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J. Curtis: Calexit: The Anthology

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J. Curtis Calexit: The Anthology

Calexit: The Anthology: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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When California declares independence, their dreams of socialist diversity become nightmares for many from the high Sierras to the Central Valley. Follow the lives of those who must decide whether to stand their ground, or flee! In San Diego, the commander of Naval Special Warfare Group One finds his hands tied by red tape, even as protesters storm the base and attack dependents. In Los Angeles, an airline mechanic must beg, borrow, or bribe to get his family on the plane out before the last flight out. Elsewhere, a couple seeks out the new underground railroad after being forced to confess to crimes they didn’t commit. In the new state of Jefferson, farmers must defend themselves against carpetbaggers and border raiders. And in the high Sierras, a woman must make the decision to walk out alone… Featuring all-new stories set after Calexit from JL Curtis, Bob Poole, Cedar Sanderson, Tom Rogneby, Alma Boykin, B Opperman, L B Johnson, Eaton Rapids Joe, Lawdog, and Kimball O’Hara.

J. Curtis: другие книги автора


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Mike heard a back and forth conversation with the tanker that left him confused, until he realized the tanker was talking the B-52 in. He couldn’t help but cringe when the tail of the tanker passed over, seemingly only feet away. He looked up through the overhead hatch and only saw airplane, but when he looked back at the colonel, he seemed to be relaxed and totally at ease. He heard something about passing gas, and fifteen thousand pounds, and saw the pilot with a grease pencil changing numbers on one of the sheets sitting on the center console. He finally remembered that aviators didn’t use gallons, they calculated their fuel weight and flows in pounds. He noticed the colonel adding power slowly,holding the airplane in position. A few minutes later, he heard, “Disconnect.” And watched the tanker disappear out the top of the windscreen, then the Colonel added power and started climbing the B-52 to a different altitude. Another pop in his headset was followed by, “Okay, we got gas, another five hours and we’ll be landing at NAS North Island. Captain, you can stay up here, or go back to your seat, your choice.”

Mike looked out the windows one more time, then made a motion that he was going back. He heard the colonel call the navigator as he unplugged, and made his way back to his ejection seat. The nav popped up beside him, helped him strap back in and armed his seat, giving him a thumbs up.

Rampage and Riot

“Captain? Captain? We’re descending into San Diego. You awake?”

Mike fumbled for the mic switch again, “Uh, yeah. Awake.”

“We’ll be on the ground in thirty minutes. There was a message that you will be met.”

“Thanks.” Mike leaned as far forward as he could, then back, rocking his head side to side, he moaned softly, Good God, how do these people do this every day? I’d go nuts, and need a new ass after every flight! God, if you’ll let me, I want to ask a favor. Please let Trish and Michael be alive. I know that’s a lot, but please let them be okay.

Twenty-five minutes later, there was a thump, screech of tires, and he felt the airplane slow rapidly. Mike felt the airplane swerve off the runway, then slow to a stop, as the navigator climbed up, and started unhooking Mike from the seat. Mike took the helmet off, and the nav said, “Just leave it in the seat. When you’re ready, climb on down and I’ll have the ladder down for you. We’re on the taxiway, they’ve got a follow-me truck out here to pick you up.” Mike nodded and the nav disappeared down the ladder.

Mike stuck his head in the cockpit and yelled, “Thanks, Colonel. Appreciate the ride.”

Colonel Horton nodded and replied, “I’ll say a prayer.”

“Thanks!”

Mike climbed down the boarding ladder to find the navigator at the base of the ladder with his bag and briefcase in hand. He took them and yelled, “Thank you!”

The nav nodded and pointed to the follow-me truck sitting in front of the B-52, gave him a thumbs up, and started climbing back in the airplane. Mike trudged over to the truck, put his bag in the back, and got it, briefcase in his lap. The airman driving it nodded and pulled away then turned across the ramp. Hearing the B-52’s engines run up, Mike looked back to see them taxiing to the end of the runway. As they got further away, the airman said, “Sir, you’ve got folks meeting you at base ops. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Thank you.” Mike opened his briefcase and pulled out his cell phone, turning it on. As it booted up, he asked, “What time is it?”

