Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

“I think I’m worth more than a hundred thou,” Mac replied. “And I want a different room. This one is too messy.”

SOUTH OF WINSTON-SALEM, NORTH CAROLINA

General Bo Macintyre was standing on one of the four landing pads that were clustered around the topmost section of Confederate Defense Tower 26. The structure was three hundred feet tall, and located just south of the New Mason-Dixon Line. It, like the identical towers located to the east and west, had been constructed before Bo was named as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

Had Bo occupied that position when the idea was initially put forward, he would have reminded President Lemaire and his cronies of another chain of fortifications that were supposed to keep enemies out. And that was the ill-fated Maginot Line. It consisted of concrete bunkers built all along France’s borders with Switzerland, Germany, and Luxembourg.

Unfortunately, the seemingly impregnable defenses had a weak spot near the Ardennes Forest, a flaw the Germans were not only aware of but eager to exploit. Doing so allowed them to split the French-British defensive front, leading to the famous evacuation at Dunkirk. The French surrendered six weeks later.

And defensive towers like the one Bo was standing on were proving to be equally vulnerable. Six had been bypassed or destroyed, allowing Union forces to push down along both banks of the Mississippi River and link up with an amphibious force in New Orleans, the same city where, Bo was convinced, his daughter Victoria had been murdered by her sister. Bo winced and pushed the thought away.

The point was that the Union had been able to effectively split the Confederacy in two. And that’s why Bo was in North Carolina. He was there to boost morale and keep the eastern half of the country in the fight. If they could continue to hold, Bo believed that the Yankees could be driven out of the South. Unfortunately, winning, as in conquering the North, was no longer a realistic possibility. A fact that President Lemaire and his sycophants had yet to accept.

That was the big picture. But as Bo brought a pair of binoculars up to his eyes, he was thinking about the brigade arrayed in front of him. According to the reports that Bo had read, the Union forces were under the command of Major General Suzanne “Bunny” Smith. She’d been two years behind him at West Point, and while Bo didn’t know Smith well, he was familiar with her reputation.

The nickname “Bunny” stemmed from the fact that Smith was so physically attractive that her male classmates thought she could qualify as a Playboy Bunny. But that had everything to do with nothing. From what Bo had heard, Smith was competent, hard, and aggressive. So why was Bunny sitting on her butt? Because she’s waiting for something, Bo concluded. Something I won’t like.

And that prediction was borne out when his aide, Major Brian Arkov, arrived. He was slightly out of breath. “It’s time to pull out, General… They’re sending a helicopter up from the Dungeon.”

Bo knew that the men and women stationed on Tower 26 routinely referred to the windowless complex underneath the central column as “the Dungeon.” He lowered the glasses. “Time to go? Why? ”

“Union paratroopers are landing south of us, sir. It looks like they’re the anvil, and General Smith is the hammer.”

“The Hammer,” would be a much better nickname for Smith in Bo’s opinion. “Cancel the helo, Brian. We’re going to stay.”

Arkov wore rimless glasses, and he looked like a stern headmaster at an elite school. He frowned. “Is that wise, General? If you were to be captured, or killed, it would be a severe blow to the war effort.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bo replied. “But I can assure you that I won’t be captured. As for killed, well, there are plenty of generals in Houston. One of them will step in. Think about it, Brian… If we leave, how would that look to a private? Or to the citizens of North Carolina?

“Besides,” Bo added. “Colonel Katz is rolling north with two cavalry battalions. And once he gets here, we’ll be able to push Bunny back across the New Mason-Dixon Line. All we need to do is hold on.”

Arkov looked doubtful. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Pass the word,” Bo said. “This ain’t over till it’s over. Tell the CO that I want every clerk, cook, and tech geared up and ready to defend this installation.”

Bo’s self-confidence was contagious, and Arkov grinned. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.”

“Good. And one more thing… I want him to launch every attack helicopter he has. I want them in the air, and I want them to hit those paratroopers hard. That will force the Yankees to slow down and soften them up for Katz.”

Arkov tossed Bo a salute, turned, and ran toward the elevators located in the central column. Bo walked out to the edge of the platform, looked down, and eyed the berm that Smith’s troops would have to cross. It was defended with machine guns, mortars, and 20mm Gatling guns. And that wasn’t all. The tower’s C-RAM system stood ready to detect and destroy incoming artillery, mortar, and rocket rounds before they could cause damage. And a surface-to-air-missile battery was located on the next platform over from where Bo stood. It swiveled left and right every now and then, like a dog sniffing the air. Bo turned his gaze to the north. Come on bitch, Bo thought. Let’s see what you’ve got.

PINE KNOT, KENTUCKY

It took Marine One less than an hour to make the 150-mile trip from Fort Knox to the Union penitentiary near Pine Knot, Kentucky. Or more specifically, the recent addition to the McCleary Prison, which was often referred to as “Supermax South,” because of the large number of high-ranking Confederates being held there. They were officials and military officers for the most part. Meaning people who had intelligence value or could be swapped for Union prisoners.

Sloan stared out the window as the VH-60N “White Hawk” circled the low-lying complex and settled onto the pad that bore the big letter “H.” It wasn’t every day that the president dropped in to visit a supermax inmate—and shotgun-toting guards were visible everywhere.

Sloan released his seat belt as the helo touched down. Secretary of Treasury Martin Tyler was seated beside him. Tyler had light brown hair, a cheerful demeanor, and an eidetic memory. As Tyler followed Sloan off Marine One, he was absorbing everything he saw. Two Secret Service agents followed along behind.

Warden James Gladfelter was there to greet the incoming dignitaries. He was balding, a bit pudgy, and much given to dry washing his hands. “President Sloan! And Secretary Tyler! I’m James Gladfelter. I hope you had a good flight.”

Sloan endured a damp handshake and forced a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Warden. The trip down was pleasant. Thank you. Is the prisoner ready?”

“Yes, of course,” Gladfelter responded. “Please follow me.”

A concrete path led away from the pad, took a number of sharp turns, and delivered them to what looked like a one-story bunker but was actually more. A guard opened the door, and more security people waited within. The first floor was devoted to office space, meeting rooms, and a lounge for staff. But most of the supermax was underground.

An elevator took the party down to level 3B, where the doors opened onto a sterile lobby. Sloan noticed that the lights were unusually bright, and everything was made of concrete. That included a bench, the walls, and the highly polished floor. The air was so chilly that Sloan chose to keep his overcoat on.