Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

But that’s where things got interesting. After reading the Dallas Morning News , Sloan had the impression that many, if not most, Southern politicians were unhappy with the president’s ambitious reconstruction plans. They objected to “higher taxes,” “big government,” and “too much regulation.”

Sloan was a creature of Washington, D.C., and recognized the rhetoric as being part of the long-standing philosophical divide between conservatives and progressives. Except now there seemed to be some ominous undertones. Prominent civil and business leaders talking about “more self-determination,” “state’s rights,” and “local autonomy.” One even went so far as to raise the possibility of secession! Was it vote-getting rhetoric? Or the real deal? It was impossible to tell from where he was. One thing was for sure, however: The person or persons in charge of Godbee’s “repository” wanted to keep him in the loop. Why?

Sloan put the papers aside to finish his meal. The food was cold by then, but he ate it anyway, and was polishing his plate with a chunk of corn bread when Molly came around to collect it.

The next three days were spent eating his fill, getting a lot of sleep, and watching Godbee’s “ladies” come and go. During that time, Sloan was careful to follow every order they gave him without offering any pushback. The plan was to convince them that he wasn’t a threat. Then, on the fourth day, Sloan made his move. He had chosen to escape at dinnertime, when there would be only a few hours of daylight remaining. That would help him to hide.

That was the theory, anyway. Although Sloan was well aware that the swamp was full of creatures that could find him even if humans couldn’t! Still, he preferred to take that risk rather than sitting around waiting for who knows what.

So there he was, hiding behind the hatch when Molly pushed it open. She was holding the dinner tray with both hands. And as Molly entered the cabin, she could see that the bathroom door was ajar and hear the rush of water in the shower. That was the same scenario she’d seen for the past two days, except that Sloan wasn’t in the bathroom this time.

Lucy followed Molly into the room. She was carrying the Taser barrel up as usual. Sloan brought the toilet seat up and around. It glanced off the side of Lucy’s head, and the force of the impact knocked her down.

One down and one to go! Sloan felt a sudden surge of confidence as he went after Molly. But, as fast as he was, Molly was even faster. The spin kick struck Sloan’s right temple and sent him reeling. He was still trying to recover his balance when a flurry of kicks and blows put him down. So there he was, lying on his back, when Lucy loomed over him. Blood ran down the side of her face—and the Taser was pointed at his chest. “No!” Sloan croaked. “Don’t…”

Lucy smiled as she pulled the trigger. Sloan jerked spasmodically as fifty thousand volts of electricity surged through his nervous system and caused his muscles to lock up. Then, as he lay helpless, the ladies began to kick him. The blows continued even as the effects of the Taser began to wear off. Sloan saw Molly pull her foot back, and saw the boot come at him, but that was all. The world ceased to exist.

FORT HOOD, TEXAS

The Concho sanction had been successful if somewhat messy, and there had been little to no blowback thanks to the efforts of a New Order sympathizer inside the Dallas Morning News . Her header read: “Gang-style massacre in Richardson.” And that was enough to point most people in the wrong direction.

Now, as Victoria drove south on Interstate 35, she saw a steady stream of National Guard vehicles going the other way. There were trucks loaded with troops, platoons of Strykers, and tank transporters all headed north where they had orders to “restore law and order.” But, depending on how things went politically, Victoria knew there might be more to it than that. Much more.

After passing through Temple and Killeen, Victoria arrived in Fort Hood. Rather than stop by her condo, she drove straight to the base. The traffic lights were working, which meant that the power was on. And no wonder since the base had a very high priority.

Victoria was dressed in civilian clothes. But, when the corporal on the gate saw the sticker on the BMW’s windshield, he threw Victoria a salute. “Good afternoon, ma’am… ID please.” After comparing the picture on the card to her face, the corporal waved her through.

Victoria had been stationed at Fort Hood for more than a year and knew the base well. The sports car seemed to drive itself to III Corps headquarters. The modernistic building consisted of two squares connected by a central triangle. Victoria drove past it, parked at the rear of the complex, and got out. The sun was an angry-looking disk that was barely visible beyond a brooding mass of low-hanging clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Victoria’s heels made a clicking sound as she entered the building, showed her ID, and made her way through a maze of offices to the one her father occupied. He had two jobs at the moment. The one assigned to him by the Pentagon before it was destroyed and one reflected by the title on the door. That was INTERIM COMMANDING GENERAL. But everyone who was anyone knew that “interim” would disappear if the decision was made to secede and the New Confederacy came into being.

Bo had always been a conservative, and other conservatives knew that. So, when Southern elites began to discuss the possibility of a nation based on conservative principles, they’d been quick to approach him. And his oldest daughter was proud of that. As for Robin? Her views lay on the other side of the political divide.

Victoria entered a large reception area and made her way over to the fortresslike desk that barred the way. Mrs. Walters, Bo’s longtime civilian secretary, looked up from her computer. “Good afternoon, Major Macintyre… The general is in a meeting at the moment. It should be over in ten minutes or so.”

Walters was fortysomething, blond, and well-groomed. She was also efficient and extremely loyal. Was Walters more than a secretary? Victoria assumed so and understood the necessity. Her mother had been dead for a long time. “Thank you, Mrs. Walters… I’ll wait.”

Other officers were waiting as well. Half a dozen of them. And none were very happy when a clutch of colonels left the office, and a civilian was ushered in ahead of them.

General Bo Macintyre was sitting behind his desk as Victoria entered and didn’t bother to get up. True, they were at work, but Victoria knew it wouldn’t make any difference if they weren’t. Hugs, kisses, and all the rest of the emotional claptrap so important to her mother and sister weren’t part of Victoria’s relationship with her father. He nodded. “Nice job in Dallas, Major… Morton Lemaire sends his thanks. It looks like he’ll take over as the New Confederacy’s first CEO if things go that way.”

Victoria sat in one of four guest chairs. “Not Mr. Huxton?”

General Macintyre shook his head. “Huxton is too old and cantankerous. The public wouldn’t like him. But enough politics… We have a problem, and you’re the solution.”

Victoria looked him in the eye just as he had taught her to do when she was three. “Yes, sir. What’s the problem? Another situation like the one in Dallas?”

“No,” her father replied. “Are you familiar with the Space X launch site near Brownsville?”

“No, I didn’t know there was one.”

“Well, there is. It was built to provide the Space Exploration Technologies Corporation with the capacity to launch their Falcon 9 and Falcon Heavy launch vehicles on a moment’s notice.”

“And?”