

GLIMMER OF HOPE

Glimmer of Hope

Fourth Edition

Copyright © 2016 by Ryan King. All Rights Reserved.

Originally Published and Copyrighted 2012.

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Glimmer of Hope

Book I in the Land of Tomorrow series

by Ryan King

Copyright © 2012 by Ryan King

For Kristin, my wife and best friend, who makes me happy and for my sons who make me proud.

Prologue

I've been lying to myself, she realized as the horror of her actions threatened to overwhelm her.

All these years I promised I'd never do it. Then the moment arrives, the make-believe scenario that none of them believed would ever come, and routine was simply too powerful to resist. With a simple word, she thought, I betrayed myself and destroyed the world.

Major Susan Rivera stared down at the austere gray console board, dozens of lights enthusiastically and cheerfully blinking at her. She was surprisingly calm. The indicator lights were all a sickeningly green tone, and she imagined if she vomited now, the color would complement those lights nicely.

Why, she wondered, but more importantly, how? She had kept a secret deep in her heart most of her career. Susan had determined that if the time ever came to rain down fire upon the earth, she wouldn't participate, she wouldn't fight back. She decided long ago that if called upon to launch her missiles, she would refuse, allowing the country she loved to be obliterated. Better for one nation and its people to be destroyed than the entire planet, she'd reasoned after years of agonizing soul searching. She didn't see her decision as betrayal, but as a courage born of selfless conviction.

The decision had given her peace and allowed her to do her job. Never did she actually believe it would ever come to this.

"Twelve birds away, ma'am," said Lieutenant Jacobs excitedly, typing on his keyboard. "Running confirmations now."

It had all happened so fast. They had practiced the drill thousands of times before and when it happened for real, Susan's brain and body responded without conscious thought. She authenticated the message. She turned her key. She pushed the button to launch her missiles. A single instance of inefficiency on her part in any step would have been sufficient to stop the launch.

Where are my convictions now that millions burn at my hand?

Susan was shaken from her thoughts by a subtle change in Lieutenant Jacobs' attitude. They had grown close over the last few years working in the launch tube together and were sensitive to each other's mood and feelings. She turned to see him frowning down at the computer terminal.

"Ma'am," Jacobs said with a frown, "the confirmation checks actually show we've only launched eleven of the birds. Number Eight's still sitting in the silo."

"Run diagnostics," she said automatically. Her voice sounded calm and confident to her ears. That was good. She didn't want Jacobs to know how close she was to losing control of herself.

She looked around the small gray vault of a room. There was nothing appealing about the hard edges, tomblike construction, or cold surfaces, but she found it all oddly comfortable. This room was closer to who she was and more a home than the lonely and cold apartment where she slept, ate microwave meals, and stored her stuff.

Part of her wanted to retreat into the fantasy of believing this was simply another drill. It would be so easy. At some point, an authoritative voice would announce over the intercom that the drill was complete and tell them when and where to report for an after-action review.

Maybe that was exactly what was happening, she thought with a bright flash of hope. We've been getting soft, and command has decided to add an additional level of realism. It wouldn't be difficult for them to fake all of this. How would we know?

Jacobs swiveled his chair toward her with concern bordering on distress. "Ma'am, the diagnostics confirm we still have a bird in the silo. Computer says it's a Code 23 Error."

Great, a Code 23 Error, she thought. Systems Interface Malfunction. This was the computer program's catch-all whenever it didn't know what the hell was actually wrong. Susan often wondered why the programmers couldn't have simply allowed the system to respond honestly in such cases. "Heck, I don't know what's wrong. We were designed by the lowest bidder, after all." This would have been more apt and infinitely less frustrating.

Susan picked up the radio microphone and turned the knob to their assigned post-launch strategic command net. They could now break radio silence. "Stormchaser, Stormchaser, this is Raven's Nest Five. SITREP follows, over."

