Edward Llewellyn - Prelude to Chaos

“I thought you escaped from the Pen to kill somebodyl Given up that idea now you’ve got a place to hide?”

“Damnation—I’m not fit yet I got wounded saving your ass. Remember?”

“And you remember I shafted myself when I brought you here. I saved your life. I could have headed for Sutton Cove. We’re quits in ass-savingl”

“Okay! Okayl But I have to stay somewhere until I’m fit to go. And I happen to like this place, even if your Believers aren’t all you cracked them up to be.” I looked into her face. “What’s got into you, Judy? What’s so wrong with Sherando? Why that sermon you gave me inside?”

She went from insulting to sullen. “I don’t like being hassled by Anslinger and his gang.”

“Hassled? Anslinger’s going to have to hassle a lot of people around here if Sherando’s going to survive. The Deacon’s not my ideal type, but he’s prepared to fight for what he believes in. Which is more than I can say for most of the draft dodgers hiding out in this place!”

We parted on that note and later that day, when I found Anslinger in his office, I told him I’d like to try to earn my keep and what did he want me to do?

He studied me across his large desk. “Was I right this morning? When I identified you as a professional soldier?”

“I was. Ten years ago.”

He stood up. “Come with me, and we’ll find out if you can help.”

We went through a maze of offices down into the basements beneath the building. “This was built as a refuge in the days when we feared nuclear war,” he explained, as we went along a permacrete tunnel and through three veralloy blast doors into what looked like an operations room. On one wall was a relief map of the Settlement and the surrounding terrain. He pointed to it. “Give me your ideas on how Sherando can be defended.”

“Against what?”

“At first—against an armed mob.”

“With what?”

“Say fifty riflemen. Plus a few rocket launchers and machine guns.”

I studied the map, intrigued in much the same way that one becomes intrigued by a casually encountered chess problem. Presently I said, “If you’ve got launchers, guns, and fifty riflemen you can drive off any mob.” I picked up a pointer and tapped the map. “A couple of launchers and two guns to cover the bridge at the bottom of the hill and that road out of the woods. Guns in the top windows of those comer buildings to sweep the approaches across the fields. They’re granite and as good as blockhouses.” I paused, trying to picture how a mob would probably attack the Settlement. “No local gang’s going to walk far. They’ll come in trucks and automobiles and park ’em in the fields over by the highway. So set iip your launchers and guns in the Settlement, ranged on those fields. Split your fifty men up into two squads. One squad you keep here as your reserve. The other squad, the best men you’ve got, are the strike force. Their job will be to move around the flank and brew up those parked cars. Most of the mob will go howling back when they see their precious wheels burning. Then you hit ’em with the ranged rockets and machine guns. The reserve squad makes a sortie and chases the stragglers. The squad who’s fired the autos cleans out the woods.” I stopped, suddenly realizing that I had not been solving a problem in chess but outlining how to kill the most people as economically and quickly as possible.

Anslinger laughed. “Very neat! Very neat indeed! Where did you learn that kind of thinking?”

“Special Strike Force,” I admitted. The reputation of the SSF had deteriorated since my day.

But Anslinger seemed to approve. “SSF eh? As an officer?”

“Yes.” An officer of the noncommissioned variety for most of my service, but made Temporary Lieutenant after all our real officers had been killed during one particularly bloody foul-up. I had held that commission long enough to be eligible for transfer to the Secret Service, so I could honestly claim officer status. And rank was evidently important to Anslinger.

He rubbed his hands. “Beside myself, you’re the only man in this Settlement who’s had any military experience. I was a GSOIII at the Pentagon.”

“Intelligence!” I sounded impressed, as he meant me to be. In fact a Staff job in Washington, while offering access to people in power, was hardly a source of combat experience.

“That was before I heard the Teacher. Before I saw the Light.”

I was impressed. A preacher who could convert an armchair warrior and a female neurosurgeon, individuals from opposite ends of the human scale, must have the fire of a John Knox and the persuasiveness of a John Wesley. One day I must make it my business to hear this Teacher perform.

Anslinger had returned to studying the map. “Now tell me how you would plan to drive off an attack by the National Guard.”

“The National Guard? You’re expecting the Governor to send in the National Guard?”

He shrugged. “He might—if the pressure on him built up. I hope not, of course. But how do you suggest we prepare for it in case he does?”

“The National Guard will come with tanks and gunships. Our modern citizen-soldiers know a lot about machines; not so much about fighting. And they dislike walking. They’ll be green fliers and novice tankmen. But they’ll still have gunships and tanks. And you won’t be able to stop those with machine guns and rockets. Even the National Guard have sintered veralloy armor now.”

Anslinger nodded. “Imagine we’ve got Strelas.”

“Strelas? You’ve got American Strelas?” They were the US equivalent of the one-man guided missiles the Soviets had used with such deadly effect “A few,” he admitted. “But nobody here knows how to use them. And if you use them wrong—”

“If you use the Mark Five wrong you’ll kill yourself and your buddies. Use it right—and no tankman or flyboy will stay around!”

“Do you know how?”

I nodded. This was escalating into something much more complicated than planning to drive off some undisciplined mob. “Any mortars?” I asked hopefully.

“A few old 81mm.”

“They’re still as good as the best—if the gunner knows his job.”

“At present there aren’t any gunners. Maybe you can change that.” He eyed me. “And what if a unit of the Strike Force attacks us?”

“If even a squad of the SSF arrives, then you ran up the white flag pronto. You won’t have a chance. Twenty Troopers could handle fifty farmers—five hundred farmers—even if you were armed with nukes. Believe me—I know”

“I believe you. But I’m sure things will never get as bad as that.”

“If you start shooting down National Guard gunships you’re liable to have an SSF Section descend on you soon afterwards!”

“Maybe! Maybe!” Anslinger clapped me on the shoulder. “Now let’s go up to my office and arrange the terms under which we can profit from your military expertise.” As he led me back through the tunnel he added, “Please treat our discussion as highly confidential. And don’t repeat what I told you about our possible weapons. There are a lot of defeatists out there, naive old men still hanging on to power. I’ve pervaded the Council that some measures of defense are necessary, but they don’t yet appreciate how draconian those measures will have to be.” When Anslinger moved into his role of Sherando Combat Commander he changed both his siyle and his language. “Gavin, I’ll fix it for you to get a job you’ll enjoy!”

“A temporary job.”

“Temporary at first. Of course.”

“I’m not a Believer—so I’ll want more than food and accommodation. Like you—I can see trouble ahead. And guys with my background will be in demand again.” I wasn’t really interested in anything more than having a safe place to recuperate, but if I was to be eased into the role of mercenary, then I must act avaricious.