Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (56 page)

“Yeah…I’m
in charge of…well, I’m sort of like our chief of security I guess.  Though I
used to be the leader of the whole place.”

“I can see
I’m going to have lots of questions…”

“Don’t
worry, we’ll get back, get a drink and talk all you want.  We don’t get many
visitors other than the ones that are either trying to force their way in or
beg their way in.”

“That’s
precisely what I want to talk to you about…”

“I’m afraid
our resources are pretty much strained to the limit as it is, Mr. Carillon—“

“Art,
please
,
you just saved my life!”

Erik
grinned.  “Art it is.  We just can’t take everyone in that wants in…we’re
barely able to feed ourselves as it is.”

“I see,”
said Art, head drooping in defeat.  “The chase those kids gave me finally got
it through my head that I can’t live by myself in this new world anymore.”  He
sighed. 

“I mean, we
can make exceptions,” Erik said, quoting the guidelines made up at the last
meeting.  “For people who have talents that we can use.”  Art’s head snapped up
with hope.  “But,” Erik said quickly.  “We have everyone we need pretty much,
unless you’re a surgeon.”

Art could
see clearly at that point the larger buildings sticking up over the stucco
walls and ramparts of wood that surrounded the Freehold.  He searched quickly
and saw no antennae.  “So how’s your comm gear?”

Erik
paused, taken aback and missed a step.  “Pardon?”

“Your
communications…with the outside world?” Art asked, twisting around in his seat
to look up at Erik.  “You know, can you or can’t you communicate with the
outside world?”

Erik
blinked in the sunlight and looked at the roof of Building One, where Alfonse
had installed the makeshift solar array to recharge some of the smaller
electronic devices they used, primarily the hand-held radios.

“We have a
few short-wave radios, so we can get the news from the BBC and other foreign—“

“Got a
HAM?”

Erik
paused, hope beginning to rise in him like was in Art.  “No, we don’t…we have
an electronics guy, but no HAM gear or training…”

“You got
one now, if you’ll have me,” Art said with a smile.  He recognized deep down in
himself that he liked the way the men from the Freehold had handled those punks
that had chased him half to death. 

It’s a
rough new world with rough new rules, I suppose
, he thought to
himself.  “I’ve got antennae, gear, solar power, battery backup, the works, all
back at my house.  I’ve got more’n ten years experience, contacts all over the
country and I’ve been a ARES volunteer now for years.”

Erik knew
exactly what being an ARES—the Amateur Radio Emergency Service—volunteer
entailed: sacrifice, dedication, and commitment to helping others in
emergencies.  Above all it meant being prepared, 24 hours a day for whenever a
disaster or emergency struck.  In a heartbeat, Erik knew that Art would be a
valuable and welcome addition to the Freehold community.

“Well, I
got in trouble the last time I let people in without asking, so this time I’ll
have put it to the vote, but I have a feeling you’ll be welcome to join us.  I
can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you, Art…being cut off from talking with
anyone outside…” Erik began to think of the possibilities.  HAMs were
everywhere.  He might be able to get Art to contact someone up north, maybe get
word of his folks and his sister or Brin’s family… 

Erik picked
up his pace and was practically jogging by the time they got to the gate and
entered the Freehold.

The Congress shall have
Power To…declare War, grant
Letters of Marque and Reprisal
, and make
Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water.

—
Article I, Section 8, U.S. Constitution

Letters of Marque:
(n.) Archaic. A letter of marque
issued by a nation to a private citizen (privateer or mercenary) to act on the
behalf of that nation for the purpose of retaliating against another nation for
some wrong, such as a border incursion or seizure.

Reprisal:
(v.) Archaic. An act taken
by a nation, short of war, to gain redress for an action taken against that
nation. For example, seizing a ship in retaliation for a seized ship

—
The Constitutional Dictionary

I WANT AN update on our
satellites, and I want it
yesterday
.”

“Mr.
President, we’re working on it, but it seems that most of our birds have been
disabled.  We’re still trying to find out exactly how extensive the loss is,
but it looks like at least 80% of our orbital assets are down,” replied the
Chief of Staff for the Air Force, General Kenneth Neville.  The old Vietnam Vet
hated to admit that his eyes in the sky were blind, and didn’t have a clue as
to how it happened.

“Well, fix
the damn things.  I’ll sign an EO to commandeer the civilian satellites if have
to, not like they’re doing anyone any good right now.  We can’t run a war
blind!  Someone did this to us, and I want to know
who
.”

“Yessir.”

“Mr.
President, I’ve got some disturbing pictures here from NOAA.”

The
President shifted his weary gaze to Admiral Bortsen.  “Sam, what the hell does
NOAA have anything to do with—“

“I used one
of their old geo-stationary weather satellites to get some shots of the Pacific
coast.  It’s all I have left, sir.”

The
President smiled.  “I will be dipped in shit.  Good to have some ingenuity. 
Alright, Sam, what did you find?”