After a ten-second pause, Susan was about to repeat her call when a harried and frustrated voice answered, "Raven's Nest Five, this is Stormchaser, go!" Susan could hear a considerable amount of voices and activity in the background.

"Stormchaser, we have a successful launch on eleven birds, but may have one still in the nest. We're running contingency drills now."

"Roger that, Raven Five, inform us of any change. Stormchaser out!"

Susan looked at the handset and the ominously dead line. Any launch failure during a drill was grounds for an internal command investigation. She had expected questions, guidance, yelling, anything. They had just launched eleven intercontinental ballistic missiles carrying over one hundred ten-megaton nuclear warheads and their higher headquarters response was preoccupation?

This is no drill. This is really happening.

Still, this response disturbed her. She would have appreciated some follow-up questions or guidance. Something. Anything. They weren't trained, or expected, to improvise.

Probably have a lot going on, Susan thought. Besides, this business is about redundancy. One bird doesn't make much difference in the big scheme. Whether Sevastopol, Pyongyang, or Tehran was hit with ten kilotons instead of thirty is pretty much moot. Hell, we don't even know our missiles' targets; we could have just obliterated Rhode Island for all I know.

Susan stood up from her chair, startling Jacobs. The man jumped and let out a small scream. She turned to him with her hand out, "Easy, just going to check the outside display." I'll have to be careful now, she told herself. Anything out of the routine will make him nervous, especially after the reality of what is going on sinks in. She walked over to the intercom near the heavily sealed vault door and pressed the green 'talk' button.

"Sergeant Timmons, can you check your display out there and tell us what you've got?" she said into the intercom.

Timmons must have been standing on the other side of the door waiting, "Roger ma'am, one moment," he answered immediately.

Susan looked around at their small vault. Although this place had always been comfortingly familiar to her, something about it was now menacing. She surveyed the room, but couldn't put her finger on the exact cause for her unease. Jacobs simply sat staring at the screen without moving. She suddenly felt a knot in her stomach. The launch had preempted breakfast. I'm not afraid, she told herself, only hungry.

Her thermos of coffee sat on the floor and she almost poured herself a cup, but decided that was a bad idea. Coffee always made her go pee and she didn't want to leave Jacobs alone for even a few seconds. The lavatory was only a small enclosure within the vault, but it might as well be worlds away in this situation. She had a sudden mental flash of a wasp landing on her arm on a bright sunny day.

Danger is in the very air, a voice said in her head. Best thing to do is stay calm.

"Ma'am, the board shows bird eight still in the tube," said Timmons through the intercom.

Susan nodded. "Yeah, that's what we've got. Can you call the duty contractor and tell them to get down here right away?"

"Will do, ma'am," answered the ever-efficient Timmons.

Not even a year ago there would have been a contractor on duty during the night shift and not just during the day. Hell, when she was a lieutenant, they didn't have contractors at all. Trained airmen would have been able to fix the problem half awake and hung over. Times changed and budget cuts made it more difficult to destroy the world evidently. Susan sat back down, trying to calm herself. Looking at Jacobs certainly didn't help.

"How you doing, Jacobs?" she asked in a voice that sounded to her own hears far too cheerful given the situation.

Jacobs started in his seat and then turned to her slowly as if his neck didn't work properly. His face was normal, but his eyes were wide. "Where do you think those missiles went? Who did we just kill?"

"Don't know," answered Susan. "Don't care," she lied. "We did our job; now we have to keep doing our job. You know that. The shrinks told us this feeling would come; guilt is normal. Doesn't mean we did anything wrong. We did our job. We saved the damn free world. We're real American heroes; probably get medals and promotions for this."

Jacobs just stared at her. The knot in her stomach grew, and she was about to say something, anything to break that stare when Timmons' voice came over the intercom.

"Ma'am, I talked to the duty contractor at his house."

Relieved to be away from Jacobs' strangeness, Susan went to the intercom and spoke in eagerly. "Is he coming down?"

