Tomorrow's Dawn (Book 4): Gathering Storms Page 9

  Amanda was still in Cashiers, buried in a mass grave outside of town. She had fallen ill and never recovered. Brinkley got better. She had stayed to help the remaining staff treat the sick and joined Colonel Simmons’ group when they had come through. Brinkley was comfortable with the military and how they operated, and few were better at saving men and women wounded in combat.

  A doctor from somewhere in Georgia was now taking care of the most severely wounded, while she watched Brent. Her experience had been trauma and triage, not necessarily long-term care, so she had been happy to turn them over to someone more experienced.

  As she sat there cursing the heat and the smells of the school, her eyes seemed to close of their own volition. It had been a long time since she slept.

  It was several hours later when she next awakened to see Brent staring at her with a bemused expression. He had his pillow tucked into the small of his back and his shoulders resting against the wall. When he noticed her awake, he smiled and pointed at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a little something there.”

  Brinkley used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth, surprised to find drool. She didn’t even realize she’d been asleep.

  He continued. “If you want to take a nap, I’d be happy to swap with you. I can’t stand lying down for another minute.”

  It did sound tempting. Even the surplus cot he had been sleeping on had to be more comfortable than the chair. Her neck was already sore. “What time is it?” she asked.

  Brent shrugged, “I’m not sure. Late afternoon I’d guess.”

  Late afternoon? She might as well wait until evening when it cooled off a little and she wouldn’t have the light shining in her eyes. She tried to stretch out her neck and shake off her fatigue. “Thanks, but I’m good. I don’t want to sleep now and end up being awake all night.”

  The older man raised his eyebrows. “You sure? This is pretty comfortable. It makes a pile of bricks seem hard, but only just.”

  Still only half awake, his statement made sense at first. Then it didn’t. She looked up at him. “But bricks aren’t … oh, got it.” She shook her head a little in irritation that she hadn’t picked up on his joke immediately. “That good, huh?”

  “Yeah, that good. These old bones need something with a little more give to it.” He shifted to ease the pressure on his back. “If you’re up, maybe you can help me with something. The good doctor seems to have all of this under control.”

  Curious, she asked, “What do you need help with?”

  “I need to find a suit.”

  Chapter 18

  Jensen and Jessica sat across a mahogany table from Colonel Strenke enjoying a smoked pork loin stuffed with rehydrated herbs and vegetables by candlelight. Strenke was understandably proud of his achievement. He told them, “I bought my first smoker when I was stationed at Fort Hood back in the 90s. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was a complete piece of crap.”

  He laughed at his recollection. “I worked so hard to keep the temperature right on that damned thing. I burned my fingers at least a thousand times trying to manage the airflow. I was still a Private back then, so even if I charred the hell out of the brisket or ribs, I still ended up eating it. I couldn’t afford not to.”

  “It was one of those old-style side box smokers that you could buy at a box store, super thin gauge metal that leaked out of every crevice. I swear it warped the very first time I used it and was never right again.”

  Jensen stopped him with an upraised hand. “Wait, you were a Private? Where the heck did you keep something like that? I thought Privates had to live in the barracks?”

  Paul Strenke laughed. “And you’d be correct. I kept it at my buddy’s house mostly. He was in base housing with his wife and daughter. We had a little agreement. Since I was underage, he’d buy the beer for the games and I’d smoke the meat. It might be the reason some if it got a little charred or undercooked at times.

  “I stuck with it, though. I had to buy a computer for college, and I discovered those online message boards. I think I studied those more than my actual degree. I got my commission back in ’03, and instead of a lieutenant car, I bought a good smoker.” Paul smiled as he reminisced. “It cost me $2,000, which was a good chunk of change almost thirty years ago.

  “That became my hobby. While my friends were having Madden tournaments or were out hunting, I was trying to figure out how to make Memphis style ribs.”