The Admiral
handed some large glossy photographs to an aide off-screen.  In a moment, the
images were scanned and placed on the displays of every member of the meeting. 
“Sir, do you remember about a week or so ago we noticed that…I hesitated then
to call it a
fleet
, but that large group of commercial shipping that put
to sea from China?”

The
President whistled as he looked at the impressive number of dark tiny shapes on
the smooth surface of the ocean in the photograph.  There were at least twenty
wake lines that he could count at first glance.

“My
sentiments exactly, sir.  That’s a large number of ships to be heading this way—“

“This way?”
said the President, holding up his hand to stop the Admiral mid-sentence. 
“What do you mean?”

“Well, sir,
they’re not heading for the U.S., that much we can tell.  But they are heading
east, for what looks like Mexico.  Southern Mexico.”

“What?”

“Why the
hell are the Chinese sending all these ships to Mexico?” asked the Commandant
of the Marine Corps.  “You’re positive they’re not warships?”

“Absolutely,”
replied the Admiral.  “Our Intel boys went over the ships already—they’re just
standard commercial scows.  Some supertankers.  Just cargo ships really. 
Though we’ve never seen this many—49—in one formation together.”

“Where’s
their Navy?” asked the President, his suspicion growing by the second.

“Near as we
can tell, they’re still bottled up in the western pacific—there’s only about
fifteen ships we can’t account for but there are a dozen or so in dry dock—or
there
were
when we had satellites.  No one has slipped through.  The
waters should be clear all the way back to Hawaii.  There’s nothing except
what’s ours.  A few Aussies down south but that’s it.  No other warships or
subs.”

“China was
not pressuring Mexico to go along with the U.N. sanctions.  In fact, at the
last minute, China decided to abstain from the vote to send peacekeepers here,”
offered the Secretary of State.

“Tim, you
really think those duplicitous bastards are going to keep their noses out of
this stink?” asked the President.

“No, sir,
not really.  I’m just telling you what I know.”

“I’ll do
the same thing, sir,” said General Pete Rodney.  “I can put a shitload of
Marines on each one of these here ships,” he said.  “
And
their gear and
equipment.  Hell, I could put a good chunk of the entire Marine Corps to sea
plus a whole air wing.  That’s a lot of firepower sir.  These things are huge—“

“We’re
talking super-carrier size, sir,” confirmed Admiral Bortsen.

“I want to
point out we have no information coming from the Chinese or our sources that
would lead us to believe there’s anything suspicious going on here,” warned the
SecState.  “In fact, we haven’t had any contact with the Chinese government now
for almost five days…”

“That’s
precisely why I’m suspicious, Tim.”  The President glared at the photos. 
“They’re up to something.  Sam, I want you to bird-dog ‘em.”

“Already
done sir, I’ve had four fast attack subs trailing them since they crossed the
meridian of the Pacific.  No unusual sonar or radioactive signatures.  For all
intents and purposes, they’re just cargo ships.  Makin’ enough noise that we
could hear ‘em in the Atlantic.”

“Ken,” the
President said.

“Sir?”
asked General Neville’s image on the screen.

“I want you
to keep an eye on this fleet as well.  Send in SAC or something.”

“Yes, sir,
though I doubt Strategic Air Command will be necessary.  Targets this big, hell
our training cadets out of Edwards would take ‘em all down blindfolded.  Those
tankers are sitting ducks.  Almost too easy.”

“That’s why
I’m nervous.”

WELL, ADMIRAL, I got
the high-gain online…sort of,” said the exhausted radio operator.

“Explain.”

“Sir, she’s
really temperamental.  After we got hit, she just don’t work right.  But if she
ain’t tossed around all that much she’ll pick up stuff, at least on
this
side of the world.”

“EAMs?”
asked the
Theodore Roosevelt’s
captain, arms crossed next to the
Admiral.

“No sir, no
Emergency Action Messages can get through, the UHF is fried.   That missile
that took out the radar mast did us in on that one.  Sorry.  Sir,” the man
said, his unease as evident in his voice as the sweat on his forehead.  He
swallowed and began to speak again.  “I can try and rig one up…but it’ll take
time.”

“Do it, and
get it done in half as much as you think you need.  We’re blind, Gonzalez. 
We’ll have to rely on the
Anzio
to relay messages for the time being.”

“Yes, sir,”
the radio op said, returning to his soldering of circuit boards, glad to be rid
of the brass.

The Captain
rubbed his bruised chin.  He raised an eyebrow to
his
CO.  “Deck’s still
listing a little off center.” 

“At least
that’s
an improvement.”  When the carrier took a missile hit to her aft hangar bay, it
set off a secondary explosion that ruptured the hull just below the waterline. 
The ship began taking on water but was soon resealed at the cost of several
valuable crewmen who sacrificed themselves to save the wounded carrier.  The
water was slowly being pumped back out and the ship brought back to even keel.

