HOMELAND: Falling Down (Part 1 of the HOMELAND Series) (6 page)

About midday, the platoon leader, Lieutenant Young, gathered the men around him in the motor pool. The lieutenant spoke in a businesslike voice as if he were giving an operation order. “The Capitol will burn to the ground. It’s a total loss.”

The stunned troops looked to their lieutenant without a word.

“Since the banks are all closed and nobody’s been paid in months, the division commander has approved dependents eating in the mess halls at no charge. That will help you feed your families. They just have to show their military IDs at the register. Also, all government payments are suspended indefinitely. That goes for social security, welfare, disability, Medicare, Medicaid, and everything else. EBT cards are wiped out too.”

“That’s all I have for now. Tough days are ahead. We’re in the shit with lots to do and little time. Let’s get to it.”

Hicks fished a Tootsie Roll from his pocket and handed it to Cole. “Happy Halloween, Sarge.”

Cole asked, “What the hell’s this?”

“Today is Halloween. You gotta have candy on Halloween.”

Cole stared at the private a moment, then laughed. “Get to work, Hicks.”

“Yes, Sergeant!” Hicks smiled and ran to his Humvee.

Sergeant Reyes came trotting up to Cole from the motor pool gate as the gathering dispersed. “What’s so funny?”

“Hicks. Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s nuts or just screwin’ with me.”

“Did I miss anything?”

“LT gave us an update. More bad news. I’ll fill you in later. You get your family squared away?”

“Si. Some of my hombres and me went to the house to get clothes, baby formula, and some other stuff. Took longer than I thought. You oughta see the crowd tryin’ to get on base. The front gate looks more like a refugee camp than a military base.”

Cole pulled out his wallet and handed Reyes a hundred dollar bill. “Baby formula isn’t cheap. Maybe you can get some from the PX before they run out.”

The sergeant refused. “No thanks. I don’t take charity.”

“Who said it was? This is just a loan until the banks open again.”

Reyes took the bill. “Alright. Gracias.”

“De nada, amigo.” Cole looked from Reyes to the rest of the platoon. They stood in small groups, laughing and joking, trying to convince each other and themselves that they weren’t afraid. “We better get over there before Sergeant Crowe blows a gasket.”

As if on cue, a gravelly voice boomed, “Coffee break’s over! Back to work!” A gruff looking platoon sergeant appeared in their midst. Crowe stood a muscular six-foot-two and chomped an unlit cigar in his clenched jaw. “Sexton! Reyes!”

“Yes, Sergeant!” The pair said in unison and came to parade rest.

“In case you two ladies ain’t noticed, we got work to do.”

“Yes, Sergeant!” The pair double-timed to their squad and dove into the day’s work.

It was past midnight when Cole finally returned to his quarters. He slowly shed his uniform and sat gingerly on his bunk, feeling every inch of the hard miles he’d put on his body in the last seven years. He turned on the TV. Every channel was now a news channel. The banner across one of them read, ‘Dollar Collapses. Nation in Chaos’ He turned up the volume.

It was Eduardo Garcia again. This time he sat at the anchor’s desk.

Does this guy ever sleep?

Garcia looked older under the studio lights. His jet black hair had more than a touch of gray and his eyes bore deep lines from years of squinting in the desert sun. He was a little long in the tooth for living in foxholes. Cole’s creaking joints and aching muscles told him he was, too.

The newly minted anchor said grimly, “This footage is from New York City earlier today. I must warn our audience that these images are extremely graphic and disturbing.”

The video was of a mob outside a bank. The glass doors were shattered. Men and women in business suits were being dragged out kicking and screaming across the broken shards. As they reached the crowd, they were beaten savagely with stones, bats, and anything else their assailants had on hand. An older business man was pulled away from the others and doused in gasoline. The banker begged on his knees for his life to the young man holding the gas can. The protestor kicked him in the face. As the executive renewed his pleas, a lit match landed next to him. His shrieks pierced through the noise of the mob dancing around him as he writhed in the flames of his melting flesh.

Cole felt sick. This was as bad as anything he’d seen during his four combat tours in the Middle East, but it was happening at home.

He turned the TV off and called his mother. “Hi, Mom. Sorry to call so late again.”

