James Rawles - Survivors - A Novel of the Coming Collapse

Martin looked up from his oversize flat-screen monitor and pivoted his chair. He tilted his head down to look at the document with his bifocals. “Well, not this actual generated PO, but Rico and I did discuss it, and we did agree that eight thousand of the twenty-liter cans, and three thousand donkey-d… ah, ‘spouts’ was a good number. Our only debate was about how many of the spouts should be the small-diameter type, for unleaded gas.”

“But, Ray, those cans and spouts are banned from civilian sale in the U.S. because they don’t meet the CARB-compliance rules. Now, I mentioned that fact to Lopez yesterday, and he just said to me, ‘I know they’re banned, but we can still get them if we say they are for export.’ Is he crazy? How will we ever recoup that investment? We aren’t in the export market! We don’t even have any sales representation in Mexico. I’m sure you know PEMEX has that market sewed up tight in a sweet little deal with the PRI party. It’s a total monopoly down there. So, why buy all those cans if we have no market? This doesn’t make any sense to me! And Lopez has this strange fixation with small containers. We’re in the bulk business. We don’t package itty-bitty retail containers. We don’t have the distribution channels. This just doesn’t compute.”

Martin chuckled. “I think in less than a year you’ll be thanking Dr. Lopez profusely for buying the gazillion containers, and maybe even wondering why we didn’t buy more of them. The way the economy is headed, we’re in for some deep trouble.”

McReady gave Martin a puzzled look.

Martin explained, “The Schumer is about to hit the fan. Just suffice it to say that I believe that the marketplace and the legislative environment are about to shift substantially, so fuel-can legalities will be the least of our concerns. Just keep in mind that I don’t have a board of directors to answer to. This plant is mine. I paid cash for it, and although some of the things here may seem unorthodox, I have my reasons. It’s my baby.”

Without giving time for the plant manager to respond, L. Roy went on, “So, henceforth, I expect you to mention Dr. Lopez’s projects only if there is a safety issue that is not being properly resolved, or if you think that there is some malfeasance.” Martin clasped his pudgy hands together and rested them on the desk. He put his chin down and eyeballed McReady.

McReady gave a quiet “Understood,” and walked out.

Ricardo Lopez’s shift in emphasis for the plant at first mystified and soon chafed old-timers like McReady. They considered him a bit of a mad scientist and thought that most of his projects would be unlikely to break even. Since Lopez was Cuban and only five feet three inches tall, he was soon nicknamed “Ingeniero Ricky Ricardo” or “Little Ricky.” It was not until after the Crunch that they all realized that L. Roy and Lopez had repositioned the company to be able to continue to operate in the midst of a massive economic upheaval.

Immediately after the Crunch began, Martin ordered three of the plant’s four units mothballed and closed out all the company’s existing commercial contracts. “No paper money accepted. Silver only!” Martin decreed. Gasoline, diesel, and propane sold for twenty cents per gallon, payable in pre-1965 U.S. silver coins or equivalent weight in .999 fine silver trade dollars. Empty Scepter fuel cans were $4 each in silver coin, and their spouts were fifty cents. Martin began paying his employees in silver, and they had the opportunity to buy gas at a 10 percent discount. The average wage was $1.20 per day-all paid in pre-1965 U.S. silver coins. Their feedstock suppliers were happy to be paid in a mixture of silver and transferable vouchers for finished product. In many ways the business model for the refinery was similar to before the Crunch. It was only the scale that had changed. But the smaller scale of production made for a tight profit margin, since many of the overhead costs in running the plant were the same, whether they were running all four refinery units or just one.

At L. Roy’s direction, seventeen refinery employees with recent combat experience in the Big Sandbox became full-time security guards for the Bloomfield plant, working round-the-clock shifts. Many of them were armed with “black guns” from Martin’s extensive gun collection: AR-15s, M4s, M1As, AR-10s, L1A1s, and HKs.

Laine’s flight to Ramstein was on a C-17 with a mixed load of cargo and passengers. About thirty passengers lined one wall, on flip-down seats. It was an uneventful but noisy flight. He wore his earplugs. While on the flight, he composed draft e-mails to send to Kaylee and to his brother. Then he read some psalms.

After arriving at Ramstein, Andy got nervous when he saw a scene unfold in an adjoining hangar. A Texas National Guard unit that was on an emergency redeployment back from Bosnia was undergoing a “health and welfare” inspection overseen by officers and senior NCOs from the unit as well as some MPs. All of the troops had to completely unpack their duffel bags and backpacks. They even had dog handlers there, with German shepherds sniffing through the spread-out baggage. As an officer traveling alone and on a flight inside Germany, it was unlikely that Laine would ever be searched. And if he was, he wondered if his forged hand receipt would stand up to scrutiny. After all, it was fairly common knowledge that SIG P228s (called M11s by the U.S. Army) were not on the TO&Es of any but a few CID and MP units.

At Ramstein, there was more frustration: Because of fuel economy measures, he would have to wait until the next day to get transport to Grafenwohr Training Center. From there he could easily catch a ride to Rose Barracks, his unit’s home near Vilseck. So it was one more night in an Air Force BOQ.

There was no wireless Internet service at the “Q,” so he was forced to “war walk” with his laptop to find an open wireless network. He finally found one in an NCO accompanied housing complex. After he had logged on, he sent out his draft e-mails and checked his in-box. There were three new “Hurry home” e-mails from Kaylee. Then he checked the AFN Germany weather page and the HQUSAEUR G3 Road Conditions Web page. Out of curiosity, he checked the spot price of gold at Kitco.com. He was startled to see gold at $5,453 per ounce. It had gained $312 per ounce in the past twenty-four hours. Since his laptop’s battery was down to 32 percent, he turned it off and walked back to the BOQ. He was in a foul mood.

The next morning at breakfast, he discovered that the local Internet was up but that no connections to anywhere in the United States were working-for both e-mail and Web pages. The AFN television news soon reported the same Internet outage, with no known time or date for resumption of service. Andy shut down his laptop and prayed.

The bus to Graf at noon the next day was crowded. Most of the passengers carried six or more loaded shopping bags. They said that they had been forced to come to Ramstein because the shelves at the small commissary at U.S. Army Garrison Grafenwohr were nearly stripped clean.