In the background, I could hear the tech reporting that 18 Patriot missiles had been launched. I could hear the alert sirens sounding all over the camp, probably for the first time ever outside of a severe weather test or warning. Another set of whooshes indicated a third launch from another set of Patriot batteries.

My eyes were focused out the windows, watching for, what? That last blinding flash of light? Instead, I saw men running for shelters. Dimly, I was aware of shouting in the background, the techs shouting something about a hit…huh? I pulled my eyes away from the windows and looked back around the room, blinking from the change in lighting. General Arneson had a grim smile on his face as he glanced at me.

“Fucking A", he said. “The software upgrades worked.” He looked pleased to be alive. I frowned at him.

“What software upgrades?” I asked.

“We had to lock out the IFF designator on the missiles so we could shoot down our own ballistic missiles. That was never part of the original design of the Patriot, that we’d be using it against our own weapons.’”

I nodded. It made sense to me. But what he said next froze my blood.

“This was the first time we’d succeeded in the lockout.”

An alarm sounded and the techs with one voice said “Oh fuck…”

General Arneson and I turned towards the monitors. My frozen blood shattered. The monitors now indicated multiple missile launches from the silos in North and South Dakota.

“Flight paths?” the General demanded.

“Too early to tell.” was the immediate response from the techs.

“Get the NEST teams out scouting for the debris from that missile we just knocked out. I want full containment and cleanup immediately. We can’t afford to have anything left around to enter either the food chain or the water table.” One of the techs picked up a phone and started issuing orders. Outside, I could hear shouts of men and engines starting up.

“General?”, said one of the techs.

“Yes?”

“Initial tracking indicates possible targeting of the East and West Coasts of the US.”

“Call it in – we can’t depend on NORAD to track those missiles. Pass your data on upstream and stay on it and keep me updated.”

“Yes sir!”

“Sir?” called another tech.

“Yes, son?”

“Colonel Johnson is reporting that he’s almost in position to begin the attack on the Duluth Air Base.” The tech’s face was a study in contrasts – face strained from tension, fear vying with his duty to remain on station and the knowledge that fellow service people were putting their lives on the line against other fellow service people.

General Arneson reached for the microphone, keyed it and said into it, “You may begin your attack, Colonel.”

“Roger”, was the only word spoken in return.

“General, I’ve got updated tracking information on the missile launches.” This tech’s face was angry.

“What do you have?”

“Preliminary analysis indicates the following possible target areas: Northwest Washington State, probably Seattle, Northwest Oregon, probably Portland, Northern California, probably San Francisco, Southern California, probably Los Angeles, Central US, most likely Omaha, that bird should impact shortly, Central US, probably Chicago, that bird should also impact shortly, Eastern US, probably New York, it looks like at least two birds, Eastern US, probably D.C., there’s 4 birds targeted, and Florida, perhaps targeted at Canaveral or Miami, too early to tell.”

General Arneson looked into my eyes. “General Peters, do you believe in God?”

I nodded.

He bowed his head and recited the Lord’s Prayer.

“Our Father who art in heaven
hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done on Earth as in Heaven
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us
And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever.”

Amen’s came from all around the room. Many of the men and women crossed themselves and silently prayed further.

After several minutes, all heads were raised and looking at the General.

“Ok, people, we’ve trained for this over and over. We know our jobs. Stay focused on your job. Stay focused on your work. Stay focused on what needs to be done.” He turned back to me. “Come on, we’ve some planning to do.”

***

“James, I would like you to take over as Military Governor for the District of Minnesota.”

We were in another conference room, this one with a large plastic map of the upper Midwestern states of the US. A black line had been drawn around North Dakota, South Dakota, Iowa, Wisconsin and Minnesota. Neatly printed lettering indicated that this area was the District of Minnesota.

“My orders are to manage this District, hold it and keep it a functional part of the United States. These 5 states will essentially cease to exist as states as we’ve come to know them and will now function as one single entity.  It is going to take a lot of arm twisting, cajoling and perhaps some outright threats of force,  but it has to be done.

“I’ve already sent helicopters and planes to bring the Governors, Lieutenant Governors, and elected legislative leaders of each state here for “consultations”. They will not be leaving until we have agreements to work together. Essentially, they don’t have any choice in the matter. The President issued a National State of Emergency as well as nationalized all of the National Guard and Reservists. I’ve been give full powers of war both by Executive Order of the President and declaration by Congress.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in” General Arneson said.

The door opened and one of the female techs came in with a sheaf of papers. It was obvious she had been crying.

“Sir, here’s an update: Omaha was only partially successful in trying to protect the city – the missile was hit but not disabled. We’ve received reports via landlines that most of the downtown area is destroyed with intense fires and destruction in the outlying areas.”

She swallowed a sob and went on. “Seattle and Portland also failed, both ports are destroyed as are large sections of their downtown areas. Same story for Los Angeles, but San Francisco managed to knock their missile down like we did. It is far worse elsewhere though. Chicago is gone, off the air. 2 missiles with what must have been MRV’s hit the south shore industrial complexes, taking out the remaining steel production mills, the shipping ports, and all of the downtown areas. New York is also gone. We’ve not been able to reach anyone closer than Syracuse.”

“What about D.C., Corporal Jensen?” the General asked.

“Gone, sir. 6 missiles were targeted for D.C., and the closest we’ve heard is Newport News. Boston is also gone, we believe that was from several cruise missiles. Miami is also gone.”

Tears ran down the woman’s face and she wiped them away with her free hand.

“We are downloading satellite imagery from the weather sats. We’ve not been able to access any of the mil-birds, and the Keyhole birds are tasked elsewhere. We don’t have direct access to those either, although we are still trying. The Air Force locked us out of all space-based assets.”

“Ok. As soon as you have the latest weather sat imagery, pipe it to the monitors in here. Also, get meteorology going on forecasts for fallout for the West Coast and Omaha nukes. We probably have a couple of days, but I want full information ready for distribution to all of the news services later today. Dismissed”

The tech saluted and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Arneson shook his head and sighed deeply. "This is far worse than anyone expected. "

"General," I said, interrupting him, "nothing here makes sense. While I may be out of the loop on a lot of things, I know how long it takes to move a heavy combat brigade. This didn’t happen overnight, much less over the space of 3-4 days. You KNEW something like this was going to happen. If you want me to be your mil-gov, I have to know what you know. And I want to know it right now."

He looked at me then, really looked hard. After a moment, he looked away, focusing on one of the monitors against the far wall.

"It started shortly after the election. The FBI began hearing rumors of plots to kill the President. Of course, this is nothing new, the Secret Service deals with that all the time. But as both services began to investigate them, agents began to turn up missing. At first it was assumed that the agents had stumbled into an ambush, but when family notifications were being made, no one could locate the families of those assumed killed. The houses were empty, bank accounts emptied and closed, credit cards cancelled. It was like they had vanished from the face of the earth.

"A total of 12 agents from both the FBI and the Secret Service vanished over the course of 3 days. They and their families were simply gone. But then, they got a lucky break. Right after Christmas, the parents of one of the Secret Service agents’ wife got a phone call from their daughter and we were able to trace the call to Nellis AFB."

There was a loud knock on the door. "Enter," said Arneson.

Corporal Jensen entered and saluted. "Sir, New Orleans, Galveston and Houston have just been hit. B-2′s were reported overhead and then they were off the air."

"Goddamnit!" roared Arneson. Corporal Jensen flinched and paled. "Sorry Corporal, that wasn’t for you. What else do you have?"

"We’ve been tying into what’s left of the US continental air control network, and apart from the cities that aren’t," she paused and swallowed hard, "no longer," swallowed again, "are off line, we’ve got a fairly good idea of what’s in the air. All pricate and commercial flights have been told to land, and those flights that were headed for the cities," another pause as she she searched for words, "that were headed for the target cities have been re-routed to nearby airports that are able to handle the size of the plane. All international flights have been turned back. Most were redirected to either Mexico or Canada, although one flight was allowed to land in Portland ME, but was refueled and sent on to Canada. I expect that the air space over CONUS will be clear of all civilian traffic in the next 2 hours."

“Very good, Corporal. You are dismissed.” He returned her salute and turned back to me.

“As I was saying, we were able to trace the phone call back to Nellis Air Force Base. And then the trail went cold. Nellis is a huge installation, and it would take one thousand men over a year to scour the place and even then, there would be no guarantee that we would find anything.”

He stared off into space. I sat thinking about what he’d said.

General Arneson spoke again. “Inquiries were met with polite cooperation, but everything came up a dead end. Until a week ago. The missile installations in North and South Dakota were the first to go off the air. Each command and control center changes its crew every 4 days. Each crew consists of 24 men, working 8 hour shifts. The launch targeting and launch code computers are synced every 5 minutes with Cheyenne Mountain, and the crews are required to do verbal check-ins every two hours. Shortly after the regular crew change, the entire Command and Control for our missiles went off the air. The communication lines to Cheyenne Mountain were severed and there was no verbal check in. Normal protocol was to send a technical crew out to the site, which was done, but the tech crew never returned. A helicopter was sent out to overfly the installation, and its last message was that it was under fire. That’s when we got our marching orders.”

I nodded. One week was about right to get the heavy metal from Louisiana to Minnesota.

He continued, “Then, a number of air bases initiated a communications black out and shut their gates.”

I had to smile at that last bit, the scene from “Dr. Strangelove” popped unbidden into my head, where Sterling Hayden shuts down his base and starts World War III with the Russians.

“Three days ago, the afternoon before the President and all the others were killed, the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff received one single communication from Chief of Staff Robert Gunther. The gist of the communication was that the Army, Navy and Marine Corps were to stand aside and stand down. Gunther believed that the President and Congress had, over the past several decades, committed, in his words, ‘high crimes and misdemeanors, as well as treason’ against the Constitution of the United States. He demanded that the President be placed under arrest, and that the Congress as a body resign and immediate elections be held.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

“Serious as gangrene,” the General responded.

“He sounds like the General of one of the many third world countries that get overthrown by their military if the government doesn’t concede to their demands.”

General Arneson nodded. “Exactly so. The JCS held an emergency meeting and recommended to the President that he immediately evacuate to the National Command and Control Center in Tennessee, but he declined. The Secret Service backed him up, which was thought by the JCS to be very odd given the nature of the demand, but now, after what happened two days ago, it all makes sense now.”

“Okay,” I said, “but now what? D.C . no longer exists, and apparently we are on our own out here. You want me to be ‘Military Governor’, but what exactly does that mean?”

