpants and a fleece over her bikini. She shivered, feeling a sense of accomplishment and tingling with life. After a dive, especially a deep one where she cut it close, she always felt that way. Something about the proximity to danger made her feel the most alive. She recognized this about herself and found it to be somewhat incongruous with the way she generally lived. She was essentially careful and conservative in the way she conducted herself. She always wore a seat belt, she did not like to drink heavily, and she didn’t do drugs, jump out of airplanes, or engage in risky sexual behavior. But put me down at a hundred twenty feet with a great hammerhead circling around, and I’m in heaven.
She munched on some sushi they’d picked up that morning, ate some cut oranges, and washed it down with bottled water while Bart busied himself with the anchor. They were about ten miles offshore, and the sky was clear and blue. The Blue Mistress III rose and fell with the gentle waves and there was the burble of the bilge pump. She sat on the cooler behind the cockpit and stretched her legs out, facing the stern. Mary plunked down next to her.