William Weber - Warlords

Henry wasn’t ex-military like Rodriguez. He’d been a ham radio enthusiast living in a cabin on the outskirts of town when the grid went down. The folks around here were more accustomed to living off the land than the people in the big cities and so the transition hadn’t been nearly as difficult. Frequent water-boiling advisories and downed power lines after heavy storms tended to do that.

Every day Henry would pass by the infirmary where Rodriguez was recovering and the two of them would discuss what needed to be done and the best way to configure the equipment. Eventually both of them would be working side by side, vastly increasing their ability to reach out to neighboring communities. If more towns nearby could follow Huntsville’s lead, then it would surely help weaken the enemy’s grip.

Henry hovered over John as he lowered himself into the chair and put the headphones over his ears. Leaning forward, John depressed the actuator on the mic stand and spoke.

“Colonel Higgs, this is John Mack. I trust you have some good news, over.”

Crackling static sounded before the colonel’s choppy voice came through.

“John, we’ve been under intense shelling and aerial attack for three days now,” the colonel said, the rattling boom from explosions audible in the background. “We’re not the least bit surprised since artillery barrages before an attack are a typical component of Russian military doctrine. You know your military history, John, so I’m probably not telling you anything you didn’t know. And if the Chinese are anything like they were in Korea, then it won’t be long before they attempt to swarm our lines of defense with waves of massed infantry. Make no mistake, we’re giving it back to them as good as we’re getting it, but without GPS and Blue Force Tracking, we’re fighting blind. It’s like World War II all over again.”

John would have laughed if the thought hadn’t sickened him.

“Those geniuses in the Department of Defense were so anxious to get the armed forces networked,” the colonel continued, “they never gave much thought to what would happen if that network was hacked or destroyed.”

“I’m relieved the line is still holding,” John said. “Is there anything we can do?”

“That’s part of why I’m calling, John. We have a supply train set to come through Oneida tomorrow on its way to the front.”

John’s jaw dropped open. “But I thought—”

“Me too, but apparently our military engineers have been reclaiming older diesel locomotives and sending them west filled with men and supplies. You have no idea how many beans, bullets and bandages it takes to keep our men fighting, not to mention the fuel. Anyway, when the shipment comes through tomorrow, I need as many able-bodied men and women you can send me.”

The news stopped John cold. There was so much that needed to be done here in Oneida just to keep the town’s head above water, the thought of losing the most able-bodied part of his labor force was tough to stomach. Of course, on the flip side, if foreign armies broke through, then Oneida’s troubles would only pale by comparison.

“I’ll see what I can do,” John said, feeling that knot in his gut begin to squeeze tight. “I’ll send as many as I can spare.”

“Much appreciated.”

It sounded as though the colonel was getting ready to end the conversation, but John wasn’t through.

“Colonel Higgs, what’s your plan in case they break through?”

There was a long silence.

“We have a reserve armored force hidden away to block any holes.”

“Is that it?”

“What more can we do?”

“Maybe it’s time we do like the Russians did in WWII. Create a defense in depth with a series of strong points designed to slow and weaken the enemy as they advance. Their supply lines must already be stretched to the max. Any losses they suffer would be difficult to replace.” More silence and now John was beginning to wonder if the colonel had stopped listening. “We also need to make sure we’re not fighting the battle on their terms. We need to go low-tech, pass orders using handwritten notes, light signals to launch our fighters. If the Millennium Challenge war game the armed forces conducted in 2002 taught us anything, it’s that an army with a technological advantage can be defeated using asymmetric warfare.”

“I’m very familiar with the Millennium Challenge.”

“Then you know the Joint Forces Command reset the wargame when Lieutenant General Van Riper’s unconventional tactics were working. Listen, I’m not trying to step on any toes here, Colonel, believe me. All I’m saying is it sounds to me like we need to think outside the box. It’s how the Celts destroyed three entire Roman legions in the Teutoburg Forest.”

“John, I’ve heard what you have to say, but I’ll tell you right off the bat, I’m not prepared to turn our nation into another Iraq. Americans fight insurgencies, we don’t become them.”

Henry tapped John’s shoulder. “You’ve only got a few more seconds before they can pinpoint the signal.”

The colonel was still talking. “I don’t care what technology they have. No one can stand toe to toe against the might of the US military. They’ve got a weakness and we’re gonna find it.”

“Time’s up, John,” Henry said nervously.

“There’s something you’re forgetting, Colonel,” John said. “We’re not the Romans anymore. We’re the Celts.”

That was when the signal went dead.

John leaned back in the chair and rubbed the corners of his eyes.

“That didn’t seem to go very well,” Henry said.

“A train is coming through town tomorrow and he wants men and women shipped to the front.”

“Really? So they’re holding them off then?”

“For now,” John replied. “But I’m worried the army isn’t adapting fast enough to the new reality. The military spent the last few decades moving from a bulky Cold War model capable of fighting two conventional wars at once to a smaller, more nimble and high-tech force. Problem is, once you pull the plug and lose access to the satellites that tie it all together, you lose the nimble and all you’re left with is the small.”

The corner of Henry’s mouth curled into a half grin. “Have you been speaking to my girlfriend again?”

John tried to return the gesture, but wasn’t able to.

“It’s hard for any bureaucracy that large to change overnight,” Henry said.

“I know,” John replied. “Especially when that means accepting the fact that you’re not as strong as you used to be. Trust me, Henry, as I grow older, I understand this more and more. The front needs soldiers and support personnel, I have no argument there. I just can’t help feeling that with the way things are being run, I’d only be sending these men and women off to their deaths.”

John’s rather unsettling conversation with Colonel Higgs was still replaying in his mind as the conference room began to fill up. It was situated across the hall from the radio room and featured a long oval table with ten chairs. Two battery-powered lanterns gave the place an ominous feel John found rather appropriate under the circumstances. On each of the four walls were stickers and Post-It notes with the various projects they needed to get underway.

If there was one thing John had learned navigating through the council meetings back on Willow Creek Drive—a time that seemed decades ago now—it was that the voting system they’d used to decide policy had crippled the committee’s decision-making process. As a result, one of his first acts as mayor had been to select several department heads. His second was to let them know that he and he alone would have the final say. John would listen to their advice and take that into consideration, but gone was a time when he would be forced by raised hands to make life-or-death decisions.