“That’s okay, sweetie. You sound tired.”

“Busy day, that’s all. How are you and Dad holding up?”

“We’re okay. Things are getting a little crazy in town, though.”

“Mom, tell Dad to be careful.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll be fine.”

“I mean it, Mom.”

“Okay, sweetie. As long as you promise to be safe, too.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best.”

“Goodnight, sweetie. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Cole hung up and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

*****

Sunday, November 1
^st

04:23 AM

Cole was jolted awake before dawn by pounding on his door.

A voice on the other side yelled, “Formation in fifteen mikes—Full battle rattle! It’s go time!”

Cole grabbed his gear and found Lieutenant Young outside battalion headquarters. He saluted and asked, “What’s going on, Sir?”

“We’re moving out. Nashville’s a mess. The battalion is going to help with humanitarian aid. Don’t know exactly where yet. Consider this your warning order. Op-order in thirty minutes. Get your guys ready.”

“Already on it, Sir.”

An hour later, the platoon mounted up and rolled out the gate. Their objective was Vanderbilt Hospital sixty miles due south. Other platoons had different destinations, but the mission was the same: crowd control. The city was falling apart and overstretched local authorities were swamped. As the metropolitan skyline drew near, Cole saw dark smoke rise from countless fires inside the city. Across the median, the interstate was choked with cars trying to flee. The inbound lanes were clear but for the line of sand colored Humvees. Once again, Cole was running to the fight while others ran away. That was the job.

The fight.
Is that what this is?

The phrase sounded alien here.

What difference can one understrength division make in a population of one and a half million people?

The answer lay ahead among the flames.

He listened to the radio reports as each platoon split off the formation at its predetermined exit.

“Charlie One-One moving to Objective Juice, time now.” First Platoon, Charlie Company was headed to a gas station.

“Bravo Three-One moving to Objective Honcho, time now” Third Platoon, Bravo Company’s destination was the state capitol.

“Bravo One-One moving to Objective Band-Aid, time now.” First Platoon, Bravo Company. It was Cole’s turn to go into the fray.

Lieutenant Young addressed his platoon. “Keep your eyes open. Gunners maintain your sectors. All elements follow my move.”

The platoon rolled from the quiet interstate to pandemonium. Burning vehicles slowed their progress. Looters darted in and out of gutted businesses, loaded down with everything from televisions to toilet paper as city police watched impotently from the safety of their squad cars. A few shop owners stood guard with shotguns from perches above their storefronts, blasting anyone who tried to force their way in.  Bodies on the sidewalk below served fair warning to any who dared test their resolve.

A woman slammed her body into the door of Cole’s Humvee. “Help! Please help!” she yelled through the bulletproof window. She looked behind her and screamed.

Cole ordered Hicks, “Stop the truck!” He opened the door and tried to calm the frantic woman. “It’s okay, ma’am. We’re here to help.”

“No! They’re coming! Help! We have to go!”

“Who?”

Hicks called to Cole, “Sarge! The L.T. says to get back in your effing Humvee and get moving!”

“I got a situation here!” Cole looked up to see what the woman was running from. A gang of young men armed to the teeth was yards away.

He ushered the woman to his vehicle and aimed his M4 carbine at the mob. “Back off!”

They kept coming. Cole’s gunner swung the fifty caliber machine gun onto the would-be assailants. They froze.

Cole said again, “Back off!” This time the thugs did as they were told.

Cole helped the woman into his Humvee and the platoon moved out. Rocks pelted the convoy as soldiers watched scene after scene of carnage and depravity through thick Plexiglas windows. After what seemed like a hundred miles, they finally reached the hospital. The ground outside was littered with patients. Doctors and nurses rushed from one victim to the other, trying to conduct triage as best they could. Walking wounded crowded the emergency entrance, blocking the door. Cole had seen this before in Syrian refugee camps. Whether the staff knew it or not, that’s what this place was turning into. He couldn’t believe this was the same city he visited two nights before.

Lieutenant Young ordered the vehicles to form a perimeter around the entrance to clear the way for medical personnel. The crowd wasn’t happy about it, but relented. Young went in to find the administrator. Cole helped his passenger from the Humvee “You’re safe now.”