"I don't think so, ma'am," Timmons answered with a chuckle. "He kind of freaked out when I told him we had a hang fire. Said he damn well hoped we had eleven more hang fires. I told him we were good on the other eleven, just needed to fire the last one." Timmons' southern voice was so calm he could have been explaining the best way to noodle catfish back home.

"Is he coming?" Susan asked again, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

"That's what I was trying to tell you, ma'am," said Timmons. "He wigged out and dropped the phone. I heard him screaming for his family to get up and get in the car. I listened to the ruckus for several minutes, but he never came back on."

Damn it, Susan thought. Think. When we were lieutenants, in the days before contractors, we were all cross-trained in everyone else's job. The systems and technology are certainly more advanced, but maybe I can do something.

For some inexplicable reason, now that she had fired eleven missiles, the most important thing in her existence was to finish the job and fire the last one. She knew this was ridiculous, but in for a penny, in for a pound, her mother had always said. Moving forward seemed the only safe route.

"Sergeant Timmons, I'm going to come out and see what I can do. Maybe it's something easy and I can figure it out myself." She unlocked her side of the vault door and waited for Timmons to unlock his side so she could exit.

There was a very long pause before Timmons came back on the intercom. "Uh, ma'am, you know I can't do that. The procedures say I can't let you out until we either get a stand-down order or you have launched all the birds."

Susan leaned her forehead against the cool steel of the door and chuckled. "I know, Timmons, but we can't fire that last missile. It's a system malfunction. I need to get out of here to go figure out what is wrong."

Another long pause came. "Yes, ma'am, I understand that, but the procedures are clear. I can't let you out until the board shows all your birds are away."

Susan felt the knot in her stomach turn into a knife, twisting painfully. Timmons' reaction was ridiculous but not surprising. They were all psychologically screened and specially selected for their penchant for following rules and not deviating from established policies. Strategic Command wanted people who relied upon procedures no matter what and didn't think too deeply about the reality of what they were doing.

"Timmons, the procedures say we get a technician in here to check out the problem, but I don't think that is going to happen. Given the situation, I think we need to figure this out on our own, don't you?" Susan tried to keep the frustration and sarcasm out of her voice, but it was hard. Her thin veneer of calm was slipping and she was starting to feel a little trapped.

Susan turned back to look at Jacobs who had resumed his disturbing stare at the computer monitors. Seeing him unnerved her more. She was about to start yelling at Timmons when she was thrown off her feet. Her head struck the floor and bounced. She saw bright floating stars and knew she was close to passing out. Part of her welcomed that option. The earth rumbled and shook again as the lights dimmed slowly and then went black.

Oh shit, Susan thought in the thick darkness, tasting blood in her mouth. Must have taken a direct hit topside. The lights came back on in a weak flickering sort of way that indicated generator backup power was now in use. Can't lose consciousness, she thought and forced herself to sit up.

"What was that?" asked Jacobs, who had amazingly kept his seat, but wasn't staring at the screen anymore.

Susan, disoriented, answered without thinking, "Nuke strike. Probably within a few miles of here. Big one."

Jacobs stood suddenly, backing away from her with wide eyes and both hands covering his open mouth. Susan slowly climbed to her feet without taking her eyes off Jacobs. "Take it easy now. One thing at a time. Could have been something else. Maybe some seismic activity from another strike somewhere else. Somewhere...far away, maybe."

"That's bullshit and you know it!" Jacobs screamed at her and began pacing in the crowded vault, hands on his head, tugging at his hair absently.

Susan decided she liked this even less than creepy, distracted, stare-at-the-monitors Jacobs. She went to the intercom again. "Timmons, you still out there? You okay?"

The calm southern voice again, "No worries, ma'am, okay out here."

"Timmons, we need to get out of here, we've—"

Jacobs pushed her aside roughly, sticking his face into the intercom. He savagely punched the send button with his fist. "Let us out of here, you country fuck!" He stood there staring at the intercom, breathing like an enraged bull.

