William Weber - Warlords

Ragged, his face cut and bleeding from flying bits of shrapnel and shards of brick, John staggered toward his family. It didn’t matter what Moss said, he couldn’t help feeling blessed to be alive. If he hadn’t climbed to the roof to lend a hand to the AT-4 teams up there, he might very well have shared Captain Bishop’s fate.

Emma and Diane clung to him, his daughter sobbing as she looked about her. If the horrors of Willow Creek and her capture by the Chairman had made her come undone, he didn’t want to think what seeing the streets of Oneida in their present state would do.

“Will they be back?” Diane asked, covering her nose from the terrible stench.

John nodded. “Without a doubt. They won’t quit until we can drive them all the way back to California and into the ocean.”

Emma was still clutching John around the waist, paper crumpled in her hand.

“She’s been working on that propaganda pamphlet,” Diane told him proudly. “The one for the prison camps behind enemy lines.”

John gently pried it from Emma’s fingers and studied what she’d done.

Stay Strong , it read. Victory is Close at Hand . An image of a small town in the foreground with a giant fist swinging down to scatter tiny Chinese tanks. But it was what he saw floating above the city that truly caught his attention.

“What’s this, honey?” he asked her.

Emma pulled her head from his chest, her eyes filled with tears. “It’s the EMP that got us here in the first place,” she whispered.

But it was the placement of that EMP over Oneida that jogged something loose.

“Was Jerry in the storm drains with you?” John asked them.

Diane shook her head. “No, I think he was at the medical clinic with Dr. Coffey helping the cholera patients. Why?”

“If you see him, tell him to come to the mayor’s office right away. Tell him it has something to do with that suicide mission.”

Diane agreed, although John could tell she didn’t like the sound of this one bit.

Less than an hour later, John, General Brooks and the remaining members of his staff were in the radio room in a conference with General Dempsey, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

“They’re calling your little town the new Bastogne,” General Dempsey said over the radio, an announcement which caused a rare show of smiles and laughter. “The Chinese are likely to lay siege to Oneida, but expect them to give you a wide berth. It’ll be more of a containment operation while they do their best to grab as much of the country as they can. You people did a fine job and we’re proud of you over here. Your bravery has given all of us faith that we might still win this dirty business.”

“Where is the here you mentioned, sir?” John asked, not caring what the protocol was for addressing General Dempsey out of turn.

“Whom am I speaking to?” Dempsey asked.

“The mayor of Oneida,” John replied.

“Colonel Mack.”

“John will do just fine,” John said, wondering if his face looked as hot as it felt.

“Nonsense. It’s no secret—remaining U.S. forces are dug in along the Appalachian mountains with a sizeable contingent tasked with defending the Cumberland Gap. The 3rd Infantry Division has been deployed on the east side of the Emory river bridge to block the Chinese advance into Knoxville. There has been news of a rather surprising development of late. Apparently the drug cartels and the Mexican government have formed a temporary ceasefire and have been pushing into California.”

“They’re trying to nibble away while we’re weak,” General Brooks said with disgust.

“That may be so, but we shouldn’t complain,” Dempsey told him. “Not when it’s taking some of the pressure off of us. Hopefully, the North Koreans, Chinese and maybe even the Russians will need to divert precious resources south to deal with the problem.”

John found it hard to decide what was more surprising, that the drug cartels south of the border could ever find common ground with their own government or that a top American general would celebrate their invasion of U.S. soil.

Just then Jerry Fowler pushed his way into the already cramped comms room.

“General Dempsey, sir,” John called out. “There’s something I wanted to run by you.”

There was a pause on the other end. Next to him, General Brooks threw John a strange look.

“Go ahead, Colonel Mack.”

“I’ve got a man here who used to work in the weather department over at the Y-12 National Security Complex in Oak Ridge.”

“Yes,” Dempsey said. “I’m familiar with the facility.”

“So then you’ll be able to confirm whether the site still contains any of the outdated nuclear warheads sent there for disarmament.”

“That’s the very reason we sent the 3rd Infantry Division to block the Emory river,” General Dempsey said. “We plan on clearing what remains to a safe location as soon as possible.”

“General, what if I asked if I could have one of your warheads?”

“I don’t understand, Colonel. We don’t have a viable rocket to put them on. You’re not dreaming of trying to hit Beijing or Moscow, are you?”

The room burst into laughter. Everyone except for John and Jerry.

“No, sir,” John replied. “I know that would be a waste of time. I’ve also come to realize that dropping it on the heads of any foreign armies pushing east would also be foolish.”

“So then what do you need it for?”

John drew in a breath so deep he wondered if his lungs would explode. “We want to send it into the upper atmosphere on a high-altitude weather balloon and detonate it over the continental United States.”

The pause this time seemed to last forever. General Brooks and others were mumbling their disbelief.

“If we can protect the few radios and little equipment we have,” John continued, “then we might just be able to even the playing field. Maybe even swing it to our favor.”

“It’s a stupid plan,” General Brooks barked. “Don’t you know their combat vehicles have already been hardened against an EMP? I wish you’d cleared it with me before you went and wasted General Dempsey’s time with this nonsense.”

“General Brooks is right,” John conceded. “Just like in our own military, the enemy’s tanks, fighting vehicles and aircraft have all been hardened against an EMP blast. But their weak point may not be the tanks so much as the thousands of vehicles they rely on to move the supplies to the front necessary to wage war. Speak with any maintenance crew and they’ll be the first to tell you. Without a steady stream of replacement parts and fuel, any armored force is dead in the water.”

The room grew quiet as a flush crawled up General Brooks’ neck and into his cheeks. Without a doubt, John’s plan was an audacious one that might not have a hope of succeeding, but from the Revolution through the dark days of World War Two, wasn’t America’s history built on brave men rolling the dice against impossible odds?

When General Dempsey’s voice came again, it was filled with resolve. “It’s a bold idea, Colonel Mack, but if you can pull it off, it may just work. You have twenty-four hours to put together a team. You’re heading to Oak Ridge.”

“Understood, General,” John said. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“What is it, John?”

“You might want to start building some Faraday cages.”

A reader and Army veteran contacted me after reading Last Stand: Surviving America’s Collapse to express his enjoyment of the book. He also took that time to inform me—much to our mutual amazement—that his own life has mirrored the character John Mack’s in several eerie ways. Since both Johns served with the 278th Armored Cavalry Regiment in Iraq, I decided to ask him how, given the task, he would organize Oneida’s defense against an invading army. Although by no means definitive, I thought others might find it interesting to see it for themselves. It certainly helped me as I made my way through the third book in the series.