“Under the contingency orders I was given last night,” he said, “I have very wide latitude of authority. And yes, we are on our own. Given the extent of the attack,” he waved his hand at the monitors which showed a weather satellite view of North America, “we can expect no relief in the near future.”

I nodded.

“Do you remember the oath you swore when you became an officer?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. I’ll never forget it: ‘I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic,” as I said that last part, a shiver of horror passed over my soul, raising the hairs on my arms, “that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.’ Who could ever forget that oath once they’ve taken it?” I asked.

“No sane person, that’s for sure,” the General said.

Another knock sounded on the door. After the General gave the order to enter, I was surprised to see Major Fredrickson. He saluted and said, “Sir, the Governor of Minnesota has arrived, along with the Speaker of the Minnesota House, the President of the Minnesota Senate, and the Chief Justice of the Minnesota Supreme Court.” The Major smiled tightly. “And sir, the Governor is quite firm in his belief that you are not in command here, that as the ‘duly elected representative of the people of Minnesota’ that he’s the one in command.” He looked he had more to say, but stopped there.

“Andy? What else is going on?” The General prompted him.

Major Fredrickson sighed, shrugged, then said, “Well, sir, the Governor had the State Police arrest General Sieven of the Minnesota National Guard after General Sieven told the Governor that in time of National Emergency all control over military ‘assets’ devolves to the Military, not the State.”

“I see. Do you know where General Sieven is being held?”

“Yes, sir, he’s being held under close arrest in his home, sir, with his family.”

The General’s eyes turned cold. “Major, you are hereby authorized to take the necessary steps to see to General Sieven’s release. Up to and including the use of deadly force, but only as a last resort, understand?” The Major nodded. “I seriously doubt that the Minnesota State Police have the intestinal fortitude to argue with me on this. Take a Blackhawk and a squad of men with you and see to the release. In fact, take the chopper that General Peters arrived in as well as its escort.”

The Major saluted, spun on his heel and left the room.

“Well, General, shall we go visit our guest?”

“What a way to wake up,” I murmured into her hair as she snuggled close. She sighed and hugged me.

“It’s time to wake up, sleepy. The sun is up and it is going to be a wonderful day.” Her eyes darkened. “I just wish that …”

I held a finger to her lips. “Now, now. None of that. You’ve got other things to think about, and if you don’t, I can give you something that will get your mind off current events.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Oh? And what would that be?”

Instead of answering, I moved my hands lower…

“Oh…” Then, “OH!”

***

About three hours later, showered, dressed and fed, we rolled down US Highway 12 making good time. Everyone else was probably in church, and we had the roads to ourselves. I reflected aloud that the churches probably hadn’t seen so many bottoms on their pews since the last Easter.

Lauren elbowed me. “Show some respect! Betsy would probably ‘accidentally’ pour hot coffee on your lap if she ever heard you say that!”

I laughed. “That’s very true…but it doesn’t make what I said any less true either.”

***

We turned north on Minnesota 15 and the miles flew by. Soon enough, we were passing through St. Cloud and then onto US Highway 10. The roads were still empty, but it was nearing noon, and soon the churches would be emptying out. We rolled through Rice and sure enough, a steady stream of cars funneled onto the highway heading both east back to St. Cloud and west to Royalton and further on. We mingled with the cars and kept the speed down.

Several miles south of Little Falls, the traffic began to back up once again and we saw another military convoy heading in the same direction as us, as well as more military trains sitting. This time their flat car loads were road haulers, designed to carry the MBT’s and other heavy units that had been off-loaded the day before. Shit. I sighed, then called in to the house.

“Betsy, we are about 30 minutes out, how are things?”

“Just fine, Mr. Peters. We’ve got everything put away and I’m getting lunch ready.”

“Ok, we will see you in a bit, bye!”

We passed a large number of road haulers that had tarps spread over their distinctive loads. Distinctive that is, if you know what the shape was. Patriot batteries. A battalion’s worth. And the closest Patriot battalion was Ft. Hood, Texas. Another long haul. Just WHAT THE FUCK was going on?

***

We made the remaining 20 miles in good time by getting off the highway and taking the back roads. As we approached the house, we were overflown by an Apache with a full weapons loadout. They side flew with us as we approached the house, then hovered as we parked and went inside.

Fred met us at the door. “There’s been a development…”

I cut him off. “Yeah. I can see.”

“No, that’s not it. I just took a call from the Ripley commandant. They are sending over a chopper to pick you up and bring over for a conference.” His face was a study in confusion.

“A conference?”

“That’s what they said.”

The harsh beat of helicopter blades thrummed into the house and snow and debis flew by the windows. Outside, a Blackhawk helicopter was setting down just beyond the plowed area in front of the house. The side door slid open and four fully armed troops spilled out and took defensive positions around the chopper. In the air around us, four Apaches, including the one that had eyeballed us on the way in, circled – forming a protective cordon. A major in full dress uniform hopped down from the Blackhawk and walked through the snow towards the house.

I turned to Fred and Lauren. “This is going to be interesting, I think. I’ve got a hunch that I’m about to find out what the fuss is about.” I hugged Lauren and kissed her. I whispered “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.” She squeezed my ribs in a bear hug and then stepped back.

“Hurry back.”

“I will.” I turned and walked back out the door just as the major stepped up the front steps. He saluted. I just looked at him. “I’m no longer in the service, Major.”

His arm snapped back down. “Yes sir. I am Major Fredrickson, adjutant to General Arneson. He’s asked that I escort you over to Camp Ripley for a conference.”

“So I understand. I just got home and I haven’t even had lunch yet.”

“Yes sir, I am aware of that. With the General’s compliments, he asks that you join him for lunch as well.”

I shrugged. “Fine with me. Let’s go.” I walked towards the helicopter with the major at my back. Once I’d settled myself in one of the jump seats, I placed the headphones over my ears. The major settled himself next to me, and the guard platoon jumped in, pulled the door shut and the Blackhawk spooled up and off we went, Apaches fanning out in front, back and alongside. I glanced at the major but he wasn’t giving anything away. I searched my memory for the name Arneson and came up blank. The one thing I knew was that General Arneson was not the Commandant of Camp Ripley. Curiouser and curiouser. I sighed and settled back in the seat for the short jump over to Ripley.

***

We overflew the airfield and if anything, Fred’s count had been light. There were 2 squadrons each of Warthogs and Apaches. The sides of the field had been plowed and compacted to handle the additional aircraft, and I could see signs that additional spaces were being cleared, probably for the Patriot batteries that were still out on the highway. Off in the distance I could see the service yard was busy with various heavy units being worked on, it looked like a kicked over ant’s nest, but one with purpose. My eyes picked out a well-ordered flow, men and women working with a fixed purpose – to get every piece of equipment ready for … what?.

As the Blackhawk settled on the ground, a Humvee drove up followed by an APC, which backed up with the rear hatch facing the chopper. A platoon of guards jumped out and the door to the chopper slid open and the guard platoon meshed with the platoon already on the ground. The major followed, and went straight into the APC. I raised an eyebrow over the security, but followed. The doubled guard platoon filed in, the hatch sealed, and off we drove. I looked over at the major and he was staring off in space. It was evident his orders had been to collect me, and make sure that no harm came to me. From any source. I looked at the insignia on the guards. Regular Army, not the National Guard. Interesting. Was there a turf war going on inside the Commandant’s office? I’d find out shortly.

***

The drive was short, the Commandant’s office is near the field. As the rear hatch of the APC opened and the guard platoon filed out, I could see mixed units of RA and NG working around the area, gauging sight lines as well as surveying. Emplacements were being dug and AA guns emplaced behind sandbags. My stomach flipped. There was no way we could hole up, even in the basement if these guys were thinking things were going to get as serious as it looked. The odor of fresh cooked meat wafted through the air as the front door to the building opened in front of us. Two men stood at the door, Commandant Adam Shively and a man I didn’t know, probably General Arneson. The guard platoon peeled off, taking positions flanking the doorway. Major Fredrickson stepped in front of me and saluted. “I’ve collected General Peters for you, sir.”

I scowled. “I haven’t been General Peters in a very long time, Major.”

The man I presumed to be General Arneson saluted back. “Dismissed Major.” The major turned on his heel and left. The guard platoon stayed put.

“Adam, just what the hell is going on? I get home from a shopping trip to find out that I’ve been summoned to a ‘conference’”, I as much sarcasm into the word as I could, “and then a Blackhawk escorted by fully armed Apache attack helicopters come to collect me.” I nodded at the guard platoon, “and an ‘escort’”, more sarcasm, “of fully armed and equipped troops.”

I glared. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Up. To?”

Adam looked at General Arneson. “I told you he’d be a bit upset by this approach.”

The general grunted. “Follow me.” He turned and walked into the building. Adam extended a hand, “Good to see you too, James.” I glared again. He ushered me inside and into the conference room.

***

The conference room had been taken over by the intelligence geeks who’d converted it into a full-scale combat information center, complete with a wall-to-wall video system on the far wall. Currently displayed was a map of the Continental United States, pock marked with green, yellow and red markers. Not many red markers, but enough to make my skin crawl. And far too many yellow markers. I looked closer and saw that there were a number of yellow markers scattered across North and South Dakota. And one centered on Duluth.

I turned to both men. “Is that what I think it is?”

General Arneson nodded. “Yes. Communications have been ‘lost’ with the missile bases in North and South Dakota. The Duluth Air Guard Base has also been out of communication now for almost 72 hours.”

A truck rumpled by the window, followed by others. The Patriot batteries had arrived.

“I see. And?”

General Arneson looked back at me. “Let’s have some lunch.”

The non-sequitur caught me off guard. “What?”

“Lunch. I heard that you hadn’t had lunch. Let’s eat.”

As soon as the words left his lips, side doors opened and 4 men entered carrying platters of sandwiches, snacks and beverages. The platters were placed on side tables and the men quickly left, closing the doors behind them.

“General Arneson…” I started. The general cut me off.

“Please, call me Arnie.” he said.

“Ok, ARNIE.” I put some emphasis into the name. “Please, for god’s sake, tell me what is going on here!”

Arnie smiled. “I heard about your call last night to Major Lockhart.” He stopped smiling. “Blueberry pie, isn’t that correct, Jim?”

I must admit that it was a good thing there was a chair behind me. I sat heavily.

