For today's short story, I've decided to post a chapter from my novel Schism. This is from Act Three: The Coup. By this point, the United States is deep into a new civil war - a new government has been formed, San Francisco has been burned, and news anchors from networks perceived as having bias have been hung. Now a new character comes into play, but is he a hero...or a new villain?
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1
EARLY
MORNING RUMBLINGS
Colonel
Josh Roland sat behind his desk and stared at his computer screen. Reading his brigade’s latest training reports
was one of the last pieces of business he needed to take care of before he
could go back to his hooch for some sleep.
Roland
was tall and lanky. He didn’t have the
muscular build of a lot of his peers did in the infantry, but what he lacked in
build he made up for in charisma. This
marathon runner could draw almost anyone to him and make that individual feel
like the only person in the world. His
superiors and subordinates alike said he was destined for a star one day…if he
could maintain a handle on his passions and keep his mouth under control.
The
building Roland sat in was fairly new, and although it wasn’t much, it was a
damn site better than the old Quonset hut that had been the First Brigade
Headquarters for more than half a century.
He had a spacious office and a large oak desk. The flags of the United States and the
Republic of Korea stood behind him, and the Brigade’s colors were against the
far wall, campaign streamers falling across it like balloon ribbons.
There
was something else in his office that kept part of his attention – the TV. He’d always been a news junkie, but the
events of the last six months, and especially the last three, made the blaring
idiot box like another appendage.
He shook
his head at the chaos back “in the states,” as the Soldiers in Korea so
affectionately said. Things had gotten a
lot worse since the burning of San Francisco – for starters, a mob out of
Colorado snuck into Texas and retaliated by burning Lubbock even more
extensively than the treatment received by the City By the Bay. On their way out, they emplaced a series of
IEDs on the main roads, especially Interstates 25 and 27. The police from Texas that pursued them had
been torn up as they pressed north.
Riots
occurred in most major cities where the city’s politics conflicted with that of
the state. From Redding, California,
across to Saint Louis, Missouri, and on up to Williamsport, Pennsylvania,
cities across the US had seen their share of violence, where the wrong word
from a neighbor risked a beating.
Worse to
Roland had been the state of the National Guards. There had been mass desertions and
resignations, meaning that the remaining Soldiers were usually invested in the
cause they fought for. However, even
loyalties within a state were in question – when the National Guards of
Minnesota and Iowa stormed into North Dakota and occupied both Fargo and Grand
Forks before being rebuffed outside of Bismark, part of the Illinois National
Guard moved in to reinforce them, only to see another Illinois Guard unit from
the southern part of the state march through Iowa and hit them from the
rear. Some areas of Iowa had paved the
way for the insurgent Guard forces, while people in Des Moines and Iowa City
set up road blocks to delay them.
For
Roland, he was sick at heart. He knew a
lot of people just wanted to hide out from the violence and that the conflict
was instigated mostly by those on the fringes, but people would pick a side when
pressed, even if they had little real knowledge of the issues at hand.
There
was a knock at his door. Roland looked
up to see a balding man in his late-30s, a folder in his hand. It was Major Pat “Curly” Robinson.
“Sir,”
Robinson said, “I have those satellite images you asked for.”
“Come on
in, Curly,” Roland said, pushing away from his computer. “What can you tell me?”
Robinson
walked over to the desk and laid out the printed pages. Several images within the pictures were
circled in red. “It’s not looking good,
sir. The infrared images we were able to
get before that satellite went down definitely showed significant underground
movement. And these other pictures show what
I think are ammunition supply trucks moving towards pre-dug artillery positions.”
“What
are you basing that on? They don’t look
like ammunition carriers.”
“We all
know that the Norks” – their favorite term for the North Korean Military –
“will try to disguise their movements before the first blast. They’ve been using so-called vegetable
delivery trucks for years when they wanted to conceal what they were
transporting, and unless there’s been some massive UN aid program we don’t know
a lot about, the sheer number of trucks on the road makes me think there’s more
in the back than carrots and rice.”
Roland
nodded without taking his eyes off the pictures. “Any idea what kinds of units they’ve moved
into the forward area?”
“Not
until they come out of their caves, which they wouldn’t until just a couple of
hours before they strike. Since the
faggots in Washington can’t work things out and continue to fund the operation
of the satellites, we aren’t getting any new images.”
“That’s
not the only thing that they’re keeping us from using,” Roland grumbled. “We don’t have a lot of money left in our
maintenance fund, so two of the Q-37 counter-battery radars along the DMZ are
down. That leaves a lot of area that’ll
get no warning of incoming artillery until after the rounds have landed.” He looked up.
“I wouldn’t go repeating that on an open channel.”
“I
haven’t heard a thing, sir,” Robinson replied as he crossed his heart. Glancing at the TV, he asked, “Anything new?”
