William Weber - Warlords

The crowd chuckled in response.

“Everyone here is an important member of the community. This isn’t like the old days where a few were able to enjoy wealth and privilege while everyone else worked their fingers to the bone. So if I speak to you now from the top of the mayor’s office, it’s only because we haven’t found a way to recharge the bullhorn yet.”

Behind John stood each of the department heads and by his side was Vice Mayor Ray Gruber, wearing his nice-guy smile the way some people wore a beloved shirt.

“God willing,” John continued, “the windmills Ray and the small team of handymen and engineers are working on will be up and running within the next twenty-four hours.”

A huge eruption of applause.

“Don’t kid yourselves, this will mark a terrific achievement. We’ve been in touch with communities all over the non-occupied zone and many of them are struggling to even imagine what we’ve been able to achieve. When we bring the power back on in Oneida, it’s likely to be the first on the continent. Hopefully, the first of many,” he added.

More applause and hollering, which stretched Ray’s perma-smile even wider. Given how little good news there was of late, it was difficult not to rejoice.

“There is something that as Americans and citizens of this town, each of you deserves to know,” John began solemnly. “I’m going to warn you beforehand that much of what I’m about to say is disturbing, but I felt it was important that the truth gets out, no matter how frightening or ugly it is.”

Predictably, the mood began to shift. Some wore blank expressions, steeling themselves against what was to come. Others were far less capable of handling the anticipation of bad news and bit dirty nails and the inside of lips.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come right out with it. In the last few days, we’ve learned a number of shocking truths from the Chinese helicopter pilot who crashed outside of town. Foremost among them is the presence of concentration camps in enemy-held territory filled with American citizens. I don’t need to go into detail to say that atrocities are being committed there on a scale unseen since the Second World War. If ever there was a reason why we must win this war, this is it. Let the millions of Americans currently imprisoned be your rallying cry. Victory is the only option, lest we share their fate.”

The audience stood silent for a moment. From the stillness, a single pair of hands began clapping. Soon others joined and before long everyone assembled was stomping and cheering and continued doing so for several minutes.

All that noise made it hard to hear the two-way radio on Moss’ belt as it sprang to life. Eventually, the message got through and he came up to John who was still standing before the gleeful crowd.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Moss told him.

But by then John could already see the first hints of what Moss had come to tell him. A battered-looking column of M1A2 Abrams tanks was rolling down Industrial Lane. Following close behind were a ragtag band of bloodied and dispirited soldiers. It was a sight that John had prayed he would never see.

The front had collapsed.

And the enemy was on its way.

John descended from the roof to meet the approaching soldiers, his heart full of dread at what he was about to hear. Diane was by his side, clutching his arm as though they were about to hear news of Gregory’s fate. Mingling in the shocked crowd were Kay and Natalie Appleby and John had to remind himself that he wasn’t the only one who had a missing son.

The M1A2 pulled to an abrupt stop. The top hatch on the lead tank opened and out came a soldier in his mid-twenties, wearing a helmet. He removed it, shaking out a scruff of blond hair and introducing himself as Captain Bishop. Somewhere in the middle of the column of tanks, Humvees and Bradley Fighting Vehicles were a number of fuel trucks.

John gave them his name and told them he was the acting mayor of Oneida.

“I’m wondering if my men could rest in town before we move out tomorrow morning,” Bishop said, looking more like a football quarterback than a tank commander.

“Of course,” John replied without a moment’s hesitation. “We haven’t seen any military here since Colonel Edgar came through. What news is there from the front?”

“Front? There is no front anymore. The Chinese must have broken through somewhere around Memphis. Circled around and cut off everyone fighting in the trenches on the front lines.”

The implication was that Captain Bishop and his men had been in a reserve unit in the rear. Nevertheless, the news couldn’t be any worse. John had a momentary urge to ask Captain Bishop about his son, but realized how futile that was. “Wasn’t there any way to break through to them?” John asked in despair, referring to the soldiers in the trenches.

“If it were possible, don’t you think we would have done it?”

“Of course,” John replied. “It’s just our son is up there…”

“There were a lot of sons up there, Mr. Mayor. I served two tours in Iraq and that was by far the worst fighting I’ve ever seen. Barely made it out ourselves.”

“So what now?” John asked, no longer caring if the townspeople listened in. They would learn the grim truth sooner or later.

“First light we continue east till we reach our rendezvous point near Johnson City. Only problem is our fuel trucks are nearly bone dry and the chances of bringing the armor with us are slim to none. I’m guessing you folks don’t have any spare JP-8 jet fuel lying around?”

John shook his head, feeling too queasy to smile at the captain’s joke. “Any clue how close behind the enemy is?”

“Hard to say, but we’re gonna deploy defensively while we’re here. We noticed your foxholes over by Cecil Bridge on our way in. Tell me you have that thing rigged to blow at the first sight of enemy armor.”

“We sure do,” John told him. “But we don’t have anything that can put a hole in a Chinese Type 99.”

“You won’t need to worry about that,” Captain Bishop said, grinning. “Not while we’re here at least.”

“Who’s your commanding officer?” John asked.

Bishop winked. “You’re looking at him.”

John left the captain to sort out his men and headed back to the mayor’s office, Diane, Kay and Natalie in tow. The near-hysterical expressions on the Appleby women’s faces were only making the situation worse.

“Stop beating yourself up,” Diane said once they were inside. “Reese was the most qualified man for the job, so if you’re feeling like you shoulda gone in guns blazing yourself, you can just stop it.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “You know me too well.” John turned to the Appleby girls. “Right now, I know about as much as you. I’ll keep you notified if I hear anything else.”

Kay pulled Natalie in tight. They slowly made their way to the exit.

Poking his head into the comms room, John found Henry sitting with Rodriguez. “You up?” John said, surprised. “At least that’s one piece of good news in an otherwise horrible day.”

Rodriguez turned to say hello and winced. His abdomen was clearly still hurting him.

John filled them in on the situation. “Don’t bother sending messages to the front anymore. If anything, I want you to broadcast what we know to each of the surrounding communities. All towns within a twenty-mile radius should take what supplies and weapons they can and head here. There’s strength in numbers and it looks like the Chinese are heading this way.”

Both men nodded.

John was out and down the hall when he heard the radio crackle to life. A second later, Henry came charging after him. “Sir, you better come quick. I’ve got Reese on the line.”