“Right at this minute, General Bronson believes that the United States Air Force is engaged in committing acts of treason. Early intelligence seems to suggest that they had a hand in the assassination of the President, Vice-President and the others. The fact that numerous Air Force bases and Air National Guard bases are under base commander lockdown and are not responding to radio and telephone inquiries indicates to the General that activities not in line with their oaths as members of the military are taking place.”

“And your mission?”

There was no pause at all. “To put a stop to it.”

There was suddenly a rush of static from one of the loudspeakers. “Bandit. Bandit. Bandit. Aircraft inbound.”

General Arneson nodded at one of the specialists at the radio center. The specialist keyed his microphone. “Interdict. I say again, interdict. Weapons free.”

“Roger. Interdict acknowledge weapons free.”

General Arneson looked over at me. “Until we have the Patriots up, we are sitting ducks here. The Apaches have been armed with Sidewinders and AIM-120′s. They can handle almost anything thrown at us.”

More static. “Missiles away”. Pause. “Splash one, over”.

The com specialist responded, “Splash one, roger. Any chutes?”

“Affirmative. One chute. SAR requested, over.”

“On the way, over.”

“Roger. We will circle and interdict until SAR arrives. Out.”

“Roger, Out.”

Adam glanced over at me. “This is the third probe in the past 10 hours. All have been taken out.” He frowned at me. “Are you ok?”

Am I ok? Jesus. What a thing to ask. Our own military units gone rogue? Shooting down our own aircraft? Killing our own men?

A phone rang. The com specialist answered in a quiet monotone. “Acknowledged,” he said and hung it up. “Patriot Battery Able will be active in about 15 minutes.”

General Arneson nodded, then said to Adam, “Get something stronger for Jim. I think he needs some whiskey.”

More static on the loudspeakers. “SAR on site. Airman in custody. Returning to base. Out.”

“Acknowledge. Out.”

A glass with a brown liquid and ice cubes was pushed into my hands. I lifted it to my lips and the smooth mellow taste of bourbon flowed down my throat and hit my stomach. Instantly my guts rebelled and I gagged. I bent over and found a bucket placed between my legs. I heaved and threw up the contents of my stomach.

***

After about 20 minutes, I felt better and nibbled at some cheese and crackers. I sat in a comfortable chair and looked at the video monitor. Some of the yellow markers had turned green, and one had turned red: Duluth.

Two more men had entered the room while I was recovering and stood hunched over a table discussing something, attack plans perhaps. Both men wore combat fatigues and as I stood and moved closer, I saw the wings of the Air National Guard on their uniforms. These must be the commanders of the Apache and A-10 squadrons parked out on the field. On the table was a map of Northeaster Minnesota. A decision had been made. Duluth was about to lose its National Guard Air Base and most probably its “International Airport”.

General Arneson straightened. “Is your mission clear?” Both men nodded. “Then begin your preparations immediately. The mission is approved.” Both men saluted and left the room.

I grabbed the end of the table as a cold shudder passed through me. I didn’t have any relatives or friends in the Duluth area, but I felt sorry for anyone who was at the airport. There was a shit storm on the way, and it was going to splatter anyone who got in the way.

General Arneson seemed to read my thoughts. “When the base commander locked down the base, he closed the airport, taking over its operations center. Our intelligence assets report that there are no civilians anywhere on the base or on the airport property. Even the civilian security guards are gone, all replaced by Air Police.”

I nodded. Made sense. Keep the civilian casualties to a minimum, something that was pounded into every soldier that had ever gone through basic training, and reinforced over and over again. The US Military does not use civilians as hostages or as protective cover. Ever.

“I need to call the house. Let them know I’m ok.”

General Arneson nodded. “Use the phone over there.” He pointed at a phone on a desk in the far corner.

I walked over, sat down and dialed the number from memory. The phone at the house was picked up immediately by Betsy. “Peters Res….”

I cut her off. “Betsy, it’s me, let me speak to Lauren.” The phone was handed over and Lauren came on.

“Jimmy? What’s going on? We are hearing planes and helicopters taking off.”

“I will tell you about it when I get back. It’s going to be awhile, so sit tight. I’m OK, and I will be home as soon as I can.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetpea. But I have to go now.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye.” I hung up the phone. In the distance, I could hear the A-10 Warthogs spooling up their engines and the Apache helicopters taking off. A lot of people were about to have a very bad afternoon.

I walked back to the center of the room. “What’s the plan, General? I mean, why am I here?”

He motioned for me to sit and took a chair himself.

“General Bronson has a very high opinion of you, General Peters.”

I raised my hands. “Please, Arnie” I said.

“Sorry, old habits die hard. Anyway, General Bronson seems to think you can handle yourself pretty well.”

I nodded.

“Just for the record, I did exactly the same thing,” he pointed at the now cleaned out wastebasket. “It’s a hard thing to do to send men to their deaths. It’s even hard to send them out to kill their own countrymen.”

The opening salvo of the Second Civil War had just taken place and the general sat there as if this were just another strategy meeting to get more funding from Congress.

“I take no pleasure in doing my job. You remember the job, right? To protect and defend the Constitution of the United States of America.”

My back stiffened. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“Sorry. That was over the line. I apologize. You aren’t the enemy here.” He stared off into space for a moment, then shook himself. The sound of the aircraft slowly faded into the distance. “I’ve got a job to do. My first priority is to protect the men and women under my command here, and by extension, everyone in the immediate vicinity of this base. A strike on this base will have dire consequences for people living as far off as the Twin Cities and far to the East, perhaps as far as Detroit.”

I frowned at him for a moment, then looked at the big map again, focusing on North and South Dakota.

He followed my eyes. “Yes. 36 missiles sitting in silos. We can’t take all 36 out. Hell, I’d be surprised if we could take even one out. No. That’s not our mission. Our mission is to take out the command and control centers. There’s four of them. We have to do that before they can reconfigure the missiles for strikes inside the US. Our intelligence indicates that they’ve already started the process, but because of the safeguards built into the system and some local resistance, it is taking far longer than they expected it would.”

He sighed. I could see the weight on his shoulders. “But that’s not why I called you here. I need a liason to the public. Someone who can speak for me to the local citizens and help keep the peace while I concentrate on our main mission.”

I nodded slowly. I was following his train of thought.

“We didn’t bring any PR weenies with us.” I smiled. Good. “You have done the job. You know the mission I have. And I know that you can follow orders, and that you love and believe in your country.”

He was interrupted by more static from the loudspeakers. “Missile launch. I say again: Missile Launch detected.”

General Arneson’s face went white. He leapt to his feet and strode over to the command center and sat in the center chair. “Talk to me, specialist.”

“We have a confirmed missile launch from Facility 12 in South Dakota.”

“What’s our Patriot status?”

“We have 18 batteries on-line with another 24 in the process of setting up.”

“Start feeding them the telemetry. Let’s see if we can shoot that fucker down.”

“Probably not, sir. The missile is on a ballistic flight path. No target information is available yet sir.”

“I don’t give a good goddam what its flight path is, just start the feed to the Patriot batteries!”

“SIR, YES SIR!”

Sweat trickled down my face as I watched in silence.

“Update sir, flight path indicates the strike possibility circle is narrowing for Central Minnesota.”

“Do the Patriots have the telemetry?”

“Yes sir, they’ve been tracking for the last minute. All batteries are locked on and are waiting for final shooting solution.”

“Pass the word, weapons free.”

“Weapons free, yes sir.”

There was a pause as the specialist spoke into his microphone and suddenly I heard the repeated whoosing sound of multiple rockets being launched simultaneously.

“Batteries report 40 away sir, Reserve fire …”

Another whooshing sound and the reserves fired. Two waves of rockets heading for the nuclear weapon screaming in on us.

“Peters Residence” came the chirpy answer from Betty.

“Hey, it’s James,” I said. “We’re in Buffalo – there’s no way we would have made St. Cloud in time, so we pulled off and came here to get out of the traffic.”

“That’s good. We were starting to worry. Fred wants to talk to you.” I heard her call him, then hand the phone over.

“Jim?”

“Yeah, what’s going on Fred?” I said.

“A squadron of Warthogs landed at Ripley about 4 hours ago, followed in short order by a squadron of Apaches. From the sounds we are hearing overhead, it sounds like they are making airdrops as well, but I can’t get a good feed from any of the cameras to know for sure. Almost every two minutes a Herc is passing overhead.”

“Damn.”

“Yep, and that isn’t the end of it. Three trains pulled in, starting about an hour after you left.”

“Three? We passed one as we headed down Highway 10 this morning.”

“From what I can tell, a heavy cavalry brigade has just taken up residence at Ripley. I’m guessing two armored battalions, plus a mechanized infantry battalion and a heavy field artillery battalion.”

“We saw 6 MLRS and 3 Paladins, so that would be about right for the arty. I’m guessing you didn’t see the usual engineering battalion?”

“Naw. I had enough just trying to count the individual units, but it’s probably there somewhere. Took ‘em close to 10 hours to unload. We can hear them all the way over here inside the main house moving around. Sounds like they are setting up to stay awhile.”

“Any road equipment?”

“No. I can’t be sure, mind you, but I didn’t see any haulers on the trains or being unloaded.”

“Fuck.”

I heard him chuckle. “Yeah. My sentiments exactly. The markings on the Warthogs and Apaches are NG. From Idaho.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Get on-line and check, but I’m guessing this was one of the brigades whose deployment to the sandbox was cancelled after the election. I seem to remember reading that a heavy brigade was all packed and ready to load up on the Ready Reserve RO-RO’s, but they were told to stand down, and were then told they were heading back home. They were staging somewhere in Louisiana, I think. Well, that’s good news at least. Any idea what’s going on with the RA that pulled in yesterday?”

“No idea, but judging by the numbers of NG pulling in today, I’m guessing that the RA boys are feeling a mite out of place and out-numbered.” I could almost see the grin on his face.

“What’s your take?”

“Well…” he paused and I could sense some reluctance to speak.

“Ah. Yeah. I think I understand. We’ll talk tomorrow when I get in. Keep on collecting information. Maybe set up a rotation so we’ve got eyes on the camp around the clock.”

“Will do.” I could hear the relief in his voice. He didn’t want to talk on the phone, and I didn’t blame him. Chances are good that they hadn’t set up any intercepts as yet, but cell phones are notoriously easy to hack, if it hadn’t been done already, it would be very soon. “We’ll lock everything down here. See you tomorrow. Good night!”

“Night, Fred.” I hung up.

