G Hopf - Sanctuary

“Yes, sir.” General Pasqual ran up to his tank and saluted.

“Is everything ready for the barrage?”

“Yes, sir. All artillery and mortar units are in place with coordinates.”

“Good. Let me know when—I want to give the order to begin fire,” Pablo said, waving General Pasqual away.

As he sat back against the turret of the tank he thought to himself about how everything in his plan so far had worked out almost too easily. He knew that eventually he’d be put to the test against a real American military unit. His visions of conquest saw the Pan-American Empire stretching from the southern tip of Panama to the southern borders of Oregon and east toward Oklahoma and Texas. He was a realist, though, and knew that would take a huge army and a great deal of time. His primary goals now were to take the American Southwest, then march on Mexico and liberate his people with the promise of a new era.

Before he knew it, Pasqual was back. “Emperor, it is time, sir.”

Pablo sat up and stretched. He again took in the view before ordering, “Radio!”

General Pasqual stepped up on the tank and held out a handheld radio.

Without saying a word, Pablo snatched the radio. He reflected for a brief moment about what he was about to do. This was to be his first full-scale attack on a city, a turning point for him. He smiled. He was about to order the attack on the capital of California.

“Who would have thought that I’d be sitting here six months ago?” Pablo asked smugly.

General Pasqual just smiled and nodded.

“Here, take my picture, I want to remember this moment,” Pablo said, handing General Pasqual a small camera.

Pablo posed with the radio and pointed toward the skyline of Sacramento.

“How does it look? Let me see.” Pablo examined the photo. “Good picture! Okay, let’s begin,” he said, pressing the button on the radio. “All units, this is your Emperor. Begin the attack.”

“Sir, drop the weapon!” one of the Marines ordered.

Gordon didn’t know what to do. Being surrounded by a Marine unit in the middle of Oregon was not something he expected to happen.

“Goddamn it, son, put down the gun or we’ll put you down!” an older Marine hollered as he exited the Humvee.

For a second, he thought he recognized this older man. He blinked fast and squinted to see if the Marine’s face would focus in the swirling snow.

“Put the gun down so that we can help with the injured woman!” the older Marine yelled.

Gordon looked down at Brittany, who was curled up at his feet in a bloody ball. He knew he couldn’t win this gunfight, but his distrust for all people made it hard to comply.

“Are you really going to make us shoot your dumb ass? Because we will, it’s fucking cold out here,” the older Marine yelled sarcastically.

It clicked. Gordon knew that voice.

The older Marine stepped out from the shadows and his face finally came into clear view.

“Smitty?” Gordon asked.

The old man walked up to within ten feet of Gordon and stopped. “Who are you?”

“Smitty!” Gordon said again, this time expressing happy surprise at this strange coincidence.

“Well, you seem to know my name. Now, who the hell are you?”

“Van Zandt. Sergeant Van Zandt,” Gordon answered as he lowered his pistol.

“Van Zandt? What the hell! You’re the last person I’d expect to see out here.”

The snowstorm had increased in severity. The large thick flakes were now covering Brittany as she lay motionless on the ground. Tyler was at her side, holding her head. “Momma, Momma. Stay awake,” he pleaded.

Gordon was jolted back to reality. “Smitty, she needs help. She’s been hit in the shoulder with a shotgun.”

“Marines! Get her in the back of my vehicle and take her back to town,” Gunny barked. Several Marines came immediately to her side and picked her up. She moaned loudly when they lifted her limp body.

“Momma!” Tyler said, holding her hand as the Marines carried her back to Gunny’s vehicle. He followed them into the Humvee.

Gunny could see the concern in Gordon’s eyes. “She’ll be fine, we’ll take good care of her,” he said.

Gordon nodded.

“This is all so surreal. What are you doing in Oregon?”

“I could ask the same of you. How about we discuss all of this over a drink back in town?”

When Gunny turned around he saw the Humvee turn around and speed off without him.

“Well… looks like I need a ride,” Gunny said with a grin.

“Let’s take my chariot,” Gordon cracked.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” Gunny said, patting Gordon on his shoulder.

Gordon woke abruptly. He had been sleeping on and off, watching over Brittany. His neck was cramping and his body was chilled. He rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm them. He looked at his watch. Five a.m.—he had only been asleep for a few hours. He heard someone rustle opposite him and looked over to discover Tyler lying on the floor next to his mother’s bed.

Encountering Gunny was a bittersweet reunion. They hadn’t seen each other since Iraq. Gunny was a corporal then, and to Gordon he was known as Smitty. Their chance meeting on that war-torn street in Fallujah was similar to their chance meeting in Klamath Falls, but this time Gunny was coming to Gordon’s aid. It was good to see a familiar face, but Gordon could tell from Gunny’s expression when they sat down over a drink that the news about Sebastian wasn’t good. Gunny carefully told Gordon the events that culminated in Sebastian being left in California. He said he wasn’t sure if Sebastian was dead or alive, as the chopper that took him had reported mechanical issues, then disappeared. When Gordon first heard this, he was shocked. The thought of Sebastian dead couldn’t have come at a worse time. After losing Hunter, the thought of losing Sebastian too was too much for him to process. He questioned Gunny vigorously to see if there was any clue at all. A deep emptiness filled him with each answer Gunny gave. Gordon’s desire for certainty couldn’t be satisfied. Sitting there in the darkness, he thought of his brother. If he was somehow alive, had Sebastian made it to his home and found the note? Was he already heading to Idaho? And, if he wasn’t alive… Gordon pushed that thought from his mind.

He watched Brittany’s chest slowly rise and fall. He was thankful that Gunny and the Marines had shown up when they did. Gordon had some confidence in his abilities to perform triage, but he didn’t have the necessary antibiotics if the wound festered and became infected. Gunny’s appearance was by coincidence; the Marines were running a patrol of the surrounding area and, ironically enough, they received a report that the man and woman that Gordon had killed were wanted in town for the murder of an elderly gentleman. The last report stated that they were heading out of town, hence why they were checking the highway.

A tinge of a mild headache struck Gordon. He rubbed his head and figured it was a combination of dehydration, alcohol, and lack of caffeine. The lack of caffeine in this new world had more than once proven to be a problem for him. He never had thought much of the addictive qualities of caffeine before, but when he didn’t get his fix the headaches were awful and sometimes distracting. Not wanting to spend his day feeling like crap, he left the room in search of water, then a cup of coffee if one could be had.