“Not
really. You know that the California
Guard pulled out to try and liberate Sacramento and San Francisco, but they ran
into a bunch of IEDs along I-5 and I-80 that were probably put in place by the
guys along the interior of California – they aren’t fond of the guys on the
coast. Worse yet, when they pulled out,
they left a gap for Turlman to escape.”
“He’s
gone?”
“News
tonight says that the Northwest Republic Compound has been deserted for
days. Given that the Cal Guard also
pulled out of Montana, Turlman could be anywhere.”
“Amazing
the trouble we’re going through due to one man,” Robinson said, shaking his
head.
“It’s a
whole chicken and egg thing – was Turlman the spark, or would things still be
quiet if the ANFPP hadn’t torched his family?
And would that have just delayed the whole thing from blowing up?”
“Good
question, sir. I really don’t know.”
“Okay,
back to this,” Roland said, pointing to the pictures on his desk. “I take it you’ve showed this stuff and your
analysis to the guys at Division.”
“Yes,
sir, I have. The G2 agrees it’s
troubling, but without guidance from USFK or the guys back in the states,
they’re not willing to commit. They’ve
labeled this as just part of the usual Nork winter training cycle and don’t
think we should get too spun up.”
“But you
think we should?”
“I
do. This would be the perfect
opportunity for that short little bastard to flex his muscles. He’s been looking for a way to make an
impact, and he hasn’t done a lot since shooting some rounds at Yeonpyeong
Island a few years back. Now, with the
US otherwise engaged, they think the ROK shield is down. There might never be a better chance to
reunite the peninsula.”
Roland’s
guts churned because he knew his intel officer was right. If they were going to come across, now would
be the time to do it.
“How
long before you think they could strike?” Roland asked.
“If I
knew that for certain, sir, I’d have some stars and be running INCOM instead of
being a part of your staff.”
Roland
grinned. He and Robinson went back a few
years to when Curly was an enlisted man.
Finally, he said, “Give me your best guess.”
“Honestly,
it could be any time. The MILSTAR
satellite was giving us pretty good intel about the supply push, and I think
they have enough down south that they could start shooting now.”
“If that
happens, I suspect we’ll get a strongly worded letter sent to them from the
UN,” Roland said.
Now it
was Robinson’s turn to grin, but his face turned serious when he asked,
“Anything about the UN’s latest attempts to stop our mess?”
“No,”
Roland replied. “They tried to get into
Charleston harbor, but a group of folks – some civilian, some Guard and Reserve
– started lobbing old rounds at them and then opened up with a .50 cal when
they wouldn’t stop. That turned them
around, and Gilchrest said that this was an internal US matter and no business
of the UN. Cantrell then said he
couldn’t accept UN troops until Gilchrest did, so the ships turned around and
the planes diverted to Canada. Britain’s
not too happy about it, but what are they going to do?”
“Sit
back and sip tea, I suspect,” Robinson said.
After a
chuckle and a couple of seconds of thought, Roland said, “Okay, Curly, thanks
for showing me this stuff. We’ll look to
upgrade the brigade’s alert level in the morning. I’m going to write Major General Desmond and
see if I can get 2ID to buy off on it, but I doubt I’ll have much luck.”
“Understood,
sir. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Don’t
forget – tomorrow we run Dragon Valley.
Bring your nerves of steel.”
“As long
as those nerves have something wrapped around them,” Robinson said. “It’s going to be cold as balls.”
“January
always is. I’ll see you at PT.” The S2 walked out and Roland went back to
reading his unit’s training reports. He
just hoped that what he was reading about would stay in the realm of practice.
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Unfortunately
for the Soldiers of 1st Brigade, 2ID, that hope faded away around 4
in the morning. Roland was asleep in his
command quarters when the sirens on Camp Casey started going off, followed
shortly thereafter by a series of explosions that rocked the small US Army
outpost.
He knew
the drill as well as the next guy – throw on clothes, grab your body armor, and
head to the nearest bunker. Throwing on
his clothes was easy enough – they were right next to his bed – as was grabbing
the body armor that was next to his door.
The problem came from getting to the bunker since it was a few hundred
meters away and across open ground.
Tearing
open the door to his hooch, Roland looked out at what appeared to be an anthill
that had been stepped on. Soldiers were
running every which way, knocking each other down in their mad dash for cover. Roland stopped his rush to grab a couple of
Soldiers and push them in the right direction.
“Get to
your bunkers, boys!” he shouted. “Don’t
worry about anything else – we’ve got to keep you guys alive.”
The
shaken Soldiers that were in his path looked at him and mumbled “Yes, sir”
before heading off under noticeably better control. Roland sprinted to his bunker, located in a
hill next to the base’s tennis courts.
