Trent Reedy - Divided We Fall

There was a pause. “All right, Mr. Montaine, then you leave me no choice. By the authority vested in me as president of the United States of America, I am hereby placing you under arrest on the charge of obstruction of justice. Two helicopters are on their way to your location at this time, both carrying soldiers from the 78th Special Forces Group. You will be taken into custody and moved to Washington, DC, where you will likely face additional charges before you stand trial for your crimes.”

The governor stood up a bit straighter. His eyes narrowed. “I’ve committed no crime. It is you who are breaking the law with your unconstitutional mandates and your efforts to prosecute innocent soldiers whose only crime is doing their duty.”

“We’ve been over this! It’s too late for talk. My men will be there soon. This ridiculous standoff is over.”

“No, Mr. President. You will turn those helicopters around, or I will. This doesn’t have to escalate to violence, but if people do get hurt today, it will be your fault. Goodbye, Mr. President. We can resume a productive discussion of our problem after you remove the threat of attack.”

The president had started to speak, but Governor Montaine tapped out of the conversation. “General McNabb, scramble our Apache gunships. Intercept and repel those federal birds. Tell our pilots not to fire until I give the order.”

“Right away, sir.” The general picked up his comm and passed on the orders. Then he said to his captain, “Are the men ready?”

The captain, a little older than our Lieutenant McFee, nodded. “Quick Reaction Force is suited up and standing by. Snipers are in position.”

“Good work,” said McNabb. “Same orders to the men. Nobody fires unless ordered to do so. Make it happen, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain jogged out of the room.

“Sir, what’s happening here?” I asked. They were seriously getting ready for a firefight with our own guys? With other Americans?

McNabb spun to face me. “Private Wright! You and your squad will stay here and remain silent! Do you understand? Lieutenant McFee, control your men!”

McFee barely seemed to hear the general.

The governor’s assistant, Darlene, stood up from her desk and pointed out the window. “My God, there they are.”

She was right. The Chinooks were small in the distance, but closing fast.

“Where’s our camera drone?” the general asked.

A major at another table tapped the large screen in front of him a few times and brought up a close image of the two helicopters. “Sir,” he said to the general. “Our Hummingbird is in range. We have visual.”

“About time.” General McNabb motioned to the governor. “One of our newer rotary-blade surveillance drones is in position, Governor. We’ll be able to control the situation from here.”

I wanted to do something, anything, to try to stop this. Sending Idaho National Guard attack helicopters and soldiers up against US Army helicopters and soldiers? This was madness. I looked to Lieutenant McFee, who seemed even more useless than he’d been last week in Boise. Sergeant Meyers was watching everything around him with a big smile, like he was happy to be in the middle of some action or spy movie. Sergeant Kemp wore his serious look, a crease between his eyebrows. At least I wasn’t the only one who knew this had to stop.

On the large screen at the major’s table, the image zoomed back to show the approaching Apache helicopters, with thirty-millimeter machine guns between their wheels and Hellfire missiles and rocket launcher pods under their wings. I could hear the rotors as the birds drew closer.

Then the federal Chinooks dove toward the ground, banking to the right and left to split formation as they put on speed. The Apaches whipped around and bolted back to regain their position between the Chinooks and the governor’s mansion. It looked like they were all getting ready for a firefight.

I said a silent prayer, begging God to make the Feds go back. I didn’t think I could handle being stuck in the middle of another shooting crisis.

“They’re making their move!” said the major.

Governor Montaine folded his arms. “General McNabb, have those gunships fire warning shots across their bow to stop them.”

I didn’t care what General McNabb said. He could court-martial me if he wanted. I had to do something. “Governor Montaine, you can’t make them fire! Those are Americans!”

McNabb didn’t waste time. “Lieutenant McFee, get him out of here right now!”

“No, wait,” said the governor. “That’s okay.” He looked me in the eye. “I know how you’re feeling, Private Wright. Believe me, I respect and honor all the members of our military. I’ve been a soldier too. But I have to stop these men from doing what they’ve been sent here to do. We cannot keep giving in to the federal government’s expansion. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to keep all our boys from being hurt.”

I had to give Montaine some credit. He was maybe the most important guy in the whole state of Idaho. He was in the middle of a crisis, and yet he took the time to talk to me, Private First Class Nobody. I still didn’t want any of this to happen, but I believed what he said.

McNabb must have given the order, because red blips of tracer fire, almost like little lasers, ripped through the air about a dozen feet in front of the Chinooks. Puffs of dust shot up from the dry, empty hillside in the distance as the rounds hammered into the ground.

I moved to watch the helicopters through the window. One of the Chinooks had stopped, and the Apache had flown around to block it from moving ahead. The Chinook that had banked down to the left swooped back to the right and cut altitude, coming in fast about sixty feet above the governor’s lawn at the edge of the property.

The other Apache banked to chase it, but it was too late. Black ropes fell out of the Chinook, and seconds later, soldiers fast-roped down. A whole nine-man squad hit the ground, rushing toward the mansion with M4 rifles drawn.

General McNabb tapped his comm. “Captain, deploy QRF. Detain the approaching squad on the south hill.”

Below us out the window, an entire platoon of four squads rushed out in one wall of soldiers. Two armored Humvees with men in the turrets behind.50-caliber machine guns sped after them.

“It’s like it’s all happening again,” Luchen whispered. Specialist Sparrow nodded.

Moments later, two lines of soldiers faced each other with weapons drawn.

“Come on now,” Luchen whispered as he stared at the standoff. “Don’t nobody do nothing stupid here.”

I’d never agreed with him more.

Outside, there looked like there was a lot of shouting from both sides. One federal soldier jerked his weapon, like he was about to fire, but another quickly pushed the gun down.

“If the Feds shoot, they’re dead,” Luchen whispered.

“At least one of them understands that,” said Sparrow.

The second Fed pointed out the machine guns on the Humvees. He must have known the Feds were outnumbered four to one. He motioned for the rest of his squad to lower their weapons, but they didn’t put them down.

A bunch of soldiers shouted back and forth from both sides. The Idaho guys tensed up on their weapons.

“Come on, give it up,” I said quietly.

One Fed took a couple steps forward, but the leader of his squad rushed toward him, pointing at him “blade hand” with his fingers and thumb locked together vertically. The angry Fed wasn’t about to be silenced that easily. He calmed down a little bit, but kept arguing with his leader.

“Nobody fires unless I give the order!” the governor shouted to McNabb, who relayed the order through his comm.