The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) (9 page)

“Glad to hear you’re fine and that you had a good time,” Conner joked. He patted him on the shoulder and walked over to Schmidt, who was leaning against a Humvee.

“Major Schmidt?”

Schmidt looked up, saw Conner, and instantly snapped to attention.

“At ease.”

Schmidt fell into a parade rest and stood looking straight ahead.

“Major, at ease means take it easy. I have a few questions for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What happened?”

“Sorry for the altercation, sir. These men were separatists and they were disrespecting you and our country. I should not have gotten so angry, but my temper got the best of me.”

“It’s all right. I have to admit, I like your approach. Sometimes that’s what people need, a little ass kicking.”

Schmidt was average height, but if you were to ask anyone, they’d say he was inches taller than he really was. His muscular build combined with his bearing gave him an ominous stature. He had arrived in Cheyenne a little over five weeks before, after leading what had grown to be a small army across the country from Fort Drum, New York. His story was one of survival and adversity.

Conner was impressed with him from the start; he was tough, strong, loyal, and fiercely obedient. Schmidt’s men and equipment, specifically his tanks, had proven to be critical during the standoff with the Montana Independence Party. What was supposed to be a show of force to help Wilbur negotiate with the MIP turned into the instrument of their destruction when the separatists attempted to kidnap her. Schmidt reacted swiftly and harshly to the MIP and when it was over, not one representative of the MIP was left standing. Back in Cheyenne it elicited comments of an overzealous field commander and a grotesque display of firepower, but Schmidt ignored it all. He was an army man who saw the need to crush what he saw as an enemy of the people who had initiated aggression. When asked about the incident, he simply said, “They started it and I finished it.”

Conner too had reacted with shock at the complete wipeout, but understood that Schmidt did what he felt was necessary to ensure Secretary Wilbur’s safety and to prevent further attacks against the United States. Schmidt saw the big picture; he knew that if the MIP had been successful, it could have led to Conner possibly trading the state of Montana for Wilbur. Schmidt saw this as another step closer to what appeared to him as the total collapse and demise of the United States.

Conner looked at him appraisingly. Here he saw a man who would literally die for his country, no questions asked. Schmidt was unlike other officers in his staff—he was a true-blue warrior.

“Major, did General Baxter relay the message to you about tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be there at oh-nine-hundred.”

“Good. Now go get some sleep. I need you thinking clearly in the morning.”

“I’m free to go, sir?”

Conner looked around; about ten feet away were the Lakotah men, all of whom looked badly beaten. “Yes, of course. I’m the president, and guess what? You’re pardoned.”

“What about my men, sir?”

“Them as well. Gather your men and go back to your camp.”

When Schmidt’s fifteen-thousand-strong army rolled into Cheyenne weeks before, there was no place to house them. Like other refugees, they set up a large tent city and called it home. Schmidt had been offered housing within the green zone, but he refused to leave what he called “his people.”

“Yes, sir, and thank you,” Schmidt said, and disappeared back inside the shop.

Conner looked at the Lakotah men again. They looked harmless for the most part. They were all older men, in their mid-fifties. But that was where the harmless consideration ended for Conner. What these men and their followers represented to Conner was a cancer on the country. He knew he faced a tough choice: he could try to see if the country could heal with them, or if he’d have to cut them out.

“A sudden bold and unexpected question doth many times surprise a man and lay him open.”

—Francis Bacon

McCall, Idaho

S
ebastian held Annaliese’s hand tenderly, but anxiety was coursing through his veins. Sitting in the waiting room of the Payette Lake Medical Center was torturous for him. Being surrounded by crying babies and coughing and hacking people made him wish he had been more forceful in telling Annaliese to stay home. Her condition had only gotten worse since they had stopped by the clinic yesterday. The doctor had taken blood samples to be tested to see if that could give them any better idea of what her diagnosis was. What the doctor didn’t share just yet with Sebastian was that the laboratory was very limited in what it could do after losing most of its diagnostic equipment during the EMP.

When her name was called, Sebastian sprang up. He looked down at Annaliese’s face. Her skin was pulled tight and ashen. Since she started showing symptoms days ago, she had lost weight quickly from a combination of a loss of appetite and the pain in her abdomen.

“Come on, sweetie,” he nudged.

She didn’t say a word; she just leaned forward, grimacing in pain.

He knelt in front of her and placed his hand on her knee. “It’s hurting again?”

Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

“Let me go see if the doc will come out here,” he whispered.

“No, I can do it,” she whispered, wincing again in pain. Her right hand clenched the arm of the chair tightly while her left hand held her stomach.

Sebastian looked at the nurse, who was waiting patiently for them. He held up his index finger to signal he wanted a little extra time. The nurse smiled then approached them, seeing that Annaliese was having a hard time.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” the nurse asked.

Annaliese didn’t answer, but began to breathe deeply.

“She’s been having severe abdominal pain and she appears to be having a surge of pain right now.”

Annaliese lifted her head to look at Sebastian. Tears of pain and fear now began to stream from her sunken eyes.

“Oh, baby, you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“It hurts so badly,” she whimpered.