Susan eased away from Jacobs. "Let's just relax, lieutenant," she said in her dealing-with-a-skittish-horse voice. "We'll get through this; we just have to stay calm." An idea occurred to Susan. "Why don't you turn on the radio and see if you can get any information?"

Jacobs swiveled toward her with crazy murder in his eyes, but then glanced at the radio and his face relaxed. He leaped across the small room and started going through various AM and shortwave channels. Technically, they weren't supposed to listen to the radio after a live event, but what the hell?

Susan went back to the intercom. "Timmons, listen to me carefully. The procedures are out. I am in command, and I'm ordering you to open this goddamn door right now."

A long pause. "Ma'am, the procedures are clear. We have to follow protocol." A trace of apology was in Timmons' otherwise southern calm. "Ma'am, I'm up for promotion next month and I've got a baby coming. We need the money. I can't do anything to screw that up. My wife would kill me. Sorry, ma'am."

Susan gawked at the intercom in stunned silence. She would have laughed if she didn't think it would come out sounding hysterical. Behind her, she heard nothing but static as Jacobs went through the dials.

Electromagnetic pulse from the nuke strike likely fried everything topside and took out the antennas. Susan almost told Jacobs this, but decided against it. For now, it was keeping him busy.

Susan lowered her voice, hoping Jacobs wouldn't hear. She would have to be very careful. "Timmons, we are in the middle of a nuclear war. The chances of us surviving are pretty slim. Piss on that last bird, just let us out so we don't die in here!" Susan hissed through the intercom.

Timmons didn't answer, and she visualized him on the other side of the door thinking.

"Timmons, talk to me," she said.

Nothing.

"Timmons, goddamnit, answer me!" she screamed.

She was thrown to the floor as another nuke struck above. "We've already launched our missiles, you stupid shits!" she screamed up at nothing from the floor. If they wanted to prevent them from launching their missiles, the enemy should have struck five minutes earlier. Now it was just everyone going through the motions and following outdated plans from dusty coffee-stained binders.

The lights were flickering with longer and longer pauses. The last nuke must have knocked a fuel line loose from the generator, a detached voice said in her head.

Susan climbed to her feet and turned to find Jacobs sitting on the floor against the wall. He looked at her with realization and horror.

"My wife's dead. My little girl is dead. Everyone is dead." Jacobs slowly pushed himself to his feet, his lower lip quivering.

"Stay calm, we don't know anything for sure yet," she said soothingly with her hands out toward him.

Jacobs deliberately dropped his hand to the service pistol at his waist, drawing it out.

The pistols are meant to be used to ensure we each turn our keys and launch, but that part of the dance is done, Susan thought. Who the hell's brilliant idea was it anyway to give us guns in here?

He stared at the weapon for several long seconds. The flickers in the overhead lighting were getting longer and longer. Jacobs looked at Susan and then put the pistol up under his chin.

"No!" screamed Susan, stepping toward him involuntarily and then froze as their eyes locked.

Jacobs stared back at her. The light flickered on and off again and again as they stood and unmeasured time passed. Realization seemed to finally come to Jacobs and he smiled. He lowered the pistol from his neck, nodding at Susan as if he'd figured something out.

He lifted his arm and pointed the pistol at Susan.

"This is your fault," he said. "You're in charge. If we hadn't launched those missiles, maybe we wouldn't have been hit in return and maybe my family would still be alive."

She shook her head. "Jacobs, you know we're a pre-determined target for just about everyone," Susan reasoned. She was close to tears, and her outstretched hands shook slightly. "They would have hit us no matter what."

Jacobs shook his head. "You don't know that." A single tear rolled down his face. "You don't know dick! You never have!"

I'm in deep shit here, thought Susan. He's going to kill me. I'm dead. I'm likely dead anyway, but I don't want to die like this.

