William Weber - Turning the Tide

“I’m very familiar with both campaigns, thank you. What do you need from us then?”

“I’ve already got a dozen men,” John replied. “And all I need is an extra fifty. Much of that will depend on how many more horses we can get our hands on.”

“What about dirt bikes?” Moss threw out. “I’m sure we’d be able to find at least a dozen of those around town.”

“We’ll also need to speak with David Newbury,” Reese added. “He showed up from the Jonesboro camp a couple days before the Chinese attacked. Was on his way south to see his family, I believe.”

“He still here?” John asked.

Moss shrugged. “Heck, he could be halfway across the state for all I know.”

“We’ll go look for him,” John told them. “He may be able to provide us with a ton of useful intel.”

“All right then, Colonel,” General Dempsey said. “Good luck and Godspeed.”

After that, Henry chopped at empty air with his hand to indicate the signal had been dropped.

General Brooks came next to John.

“I’ve doubted you before, Colonel, and each time you’ve proven me wrong.”

“I get no pleasure in it, General. Things don’t always turn out the way I’d planned.”

Brooks nodded. “Do they ever?”

Another wave came from Henry as he pressed the headphones against his ears.

“Maybe it’s General Dempsey,” Moss said, “changing his mind about the mission.”

Reese laughed, searching himself for a cancer stick.

But the troubled look on Henry’s face told a different story. “Is there anything else?” he asked whoever was on the other end before pulling off his headphones and swiveling around. “I just received a message from Brandon, leaked out of the Jonesboro concentration camp.”

John’s chest suddenly constricted.

“Well, come out with it,” Moss said.

Henry’s eyes found John and John knew his day was about to get a whole lot worse. “Gregory’s been accused of trying to escape. He’s been slated for execution.”

That image of his son, crumpled to the ground and then carted away, was playing back in John’s mind on an endless loop. He could have risked the lives of his men and charged in there to rescue the boys, could have done something to stop what was happening, but that would have been the reckless act of a selfish leader. As a commander he had passed a difficult test. As a father, he had failed miserably.

If nothing else, the message from Brandon had made the situation perfectly clear. They didn’t have weeks or even days to prepare and rehearse for an attack on the camp. They had hours—and the seconds had already begun ticking away.

The following two hours were spent putting together the rest of the assault force. John opted to fill it with soldiers from what remained of the 101st. Many of them had been in the thick of battle during the Chinese attack on the town and he wanted men who had fought together. Contrary to popular perceptions, combat was just as much about knowing the man next to you as it was about proficiency with your weapon. The same was also true in professional sports. Even an all-star team could fall flat if the players didn’t gel.

John had sent Moss and a handful of other men south toward Huntsville in order to get as many more horses as they could. He would wait until they returned before revealing his plan.

With the troops taken care of, John switched his attention to gathering some last-minute intel. Devon entered the Rough Riders headquarters then, blond and baby-faced.

“Did you find—” John stopped when he saw the thin man trailing behind Devon. He had disheveled black hair and was skinny as a rake. John wondered if he was well enough to do this.

“I was down with cholera for a while,” David Newbury said. “So in a sick kind of way, you folks are lucky. If I had my health I woulda been long gone.” He seemed to notice the sudden concern in everyone’s expression. “No need to worry, I got a clean bill of health from Dr. Coffee. All’s I gotta do now is start putting some weight back on before I head south and find my family.”

“We won’t keep you long,” John told him. “We simply have a few questions about the camp you were being held at near Jonesboro.”

The muscles in David’s face tensed. “I was hoping you weren’t gonna ask me about that. I saw a lot of good people die in the short time I was there.”

“A month, as I understand it,” John said.

David nodded. “Maybe, but I’ll tell you, it sure felt like a lot longer than that.”

John motioned for David to sit. He did the same and began tapping his index finger on the desk. “You remember how many guards were at the prison?”

Leaning back in his chair, David exhaled loudly. “Gosh, I haven’t a clue. Somewhere between one and two hundred, I suppose. Far fewer than the number of prisoners, that’s for sure. Always struck me as strange how such a small number of guards could control thousands of inmates.”

“They mess with your head,” Reese said, standing near the doorway. The imposing Barrett M82 was at his side, as though he expected John to give the order to move out at any moment. Either that or he couldn’t wait to get going.

“This is true,” David agreed. “But they also have another way. Those North Koreans find you guilty of a crime, doesn’t matter how minor, they don’t just lock you away, they imprison everyone in your family. And I’m not just talking brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. I remember meeting fifth cousins in the camps doing hard labor for relatives they didn’t even know existed. It’s insane.”

John’s finger-tapping sped up. He was trying to stay focused and not let the emotional part of him get swept away. “You mentioned you were let out to forage,” John said.

“Yeah, one group of prisoners was tasked with preparing the soil nearby for cultivation and another was sent with guards to forage the area for anything edible. This was how they were feeding us at first. I can’t say whether that practice is still going on.”

“Back to those guards. Can you remember how they were armed?”

“Sure can. They never hesitated to stick the barrel of a machine gun in my face or shove the butt into my guts.”

“Did they have extra magazines on them?”

David paused. “Don’t think so. No handguns either.” He smiled weakly. “You can probably tell I don’t know a lot about guns. Point and shoot, right?” He molded his index finger and thumb into the shape of a pistol.

“No, you’ve been a great help so far,” John said. “What about the soldiers’ barracks and officers’ quarters?” John laid down a rough sketch of the camp as he remembered it. “Do you remember where they’re located?”

David pointed. “The guards’ barracks and officers’ quarters are all in the center of camp around a central courtyard. That’s where they execute people.” The muscles in David’s emaciated face grew slack. “You folks aren’t thinking of attacking that camp, are you?”

John shook his head. “No, just collecting some information.” He paused for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve seen how those North Koreans operate. If you’re going you gotta get everyone out. And don’t leave anyone behind because they’ll surely be killed, along with all of their relatives.”

Once they were done with David Newbury’s debriefing, John and his lieutenants moved to the planning room where Colonel Higgs awaited them. They found the colonel staring out the window. “Lost in thought, Higgs?” John asked.

The man turned and shook his head. “I’m worried about this operation of yours, John.”