The woman sobbed. “They just pulled me from my car. I don’t know why. They tried to rape me. I was trying to get to my son’s school. He’s in the first grade. I never should have let him go this morning.”

“Some of our guys are going to schools. Tell Private Hicks which one your son goes to and we’ll try to get you to him.” He gave her an MRE and a bottle of water, wishing he could do more.

Cole noticed a nurse kneeling over an old man who was lying in the grass. Her blonde hair was pulled into a neat pony tail that fell gracefully over her shoulder as she treated a gash on the man’s forehead.

Cole grabbed a first aid pack from the back of his Humvee and walked over to her. He squatted next to the pretty nurse and handed her the sterile bandage. “This will help.”

“Thanks.” She examined the man’s head and asked Cole, “You have any water?”

“One sec.” Cole ran to his vehicle and brought back some bottled waters.

“Thanks again.” The nurse opened a bottle and washed out her patient’s wound, applied a spray-on antiseptic, and bound it with the dressing Cole gave her.

The old man took her hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him another water. “Drink this. You’ll be fine. Just rest a while and call if you need me.”

“You’re an angel,” the old man said.

The man took the words right out of Cole’s mouth as he watched her brush a lock of hair from her deep blue eyes.

She held a hand out to Cole. “I’m Amber.”

He took it, hypnotized by the young nurse’s striking gaze. “I’m…Cole.” He regained his senses and looked at the multitude waiting for care. “You’ve got your hands full.”

“It’s getting worse every hour. We’re already low on bandages and antibiotics. I don’t know how long we can keep this up.”

“I’m here to help.”

“Be careful what you offer. I’ll put you to work.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Someone yelled, “Help! Somebody help! Please! My little girl!”

Cole saw a man carrying his daughter. She was pale and limp, her limbs dangling as he staggered through the crowd. Both were covered in blood.

Cole ran to them and took the child into his arms as Amber asked, “What happened to her?”

The father responded, “Car accident. Truck came out of nowhere.”

Cole sprinted to the ER, holding the girl tightly. A doctor blocked him and said, “You can’t take her in there. We don’t have any more room.”

Sergeant Crowe walked up and grabbed the doctor by the collar. “Make room.”

The doctor wilted under the sergeant’s cold stare and iron grip. “I’ll squeeze her in someplace. Follow me.”

Crowe took the child from Cole. Her eyes opened slightly and looked up at the crotchety sergeant. He said, “I gotcha, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay.” He snapped at the doctor. “What the hell are you waitin’ for?”

The doctor trotted into the hospital with Crowe and the girl close on his heels.

Amber was true to her word. She worked Cole and his men relentlessly. He lost count of how many people they treated as the hours passed. For every one they helped, three more arrived in need of aid. By dusk, almost every inch of ground around the hospital was covered with wounded waiting for help.

Streetlights came to life as Amber went back to the E.R. for more supplies, but returned empty handed. Her warm breath puffed in the chilled night air as she told Cole, “They’re out of everything. Do you have any more supplies?”

“No. What little we had ran out hours ago.” He surveyed the mass of humanity sprawled across the grounds. “The temperature is dropping fast. If we don’t figure something out, most of these people will freeze to death by morning.”

Crowe grabbed an MRE and a bottled water from his vehicle and yelled, “Hicks!”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

“Take these to the little girl we brought in a few hours ago then report back to me with her status.”

“How do I find her, Sergeant?”

“Just tell ‘em she’s the one I brought in. They’ll know who you’re talkin’ about. Her name is Becky. Tell her Sarge says hi.”

“Will do, Sergeant.” Hicks sprinted into the hospital.

Cole jested, “I always thought you had a heart in there somewhere.”

Crowe saw Cole staring at him with a grin. “What the hell are you smilin’ at?”

Cole tried to straighten his face. “Nothing, Sergeant.”

“Then wipe off that shit eatin’ grin.”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

Smoke from the smoldering city burned Cole’s nostrils. The cold night bit at him through his Gor-Tex jacket. He gazed at the poor souls shivering on the hospital grounds, wondering how many would be alive come morning. The chatter and beeps of the Humvee radios filled his ears, making him feel detached from his surroundings. The audio didn’t match the visual.