The lights flickered on and off as they stood facing each other from across the small vault room. The pauses of darkness between the light were getting longer and longer. Almost a full second now, Susan noticed. Still, Jacobs just stood pointing his pistol at Susan and gasping as if he were having an asthma attack.

Without thinking about what she was going, Susan drew her own pistol the next time the lights flickered off. When they came on again, surprise showed in Jacobs' face at Susan's pistol pointed at him. She fired instinctively. Jacobs went down, and she fired twice more, the flashes in the darkness imprinting hellishly stark and still scenes on her eyeballs.

Susan stood staring down at her dying subordinate as the lights flickered. Blood pooled from his body onto the gray austere floor. Jacobs' mouth opened and closed as his wild eyes flickered around the room. She noticed distractedly that she was crying but couldn't hear anything over the ringing in her ears.

Susan wanted to go to him, to maybe help him or tell him she was sorry, but she realized the truth was that she was too scared.

Her father had scoffed when she told him she was joining the military. She had always been what her grandmother called a gentle soul and had never intentionally hurt anyone in her life. Now, in one night, she had killed more than could be counted. Strangers and comrades alike.

It's all over, she thought. The End. The End of Everything. So much for my high ideals. So much for not being a part of destroying the world. So much for everything. I'll die in here alone. We're the only ones in the launch site during the night shift. Even if Timmons comes back and lets me out, there is nowhere to go. The surface is uninhabitable for who knows how long.

Major Susan Rivera slipped down into her chair as the pistol fell from her hand. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

The generator finally died for good, plunging her into total darkness.
Part I

Going Home
Chapter 1 - Alive

The icy wind whipped dirty gray snow into Nathan's face. It was always cold and overcast now. He wondered if warmth would ever again come to this dreary world. His extremities were long past numb and his joints felt as if they were frozen in place.

He looked at his family lying in the dingy ash-like mush beside him. Bethany shivered and burned with fever. Nathan feared she wouldn't make it through another night outdoors. His watch told him it was three o'clock in the afternoon, but the overcast sky looked like dusk. Days were shorter now.

Nathan turned back to the little clapboard shack silhouetted in the fading light. At one corner of the roof, a rusty sheet metal pipe spit white smoke, promising warmth inside.

There is no easy way to do this. I hope I don't get us all killed, he thought. Even if things go well, there will likely be blood spilt. Nathan lowered his head onto his arm and closed his eyes. Choices were falling away from him like the leaves on the dying trees towering over them.

Keeping his family alive. That was the only thing that mattered now.

He looked at his sons and gave them a nod as he stood. Joshua and David rose and followed their father slowly. Nathan put his hand on Bethany as they passed, her fever so bad she was oblivious to everything around her. He thought about conferring with the boys again, but that would only be stalling. They had talked it all over before, and besides, there was nothing complicated in what they were about to do. With sudden determination, Nathan ran the last ten feet and kicked in the flimsy door. He was momentarily blinded by the light and warmth.

Nathan moved along the right wall and felt the boys come in behind him. His eyes adjusted, and he saw three men and one woman. They were staring back at him in shock. The dirty unkempt man nearest the stove stood slowly with a cunning look on his face. He eased a hatchet from the nearby woodpile. Nathan aimed his assault rifle at the man and tightened his finger on the trigger. The man froze, but glowered at Nathan with tangible malice. Time stopped. Nathan almost reconsidered.

The interrogatives that might have passed between them before were unnecessary. Who are you? What do you want? Why are you here? were all now superfluous. Everyone was on the ragged edge of survival, doing whatever they had to do to make it to the next day.

The room was frozen in place as Nathan and his boys pointed their weapons at the unkempt group in front of them. All were conscious of the precious heat escaping out the open door.

"Get out of here," the man in front of Nathan said.

"No," answered Nathan. "My wife will die if she doesn't get in from the cold."

"So what?" said the dirty woman sitting in the lap of an even dirtier man. "Not our problem."