“Let me go get her doctor,” the nurse said urgently and left them.

“Anna, just sit there, no need to get up. The doc is coming out to see you,” Sebastian said as he rubbed her arm.

“Something’s wrong. I’m scared,” she responded, her voice trembling as more tears rushed down her face.

Sebastian looked around; all eyes were on him and Annaliese. Her pain and the response to it was the worst it had been. She probably needed to go to the emergency room, but deep down, Sebastian didn’t know if it would make any difference, because the capabilities at all facilities were limited. But inaction wasn’t a trait he was known for and he didn’t want to wait for the doc. He saw a wheelchair and hurried over to it. He pushed it back, carefully placed her in it, and wheeled her out of the clinic. The hospital was just across the parking lot, not more than a hundred yards. As he reached the halfway mark, he heard the doctor calling him.

Sebastian called back without stopping, “Doc, just meet us over at the ER!”

The once automatic electric doors of the ER were now left wide open. He wheeled her inside and called out, “I need some help here!”

Annaliese cried out in pain again.

A nurse came running from the dim hallway. “Get her in here!” she said, pointing to an examination area to his right.

He wheeled her into the space and both he and the nurse lifted her out of the wheelchair and onto a bed.

Annaliese curled up in the fetal position in cringing pain.

“What’s wrong with her?” the nurse asked Sebastian.

“Look at her, she’s in pain.”

“I need more details than that, sir.”

“She’s been complaining about pain here,” he said, pointing to her lower abdomen. “She’s had bad diarrhea, fever, and now she’s having incredible pain unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

“Ma’am, my name is Amy. I need to ask you some questions, okay?” the nurse asked Annaliese.

Annaliese only answered with a nod. Perspiration now covered her face and she was still crying.

“Where is the pain?”

Annaliese pointed to her stomach.

The curtains that separated them from main ER hallway flew open and her doctor from the clinic stepped in. “Sebastian, how’s she doing?”

“Not good, Doc,” Sebastian said, his voice revealing his concern.

“Amy, she came in yesterday and I took blood; the tests came back—”

“Argh!” Annaliese cried out loudly.

“Her white blood cell count was very high, but everything else looks fine,” the doctor said.

“Is she allergic to any medications?” Amy asked Sebastian.

“Um, I don’t know,” Sebastian answered. “Sweetheart, are you allergic to anything?”

She shook her head no.

“I want to give her something to ease the pain and then we can continue to monitor her,” Amy stated.

“Monitor her? I need you to give her more tests, do something!” Sebastian exclaimed.

“I’d recommend giving her an angiogram or CT but that equipment doesn’t work anymore,” the doctor said.

“There has to be something you can do! Do something!” Sebastian yelled.

“Sebastian, please calm down, we’re doing all we can with the limited resources and equipment. Many medical issues have similar symptoms. She could have appendicitis or a severe gastrointestinal problem. Short of doing exploratory surgery, we can’t do much,” the doctor said.

Annaliese cried out, “Sebastian!”

He took her shaking hand and leaned over to kiss her face. “Baby, you’re going to be fine.” He turned to the doctor and others gathered in the room and said, “I need to go find my brother. Please watch over her.”

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Conner assembled his staff an hour before the anticipated response from Gordon. Just outside the room was Major Schmidt, Conner’s guest at the meeting. His presence would be a shock to the others as he was nothing more than a field commander, but Conner wanted his unique perspective on what they should do about the militant groups, given his interaction with the MIP.

Once his staff was seated, he ordered a guard to go get Schmidt. A brief moment passed, then the main door to the conference room opened and Schmidt stepped in, dressed head to toe in a weathered and faded green camouflage uniform. He stepped forward, saluted, and stood at attention near the head of the table.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you all know Major Thomas Schmidt,” Conner said. “Major Schmidt, please relax and take a seat.”

Schmidt promptly took a seat at the far end of the table.

“Major, you look well considering the incident last night.”

“Yes, sir, all good.”

“You are probably wondering why I have the major here. Well, it’s because of his extraordinary experiences. He has a perspective that is missing from our discussions. I know some of you here have heard the stories about him, but I don’t believe you’ve heard them from the man himself. Major, would you do us the honor and share how you and whom you affectionately call ‘your people’ arrived here?”

“Yes, sir.”

All eyes in the room were sharply focused on Schmidt in curiosity.

Schmidt looked at each and nodded slightly. A slight nervousness was apparent in his tense stature, even seated.

“I was with the First Battalion of the Thirty-second Regiment, Tenth Mountain Division out of Fort Drum, New York. Um, the story is too long, but I’ll give you a short history of how I happen to be sitting here.”

Schmidt then detailed how the 32nd Regiment along with other functional assets at Fort Drum were called up to mobilize. Like all other military installations across the county, most of their equipment wasn’t working and a large number of soldiers didn’t show up when mustered. He described utter chaos on the base and even greater turmoil across the state of New York. From small towns to major metropolitan areas, the pursuit of resources quickly turned violent and bloody. He described how the command elements at Fort Drum attempted to work along with the civilian leadership in Albany, but that ended abruptly when the governor and his staff were killed in a mob attack. He became somber when he described how demoralized many soldiers were after the news of New York City being destroyed with a nuclear weapon. Each day saw fewer and fewer soldiers left on base as they escaped with what they could make off with; this prompted the command to take harsh measures that spiraled into bitter fighting on the base. He and what remained of his company left with their families once the base disintegrated into bedlam. With only two vehicles and what they could carry, they made out for their journey west.

