Уильям Дитц: Seek and Destroy

“Kind of like the Canadian attack on Maine.”

“Exactly like the Canadian attack on Maine.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Written orders are waiting in your office.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s one other thing, Victoria… Something you need to know. The Union wasn’t paying much attention to Howard, but they are now, and that includes assembling a battalion to go after him.”

Victoria shrugged. “That’s predictable.”

“Yes, it is,” her father replied. “But there’s something more. We have an agent in that battalion… And, according to him, your sister has orders to join the unit.”

Victoria knew that Robin was fighting for the Union and that they had been within miles of each other in Murfreesboro. She frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because even though Robin was too lazy to attend the academy, and went to OCS, she’s had more than her share of success as a cavalry officer. Robin was the one they sent to rescue Sloan from the fuck-up in Richton… And she pulled it off. She’s dangerous, Victoria… Don’t underestimate her.”

Victoria felt a swirl of conflicting emotions. This was the first time she’d heard her father express approval of her sister since the day Robin graduated from high school, and it didn’t sit well. She was Bo’s favorite and wanted it to stay that way. “Don’t worry, sir,” Victoria said, as she switched to being a major again. “If I run into Robin, I will take her very seriously indeed.”

CASPER, WYOMING

The Osprey V-22 banked as it passed over Casper, Wyoming. The aircraft didn’t have windows, but the rear hatch was open, which allowed Mac to catch glimpses of the ground. What had been a small city to begin with was even smaller after the cholera epidemic had decimated the population two months earlier.

The pain and misery associated with that wasn’t visible from the air, however… And as the VTOL continued to make a wide, sweeping turn—Mac had the impression of orderly streets, bare-limbed trees, and occasional patches of dirty snow. Then she got a glimpse of what must be Fort Carney. The makeshift military base was adjacent to a fire-ravaged housing development south of town. An array of antennas marked the center of the fort and were located next to what looked like a mound of dirt but probably marked the location of an underground command center.

That was surrounded by a ring of prefab buildings, some of which were vehicle shelters. A spiderweb-like network of roads and trenches led out to the vehicle-mounted surface-to-air missile launchers that would protect the base from unmanned drones, low-flying fixed-wing aircraft, and helicopters. And all of it was protected by a forty-foot-long wall of shipping containers.

They were made of steel, and the tops of the rectangular boxes had been removed so that they could be filled with tons of dirt. Mac knew that such containers were approximately eight feet wide. That meant the wall could withstand just about anything fired directly at it. And with machine-gun emplacements on top of the barrier and mortar pits behind it, Fort Carney would be a tough nut to crack. “Check your seat belts,” a voice said over the intercom, “we’re thirty from dirt.”

The engines tilted up, and what had been a plane became a helicopter. The Osprey landed hard, and the rotors were responsible for a momentary dust storm. Mac was content to let the engines spool down before releasing the harness and getting to her feet. “Don’t worry about your bags, ma’am,” the crew chief told her. “We’ll send them over to the BOQ.”

Mac thanked him, took her M4 carbine, and made her way down the ramp. A lieutenant was waiting to greet her. He was wearing a black Stetson like those worn by cavalrymen in the 1800s. It was covered with a fine patina of dust and decorated with crossed sabers and a gold cord. Being a cavalry officer, Mac knew that such hats weren’t authorized. But some unit commanders would tolerate them for the sake of morale, and it appeared that Lieutenant Colonel Crowley was one of them.

The lieutenant came to attention and saluted. “Good morning, ma’am. Lieutenant Bobby Perkins at your service… I’m one of your platoon leaders and the acting company commander. Welcome to Fort Carney.”

Mac returned the salute. “Thank you, Lieutenant… My name is Robin Macintyre. But I suppose you knew that. Where do I report?”

“The colonel would like to meet with you, ma’am… Please follow me.”

The officers fell into step as they left the landing pad and made their way toward the mound located in the middle of the compound. Had Perkins been hoping for a bump to captain? And the slot as Bravo Company’s CO? If so, Mac couldn’t see any sign of it on his face. “I see our personnel are wearing Stetsons,” Mac observed, as a private crossed their path. “Is this a special day?”

“No, ma’am,” Perkins replied. “We wear them every day.”

That was strange but in keeping with what Granger had told her about Lieutenant Colonel Crowley. And there was something else as well. “Tell me about your shoulder patch,” Mac said. “The one with Uncle Sam on it.”

Perkins glanced at her. “The battalion consists of people like me. All of us are from the South, but we oppose the New Order and came north to fight for our country. That’s why we were authorized to wear the patch. The government doesn’t trust us, though. So they dropped us into a single battalion and sent it here.”

Perkins’s voice had been flat up until then. But some bitterness was starting to come through. “Wyoming is a long way from the New Mason-Dixon Line,” he added. “So if we run, they’ll have plenty of time in which to track us down.”

When Mac stopped, Perkins had to do likewise. Their eyes met. “Is that why they sent for me? Because they don’t trust you ?”

Perkins looked away. “I’m sorry, ma’am… I was out of line. Please accept my apologies.”

“Answer the question, Lieutenant.”

Perkins looked at her. His eyes were green. “Yes, ma’am. As things stand now, none of the Southern volunteers are allowed to command a company. Even if they had that level of responsibility prior to the meteor strikes.”

“I see,” Mac replied. “Thanks for the briefing.”

“Bravo Company, which is to say your company, is ready for anything, Captain. You can depend on us.”

“I will,” Mac promised him. “What kind of vehicles do we have?”

“Strykers, ma’am. Three for each platoon. Plus a couple of Humvees, a fueler, and a wrecker.”

Mac nodded. “Good. After I meet with the colonel, I’d like to make the rounds. Nothing formal… Just a ‘Hi, there.’”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be ready.”

A sergeant saluted the officers as they neared the mound, and they responded in kind. As they got closer, Mac was surprised to see that two soldiers were guarding the entrance. “You’ll need to show ID,” Perkins said as he produced a card.

“Why? We’re inside the wall.”

“Suicide bombers,” Perkins replied. “Crazy people who believe that Robert Howard is the reincarnated spirit of Genghis Khan’s XO. And, since they believe in reincarnation, they aren’t afraid to die. One of them managed to roll under a six-by-six, cling to the frame, and infiltrate the base a couple of weeks ago. She was two hundred feet from the command post when her vest exploded prematurely.”

“Okay, then,” Mac said as she proffered her card. “Suicide bombers, check.”

Once inside, Perkins led Mac down a ramp into the spacious room below. The lighting was dim, live drone feeds could be seen on flat-panel displays, and the atmosphere conveyed a sense of hushed efficiency.