William Weber - Turning the Tide

Ray Gruber came out of the crowd to congratulate John. “I’m just glad you made it back in one piece,” he said, patting his friend on the shoulder and beaming that contagious smile of his.

Surely there was a joke coming John’s way, but not everyone had made it home. They’d suffered casualties and there was nothing funny about that.

“A lot’s happened since you’ve been away,” Ray told him.

Diane kissed the top of Gregory’s head and looked up. “We caught Phoenix,” she said.

“Stop being humble, Diane. If it wasn’t for you spotting him in the woods, he woulda slipped through the cracks for sure. He’s being interrogated by General Brooks’ men as we speak.”

Now it was John’s turn to show surprise. “Who was it?”

“David Newbury,” Ray said. “An American born and bred. Can you believe it? The guy pretends to have escaped from a concentration camp and sets out to betray Oneida and its people. Who knows how many have died because of him.”

This wasn’t at all what John had expected. The news was terrific, of course, and it certainly made sense that the Chinese might have managed to pressure David into working for them. Hopefully, John would get his chance to ask the man a few questions.

“I’ll let General Brooks know you’re back,” Ray said. “I’m sure he’ll want a debriefing as soon as possible.”

“Not yet, Ray,” John said. “First, I want some time with my family.”

“Understood,” Ray said, smiling. “Whenever you’re ready.”

John found a quiet spot near the greenhouses where he could sit and talk with his family. A few minutes later, Diane returned with Emma, who’d been at the newspaper office preparing another batch of leaflets.

“You know you coulda gotten yourself killed,” Emma started in as she climbed out of the golf cart.

“It’s not your place to discipline your brother,” John told her. “This is the first time we’ve been together in a while. There’ll be plenty of time for choice words later.”

Gregory’s eyes fell to the grass at his feet. He was still wearing his prison uniform.

“I swung by the house and brought you some fresh clothes,” Diane said. “Why don’t you scoot behind the shed over there and get out of those rags.”

Gregory took the clothes and left.

“What about Brandon?” Emma asked. “Is he with the others at the stable?”

John glanced back at his horse who was a few feet away, nibbling on grass. “Yeah, that’s something we need to talk to you about.”

The muscles in Emma’s face tensed. “If something happened I don’t wanna hear about it.” She pushed her fingers into her ears.

“Come on, honey,” Diane said, gently easing her arms down. She turned to John. “Where is he?”

John conveyed Gregory’s story about Brandon being conscripted into the Chinese army.

Emma stood in disbelief. “How’s that even possible? I mean, why doesn’t he just run away?”

“It’s really not that simple,” John tried to explain. “Brandon believes if he breaks his word then Gregory might be killed.”

“Yes, but Gregory’s here with us now.” Tears filled Emma’s eyes and John understood perfectly well. A big part of her drive to make those leaflets had come from her desire to be reunited with Brandon.

“He and the others were taken away before we arrived. But I’ve got people out searching for him.”

Emma’s face sank into her hands as she began to sob. Gregory returned just then, a greasy-haired kid with a dirty face dressed in fresh jeans and t-shirt.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“Don’t ask,” John said. “Right now, we’re just so thrilled to have you back.”

Gregory nodded and tried to smile, but John could see there was an ocean of pain behind those eyes. The kind of suffering a child should never have to experience. There was no telling what sort of atrocities he’d witnessed in that camp. Only the mass grave they’d found nearby and the hollow look in his son’s eyes hinted at the damage that had already been done.

But in many ways, John’s own experiences with PTSD had made him intimately familiar with the tortured corridors of a traumatized mind and soul. The pain hadn’t killed him, although it had certainly come close. And while Gregory might have been physically freed from the camps, John knew he might never be free from the memories of what went on there.

The debriefing room at the mayor’s office was stifling hot and John undid the top button of his fatigues to cool off. A fan would have been nice, but the town’s limited power supply was dedicated for construction and infrastructure work.

Seated at the conference table next to him were Moss, Ray Gruber, Henry, General Brooks and Colonel Higgs. John went over the details of the mission to free the camp.

“How will we keep in touch with these disparate fighting groups you’ve sent off?” Higgs asked. “Is there any way to coordinate them?”

John motioned to the radio operator. “This is where Henry comes in. As far as I understand it, he’s begun a daily radio broadcast for members of the resistance. Think BBC during World War II.”

“Without the funny accent,” Ray chimed in.

“We should be able to relay target information to them in code through Henry’s daily broadcasts. The trick will be letting the insurgents in on the code itself.”

Higgs seemed pleased.

“Henry’s already got something of a following all over the country,” John said. “And not only in the occupied zone. Didn’t one woman ask you to marry her?”

The room erupted into laughter.

“Just don’t let it go to your head, pretty boy,” Moss said, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “I heard she asked Rodriguez first, but he turned her down.”

When the joviality died down, General Brooks reached into a wooden crate at his feet and set a crude-looking mortar round on the table. A series of white wires snaked out from the nose like strands of cooked spaghetti.

“Something tells me this ain’t your father’s mortar,” Moss said, leaning back in his chair and flicking a hand through the bristling hairs of his mohawk.

“We gave it some thought and realized that our fledgling armaments factory needed to narrow its production line to a single item,” General Brooks explained. “And this is it.”

“A mortar round that can double as an IED,” John said.

Brooks patted it as though it were a newborn puppy. “Sure, it looks crude, but this baby is packed with enough explosives to knock out a tank.”

Everyone in the room looked uneasy.

“Don’t worry, folks,” the general reassured them. “This one’s only a demo. But I’ve got nearly three dozen townspeople trained in how to make them. In a week from now I’ll have double that number.”

“My team that’s planting IEDs along I-40 could really use these,” John said. “They’ve been keeping a low profile over the last few days, but they’re very skilled at living off the land and doing what they can to disrupt those Chinese supply lines.”

General Brooks grinned. “And with Phoenix taken care of, we can reduce the need for so much secrecy around here.”

“Have you gotten anything useful out of him?” John asked.

General Brooks shook his head. “No, but not for lack of trying. He claims he’d gone into the woods to go to the bathroom and not hand over secrets to the enemy.”

“Hey, at least his excuse is original,” Moss said, grinning.

“I wouldn’t mind having a word with him,” John suggested.

General Brooks didn’t seem to like that idea. “You can when we’re done.”

“Frankly, I think he should be taken out back and shot,” Ray said. “Just think how much American blood is on his hands.”