His
nighttime operations officer, Captain Lisa Collins, held a clipboard and was
checking people in. She looked up at
Roland as he approached.
“We’ve
got about 50% of the staff so far, Colonel Roland,” she said. “I don’t have a count yet on anybody wounded
or dead.”
“If you
had, I would’ve wondered about your clairvoyant skills,” Roland replied. “Focus on who’s here now – we can get to the
rest once we hit first light.”
She
acknowledged and went back to trying to account for the incoming deluge of
people while Roland went to his makeshift desk against the far wall. Major Robinson was already staring at the
hastily hung map on the wall, and Major Greg Pierce, the Brigade Operations
Officer, was looking through a red folder marked “SECRET.”
“Looks
like you were right, Curly,” Roland intoned.
“Just with you could’ve given us better specifics on the timing.”
“Better
now than during PT,” Robinson replied.
“Imagine the carnage of Soldiers running along the road when those
shells started going off.”
Roland
nodded. Turning to Pierce, he said, “How
long do you think it’ll be until we get our batteries moving for the
counter-fire fight?”
“The
Ready Batteries from USFK should already be shooting back, assuming they
survived the initial assault. Our boys
have to get their stuff from the motor pools and move to their firing
positions, but, obviously, we’re going to have to wait out this barrage.”
“Okay. Get someone on the radio and start getting status
reports from the battalions. I want 1/15
fires to start moving as soon as they can, and they need to be shooting back by
dawn. As for the rest of our folks,
except for the escort units assigned to secure the batteries, I want them to
hold tight until sunset. Then we can
marshal and begin our move south.”
The plan
called for only artillery units to be involved from the US side to start
with. Then, the intricacies of OPLAN
5514 had the brigade moving south of Seoul to Cheonan and stage while the rest
of the ROK Army blunted the attack. 2ID
would spearhead the US Army units that arrived at Pusan and Osan in the
counterattack north.
Roland
reached for the VSAT radio and tried to reach 2ID headquarters at Camp Red
Cloud in Uijonbu. “Warrior Six, this is
Iron Six.”
“Iron
Six, this is Warrior Five.” It was
Colonel Stan Livsey, the Division Chief of Staff. “Warrior Six is on another line. What can I do for you?”
“We’re
still moving people into the bunkers here, sir,” – the brigade commanders always
referred to the Chief of Staff as “sir,” given that the man was a senior
Colonel who’d already had a brigade command – “and we’re trying to hold out
through the initial barrage, but I should have my first alert elements moving
to firing position in the next two hours.”
“Hold on
now, Josh,” Livsey cautioned. “The boss
is trying to get instructions from Washington and Seoul on how to react. We don’t want to commit too early.”
“We’re
not committing anything,” Roland replied.
“It’s just that I know that the MLRS and other 155s from USFK and 8th
Army could use some help, and our boys have rehearsed the plan. We can start contributing.”
There
was a pregnant pause on the other end of the radio. When the line crackled back to life, Livsey
said, “The counter-fire batteries aren’t shooting yet.”
Pierce
swiveled his head to the radio, this conversation now having his full
attention. Roland stared at the hand
mike for a few seconds as the ground over his head continued to rumble. “I don’t understand. The drill is to begin launching artillery back
once the balloon goes up. We’ve got to
start shooting.”
“Unfortunately,
we’ve got no clear orders on that from Washington. General Guillaume up at USFK is trying to get
that authority right now.”
“Screw
that,” Roland said. “We don’t need
authority to defend ourselves, and God knows the ROKs aren’t going to just sit
by and let the Norks beat on them.”
“General
Giullaume says that firing into North Korean territory is offensive action that
goes beyond his authority. Sure, we know
the drill, but we’ve always assumed we’d have a coherent government back home
to give us the official go-ahead. We
have to hold off until that happens.”
“Say
again, Warrior Five. Your signal is
breaking up.” Roland said this despite
Livsey’s words coming over the net clear as day.
“I say
again that we can’t move into position until we have guidance from someone in
the National Command Authority. You are
to hold fast until otherwise instructed.”
“I still
can’t read you,” Roland said. “Your
transmission is…” He reached over and
shut off the radio. “Damndest thing for
the power to our radio to get cut like that.
An enemy arty round must’ve hit our retrans platform. Last thing I heard was something about
getting our guys into the fight.
Is that what you heard, Greg?”
Pierce
took a breath, but he finally responded, “Yes, sir. That sounds about right.”
“Okay,
get to it. If the barrage hasn’t
slackened in the next hour, we may have to move under fire, so prep the guys in
1/15. In the meantime, get me in touch
with our buddies in the Air Force, as well as our partnered unit at the 48th
Mech. It’s time to get in the game.”
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