  Jensen sat back a little to give his newly expanded stomach some extra room as he said, “Well, I’m glad you did. That was absolutely delicious.”

  Jessica chimed in. “I’ve never had barbeque this good. I thought it was all like those chain restaurants back in Georgia—a little liquid smoke and some thick sauce.”

  Strenke beamed. “Well, thank you. That’s very kind.”

  Satisfied they had finished eating, he grew serious. “I didn’t invite you over to talk about barbeque, though. I was thinking about our talk earlier and I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  Jessica looked at Jensen quizzically. She hadn’t been present for the conversation with the two colonels. Paul noticed and explained. “He said that somehow six of you held off a Vampirgruppe strike team. Is that true?”

  She thought back to the recent morning. “It was mostly Jensen. I was just in the tub with him. He saved all of us.”

  The colonel cocked his head a little bit and squinted at her. “So Jensen, in one armored vehicle, managed to take out a strike team of professional mercenaries in an armored personnel carrier?”

  As she nodded in confirmation, Jensen interrupted. “Not quite. Brent was on lookout that morning. He woke us up when he heard the Canid coming in. We managed to get a quick defense set up using two tubs and two Humvees.” He stared at Jessica. “We all contributed.”

  Jessica looked at him lovingly. “I know that’s what you think, but it’s not true. Think back.” She held up one finger. “I was with you in the tub; I didn’t get into the fight.” She held up a second. “Marcy was with Daniel; she wasn’t fighting.” She held up a third, and said, “Daniel and Marcy got blown up, and not only did you manage to save both of them, you went into the trees, killed everyone there, and captured Rob and Nate.”

  He quickly objected. “Sheila was right up there in the fight with us.”

  Jessica shook her head. “No, honey. She died at the start. Brent or Daniel might have gotten one or two, but you took out most of the strike team yourself. You did the same thing at the ambush in Elberton. You took out everyone while the rest of the group retreated.”

  Strenke looked at Jensen with more interest. “What did you do in the Army?”

  Jensen answered quickly, “I was a vehicle commander for armored recon and then an AWESOME instructor.” He cringed a little bit inside when he said AWESOME, which stood for Advanced Wheeled Expeditionary ScOut Mobility vEhicle. It wasn’t even an acronym, but someone probably got a star for coming up with it.

  “How much time did you do overseas?”

  Jensen didn’t even need to think to respond. “Four, in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and India.”

  Strenke raised an eyebrow and asked, “Kashmir?”

  Jensen nodded and answered, “Twice.”

  “So you have four combat deployments as a vehicle commander and scout, were selected to teach on one of the newest combat systems in the military, and almost single-handedly took out an entire PMC strike team and armored vehicle? Do I have that generally right?”

  Jensen just nodded in the flickering light. It felt like an exaggeration, but there wasn’t any part of the statement he could really deny.

  “I have to say, that’s impressive. Absolutely remarkable.” Strenke tented his hands and put his fingertips together. “Nobody else here has that sort of record. Not even close.”

  Nobody? Jensen was puzzled. “What about Colonel Simmons? I thought he was Spec Ops?”

  The older man nodded in confirmation, the candlelight reflecting off his eyes,
“He is. Or he was. He’s heading up to Junaluska with a convoy right now and he’s going to start working on figuring out how to defend the area if we have to.”

  The colonel leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “I need you to teach us.” He leaned back and waved a hand toward the general area of the high school. “We’ve got a mix of former military and civilians out there. Very few of them know how to fight. You do.”

  He paused to collect his thoughts. “I’m sure you know most military personnel are not combat troops. They’re support, administration, medical … all of the stuff it takes to have our own nation within a nation. We have a couple hundred people, total, between refugees from the military bases, National Guard troops from the area, and people who have escaped from down south. Only a handful of them are fighters.”