Silence again as the wind howled outside.

"So what are you going to do?" snarled the angry man in front of Nathan. "You can't make us leave and you're sure as hell not staying here with us! This is our place. Find your own!" He screamed these last words before rushing forward with the hatchet raised high.

Nathan shot the man in the face without thinking. Before he could turn, he heard David fire the shotgun to his left. David's shot hit both the man sitting at the table and the scrawny woman in his lap. They both fell to the floor in a bloody heap.

The man closest to the entrance bolted out of his chair toward the door, and Joshua hesitated, nearly letting him go. Nathan knew what the boy was thinking: he's running, isn't a threat, but he's headed out the door toward where Mother is waiting sick in the snow. The boy deliberately stepped forward into the wind gusting through the silhouette of the door and shot the man in the center of the back with his .45 automatic pistol.

Joshua stared at the crumpled body outside the door before turning back inside. He looked sick. David simply began going through the pockets of those they had shot, looking for valuables. Nathan wondered again how his two sons could be so different, and not just in appearance. Joshua was blond and light skinned like Nathan. He was also the oldest by a year and the thinker. David was dark haired like his mother and not terribly reflective. Nathan suspected David spent little time on regret or second-guessing.

Nathan let out a deep breath and closed the door before the precious heat could escape. He grabbed Joshua's arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. Like you said, if we don't get Mom out of the cold, she is going to die, and this is the only warm shelter we've seen for days." Joshua lowered his head. "I just wish there was another way."

"There is no other way, and you know it," said David casually from the floor where he was trying on the hat of the dying man. "They wouldn't let us stay in their filthy, lousy shack, and even if they did, we'd have our throats cut before morning or worse." David did not bother to look around at them, now preoccupied with examining a small knife from the woman's jacket pocket. She kept putting her hand on David's arm as blood pooled out of her neck, and he shook it off absent-mindedly each time.

Joshua tensed up and started toward his brother, but Nathan stepped in front, putting his hand on his son's chest. "Go bring your mother in from the cold and lay her down over by the stove. We'll get these"—Nathan gestured at the three men and woman on the floor—"out of here."

"I'll help you bury them," said Joshua resolutely.

Nathan started to answer him, but David stood and turned around incredulous. "Why? They would have skinned you alive and raped mom for days, and you want to give them a proper burial?"

"You don't know that," insisted Joshua. "They could have been folks just like us."

"I'm sure they were folks just like us," answered Nathan slowly, "but they would have killed us nevertheless, either directly or by not letting us in from the cold."

David turned away from the conversation, clearly already bored, and moved to a pistol thrown into the corner during the commotion. None of them had even seen it in the short fight.

Nathan slid close to Joshua and said quietly, "Son, that ground is frozen, we don't have tools, and we frankly don't have any energy to spare. Maybe tomorrow after we rest and eat, but not today. Especially not with night coming on."

"But, Dad, won't they attract the dogs?"

This actually gave Nathan pause. His son was right. Despite the deep cold and driving snow, those roving packs of once domesticated, now murderous wild dogs would come to them, drawn by the smell of fresh blood.

"Son, we have no choice," hissed Nathan. "We can't bury them without tools, and we can't spare the gas to burn them. Also, before you say it, I'm not going to let your mother spend the night in this small shack with four corpses. We'll drag them as far away as we can and hope for the best."

"But, Dad, those two look like they're still alive," pleaded Joshua, pointing to the man and woman David had shot.

"They're not. They're only dying slow. We couldn't save them, even if we wanted to. Now, no more talk. Bring your mother in here and try not to let her see any more of the death than she has to. You know it upsets her."

Joshua walked outside, shutting the door behind him. Nathan scanned the area, mentally making an inventory of the room. It had probably been a seasonal hunting cabin at one point. There was a small stove in the corner putting out enough heat to keep the tiny shack blessedly warm. There were also three thin pallets with blankets near the stove and a table with two wobbly chairs. A small egg crate in the corner appeared to contain some canned goods and a bag of dried beans. The walls were thin and drafty, but coming across this shack was fortunate. Nathan had fought to keep the thought just below the surface that his family might die slowly before his very eyes. Now, he knew death was at least another day away.