While I had been talking, Lauren had come back into the room and snuggled under my arm, her ear near mine to listen to Fred.

As I rolled back towards the center of the bed after putting the cell phone on the side table, she wrapped her arms around me. “Hold me,” she said.

“Your wish is my command, my love,” and I held her tight. Her head was on my shoulder and pretty soon her breathing slowed and I felt her body relax into mine as she fell asleep.

*  *  *

I didn’t get much sleep that night. Why a heavy combat brigade? I think that was the part that bothered me the most. It certainly wasn’t a fear of invasion from Canada, of all places. A good chunk of the Canadian military was in Afghanistan, Serbia, Croatia and a couple of the hotspots around the world. What they had in CONCAN was probably on the order of two or three battalions of military police plus a small number of fighters and ships tasked to patrol the Bering Straits, keeping an eye on Russia, China and North Korea for us.

And how did they get here so fast? There was no way that a heavy combat brigade, in less than 24, hell, less than 12 hours, could have loaded and shipped three full military trains. I counted backwards the number of days that transit alone would have needed from the closest depot. Even assuming that this was the brigade that stood down, to turn it and get it rolling up here would take the better part of 36 hours, and probably closer to 48. That the men had arrived at the same time spoke of an even longer lead time.

Something was starting to stink.

I eased myself out from under Lauren and stepped outside onto the balcony with the cell phone. I looked at my watch. 11 PM in Virginia, yeah, he’d still be up. I dialed the number from memory.

“General Bronson’s residence. This is an unsecured line. May I help you please?” The slow Texas drawl was exactly the same as I had remembered.

“Danny? You jumped-up Texas jack-rabbit, are you still working for that cranky old bastard?”

“Jimmy? Good lord. What has it been? 10 years?”

“11 years, 4 months, 3 days and an odd number of hours, minutes and seconds plus one ex-wife.”

He laughed. Danny, actually Major Daniel Lockhart, had been the fair-haired wunderkind for as long as I could remember. Tall, lean and lanky, he was a Texan cowboy of the old school through and through. We had met in Basic, gone through Armor at Fort Knox, and ended up in the ass-end of the world in Oklahoma (and a few other classified places). For a Texan, there was nothing worse than being stranded in the OK state. We had spent many an evening either staring out at the sagebrush or sitting in a bar getting sloshed. Then Danny was tapped to become an aide to then-Colonel Bronson, and I was left to fend for myself. We kept in touch regularly with e-mails and Christmas cards, occasionally commenting on the latest activities of our old unit.

“Is the General around?” I asked.

“No – with everything that’s been going on in D.C., he’s been putting in long hours at Command HQ. They are trying to come up with a plan to bring as many divisions home as we can. It sounds like the new President wants to pull in his predecessors horns. The Brass are being reluctant, but the President is insistent. In fact, the he’s already relieved two 4 stars for telling him what he didn’t want to hear.”

I rolled my eyes. Just what we needed on top of everything else, a President playing ostrich. “Well, maybe you can help me out, I’ve got a question for you.”

There was a long pause. Danny’s gift for gab only went so far, he wouldn’t tell his mother the time of day if it had been classified as ‘Eyes Only’. “Tell me, and I’ll see if I can talk about it. There has been a lot of ‘need-to-know’ stuff going on lately.”

That statement told me a lot already. I said, “We’ve got some new residents at Camp Ripley. Looks like a full heavy combat brigade, plus a squadron each of Warthogs and Apaches. Is North Dakota planning an invasion of Minnesota?” I said that last half-jokingly.

Danny laughed, but it was a harsh, forced laugh. “No, nothing like that. That is one of the brigades that was re-tasked after the election in November. We sent them up to Ripley there to work some kinks out. Remember when we were sent to Germany and did nothing but haul howitzers up one mountain and down the next? These guys have exactly the same problem.”

Uh-oh. My gut clenched. That wasn’t what we did and he and I both knew it. It was a story told to cover up a very nasty bit of business back in the 90′s.

“Ok, Danny. I was just wondering if they’d been sent up here for the fishing.”

He laughed again, and this time it was a real laugh. “Oh hell no. It’s the middle of winter. This is a fitting punishment of the best kind for being a bunch of screw ups.”

I laughed too. “Thanks, Danny. Maybe I’ll send Betsy over with some apple pie for the CO. Sounds like he’s about to have a very bad month.”

I could almost hear Danny’s mouth tighten and his eyes harden. “Yes, he is. And from what I’ve heard, blueberry pie is his favorite.”

Damn it all. I took a deep breath. “My best to Sylvia and the kids. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight”.

I closed the cell phone and closed my eyes and thought. A heavy combat brigade, a squadron of close air-support fighters and a squadron of attack helicopters. The only thing missing was the Patriot missile battery, but I wouldn’t put it past anyone to have overlooked that. And a cover story that brought back some very bad memories…

*  *  *

Danny and I had been in Germany for about 3 months doing routine training exercises I was battalion commander and Danny was my XO. Our battalion was just come back to base after some extensive field maneuvers and we were taking a well-deserved rest break. I was doing after-exercise paperwork and Danny was catching up on his field manual updates when the communications private knocked and entered with an envelope sealed with red ‘Secret – Eyes Only’ tape. I signed off on the receipt and cleared my throat to get Danny’s attention.  ”No rest for the wicked,” I said.

Turning, he started to say, “Watch who you call…” and stopped dead, seeing the red-sealed envelope. “Awww, shit.” He spat on the floor and uttered a few more precise expletives.

I flipped out my knife, slit the seal and opened the envelope. Only one sheet of paper inside. My eyes opened wider with each passing second. “God damnit to hell. Danny, hit the alarm. We’ve got a situation.” I gave Danny a brief outline as he hit the red button with his fist.

Our deployment orders were brief and to the point. We were to proceed to a certain position, dig in and await further orders. Our go-code was ‘blueberry pie’, and our stand-down code was ‘apple pie’. As the alarm blasted out, I could hear running feet outside and trucks starting up. Over the base loudspeakers came the call: “Saddle up, this is not a drill,” repeated over and over again.

Danny had started the stopwatch he always carried with him as soon as he’d hit the all-call button. “One minute,” he called out as he pushed out from his desk and reached for his belt. I nodded and stood, putting my gear belt on as well. I fished my keys out of my desk drawer and unlocked the bottom drawer and removed my service pistol, holstering it and pocketing the 5 spare magazines. We reached the door at about the same time, Danny hit the lights, darkening the room, and we walked rapidly down the hall to the door.

*  *  *

One hour later, we were rolling towards what had been, in the previous decade, dug-in positions to repel an invasion from East Germany, near what had been the East German border. I looked at the map, noted the positions that we were headed for and the rallying point nearby where we could unass, and get the M1A1′s, Bradleys and Humvees unloaded and rolling towards our designated positions. I got on the radio. “Listen up, everyone. This could be a readiness exercise designed to see if we were sleeping, or it could be the real thing. It doesn’t matter. We’ve got a full load, and I expect this to be done by the numbers. I want the scout platoon out in front as soon as we hit the rally point and moving as soon as they are off the road gear. You all have your maps and dig in positions as marked, and I want this done exactly right. We’ve got 10 minutes before we hit the rally, so make sure that you’ve got your destination marked. Any unit out of position will have the XO to answer to. Let’s be about it, people.” I clicked off and Danny got on giving out the deployment details that we’d put together over the last 45 minutes.

*  *  *

What we did not know until later was that a rogue Stasi colonel had subverted an infantry company that was guarding a nuclear weapons bunker. Intelligence reports indicated that he was going to move the weapons further west and attempt to sell them to Palestinian terrorists. His planned route was right through our designated operations area. And that meant, unfortunately, as the forward-most unit, we were the point of the sword.

*  *  *

“Alpha Company reports ready.”

“Bravo Company reports ready.”

“Charlie Company reports ready.”

Danny looked over at me and nodded. “All units report in position and ready.” At that moment, the door to the mobile HQ opened and a Colonel entered, followed by a man in sunglasses and a dark blue suit. I stood and saluted, “Major James Peters. My XO, Lieutenant Daniel Lockhart. Our units are in position and report ready and operational.”

The Colonel returned the salute. “At ease. My name is Bronson. This gentleman,” he waved his hand at the suit, “is Abramoff, one of our intelligence analysts.” My eyes flicked over Mr. Abramoff. He’d taken off his sunglasses and the piercing blue eyes underneath were looking at our deployment map. At the mention of his name, his eyes looked at Danny and myself and we got a short fast nod.

Colonel Bronson went on, “We have a major incident,” I could see Danny wince. “We have a Germany infantry company that has not reported in for about 12 hours. They were the main guard at a former East Germany ammunition depot. The only items left in the depot were ‘special’ munitions that belong to the former Soviet Union.” Danny’s face was now white. ‘Special’ munitions were WMD’s, usually either chemical, biological, or, worst case, nuclear. The so-called NBC trio.

“I see”, I said. It was all I could say.

Abramoff took over. His words were clipped and he spoke fast. “We have been monitoring the site with satellites and eyes-on-the-ground. About 20 minutes ago, a convoy moved out from the depot heading west along the main road.” He indicated the road running right down the middle of my deployment area. “The convoy consists of heavy trucks and troop carriers, all German equipment. There was a minimal guard left at the depot and we should have a penetration team reporting momentarily.” Abramoff nodded at Colonel Bronson.

Bronson finished up. “Your orders are to halt the convoy, remove any foreign nationals from control of the convoy, and escort the convoy back to its depot, where your battalion will provide security until a suitable unit can be moved into place to relieve you. You are authorized to use lethal force against the foreign nationals, but use restraint to prevent destruction of the ‘special’ munitions. Do you understand these orders?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir I do.”

“Any questions?”

“Yes sir. When do we get the go-code?”

Abramoff spoke first. “As soon as we get the report from the penetration team.”

I nodded. Bronson turned and walked out, followed by Abramoff. I walked over to the deployment map and studied it for a moment, then turned to Danny. “Danny, I want Alpha Company to adjust their positions straddling the main road. Ideally, I’d like one unit dead square on the roadway and two units advance flanking the single unit. Be sure that they are hull-down on the approach, so they don’t give their positions away as the convoy approaches. Pass the word to all units that I want HEAT rounds used – no one is to use SABOT without my express approval.” Danny nodded. “Have the remaining company units flank the others. I want a full cross-fire situation, but be absolutely sure everyone is dialed in on this. It is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel and I don’t want any blue-on-blue incidents.”

