James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

After an agonizing several minutes he heard a faint sound close on the other side of the plywood. A soft voice, the words murmured so low he couldn’t make them out. Then four knocks against the wood. He knocked back four times.

Ten seconds later the sheet of plywood was peeled away, and a man and a woman were standing before him.

“Golf ball,” Ed challenged her, probably unnecessarily, blinking in the light.

“And you’d be Felix, the pretty young woman said. “I need a pistol.” Her voice was firm, without a hint of hesitation. The hallway behind her, through the tint of glass doors, was empty.

Someone passed up a handgun, a ghost Glock, as Ed raised the radio to his lips. “Jackrabbit, jackrabbit, jackrabbit,” he said, and heard a double-click in response.

She told them, “As of three minutes ago, you’ve got two Tabs in the south lobby, and two in a Growler outside the front door. There’s a Growler and four soldiers at the Cadillac building. One on foot down near the Saint Regis. Not sure where the rest are in the area, but I’m sure they’ll find you. Fastest way up is the main stairs about halfway down on the right.”

She was everything he’d been hoping for from Morris’ “agents in place”, professional and focused on the mission. Ed stuffed the radio back in a pocket and took a step to the side, out of the way. “Roger that. Go,” he said, waving the men forward.

Colonel Parker was in his office with his S2, Major Cooper, going over the morning reports, when the phone on his desk rang. Cooper answered it. “Major Cooper for Colonel Parker.” He stood there and listened for a few short seconds. “We’ll be right down.”

“Operations?”

Cooper nodded. “Reports of an ARF attack in the Blue Zone.” The two men headed toward the stairs.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“North end.” Parker nodded. That would put the action two, maybe two and a half miles away.

They were down in the command center two minutes later, and from the noise and activity it was obvious something big was happening. “Major?” Parker called out.

Mike Chamberlain, his S3, held up a hand, said something into a radio, then turned to his commander while handing the radio handpiece to a subordinate. “Sir, looks like we’ve got that attack you were worried about. Our forces on Washboard are being engaged.” He turned to the big digital map and ran his finger along West Grand Boulevard in the New Center area. “The Lieutenant I just spoke to said the ARF hit them in several places at the same time, in a coordinated attack, and maybe as many as half our forces there are already KIA, and they’re still taking a lot of fire. Rifles and grenades. Unknown numbers, but at least a dozen, maybe twice that. They were all on foot, and he said they seemed to be focused on this building, where VOP broadcasts from.” He tapped the map, then gestured to a nearby monitor which was currently just displaying static. “I turned this on, and Voice of the People was there, but two seconds before you walked in it went to static.”

“Seizing the broadcast facilities?”

“It’d be a great propaganda victory for them, if nothing else,” Cooper observed, frowning. “But then what? They’re stuck there.”

“I’ve got ground units en route,” the S3 said.

“Do we have satellite coverage?” Parker asked.

A Sergeant standing nearby was expecting the question, and she had the printout in her hands. “Sir, we will in two minutes. Nearly continuous coverage for twenty-two minutes, then nothing for eighteen, then coverage for twenty-four.”

“What about drones?”

“I’ve got one en route already, and there should be another one ready to go in just a few minutes.”

“What kind of drones?”

“Recon. Unarmed, mid-size, about two feet across, we can get two hours of flight time.”

Just then the static on the monitor disappeared, and they were rewarded with a view of the VOP newsroom backdrop. A man they didn’t recognize, obviously an enemy soldier from his body armor and magazine pouches, was sitting behind the desk. He was looking to the side. A battered rifle lay on the desk next to him. “Is it on? Are we on?” He looked around and found the live camera. “My fellow Americans,” he said, “you’ve been lied to for too long. Voice of the People does nothing but spew hate and lies. You need to rise up and fight with us, this is not just—” The screen went to static again.

“Did we lose it? Or is that on their end?” Parker asked.

“Their end, I think,” the S3 said. The ARF soldier had been skinny and sweaty. He’d also looked tired and old, and his rifle looked like an antique, all of which made the Colonel inordinately happy.

They stood and stared at the monitor, waiting to see what would happen. After a short time the static flickered, then disappeared. The ARF soldier was back, half out of his seat, looking off-camera. “Are we back? What happened?” He glanced at the cameras, then back to the side, visibly angry. They heard shouting in the background. “Lock down what’s causing that. You said you knew what you were doing, how their system worked. I’ve got—” the feed cut to static again.

“Morons. What reinforcements have you sent?” Parker wanted to know.

“I’ve got a full platoon heading that way. Six Growlers and two IMPs, forty men. If they’re not already rolling they will be within minutes. I’ve got two Kestrels rolling out of the barn. Ten or fifteen minutes ‘til they’re overhead.”

“Sir, I’ve lost contact with the Lieutenant, and haven’t been able to raise any of the others on Washboard,” the soldier manning the radio announced.

“How many were stationed there this morning?” Parker wanted to know.

Chamberlain pulled up the duty roster. “Twenty-two. And I’ve got two vehicles assigned out, both Growlers. They were probably parked on Washboard for visibility.”

“Surround the building and wait ‘em out? Even if the ARF only has a dozen people, our troops could take serious casualties trying to assault up staircases and elevators,” Major Cooper warned.

The Colonel knew that, but he also knew that ARF broadcasting from the local Voice of the People TV station would be very bad on a number of levels, including for him, professionally. “Send another platoon,” he told his S3. “And two Toads. Surround that place but do not enter. I don’t want to take any chances. Once they’re on site, and we get a sitrep, then I’ll decide further. If these bastards are actually, finally, going to take a stand, let’s do everything we can to take advantage of their mistake.”

“Yes sir.”

“Um, sir?” The tentative words came from the soldier manning the radio hub.

“Yes Corporal.”

“All units were ordered to switch over to the alternate frequency as soon as we lost contact with Washboard.” The soldier swallowed. “But I’m getting something on the original channel.”

Chamberlain frowned. “Getting what? From our men?”

“I don’t think so sir.”

“What is it?”

“Music, sir.”

“Music?” Chamberlain and Parker exchanged a confused look. The S3 told the radioman, “Pull it up, let us hear it.”

The Corporal flipped three switches, and then loud rock ‘n roll blasted out of the speakers. He hurriedly reached for the volume knob and turned it down. “I don’t think it’s us, sir,” the Corporal said.

“What is that?” Parker asked. It sounded very familiar.

Major Cooper had a bemused expression on his face. “Led Zeppelin,” he announced.

“Is it supposed to mean something?” Parker asked. Just then the windows outside the command center rattled from a staccato burst of explosions nearby. “What the fuck was that?” Parker wanted to know, his eyes going to the monitors showing feeds from the numerous security cameras mounted around the building. Then he saw the flowering blooms of fire at the aircraft hangars.