David walked back across the small room carrying several pairs of boots under one arm and a bag of loot in the other. "Looks like we got an old .38 revolver with fifteen shells, three pairs of boots we might be able to use down the road, a backpack that could still have some life in it, a lighter half full of fluid, that hatchet, and the food in the crate there."

"Good," said Nathan. "Let's drag these poor souls out of here before the blood gets all over the place."

They took the two dying ones out first, dragging them down the hill out of sight, and hopefully downwind from the shack.

"Want me to finish them off with my shotgun?" asked David, touching the weapon slung over his back.

Nathan shook his head. "Ammo is too scarce and I don't want to attract any more attention than we already have."

"We could just leave them," said David. "They'll bleed out soon enough."

"Yes," Nathan said, "but I don't want them to suffer further. Just leaving them here would be wrong." Nathan slowly drew his large hunting knife and knelt down beside the man.

"I can do it," said David emotionlessly.

Nathan stopped and looked hard at his son. "Why on God's earth would you want to do something like that?"

David stepped back and crossed his arms. "Whatever. Just trying to help. I did shoot them, after all."

"Just go get those other two bodies and then clean the blood off the floor," said Nathan as evenly as he could.

"Fine," said David as he turned and walked away into the approaching twilight, muttering under his breath.

Nathan paused and watched the boy stride up the hill. If someone had told him three months ago that he would have to suffer teenage attitude from his seventeen-year-old son because he did not allow the boy to finish killing two people, Nathan would have thought them crazy, but that was exactly what just happened. David had often given him the same reaction when told he could not stay at a friend's house or watch a late movie on a school night. Nathan had known a few men in combat who took to killing, but none as readily and easily as David. It wasn't that David was homicidal; he just did not seem to feel any empathy for those in his way. Killing was just a chore to him similar to taking out the trash or doing the laundry.

Nathan bent back over to the man who was, thankfully, already dead. No such luck with the poor woman. Her eyes followed him like a wild horse, but there was no hope for her. It was a wonder she was alive at all. The buckshot had taken off part of the side of her head, leaving a portion of the brain exposed.

Nathan wanted to tell her he was sorry, but didn't. He knew that was his weak effort at trying to alleviate his own guilt. Even if there was, by some miracle, a way for this woman and her friends to let him off the hook, he knew they were dead because of him. Folks just like us, he'd told Joshua, and it was probably true.

He clenched his teeth and reached down to gently turn her head so the pleading eyes faced away. He neatly sliced open her carotid artery, allowing the blood to gush into the snow. Nathan held her hand until he felt her feeble pulse slowly disappear into nothingness. He then stood and moved away from the horrific sight and already nauseating odors.

Nathan stretched his squat muscular frame, tense with painful exhaustion. He wasn't exactly short, but his fireplug-like physique made him appear shorter than he was. Nathan walked stiffly a few feet away to breathe in the cold air. He watched the sickly yellow sunset over the snow-covered hills. The quiet and stillness felt more ominous than peaceful. There were suddenly no sounds. Even the wind stopped.

The whole vastness of the earth is a gigantic open grave, thought Nathan and shuddered.

He sagged down against a tree in sudden overwhelming exhaustion. Did I save his family for this? Is the world nothing but a rotting corpse? Are we fooling ourselves? Nathan sat there in the cold and tried not to think of anything.

After a few minutes, the despair left him and he climbed slowly back to his feet, brushing the slimy snow off his body. I might be a fool, he thought, but I know no other way. The choice is simple and will be decided each day and each moment. Death or life? Despair or hope?

A gust of wind brought the sound of his boys talking. He could tell by the tone the open animosity was gone and they were brothers again, just like in days past. Maybe only for a little while, but it was something.