  Jensen was stunned. He knew there was a fair number of soldiers in the Army who weren’t combat rated. Even in deployed environments there were engineers, logistics, and lots of others. To have such a large force with so few fighters seemed amazing. “I was a scout vehicle commander. Don’t you think Colonel Simmons would be a better choice? I have some experience with small unit tactics, but I’m sure he has a hundred times the experience I do.”

  Strenke smiled as he replied. “Oh, he does. I don’t want you to teach them how to shoot a rifle, I want you to teach them how to use a, what did you call it? A tub.”

  That got Jensen’s attention. He leaned forward quickly with excitement in his voice. “You have tubs? I thought they were all forward deployed!”

  The colonel’s smile grew even wider. “I just got word a few minutes before you got here. There are at least a dozen tubs on the way to Junaluska from Anniston Army Depot, along with some artillery and other units which appear to be mostly complete.”

  Strenke held up a hand to stave off the next question. “Until this morning when I spoke with Colonel Simmons, we had been focused on trying to take care of refugees and find a way to generate electricity. That was our entire focus. We weren’t acting as a military. We weren’t worried about attacks from domestic terrorists.

  “That has changed. The survivor from the group which attacked you has told us some disturbing things. Benton is with him now.”

  Jensen gave Jessica a concerned look and turned back to Strenke. “You have Daniel interrogating Vampirgruppe … I mean the Sentry Group guy?”

  The colonel nodded confirmation. “He’s doing a wonderful job. I didn’t expect to get much out of him.”

  “Out of who? Daniel?”

  Strenke laughed softly. “No, out of the fighter. Your Daniel is a treasure. He might be the most valuable asset we have. I’ve never seen such an intuitive intelligence before in my life.”

  This time Jessica laughed. “Daniel? You don’t say.” She couldn’t help but remember all of his inappropriate comments and juvenile antics.

  Strenke rose to Benton’s defense. “Do you know what he did before all of this? He was an analyst with the National Security Agency.”

  Jessica snorted. “Yeah, he was technically Air Force, like me, and was sort of contracted to the NSA.”

  The colonel looked at her quizzically, as though trying to uncover some sort of secret in the dim lighting. “What do you mean? I thought you were a police officer?”

  Jessica tried to explain. “I WAS a police officer,” she said, stressing the word ‘was.’ “I also worked with Daniel and Dave for a couple of years before I decided I wanted to do something that felt more like contributing to society than what I was doing.”

  “Dave, too? So, all three of you were Air Force?”

  Jessica shook her head. “Daniel and I were in the Air Force. I was an analyst and he did language work. Dave was a signals guy in the Marine Corps.”

  Strenke sat back and processed the information. “So all three of you worked in intelligence together. That’s amazing.” He looked at the knuckles on the back of his right hand as he thought. “The four of you are so much more than I was expecting. No wonder Snead is so scared of you.

  “That brings me back to what Benton has discovered. The survivor from the strike team said they had burned several smaller towns just outside the foothills.” He looked back at Jensen. “The attacks have been attributed to your group. It appears to be partially to discredit you if you come forward with your claims, but also to incite action against you from the locals.”

  Jensen paused him with an upraised hand. “So he’s using his security team to attack his own people in order to blame us? That’s sick. I shouldn’t be surprised though, he’s a sick man. He’s already been responsible for more deaths than anyone else in the history of the world. What are a few more?”

  The man across from him at the table nodded, “Exactly, what are a few more? He wants you dead, and I think he’s getting frustrated.”

  Jessica unconsciously reached out and held Jensen’s hand in her own as she spoke to the colonel. “You said you don’t have any fighters. How did they manage to take out this strike team?” She was worried about potential danger to him in the future if Snead sent more men.

  Strenke grimaced. “We don’t have combat experience, but we have fighters. The team who stopped them were Military Police from the North Carolina National Guard. It appears that in some cases, fighting spirit can be enough to overcome the lack of combat experience.” Then, his grimace turned to a smile, and he said, “Well—when they have fighting spirit and ATGMs.”