The airman looked at his watch, “Twenty-three thirty, sir.”

When the phone came up, Mike immediately checked for messages, and only had one, from Jimmy Cameron. It said, AT BASE OPS. Hoping against hope, he dialed the voicemail, but there were no new messages. Killing that call, he tried first Trish’s, then Mikey’s phones; they both went to voicemail. They pulled in front of base ops, and Mike said, “Thanks for the ride.”

Getting out, he grabbed his bag out of the bed, and started up the stairs. Hearing a roar behind him, he stopped and turned, watching the B-52 rumble into the night, heading out over the Pacific. Looking up, he saw that it was a perfectly clear night, but chilly compared to Guam. Damn, I didn’t give them the flight suit back, I guess I can mail it back, or send it on the next parts run. Oh hell, stop it. Go find out what’s happening… He opened the door and stepped into base ops, seeing Jimmy Cameron leaning against a pillar, he started walking over, and stopped cold when Admiral Clayborn got up.

The admiral walked over, followed by Jimmy, “Mike, I’m sorry to break the news this way, but your wife and son are… gone.”

Mike slumped against a pillar, and asked softly, “How?”

“They were killed in the riot yesterday morning in Harborside, on Broadway. Apparently, they had gone to get your wife’s car at… Chuy’s?”

Mike nodded, “Chuy had it, trying to fix a wiring problem.”

“Well, they apparently got trapped down there, and… were killed during the riot. They… Their bodies were recovered this morning out of the remnants of the shop.”

“Remnants?”

The admiral ducked his head, “There was a fire. But the folks at Balboa said they were dead before that. There was an autopsy done on both of them… And… Well, they were cremated.”

Mike looked up in horror, “Cremated? Before I even had a chance to view the bodies?” His voice went up, “How the fuck could they do that? I don’t even get a chance to… View the bodies?”

Jimmy stepped up, “Captain, I made the IDs, and no, you didn’t want to see them. Trust me. Remember them as they were.”

Mike slumped down, head in his hands, as tears rolled down his face. He halfway heard Jimmy say, “I’ve got this, Admiral. I’ll get the Captain to quarters.”

The admiral replied, “Captain James, please take whatever time you need. Again, my apologies for having to deliver the news this way, but I thought it best to do so in person. My condolences.”

Mike nodded, and he heard the admiral walk away. Jimmy leaned over, putting his hand on Mike’s shoulder, “Come on, Mike. Let’s get you back to the base.”

Mike reached out for Jimmy’s hand and Jimmy pulled him up, Mike wiped his eyes, picked up his bag and briefcase and said, “No, I want to go home.”

Jimmy shook his head gently, “No, you don’t. Not right now. We’re in FP Delta plus. All personnel are on base, and we’re at military and dot gov employees only. I moved your stuff into the VIP quarters in the BOQ.” Picking up Mike’s bags, he motioned toward the door, “Come on, we can handle the rest of the stuff in the morning. You need some private time, and some sleep. How long have you been up?”

Mike thought for a minute, “Dunno, somewhere around… Well, I slept some, shit, I don’t know. My watch says seventeen hundred, and I started at oh four hundred.” He followed Jimmy out the door, and was surprised to see an up armored Hummer idling at the door. “What’s this?”

“Not taking any chances. Admiral Clayborn mandated any units off base be defensible vehicles.”

“What was he in?”

“The Marines had him in a convoy, with a bulletproof Tahoe for the admiral and his two guards.”

A half hour later, the Hummer pulled through the front gate at Coronado, past sandbags, and a manned machine gun. They pulled up in front of the BOQ, and Mike got slowly out, turning to take his bags, he said, “Thanks Chief Nealan, sorry to drag you out.”

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