“We didn’t really have a plan for where we were going. We just kept walking. Along the way we picked up more and more people along with equipment, building upon what we started with. What you describe as ‘my army’ is nothing more than a ragtag group of active and retired military with a large dash of hardy civilians. We heard about the new capital when we hit St. Louis. By then we had grown to around five thousand. We picked up even more after skirting around St. Louis. I estimate our numbers to be around fifteen thousand.”

“Major, tell them about the tanks,” General Baxter prodded.

“We came upon an old military depot outside of St. Charles, Missouri, and lo and behold they had dozens of old M60 tanks. Along the way we picked up some old-timers who knew tankers and we were able to get them back up and running.”

“I heard about the tanks. How many are there, exactly?” Baxter asked.

“Nineteen, sir. The only thing is we don’t have any tank rounds. We came upon fifty-caliber ammunition but nothing for the tank’s main gun.”

“I’m proud of you, Major. You have done a damn good job. I know it’s not easy. You’ve been resourceful and you’re an example of a damn good American. As for the tank rounds, we’ve taken care of that,” Conner stated.

“Do you have a family?” Wilbur asked.

“No, ma’am, not anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she replied.

“Sir, can I ask a question? And forgive me beforehand for my directness, but you said you wanted my perspective, so I wanted to ask something that might help clear things up on my end,” Schmidt said.

“Sure, go ahead,” Conner answered, a grin gracing his face.

“Are the rumors you abandoned the east true?”

Conner’s grin faded quickly and a tension gripped his face. He leaned forward from his comfortable position. He cleared his throat, and then said, “Major, we never abandoned the east.”

“Sir, to be frank, that’s what everyone heard. The word trickled down quickly. Whether it was true or not, we never saw an active response or any communication from NORAD or any federal command element. The rumor and the lack of any type of response emboldened those who took advantage of the situation. The east is a mess, total disarray, massive death . . . so much death, I’ve never seen so much in my life. People had given up hope and resorted to things I would’ve only seen in horror movies. Such barbarism and butchery. People killing for a can of beans, people resorting to cannibalism. Society is lost back there.”

“We never gave up on the east,” Conner repeated again, the wrinkles on his face now more pronounced as he strained to convey sincerity.

“General Baxter, anyone, please tell the major that we never gave up on the east. We just, well, to be frank, we had limited resources and abilities. The east is awash in radioactivity due to so many nuclear plant failures. The first thing a president or any leader must do is prioritize and you do this by being honest with what you can and can’t do. We have plans for elevating our recovery efforts to the east but right now we are dealing with issues that could destroy our entire nation. Does my answer satisfy you, Major?”

“Sir, yes, it does. Let me be clear. I wasn’t making an accusation. I have a duty to my people in addition to my duty to you and the United States. I promised them I’d get the word straight from you. Many believed the rumors were true and were holding an animosity toward the government. I told them it wasn’t fair, that all of you were doing your best. Now that I’ve gotten the answer I was looking for, I’ll present it to them. We are here now to help in any way, Mr. President, that I can assure you.”

“I’m glad to hear that, because you have proven to be valuable to our cause. After the incident last night, I wanted to announce we are moving in a new direction as it pertains to the various separatist groups,” Conner said, then turned his attention to the other staff. “I am starting a new division to tackle this problem, and Major Schmidt will head it.”

Schmidt was clearly shocked to hear this surprise announcement; his thick eyebrows shot up, though the rest of his face stayed stony and reserved.

Conner glanced at Wilbur; he could see the disappointment in her eyes. She had been working on this project from the beginning and had her own ideas on how to approach it.

“Secretary Wilbur, if you could find time later today to meet with the major and brief him on what information you’ve gathered, that would be great,” Conner commanded.

“Mr. President, can I ask what the new direction is, exactly?” Wilbur asked.

Conner thought for a bit, looked at the clock on the wall, and said, “Good question. As you know we haven’t given too much attention to these groups until lately, when they’ve been thrust upon us. That will change because these groups represent a clear and present danger, not unlike the PAE. These are Americans but their selfish desires threaten the sovereignty of the country, and I have no desire to talk with them. We will inform them to disband and if they don’t we will eliminate them. It will be that clear cut.”

Wilbur looked shocked to hear this new directive. “Mr. President, that is a blanket approach. This is not a one-size-fits-all situation.”

“Yes, it is. If we allow, say, Arizona to vote and they choose to secede, what do we do? We’re not exactly operating under the Constitution right now. There isn’t a Congress to vote them down, and we gave them precedents with Hawaii, Texas, and Alaska. No more. If we keep doing this we’ll be out of a job. We won’t even have a country. So, there won’t be any more negotiations. We won’t allow them to leave even if they vote on it.”