“Got it.”

The door opened and Colonel Bronson re-entered the command post and his face was grim. “The ‘Special’ munitions are all nuclear. They left the chemical weapons behind, booby-trapped. The entry team lost three men.” With a hard face, he laid out the details of the convoy, including which vehicles were capable of carrying the nukes. “Take them out hard and fast.” He turned and left.

*  *  *

We did as we were ordered to do. As soon as the lead elements of the convoy were in range, I gave the command to open fire, and five M1A1 Abrams Main Battle Tanks fired High Explosive Armor Tearing shells into five vehicles of the convoy. As the rest of the convoy screeched to a halt, the balance of Alpha Company followed in short order by Bravo and Charlie Companies moved into sight, each tank targeting a convoy unit. The only casualties were the people on the five convoy units who were blown into paste by the explosions that destroyed their vehicles.

*  *  *

So, the men at Ripley were going to be the point of the sword. However, who was the sword going to be used against? Canada? Russia? My mind played back the opening scenes from the movie “Red Dawn” and I snorted in disgust. No, that scenario wasn’t even on the books any more. I couldn’t come up with any logical answers, so I went back inside. Lauren had curled up with a couple of pillows, so I covered her with the spare blanket and sat on the couch. I wasn’t going to disturb her sleep until I was sufficiently warmed up. I turned on the TV and watched the news programs, mostly just rebroadcasts of the earlier news programs, although FOX had gotten smart and had evidently set up a dormitory somewhere in their studios. Their anchors looked well rested and were reporting on the news of the day. I fell asleep very quickly.

Shaking my head, I called out as the doors opened on the trucks, “You guys are cutting it pretty close. The sun is almost down.” Thumper grinned at me. “What’s in the trailer?” Thumper’s grin grew broader.

“My Baja race truck. I spent all afternoon stripping the body off and welding in a couple of additional bucket seats with 5-point harnesses.”

My jaw dropped. “What the hell? What are you thinking of using it for?” Thumper scared me from time to time. He tended to go a bit overboard with his various hobbies.

“Who knows. But if we need a fast rugged go-anywhere truck, this one is custom made for the job.”

“What else is in the trailer?” I noted that the trailer was running a bit low and it had bottomed out at least once as he’d pulled up to the house.

“Bambi’s truck. She didn’t want to leave it at home. It hasn’t got the guts to pull the trailer fully, well, all right, overloaded, so I put it in the trailer.” He grinned that damned grin of his again. “And everything out of my basement, including the reloading equipment.”

We walked over to the trailer and he swung open the doors. Sure enough, the back of Bambi’s truck was loaded with powder, shells and bullets. I also saw multiple cans of gasoline. I swore. “Goddamnttohell, Thumper! Only a bone headed idiot like you would put gunpowder and gasoline together in the same trailer. Are you out of your fucking mind?” His grin dimmed a bit.

“I didn’t have much choice. I wasn’t about to put either one in the truck with Bambi and me. I didn’t want to strap it to the roof, where anyone could see it, what was I supposed to do?”

I sighed. “No, you are right. You did the right thing. But I have to tell you, I’m glad I wasn’t driving with you. One quick stop or one turn too fast and there wouldn’t have been anything left to pick up.” I shook my head. “Let’s get this damn thing unloaded.”

The girls were chatterboxing as usual as they unloaded the trucks, so Charlie, Bob, Thumper and I got the snowmobiles and ATV’s unloaded and stored in the shed. The trailers were pushed to one side but turned for easy hookup. The semi started up and I could see George starting to roll towards the freshly plowed parking area Fred had created. Fred was guiding George with hand signals as the semi slowly rolled out of sight.

Soon enough, all the trucks were unloaded and their cargoes stored, and all of us were back in the house. Betsy had whipped up hot chocolate liberally laced with brandy, and sitting in front of the fireplace we were all warmed up soon enough. As our conversation rolled around various topics but carefully skirting political issues, Betsy called us into the dining room for dinner.

I stood at the head of the table as everyone seated themselves. Betsy and Fred stood in the doorway. I smiled. “Betsy, you and Fred belong at this table as well. Grab place setting and sit!” Lauren smiled warmly at them as they scurried in and sat.

All eyes turned towards me. “My friends, you know that you have been part of my extended family for many years. I consider all of you to be the brothers and sisters that I never had. Each of you has left their stamp on me, some visible,” I looked at George and he grinned at me, “some invisible. I’ve asked you all here because I am worried about what is happening to our country.” The smiles and grins vanished and in their place, the uncomfortable knowledge of an unknown future weighed heavily on their faces.

“None of us knows what will happen tomorrow, next week, next month or next year. I’d like to hope that our worries and fears are out of place, but common sense tells me that it is far better to be prepared than to be unprepared.” Heads nodded around the table. “My gut tells me that soon enough, our preparations today will pay off and everything we’ve collected here will be needed, if not by us, then by others in similar need. I have little faith right now in Washington D.C., but I have great faith in the people of this country. We have weathered many storms, fought many battles and have stood strong.” More nods around the table.

I raised my wine glass. “To the blood of patriots, past and present. They have watered the Tree of Liberty for over two centuries.” Glasses raised around the table.

Fred’s eyes were wet and his voice shook with emotion. “To fallen friends and heroes alike, long may they be remembered.”

“To Friends and Heroes.” Glasses rose again.

I sat and I saw Betsy bow her head. We all clasped hands, and in a tradition that went back to our childhood, we all bowed our heads and Betsy said grace. “Dear Lord, please bless the family at this table. Bless the gifts that each of us bring and allow us to serve your greater power. Guide our leaders in their time of need, and grant those that have lost loved ones the mercy of your peace. Guide us as we seek our futures together. Amen.”

And as one, we said “Amen.”

*  *  *

After dinner all of us moved into the living room and sat around the fireplace. We were all quiet for awhile, mostly staring into the fire. Finally, Susan cleared her throat. “Jim, for Bob and the others, I’d like to thank you for the invitation to stay here. I’m not sure how long we will stay, but if I’m reading what is not being said on the news correctly, it might be for a long time.”

I nodded. “I hope we are both wrong, and that in a week or so, this will all blow over, but I don’t think so. This is an opportunity far too good to pass up, and I think the more radical elements of our nation will see this as a God-given opportunity to take advantage of the situation. Did you hear the news this afternoon?”

“That bitch.” This from Bambi. She had carried double poly-sci and history majors when she went to the University of Minnesota. “Calling for investigations into the Anti-American sentiments of members of Congress? Who the hell does she think she is? The reincarnation of Joe McCarthy?”

“I’m not surprised”, said Charlie. “She’s always been a nut-case, and I’m betting the next thing she says will be that the President brought this upon himself.” He shook his head. “But let’s table that particular discussion for a moment. I’d like to know how prepared we are for a long stay.” He looked at me.

I turned to Betsy, who had just sat down after cleaning up in the kitchen. “Ask Fred to come in, will you please?” I looked back at Charlie. “We are in good shape food-wise, especially with the extras all of you brought with today. I’m guessing that we have probably 6 months or better of food stocks, which will see us through spring and early summer.” I looked at Betsy. She nodded. “Fred? What’s the status of the boathouse and the rest of the equipment?”

He closed his eyes and I could see him mentally reviewing inventory levels. “The boathouse is in good shape. The buried gasoline tank is full of premium for the boats, so we have about 1,000 gallons give or take a bit. That was filled back in November just before the first snowfall. I restocked all the fishing gear, so what you purchased today and with what everyone brought with, we probably have more than we need. Danie topped off both propane tanks this morning, and the tanker that George parked behind the shed will see us through to the end of next winter.”

“What about bleed-off? How much will we lose?” I looked at George.

“Almost nothing. Propane isn’t like liquid oxygen. It will stay stable for a long time. I will keep an eye on the tank pressure during the summer months, if we are still here, but we won’t have to worry about that for a long time yet.”

I nodded. “How are we set for medicines and medical emergencies?” I looked again at Betsy. She looked thoughtful.

“Well, Mr. Peters, The first aid kits are always well stocked, but I’m concerned about medicines. I know that you need refills every month, and I’m assuming that everyone else is going to have some medicine requirements as well.”

I made a face. “Crap. OK. Someone take notes, we need to get all these things written down somewhere.”

Lauren grabbed a paper pad and pen and began to write. One by one each of us raised questions and the answers were written down. After about 2 hours, we began to wind down.

I took the list from Lauren and looked it over. “Not bad. Some gaps, but I think we can get them filled fairly easily.” I handed it back to her. “Would you make 5 copies of this?” She nodded and headed for my office.

As we waited for her to return, I said “Tomorrow is Sunday. Most of the stores should be open, but since they usually open later on Sundays, that means we won’t have a whole lot of time. Some of the things on the list we may have to make a run down to the Twin Cities. I suggest we all head to bed so we can get an early start tomorrow morning.” There were murmurs of agreement and Lauren walked back with 6 sheets of paper in her hand. I kept one and handed the rest out to each couple. “Let’s decide who goes where and then let’s get some sleep.”

*  *  *

The sky was just turning light as I heard a light knock on the door. A soft voice, Fred’s by the sound, said “Breakfast in 10 minutes, Mr. Peters.”

I groaned. “OK Fred. Thanks.” As I stretched, there was a soft sound of protest at being moved. The warm round shape under the blanket moved closer and wiggled further down in the bed, totally buried under the covers as usual. Lauren did not like to wake up early in the morning. I drew the blanket down slowly until her head was uncovered. I kissed her cheek gently then nibbled on an exposed ear. “Time to wake up sleepy head.” More protests, but she couldn’t wiggle any further down. Her eyes fluttered open.

“You beast. You meanie. I want to sleep!” She grabbed the blanket and made to pull it up over her head. I smiled.

“No way, cupcake.” I grabbed the blanket and sheet and whipped it off the bed. She shrieked as the cool room air hit her skin.

“You bastard! I will get you for that!” She grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. Expect it, I grabbed it and tossed it on the chair across the room.

“Now, now, honey…we have a lot to do today,” I said placating. I raised my hands as another pillow came sailing through the air towards me. I knocked it away and sprinted to the bathroom, pretending to lock it behind me. She hit the door with the flat of her hand, then opened it. There was fire in her eyes, and for a moment I thought I was a goner. When Lauren gets mad, it is a good idea to keep at least 30 feet away, we were less than 3 inches.