  The colonel was referring to Anti-Tank Guided Missiles, which were portable missiles capable of disabling the tanks of most militaries around the world. They were made to stop tanks, but were effective against all types of armor, including the Canid in use by Snead’s teams.

  A similar missile had destroyed the tub Daniel and Marcy had been in during the attack on the mountain and had come close to killing them both, despite hitting the rear of the armored vehicle. If the missile had hit the front corner, neither of them would still be alive.

  With this in mind, Jensen asked, “How badly was he injured?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” the colonel answered. “I was told he’s really badly burned and may be paralyzed from the waist down. The vehicle was on its side and on fire when they felt it was safe enough to approach.” He shook his head. “The doc said if we can keep the burns from getting infected, he has a chance, but he’ll never be pretty again.” Strenke pushed his chair back and put his elbows on his thighs as he pushed his fingertips against his eyes. “I’ll be honest with you, I’m not inclined to try very hard. This man knew what he was doing and still attacked innocent survivors. I think the world would be a better place without him.”

  The colonel looked up in the candlelight and met their eyes. “I don’t want to sound uncaring, but we don’t have an intensive care unit and we have very little in the way of medicine. I don’t want to waste resources we may very well need on someone who doesn’t deserve them.”

  Jensen thought back to the moment back on the mountain when he had told Rob and Nate they were both going to die, even though they had surrendered. Until he had found out the men had been operating under false intelligence, he had been prepared to put them to death. This new guy didn’t have that excuse.

  “I know the feeling,” Jensen told him. “It may sound uncaring, but it doesn’t sound wrong.”

  Chapter 19

  “You’re telling me you can’t put any aircraft in the air? At all? Nothing?” Snead was heated. The ability to use what amounted to the only air power left in this part of the world was one of the keys to his plan. There should still be plenty of aircraft left at Robins Air Force Base capable of dropping bombs. As far as he knew, they’d only lost an F-35 and a couple of drones.

  General Windmer hesitated to answer. His future could depend on keeping these aircraft flying. “Mr. President, you need to understand that we’re operating with a skeleton crew here. Many of our specialists have either died or departed.” The frightened man searched his brain for the best way
to explain the situation.

  “Even in the best of times, these aircraft need dozens of man hours of maintenance for every hour of flight time; now that number is exponentially higher. We don’t have any new parts and most of the senior maintainers are gone.” He sighed. “Our biggest problem is the fuel. What we have has been sitting in tanks and trucks for months, and most of it is unusable.”

  Bobby Snead could be petulant at times, but above all he was logical. Windmer was telling him the true state of his aerial capabilities and had identified the biggest factor in their inability to operate, fuel. He was close to getting the pipelines in operation again; maybe he could fix that problem first. “General, would fresh jet fuel solve at least one of those problems?”

  The man on the other end of the conversation hesitated. “Sir, I don’t know where you would get aviation fuel that would still work. We’ve been doing our best to follow the old guidelines to prevent moisture or damage to the fuel systems in the jets, but they’re very sensitive. Even being stored at the wrong temperature could cause a failure.”

  “Tell me, General, what has changed from a week ago? You were able to bomb insurgents a week ago, and now you can’t put anything in the air?” President Snead was referring to the ill-fated F-35 bombing run in Highlands, North Carolina, where one pilot had engaged and destroyed the other aircraft during a bombing run.

  “Sir, one of our drones crashed, presumably due to bad fuel gumming up the lines. Our fighters are far more sensitive to fuel issues, so if we put them in the air, we risk losing them all.” General Windmer cringed internally as he informed his new boss. The United States had invested trillions of dollars into new airframes over the previous decades.

  Their capabilities were awe inspiring, but they were extremely fragile compared to previous generations. Aircraft were much more likely to be destroyed from systems issues or fuel than they were from any sort of combat engagement. It was like owning an exotic car from when the General was a child; they required massive investments in maintenance and could be extremely finicky.