William Johnstone - Phoenix Rising

“I’ll get us started,” Clay said. Clay was just over six feet tall, with a square jaw and a flat-top haircut. Dark at one time, his hair was now gray. “My name is Clay Matthews. I am a fourth-generation soldier, born at the base hospital at Fort Benning, Georgia. However, there is absolutely no truth to the rumor that I was issued on a DA form 3161.”

The others laughed.

“I’ve known the major—that is, Jake—for almost twelve years, and he is as fine an officer as I ever served with. He has shared with me what he has planned, and I am happy to be a part of it, but I’m getting a little long in the tooth, so I just hope I can pull my own weight.”

Clay sat down.

“Clay, you were only about a year younger than you are now when you pulled four men out of a burning Hummer just before it exploded. I’m pretty sure you can pull your weight with us,” Jake said.

“I’ll go next,” John Deedle said. Deedle was very short, and had a rather large nose on his narrow face. He had heavy brows and deep-set, dark eyes. “I’m a mechanic, and the way Sarge—uh, that is Clay—was born to the Army, I was born to maintenance. My dad owned a mechanic shop—he worked on cars, tractors, trucks, anything that had an engine. When I was no more than five years old, my dad would hold me by my heels and dangle me down into engine compartments because I was small and could get to nuts and bolts.”

Willie Stark held up his hand, and Clay nodded.

Willie Stark was average height and weight with red hair and light blue eyes, which seemed slightly enlarged behind his glasses. “I’m Willie Stark, I’m in avionics—that is, I was in avionics until the Army had no further use for me. I’m also what you might call a computer geek, but there isn’t a lot of call for that right now, either. But I do like radios, all kinds of radios, and I built my first complete radio with I was twelve years old. Before that, I built a crystal radio set.”

“What’s a crystal radio?” Julie Norton asked.

“It’s a radio that doesn’t use power, doesn’t need a battery or electricity. It gets its power from the radio waves themselves.”

Willie sat down, and Julie stood. Julie was tall and willowy, a black woman with blemish-free skin that was the same shade of golden brown as a piece of toast. She had huge, almond-shaped, very dark eyes under long black lashes, a physical attribute that had served her well in the beauty contests she used to enter.

“I’m not sure why I was invited to join this group, except maybe because I know Captain—uh, that is, Karin Dawes. And if that is the only thing that got me in, then I’m thankful for it. About the only thing I’m good for is keeping track of things. And since we no longer have anything to keep track of, not even that talent is worth anything now.”

“I think just the opposite is true,” Jake said. “It is when things are very scarce that we need to keep track. And if we are going to succeed, we are going to have to be organized. Karin tells me that you are the best at that of anyone she has ever seen.”

“Yes, sir, well, I guess I get that from my mama. She worked for Mr. Simmons at the mill, kept all his books for him, kept his schedule too. He wound up making her his second in charge. Oh, did that make my grandmother proud. My grandmother had never been anything but a maid and here was her daughter, my mama, bossing around white men who used to boss my grandmother. Anyway, Mama started me out by making me keep my own things neat and in order, and it just sort of grew from there.”

“You are my friend, Julie,” Karin said. “But more than that, you are someone we are going to need.”

“I second that,” Jake said. “Marcus? Or do you prefer Mark?” Jake asked.

“I’ve always gone by Marcus.”

“All right, Marcus, what do you bring to the table?”

“Hola, mi nombre es Marcus Warner. Soy mecánico de aviones, y hablo seis lenguas ,” Marcus began. When he saw the others looking at other in confusion, he laughed. “I just told you my name, explained that I was an aircraft mechanic, and could speak in four languages. I spoke to you in Spanish, but could have spoken to you in French, Italian, German, or Portuguese. I don’t know that we will run into anyone from any of those other countries, but if we do, we will be able to talk to them.”

“Deon?” Jake said.

Deon Pratt was dark-skinned with wide shoulders, powerful arms, and a flat, rock-hard stomach. “My field is weapons, explosives, hand-to-hand combat,” Deon said. I’m a warrior without a war. Hell, I’m a warrior without even an army. But I’m glad to be with you guys, and I’ll do whatever I can to make this thing work.”

Karin was last to introduce herself, stressing only that, as a nurse, she would do what she could to keep everyone healthy.

“Thanks,” Jake said when all had finished. “Now I suppose it is time for me to tell you what I have in mind, and I can say it in one word. Survival.”

“I’m all for surviving,” John said. “Where do we start?”

“What I propose now is that we spend the next several hours rounding up as much survival gear as we can. As soon as we are ready, we’ll leave this area and set up a survival base.”

“Where are we going?” Clay asked.

“Fort Morgan.”

“Where?” Deon asked.

“It’s an old fort, built long before the Civil War, down at Mobile Point, a little spit of land that separates Mobile Bay from the Gulf of Mexico. You may have heard the term, ‘Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.’ Fort Morgan is where Admiral Farragut was when he ran under the guns of the fort, and through the mines that blocked the entrance into Mobile Bay.”

“What’s at the fort now?” Willie asked.

“Now, there is nothing there but old casements and stone walls. But inside the fort is a rather large area of arable land, probably the only place down on the beach that has real soil, rather than sand. We could grow a substantial garden there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Julie said. “I use to love to work in my grandma’s garden.”

“I’ve chosen Fort Morgan for a number of reasons,” Jake said. “Number-one reason is perhaps, the most obvious. It is a fort, and as conditions deteriorate even further in the country, I believe there are going to be armed bands of hooligans preying on anyone and everyone they think might have something they could use. As we are going to be well off, relatively speaking, we would be a prime target for such groups. The fort will provide us with protection.

“And as I said, there is arable land inside the fort where we can grow vegetables. Plus, there will be plenty of fish, and there is a considerable amount of game, from rabbits to possum to alligators.”

“Alligators?” Marcus said. “Alligators as game?”

“Fried alligator tastes . . .”

“Like chicken, right?” Willie interrupted, and the others laughed.

“Wrong,” Jake said. “It’s a lot better than chicken.”

“How are we going to get there?” John asked. “What I mean is, how will we get enough gas to drive that far? For that matter, if there are going to be these roving gangs you are talking about, I’m not sure I want to drive through them. I saw what IEDs could do in Afghanistan, and there we were in up-armored Humvees, or even armored personnel carriers. I wouldn’t want to face one of them in a car.”

“We aren’t driving down, we’re flying. We’ll take one of the helicopters from Fort Rucker. I don’t think the Army will miss it.”

“We may have a problem there, sir—I mean, Jake,” Marcus said. “For the last month, people have been stripping the helicopters down pretty good. I know for a fact that we don’t have one flyable ship on the entire base.”