The Captain
looked about the bridge.  Everything was in a state of semi-disarray.  Still. 
The Egyptian missile had just missed taking out the entire command structure
when it hit the radar mast and communications array.  The ship was blind and
mute and limping, but it was alive and far from helpless.     “Any luck getting
with the satellites?” asked the Admiral.

“No, sir,”
replied the dejected radio operator.  He looked sorry to be dragged into the
conversation again.   “I can’t find anything.  It’s like…well, it’s like the
damn things aren’t there anymore…pardon my French, sir.”

The Captain
was about to speak when another crewman grabbed his headset.  “Incoming
transmission from the
Anzio
, sir.”  He held up the headphones to the
Admiral.

“Put it
through, son,” grumbled the Admiral.  After a switch was thrown, the radio
operator gave the thumbs up sign.

“
Roosevelt
here,” called out the ship’s captain.

“
Anzio
. 
We just touched base with our Italian friends.  Evidently, their ports are
not welcoming us anymore.  What did we do to upset them?
”

“I was
hoping on being able to hole up for a few days...” mumbled the Captain in
dismay.

“
Washington
probably pissed ‘em off,”
said the frowning voice of the
Anzio’s
commander Doug Mitchem, some ten miles northeast of the
Roosevelt
.

The Admiral
sucked in his breath in a kind of reverse sigh.  “Alright, here’s what we’re
going to do.  Son, patch me into the fleet.”  He paused, waiting for the radio
connection to be established and the other ships to link up. 

“This is
Admiral Nella.  New SitRep.  Italy is off limits.  As of this moment, I’m
placing
every
foreign vessel on the watch list.  Initiate no contact,
except if confronted.  Report any and all foreign vessel sightings.  We know
the French, Germans and Russians are out for us, but we don’t know about anyone
else, so let’s be cautious, gentlemen.  Maintain course and speed for the
Straits of Gibraltar.  That is all.”

The
Roosevelt’s
Captain handed back the headset to his radio operator.  “Keep me informed on
your progress with the satellite uplinks.  And get that EAM mast up and
running, will you?”

“Yes, sir!”

THE PRESIDENT LOOKED at
his assembled cabinet.  He had to suppress a grin. 
My virtual cabinet.  The
most power people in our government reduced to pictures on a flatscreen panel. 
He was once again in the War Room deep in the bowels of NORAD.  Once again,
they all had bad news.  It had been over almost three weeks of bad news.  Every
day. 

He glanced
down at his papers, spread out neatly in front of him.  The casualty reports
from the sinking of the two Marine Amphibious Carriers.  The jet-liner shot
down by the Germans.  The
Roosevelt
, still missing. 

A whole
carrier battlegroup vanished after a surprise attack.  He prayed for survivors,
but without satellites and with old allies suddenly giving the cold shoulder,
it was damn hard to find out anything about the super-carrier and her sailors,
aviators, and Marines.

He looked
at another stack of papers.  Israel.  They were surrounded by Arabs, and in a
few days, the Russians would most likely be on the scene as well.  Jerusalem
was cut off.  Israel was on the verge of being cut in half.  Rumors delivered
from the British ambassador at the U.N., were that the Israelis had already
used nuclear tipped artillery shells with devastating effect on the advancing
Muslim horde.  Nothing could be confirmed. 

The
President looked up, watching his cabinet members argue and worry about the
Chinese merchant fleet, the Arabs, the wildfires still burning out of control
in the west.  Chicago.  He watched the Army and Navy Chiefs of Staff argue over
how to pacify the great city without destroying it further.  Rumors
there
had the leader of this so-called rebellion fleeing into Canada already.

The Army
wanted a full-scale assault.  Level the high-rise buildings and send in the
tanks—just so happens a small army was sitting there on its ass outside the
downtown area, waiting for orders.  The Navy wanted to use its Great Lakes
fleet and maybe bring some big guns in from the Atlantic fleet and pummel the
city from offshore.  Then when it was duly pacified, they could land the
Marines and mop up the mess the Army was making of the city.  Perhaps even the
threat of sending in the Marines would be enough to quell the rebellion.  After
all, the Army didn’t do any good for New York.  He could see their mouths
moving, hands gesturing and faces redden, but had stopped listening.

Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw Hank Suthby, head of Homeland Security and de facto
leader of America’s domestic concerns.  The man was pretending to look at his
own documents but was clearly watching every move the President made.  It made
the Commander in Chief uneasy looking at that man and knowing he was watching
him and ignoring the bickering going on all around him. 

Something
wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  Too many other issues were
clamoring for his attention.  He didn’t have time to worry about conspiracies—Americans
were dying out there, most just trying to come home.   Under Suthby’s guidance,
at least the domestic situation seemed to be gradually coming under control. 
But
at what cost?  Is control worth it if the curfew and martial law are turning
America into a police state?  And I’m the one that signed the order…