Suddenly, the enormity of the situation hit all of them right between the eyes for the first time. How could such an enormous mass of people survive without electrical power? The whole system was so weak and useless. The people themselves had been molded, due to the luxuries of modern civilization, into weak and brittle beings. Mother Nature could destroy everything we built at any time, and the world’s population could destroy themselves just as quickly, it seemed. It looked to the group like only a small percentage of the American population could survive, and they knew that extent of the catastrophe was worldwide. What would happen to the billions of already starving people who depended on the generosity of others now that those with resources had joined the ranks of those without? “We have around 100 large field electrical generators in our warehouses, and we are looking through our inventory for more items of use. I’ve checked the generators and they do work,” added Colonel Mondale, breaking Preston’s train of thought. “I’m sure that Camps Bragg and Lejeune have just as many. That will at least give some electrical power to necessary facilities.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” replied Preston. “You know guys,” he continued, “if I have anything to say about the next world order, I’m going to make sure that civilization is organized correctly this time. I’m going to work on Phase Seven of my plan—to make sure that this horrible destruction of humanity can never happen again, at least not by man himself. And, I have the two perfect men to sell my idea to—the president and the general. Now let’s do a hard day’s work and feed as many people as we can before we have to go north. I hear Lady Dandy coming in.”
Mike Mallory and his trusted co-pilot, John, decided to take the FedEx Cargomaster to the airfield where the Southwest passengers had stayed overnight to test out the distribution plan. He could carry 120 cases at a time, and their allotted area was D.C., Maryland, and Delaware. He knew these states well. Preston, flying the 210 with Maggie as his co-pilot, had picked both the Carolinas. He knew the area well because of the crop duster business, and he was carrying 50 cases per flight. Martie and Pam wanted Virginia, and headed up there with both 172s in formation, as they could only take 30 cases per aircraft with the back seats pulled out and the copilot’s seat free. Buck and Barbara decided on Tennessee, since Lady Dandy could carry much, much more and fly further with 350 cases. It wasn’t much, but at least they could get something done, and two to four flights a day would mean a few less people starving.
The Cargomaster had 120 cases of FSRs loaded by Air Force personnel. Each case was nine days of meals for one person, but the team decided that they would give one case to each civilian and tell them that they had to make it last for two weeks.
The hangar was still empty when he got there, the ground covered in a few fresh inches of snow that made landing a little dicey, and it wasn’t long before the same tractors appeared. This time there were three of them.
Mike explained to the farmers, who looked happy to see him return, that they would have to keep the runway clear at all times, and that the whole airfield as well as the nice warm hangar would commandeered by the U.S. Air Force. From now on, it would be a food distribution center and local pantry for needy people in the area.
Mike asked the farmers, still sitting on their tractors, how many aircraft had been in and out since he had left nearly a week ago. “None,” was the reply. He then asked how many aircraft in the hangers were flyable. Nobody knew, but one of the tractors drove off to bring the owner of one of the aircraft back. Mike then asked the farmers to go back to their farms and bring as much wood as they could, build a guard post, and barricade the front gate to make sure the airfield was secure.
From now on, he told them, the population in any area had two choices—either assist with the food distribution effort and work to turn local airports into future military-guarded warehouses—or not receive any food supplies at all. He explained to the farmers that once the enemy attacks were over in a couple of weeks, only then could larger C-130s with hundreds of cases come in and really get a truly worthwhile food distribution system going, and that there was only enough food until spring. Then it was up to the farmers, once again, to feed America or what was left of it.
The farmers responded that they had enough food, but that the local townsfolk were pestering them for something to eat and they would be more than happy to dole out the military food in an orderly manner until guards arrived. It saved them giving out their own supplies, which were in short supply.
Once Mike had explained things to the farmers, they were more than happy to do as he asked. Mike then went around to each hangar and opened the doors. Since most pilots kept the keys somewhere in the hangar, it was possible to see which aircraft would start and which had the bad electronics. It was a small hobby airstrip in the middle of nowhere, which meant that most of the aircraft were at least 20 years old or older.
He counted 22 possible aircraft in the hangars around the air port. Ten hangars were empty and he presumed that the aircraft would make it back sometime in the future. Of the 12 aircraft, ten started on the first try but most of them were small and would not carry many supplies. The number of aircraft would help make up for their small size. Only six of the aircraft—two high-wing Cessna 172s and four four-seat, low-wing Cherokee 140s were powerful enough to fly out at least 100 miles in any direction, and the two rear seats could be hauled out to carry one pilot, one guard, and 20-odd cases per flight.
If all six aircraft flew out to the same distribution point, like a smaller airfield, at least 120 people could receive two week’s worth of rations, and they could do that four times a day. The idea Mike and Preston had formulated was to feed at least 1,000 people from every small rural airport in the United States, and by their estimation, there were at least 15,000 airports around the country.
From this larger airfield, once food could be airlifted into it with a C-130 and then military trucks, at least 5,000 people could receive basic rations to keep them alive every couple of weeks. It wasn’t much, but if many of those 5,000 people could be fed and help the farmers with planting, then the new spring crops would feed a lot more people. The initial distribution building-blocks were small, but better than nothing, and nobody knew what the population count would be by the time the country got through the next two months of bitterly cold weather.
*****
The mood aboard the Chinese aircraft carrier was subdued. After the news of the air strike at the headquarters building in Nanjing, and all suffering from hangovers the next morning, the ship was quiet. The flotilla was 300 miles off the coast of China and on a direct heading for Panama at 20 knots.
Mo Wang had been up all night phoning all his termination squads in the United States. He was only able to communicate with 20 of them out of the 100 he tried. The rest either did not answer their phones, or could not answer their phones, he assumed. He had had many phone calls go through, but with no one talking on the other end. He had tried to communicate, but the person on the other end had just hung up.
He had also thought about things until close to 2:00 am when the chairman had personally knocked on the door of his stateroom, quite drunk, and told him that he had been demoted. He was now to fill Comrade Feng’s old position of Chief Communications Officer. “Comrade Wang, please hand me back your lapel badges. I expect a full report at our morning meeting, and it better not be only bad news, or your demotion could be extended, understood?”
Comrade Wang had no choice but to nod his agreement.