Both hands darted out and grabbed my ears. I winced. “Listen bub. You do that again, and you are dead meat. No one will protect you, and I’m sure that Danie, Susan, Shirley and Bambi will all be character witnesses at my trial.” My eyes were watering from the pain. She pulled me to within an inch and looked deep into my eyes, then pulled me into a deep kiss, her hands releasing my ears to curl behind my head and pull me further down to her level.

“There, now we are even,” she said as she released me, hands running down my back. She swatted me and said “In the shower. We don’t have much time.”

*  *  *

About 90 minutes later, we were rolling down Highway 10, headed for the Twin Cities. I was driving and Lauren was busy keying in the addresses for the book stores that we needed to hit in case we weren’t able to completely fill the shopping list at one store. I suggested that we strongly consider spreading our purchases out over several stores, but Danie had said that the books on the list were probably on almost everyones list so we should get what we could at the first stop, then fill as needed from the rest of the stores on the list.

The rest of the teams had spread out, with a 10 minute separation between departures so if anyone were observing, it would look like we had all just spend the evening together and were now heading home. Betsy had stayed back, to monitor the phones and act as a clearinghouse in case a team got held up – I wanted to keep our exposure to a minimum. Any team held up for any reason would pass their purchase list on to another team, so they could concentrate on extracting themselves from the situation. My thought was more along the lines of getting stuck in a long check out line more than anything else.

As we passed through St. Cloud, we were driving along the BNSF mainline, and it was stacked up with container and empty coal trains. “I wonder what’s going on with the railroad. I assume that they would not be covered under the curfew rules, I know I heard whistles last night.”

Lauren shook her head. “No idea.”

We hit Becker about 20 minutes later and it soon became clear. A train, pulled by 4 Army locomotives, was heading north. Behind the locomotives were flat car after flat car of tanks, APC’s, motorized artillery, Bradley’s, and my god, MLRS!

“Oh shit. Oh shit. OH SHIT!!!” My face went taut. “Lauren – call all the teams and tell them that they need to finish up their lists fast and head back to the house and get ready to lock down. Tell them that we’ve seen armor being mobilized and heading, most likely, for Ripley, but maybe points west.” I nudged the speed up a couple of miles per hour. We did not need Multiple Launch Rocket Systems in our backyard. It was unthinkable that these would be deployed inside the US. It could only mean that the Army was seeing some sort of threat that a only a long-range punch could take out.

*  *  *

We made good time down to the Twin Cities, and finished our list with only four stops. We called in after each stop, and after our third stop, Betsy told us that all the other teams were back at the house. She gave us one item that had stumped George and Danie, a backup electrical generator. We headed over to the closest Home Depot, did a quick search and found they were all out. Lauren spoke briefly with the store manager who told her that the store out in St. Michael, off Interstate 94 had just gotten a shipment in that morning. We headed out for the last item on our list.

*  *  *

Traffic on the Interstate was slow, and had been for the past 10 miles. I worked my way up through the heavy traffic, weaving in and out, passing cars and trucks when I could, but being careful not to draw too much attention to ourselves. I kept my speed to a maximum of about 5 miles per hour over the posted limits, but those timers were few and far between. We’d finally reached Rogers when we saw what the problem was. A military convoy headed north.

“Lauren, grab a pen and paper and write down a count of vehicles, type and number. Be discrete.” She looked quizzically at me. “Don’t make it obvious that you are writing things down. We don’t want to draw the wrong attention.” She nodded and started making notes on the back of our shopping list.

We passed vehicle after vehicle of the convoy. There seemed to be no end in sight. When we finally reached the exit for St. Michael, Lauren had a count of over 200 vehicles. Her eyes were wide with fear. “What does this mean, Jimmy?”

I shook my head. I had no idea. There wasn’t a word being spoken on the radio, and I’d been flipping through the channels, much to Lauren’s disgust. It was all the same – discussions about the assassinations, the usual rabid ravings of the far left and right wing talking heads, and nothing about what we’d seen with our own eyes.

As we pulled into the Home Depot parking lot, I turned to Lauren. “Why don’t you stay in the car, honey? Call in the information to Betsy, and ask Fred to check on Ripley. I want to know what’s going on over there. Ask him to review the video files from overnight. See if he can get a handle on any activity.” She nodded in acknowledgement, and I left the truck and headed in to the store.

As it turned out, they did have backup generators, including one 30 kW household unit. I looked at the unit, sighed, and turned to the salesman. “I’m also going to need a trailer to haul this home.”

“We can deliver it for you, if you want, sir,” he said.

“I’m sure you can, but I live way up north. I’m pretty sure you’d rather keep your trucks close by. As it is, I’m going to be pressed to be home before dark. Can we get this done in a hurry?” I frowned as I looked at my watch. We had about 2 hours of daylight left, and at least 90 minutes of driving time.

“Yes sir. We’ve changed our checkout policies to handle situations like this. Please follow me.” He turned and headed for a set of cubicles nearby.

As it turned out, we were out of there in good time, all told about 15 minutes after I’d looked at my watch. A crew of 3 husky kids had pulled a trailer out of the line up, rolled it up to the truck, hitched it, hooked up the wires, all while another crew of kids hustled  two small generators on flat carts, followed by a forklift with the big generator.

We pulled into the gas station in the shopping center across the street and I topped off the main and reserve tanks on the truck, while Lauren tried to find a least-time route back to the house.

I could tell she was worried as I slid into the seat, closed the door and started the engine. “We’ve only got about an hour and a half of daylight left. I’m not sure we are going to get back in time.”

“Can we make St. Cloud?”

“Yes, that we can make, but there’s no way we will get as far as Little Falls before dusk.”

“Ok, call in and report. Tell them we are staying overnight in St. Cloud, probably at the Holiday Inn. It’s got the best highway access, and we can get on the road first thing in the morning.”

I pulled out onto the highway and headed for St. Cloud. Traffic was still heavy, and when we reached Monticello, I took the exit and headed south. Lauren looked up in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Heading for Buffalo. There’s no way we are going to make St. Cloud with all this traffic. We can spend the night in Buffalo. It’s off the beaten track and will get us off the road in plenty of time. We can stop at the WalMart and pick up a tarp to cover the trailer.”

I suppose that in his place I might have done the same, but I can’t help but think that he was going about it the wrong way. All that his proclamations would do is cause further confusion and mistrust of the government. I tuned in again as a supposed “constitutional scholar” weighed in with his opinion of the Martial Law edict. He had one of those lugubrious faces, pinched with age and a poorly done make-up job. He spoke in a droning monotone, as if lecturing in a large auditorium to half asleep students.

“It is my considered opinion that the President is exceeding his constitutional-mandated powers. Granted these are extraordinary circumstances, however, he is still bound by the Constitution of these United States of America. He can no more declare a nation-wide curfew than I could give the student body of my University a day off in the middle of the week. American citizens under the First Amendment have the right to freely assemble, there are no limits placed on when or where, much less the time of day. Additionally, he is usurping the power of Congress under Section 8 of the Constitution by mobilizing the National Guard, that is a duty expressly given to Congress and not the President.

“I would expect the Congress and the Supreme Court to declare his actions to be Unconstitutional, and perhaps to even begin the process of removing him from office for engaging in actions…”

The talking head broke in “Surely you cannot be saying that the President, who was appointed only hours ago should be impeached?”

“Of course I am”, the professor replied. “He is violating his oath of office and has usurped powers given exclusively to the other branches of our Government. He is, in essence, committing treason.”

The camera showed the stunned talking head, and immediately the program shifted to a commercial.

‘Oh right,’ I thought to myself, ‘just what we need, some self-important idiot announcing to the whole world that our President is committing treason!’ As my mind wandered back to making lists of things to do in the morning, I heard snippets of conversation from the news program, one of the talking heads apologizing to its viewers for the previous guest, stating that the management of the broadcast company in no way believed that the President was committing treason, and on and on it went until I turned it off and went up to bed.

*  *  *

The next morning dawned bright and clear as I drove in to town. It was Saturday and I had a list that took the most part of two pages of supplies to lay in for the next couple of months. My credit card was going to take a big hit, but I didn’t want to be caught short if things really went to hell.

As I drove in, I noticed a lot more local police, county sheriff and state police on the roads, as well as the occasional HumVee manned with alert looking National Guard troops. It was still early, but the crowd at the warehouse grocery was proof that I was not the only one worried. I stocked up, taking a total of 4 grocery carts. Next on my list of stops was the sporting goods store. A sign on the door announced that they were limiting ammunition sales to a total of 1,000 rounds because the restocking truck had not arrived overnight, but that was no big deal, there were several other places in town where I could get what I needed. As I looked over the array of hunting supplies, an old-timer with the store vest caught my eye; he walked over and introduced himself.

“Hiya! My name’s Charlie, is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Yep, I’ll max out my needs for ammo probably with just one caliber.”

He grinned, and said “Nope, the sign is wrong, the limitation is 1000 rounds of each caliber. What do you need?”

I gave him the list and he tottered off to fill the list. I walked over to the bow hunting equipment, thinking about the crossbow I’d had my eye on for the past couple of months. Charlie came back with the shopping cart loaded up.

“We have an end-of-season sale going on right now, if you are looking at buying some new hunting gear. All our camo, cold weather gear, knives, trapping and bow hunting equipment is currently 30% off.” He dropped his voice to a whisper “and just between you and me, I think management is going to end the sale later today if the news is any indication. I think there are a lot of folks who are going to be laying in supplies like you are.”

I grinned at him “Well, then, let’s get to it.”

After the sporting goods store, it was over to the home improvement store for rope, tarps, plastic sheeting, duct tape, gasoline cans, plus miscellaneous hardware. Then on to the gas station to fill up the truck and the newly purchased gas cans. As I was paying the attendant, the store manager was putting up a sign outside the store: Gas purchases limited to 75 gallons maximum. I looked the question to the attendant. She sighed “We just heard from our supplier — because of the curfew, deliveries are going to be slowed down. We usually get our gas every day, but now it looks like it is going to be every other day, or perhaps every third day.” I shook my head and walked back to the truck. Picking up my cell phone, I called one of my hunting buddies who owned the local propane dealership.

“Hey, George, it’s Jimmy.”

“Hey, Jim, are we on for poker night tonight?”

Oh damn. I’d completely forgot. “Well, only if you and the rest of the gang are prepared to stay the night. I don’t want any of you clowns getting shot for curfew violations.”

There was a snort from the phone. “Yeah, right. Like Al would shoot any of us.”

“No, more likely he’d put a round through your truck engine.”

There was a moment of silence while George digested that. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“Hell no. I’m deadly serious.”

More silence, then, “Yeah, OK. I’ll pack a sleeping bag and pass the word to the boys to be prepared to spend the night.”

“Great. I’ll stop and get some beer. Anyway, the reason I called was to check to see if you’d had a chance to fill up the tanks out at my place.”

Back 8 years ago, when I built my house, I had a propane powered house-sized generator installed, complete with its own 1000 gallon tank, combined with the 1000 gallon tank that the rest of the house ran off of. The building inspector had look askance at the installation plans but when I reminded him of the winter before and the fact that the house had been cut off from town and had been without power for 3 weeks. The Blizzard of the Century had dropped almost 47″ of snow, then the winds had whipped it into drifts that had topped 10 feet in some places, notably down the middle of the county road that ran past my place.

“Yeah, Danie was out there this morning with the semi. She said to thank you for being sure the lot was plowed and for plowing the access to the tanks.”

“No problem. Hey, tell you what — why don’t we make a party of it this evening. Invite Danie, and tell the rest of the guys to bring their wives. I’ll invite Lauren and we can all get together and get caught up. It’s been months since we’ve all seen each other, and with what’s been going on, it may be awhile before we can do this again.”

“Sounds like a plan.” George laughed. “Danie is going to pester you and Lauren about getting married you know…”

I laughed too. “Well, who knows. Maybe I will ask her tonight.”

“Yeah, right. That will be the day. You? Getting married again? No freaking way.”

I tsked, “Listen buddy, I may have said that 10 years ago, but times change.”

George laughed again. “What ever. Listen, I gotta get going. See you tonight.”

“So long.”

 I spent a couple of minutes daydreaming about Lauren, then shook myself and hit the speed dial on my cell phone. “Peters Residence, may I help you?” Always polite, Mrs. Norris my housekeeper, was always on call. She, with her husband Fred, had taken care of my place since it was built. They had originally owned the land it was built on, and when it came time to close down the farm after a particularly hard year, I asked them to stay on, and eventually moved them into the main house.

“Betsy, it’s me, James. Listen, would you open up the bunkhouse for me, get it warmed up and ready for company? I’ve invited George and Danie and a few other good friends to come over later today and I’m hoping that they will stay for some time, at least until things cool down out East.”

“Of course, Mr. Peters. Shall I get food out of the freezer?”

“No. I’m stopping at Manea’s on the way home, but start planning menus for the next week or so. Also, please ask Fred to head down to the boat house and take an inventory. Tell him to think ahead about 6-9 months. He will know what I mean. Also, have him fill up all the fuel tanks on the boats, and be sure the spare tanks are full as well. On the way back, ask him to run over to stand 14, and keeping a low profile, check out what’s going on over at Ripley. Tell him to rig up a camera with both visible and IR capabilities. I want it focused on the main parade ground if possible. When he’s done that, have him come back to the house and open up the storage room in the basement as well as the ammo locker. I’ve got plenty of equipment to get put away.”

“I will, Mr. Peters.” There was a long pause and I could almost hear the question rolling around in her head. “Do you think it will be bad, Mr. Peters?”

“I don’t know, Betsy, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“I understand, Mr. Peters. I will get Fred started out right away. Goodbye.”

I hung up, then speed dialed Lauren. “Hey sweetpea!”

“JIMMY!” I had to pull the phone away from my ear from her squeal of delight. It’s strange, I never expected to hear a woman my age squeal like a 16 year old…but then again, I never expected to fall in love either. Go figure.

“Honey, how about you pack up some things and come out to the house for awhile? I’d like to keep you near just in case any trouble breaks out.”

Silence. Then, speaking quietly with a shaky quiver to her voice, “Do you think it is going to get that bad?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to take any chances, especially with you.”

I could hear the smile. “How long should I pack for?”

“A couple of weeks. If you have food in the fridge and freezer, bring it with. And I suggest you leave the rice burner in the garage. Bring the truck.” Lauren snorted. What I called the rice burner was her brand new Toyota Camry. It got very good gas mileage, but if worse came to worse, we would need all the trucks and 4 wheel drive vehicles we could get. “Also, bring your hunting and fishing gear, and probably your camping equipment as well.”

More silence. I could hear the gears in her brain furiously grinding away as she processed that additional information. “Yessss. Yes. Ok, I understand. Have I told you yet today how much I love you?”

“Nope.”

“Mmmmm…well, I do. Lots and lots.”

I smiled. “Listen, I gotta go, I still have lots of shopping to get done. Be sure you get out to the house before sundown. I don’t want to have to bail you out of the jail.”

She laughed. “I will, sweetheart. Goodbye!”

“Bye!” I clicked off and speed dialed George back. “Hey George”, I said when he answered. “Tell everyone to pack for about a month. I’m having Betsy open up the bunkhouse. Have them bring all their hunting and fishing gear, plus as much food as they can haul. Ask them to drive their trucks as well.”

“Will do.” He didn’t question, he was probably thinking the exact same way that I was. Which is why we are such good friends. Of course, growing up together and going to the same schools tends to do that to people. We exchanged goodbyes, then hung up. I glanced at my shopping list, swore, then called Betsy back. “I forgot to ask you — if you have some time, I need you to run into Little Falls and swing by Gun Club. See if they have any 5.7 x 28 rounds. I wasn’t able to get any in St. Cloud. I’m hoping that they have at least a couple of thousand in the storage room. If they do, see if you can talk Henry into letting you have them. If he questions you, tell him that I’m preparing a demo for the guys on the P90 I picked up last year. Then run over to Rod and Gun and pick up a couple of cases, not boxes, but cases of .45 ACP and .30-30 ammo. If Fred needs anything, pick that up as well. Top off the truck before you head back.”

“Fred said to tell you that everything is all taken care of down at the boat house. He’d already taken care of the inventory when he closed down for the fall and everything is fully stocked. He’s on his way over to the deer stand right now.”

“Thanks, dear. And thank Fred for me when he gets back.”

*  *  *

It was almost 4:30 PM by the time I pulled into the garage and killed the engine on the truck. I stretched, then hopped out and popped open the topper and started hustling the boxes of supplies into the house. Fred joined me shortly. Fred was 76 years old, and since he’d been about 6, had spent practically every available minute outside. He stood about five foot ten, and was thin and wiry. His skin was a deep dark brown that only farmers get, with deep wrinkles in his face. He reminded me of the actor Tommy Lee Jones. His hair was all white and was cut in a military style flat top. But the most arresting feature of his face was his eyes. They were brilliant blue and sparkled with wisdom and humor. He grabbed a case of ammo and his muscles bulged as he hoisted it up with a slight grunt.

“Betsy told you about the boat house.” It was a statement rather than a question. Fred was a man of few words.

“Yep. How did it look over at Ripley.”

Fred scowled. “A real cluster fuck.” I was surprised. Fred rarely swore, and then only when something was not cooperating, like a rusted nut frozen to a bolt. “The RA and the NG are in there and I don’t think the right hand knows that the left hand is busy jerking off.” That surprised me even more.

“How bad does it look?” I asked.

“From the look of things, it is going to take them at least a week to get organized. They are prepping the rail yard too.” He looked darkly at me.

“Oh shit.” He nodded. Ripley, actually Camp Ripley, was home to the Minnesota National Guard, and they used it during the spring, summer and fall months for training excercises, and the RA or Regular Army, used it during the winter months for winter survival training. The rail yards were used for on and off loading of heavy equipment that couldn’t be trucked in, like tanks and APC’s. Not to mention artillery. Normally, all of that equipment was stored on-site in warehouses, usually in the late fall before the first snow, but with the concurrent wars in both Afghanistan and Iraq, most of the equipment was overseas. They would not be preparing the rail yards unless equipment was coming in, and that was not a good sign. “Did you get the cameras set up?”

He nodded. “I used both the visible and IR cameras and set up a pair each tasked to the rail yard and to the parade ground. I also set a pair up focused on the main entrance on stand 2.” He looked at me slyly.

“What?” I braced myself. When Fred got that look, it usually meant that he’d done something that I may not approve of, although in living memory, that had never happened.

“I didn’t use the wireless cameras.” He watched my face. “Considering what you wanted, I decided to tie them into the household security ‘net. I figured it would be more secure that way.”

I grinned at him and his shoulders slightly relaxed. “You were reading my mind, Fred.”

By this time, we’d emptied out the truck. I closed and locked the topper and was walking towards the open door into the house when the outer garage door started to cycle up. Lauren pulled in with a wave and parked her truck. Being who she is, Lauren didn’t settle for any ordinary 4 x 4 truck. Oh no. My sweet darling drove a slate grey 2009 Dodge Durango. Fully loaded, of course. I sighed. “Lauren, honey, I said that you should drive the t-r-u-c-k.” I spelled it out for her. It was our standard game when she did something like this.

She rolled her grey-green eyes at me. “Well, I decided that it would be far more comfortable to drive the S-U-V instead. Besides,” and her eyes twinkled, “if it gets as bad as you say it might get, the Durango can fit five, maybe six in a pinch.”

I hugged her tight. Lauren came up to my chin. But if you called her short, you’d get a right jab in the solar plexus. She was “petite”. Full-bodied with red hair, she was my dream come true, my own Venus de Milo. “So, who is coming to the party?” She asked, knowing full well that all the regulars would be here.

“George and Danie,” I said. Her eyes rolled. I laughed. “Yes, and you know full well that she’s going to be pestering us, but only because she thinks we fit together so well.” I hugged her again. “Let’s see. Charlie and Susan, Bob and Shirley, Thumper and Bambi…” At this Lauren laughed. Thumper was our nickname for Wayne Rarebon, one of my roomates at college. Originally, all of us had called him Boner, that is, until he met and married Bambi. Bambi had changed Wayne from a wild womanizer into a loving husband. It hadn’t been an easy job, but what ever magic Bambi possessed, it only took about a month from the time he’d met her until she was on his arm at every party and dance. They even started showing up regularly at church.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” Lauren said, then turned at the sound of a large semi pulling into the yard. I frowned and we headed into the house. Fred passed us gong into the garage and I asked him to empty out Lauren’s truck. We walked through the kitchen, greeted Betsy, who was busy making rolls and passed into the dining room. I peeked out the curtained windows and grinned. George had driven one of the propane semi’s, while Danie had driven the SUV. I ran back into the garage, shrugged into my coat, opened the door and walked out to meet George.

He rolled down the window of the truck. “I thought this might come in handy,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Where do you want me to park?”

“Nowhere near the house, you maniac!”

He laughed. “No worries! How about over by the tanks?” He pointed over by the household propane tanks.

“No. I’ve got a better idea. Wait here.” I hollered for Fred to come out and give me a hand. Fred trotted out, zippering up his jacket. “Fire up the plow and plow out a lane around the shed so George can park the rig out behind it, so its shielded from view from the road.”

Fred nodded and headed over to the shed. I walked back over to the semi. “Fred’s going to plow a path around the back of the shed. Once he’s done, drive around the back and park. That will leave the tank about 50 feet from the tanks, so if we need to top off, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

George nodded. “Is it possible to plug in the tank heater on this pig? We will have a bitch of a time trying to start it if it freezes up too badly.”

“No problem. There’s outlets on the back of the shed. You’ll be able to plug in both the tank heater on the tractor as well as the pump on the tanker. Come on in when you guys are done.” He nodded and I turned and started walking back to the house. As I neared the garage, three more trucks pulled into the driveway. Party time!

The massive bed stood before him, wreathed in shadows, and buried under the covers, two mounds as expected. The agent stepped carefully around the scattered clothing, avoiding the casually strewn clothing and shoes. In the dim light of the room, he could see two dark-haired heads, eyes closed in deep sleep. From a distance of three feet, he raised his arm, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger twice, then moved his arm slightly to the left and pulled twice more. The only sound was the phut-phut of the silenced weapon. The bodies only twitched slightly with the impact of the soft-nosed bullets on their skulls. The agent removed the suppressor, bent to pick up the shell casings, then turned and left the room as quietly as he had entered. Once outside the door, he holstered his weapon, then raised his right wrist to his mouth and spoke “Raven is down. Repeat, Raven is down.” He walked at a slow and even pace down the hallway and disappeared into the maze of hallways in the Residence section of the White House.

At the Naval Observatory, another agent assassinated the Vice President and his wife. And in other parts of Washington D.C. and Arlington, Virginia, other silent men assassinated the Speaker of the House of Representatives, the President Pro Tempore of the Senate, the Secretary of State, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Secretary of Defense, the Attorney General, and the Secretary of Homeland Security. Also assassinated were the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, four former Presidents, and the top three candidates from each party for the office of President from the last election.

As dawn broke the next morning, the sound of sirens sounded across the normally quiet expanse of the city. First ambulances, then police, followed in short order by SWAT teams, FBI teams and, not surprisingly, military Special Forces. The entire District was shut down immediately and a state of Martial Law was instituted. Not since the days after 9/11 had the Capital seen Humvees with armed soldiers on all major intersections. The only aircraft in the skies over the Capital were military, flying combat air patrol.

A shocked nation held its breath as the news quickly spread that practically all of the leaders of the nation had, in a very short period, been assassinated. With the majority of the order of succession as laid out by the Constitution now dead, it was unclear who, if anyone, was running the country. As the hours ticked by, it was revealed that the Secretary of the Interior, a former Governor of one of the Southwestern States, had taken the oath of office and was now President.

*  *  *

Most people my age or older remember where they were when President Kennedy was assassinated. Many more remember the loss of the first Space Shuttle, the Challenger Disaster on January 28th, 1986. Still more remember were they were on September 11, 2001 when the World Trade Towers in New York City were destroyed by terrorists using hijacked aircraft.

For some reason that morning, I hadn’t turned on the television, which I usually do to get the overnight news and find out what the weather will be like for the day. Instead, I showered, dressed, fed the cats and left the house. I listened to ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’ on the way to work and it wasn’t until I was close to town that I began to notice cars on the side of the road, with the drivers and passengers apparently listening intently to the radio. I glanced around at the skies, wondering if I had missed a storm warning, but the sky was cloudless, with a hint of the coming sunrise to the East. I had to really pay attention to traffic now, there were cars just stopped on the highway, and sooner or later, there was going to be a major crash. Not wanting to be a statistic myself, I restrained the impulse to switch the radio on and waited until I got to work.

As usual, I was the first in the parking lot. I opened up the building and, flipping the lights on, went into my office. I noticed that the message light was lit on the phone as I reached to turn on the computer monitor. Once the monitor was lit and displaying my screen saver, I loaded Internet Explorer and sat back while MSNBC loaded. Not surprisingly, it timed out. Muttering to myself, I tried a couple of other news websites, then when those would not load, I turned on the radio in my office…and sat in stunned silence, tears running down my face.

I walked out of the office in a daze and found myself heading for the local diner. Jimmy’s had just started serving breakfast and I knew they would have all the TVs on. Sure enough, when I walked in the door, all 6 big-screen TVs had the news on. Interestingly enough, they were all tuned to different news stations: CNN, Fox, ABC, NBC, CBS and Public TV. “A shocked Nation” read one banner, while another read “A Nation Mourns”, and yet another “Constitutional Crisis”. Most of the locals were gathered in front of the CNN broadcast, and the morning show crew were obviously taking the news hard. Everyone, including the men were clearly trying to maintain a sense of calm despite the tragedy.

I moved from set to set trying to get a handle on the news, but since reports were still coming in, it was apparent to me that it was going to be a long morning. I sat and ordered some coffee and watched the news along with my friends.

Brian, the manager of the local convenience store, sat down next to me and poured himself a cup of coffee from the thermos the waitress had left on the table.

“Hell of a thing, isn’t it?” he said, stirring sugar and fresh cream into his cup.

I shook my head. “It goes far beyond that, Brian. The President, Vice President, most of the cabinet…what the hell is going on?” I said. I took a sip of coffee and swallowed.

The TV programs continued to shift live camera feeds from the White House to the Naval Observatory, to other various residential sections of Washington D.C. I had seen enough, and soon my work crew would start showing up for work. “I need to get back. I’ll drop by later to pick up some lunch, see ya, Brian.”

“See ya.” Brian’s eyes never left the TV.

I dropped a couple of dollars on the table and walked out.

*  *  *

By noontime, the extent of the tragedy became known. A group of men and women, all seemingly unidentified, had killed members of the Executive, Legislative and Judicial Branches of the government. And as if that was not enough, had also killed the four living former Presidents and the top ranked candidates for President from the last election. No one knew the reason for the murders, no clues were left at any of the crime scenes. Seventeen men and women had just carried out the single most violent attack on our Nation’s government in its history. Video surveillance tapes from the White House and the other sites were currently being analyzed but according to the news announcers, it would be days before any identification was made of the assassins.

Suspicion immediately fell onto the Secret Service, of course. As the agency charged with keeping the President and Vice President safe, it fell to them to explain exactly how a man and a woman could penetrate the White House and the Naval Observatory and without being challenged, much less stopped in the act, assassinate the President and Vice President and their wives. The agency of course had no answer but was willing to ‘stand down’ from its duties and submit its personnel to the most extensive examination and testing possible (and reading between the lines of the news reports, it was obvious that some of those examinations would be considered illegal in most civilized countries).

It was late by the time I got home that night — half of my crew failed to show up, calling in to say that they were staying home with their families, so I missed the beginning of the Presidential address to the nation.

“…in this time of profound sadness, it is my unhappy duty to inform you, my fellow Americans, that I am declaring a state of martial law in the United States of America. It is my expectation that the state of Martial Law will last for only a few weeks to a month at most, but it is of utmost urgency that we stay calm while we, your Government, attempts to find those responsible for this most heinous of crimes. I am hereby putting into effect a nation-wide dusk to dawn curfew at sundown local time for all citizens except those who are needed for life-critical jobs. If you work the night shift of an ordinary job, I am sorry, but I am requiring you to stay at home at this time. There will be no consequences to your employment: any business who terminates a night-shift employee will find itself permanently out of business. Those life-critical jobs are: hospitals, ambulance services, police and fire services, and any other jobs that need 24 hour coverage for personel. All radio and television companies are included in this curfew. You will be arrested and placed in jail for curfew violations when you are caught violating the curfew.

I am also taking the extraordinary step of closing the stock markets for the balance of this week. Banks are hereby ordered to remain open, however, individual depositors are limited to a maximum of $1000 per day withdrawl. I am ordering the Federal Reserve system to monitor the banking system, and if it appears as if a run on any particular bank occurs, the Federal Reserve will be given permission to take the necessary steps to end the run and bring the situation back into control.

I also hereby Nationalize all state National Guard troops. Individual members are required to report for duty immediately after this broadcast to your local duty station. Once you report in, you are to ‘gear up’ and report for duty to your local police and fire departments. The local police and fire will need your assistance to patrol and enforce the curfew.

I have consulted with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and they have recommended to me that I immediately withdraw all troops overseas. I am not going to pull home every single person from overseas, but I have instructed that all Special Forces and NEST teams return to their home bases for deployment inside the United States as soon as possible.

I am also suspending “Posse Comitatus”, and certain National Guard and Regular Army/Marine units will patrol our borders with the following Rules of Engagement: anyone caught crossing the border without identification is to be taken into custody until they can be processed and sent back across the border. The patrol units are hereby authorized to use deadly force if they are engaged by those crossing the border. I send the following message to our neighbors to the North and South: Please do not test these patrols.

My fellow Americans, these are steps that I take with a heavy heart. But to keep you safe, both at home and at work, it is necessary to take these and other measures to ensure that our Nation continues for another 200 years.

Thank you and Good Night.”

Bi-partisanship? Bah! Lip service only. And all the while the country slid further and further into decay. Because nothing was done in Congress, our country’s infrastructure, the roads and bridges that everybody needed to drive on every day crumbled. Of course, when there was a disaster, like the 35W bridge collapse in Minneapolis in 2007, everyone scrambled to put up a good front and get the bridge replaced, but the underpinnings of the government that was supposed to keep things like that from happening in the first place did not change, in point of fact, they got progressively worse.

The $700 Billion dollar bailout of Wall Street in October of 2008 set the stage for what was to come. Of course, the $700 Billion was not enough.  Pretty soon, it was $1 Trillion dollars. Then $ 1.5 Trillion. By that time, winter had set in with a vengance. The election had come and gone. The new President was in office and the Republicans were howling mad, stating for the record that the Democrats had stolen the election, despite the fact that the old man who claimed to be a ‘Maverick’ wasn’t and his running mate scared the be-jeebers out of most of the ordinary citizens in the country. It was going to be a long winter…