Nathan felt strength and purpose flow into him. I must keep them alive. I must maintain hope, however pathetic it might prove.

Nathan turned and resolutely climbed up the hill to his family and the awaiting light and warmth.
Chapter 2 – Tipping Point

Nathan looked out the grimy window at a dingy snowy wasteland. Joshua had been right about the bodies attracting the wild dogs. They had showed up that first night and stayed for several days, but their presence had not been all bad. He worried less about someone sneaking up on them with several dozen ravenous, desperate dogs roaming the area. Being forced to stay put for five days also allowed his wife Bethany time to recover and gain strength.

This morning, there were no signs of the dogs. Evidently, four bodies only went so far. Maybe we should move on, he mused, looking at his sleeping wife. Her color was better and the rasping cough had subsided. We're almost out of food anyway. Never in his life had cold, hunger, and fear been such constant and faithful companions, but reality had shrunk to a small world of fundamental and basic necessities. Warmth, sleep, food, life.

He turned back to the window and idly marveled at how quickly everything had come apart. Nathan wasn't exactly certain what led to the end of the world. Maybe that was even an exaggeration, he thought. After all, lots of people were still alive and the world kept turning, but Nathan couldn't help thinking of it in those terms. The 'end of the world' seemed apt and had arrived without fanfare or warning. The memory came to mind vividly.

Three months ago, Nathan woke early in the morning at their home at Fort Meade Army Post in Maryland. Their German shepherd Daisy whined at him while nudging him with her cold nose. She stared at him pensively like she needed to go outside. Strange light cast eerily moving shadows through the curtains, and he thought he must have overslept. The alarm clock flashed a red 12:00 over and over. Nathan sat up and swung his feet out of the covers, putting his hand comfortingly on Daisy's head, but she crawled under the bed trembling. He bent over to peer after her.

A giant blast rocked the house, knocking him to the floor. Glass shattered, shelves lost their contents, and car alarms sounded up and down the street. The two-story house swayed and creaked, and for a horrific moment, Nathan thought it was going to collapse. Finally, it stopped moving and settled into its normal stationary setting. He lay still on the floor for another moment before climbing to the window and looking outside. He was stunned by the nightmarish scene before him.

Nathan counted the expanding tops of three bright yellow mushroom clouds rising over what must be D.C. in the southeast and two over Baltimore in the northeast. The impression of power and heat were immense. The clouds kept growing and rising into the atmosphere, evilly lighting up the natural darkness. Nathan stood frozen, unable to turn away from the nightmarish scene. Maybe it is a nightmare, he thought hopefully.

From deep in his subconscious, his brain retrieved a distant memory of a military class. The stale and boring presentation had been on what to do in the event of a nuclear attack. Even then, nearly a decade and half before, the idea of a nuclear attack had been outdated and ridiculous.

He continued to stare at the spreading clouds of death for a few more moments. Clinical information from that long ago briefing replayed in his mind along with visions of blind Hiroshima survivors. He jerked his head away to prevent his retinas from frying. Even so, he could see the outlines of those hellish clouds everywhere he looked. I'm not blind, he thought with relief.

Doesn't matter if you're dead, said a voice in his head. Survival now is all about minimizing radiation exposure.

He checked his watch to mark the time. "Bethany, get up, honey. Wake up, quick." Nathan started throwing on clothes.

Bethany, ever the deep sleeper, peered at him. She groggily rubbed her eyes. "What's going on? It can't be morning already."

He'd told her countless times in jest that she could sleep through an earthquake.

"Honey, you have to get up now! We don't have much time," explained Nathan, trying to keep his voice calm. "Get dressed, start filling up anything you can find with water, put it in the basement."

"What?" she said, sitting up confused but smiling in anticipation of a punch line.

Nathan took a moment to notice how beautiful she was, even at a time like this. The malignant light outside highlighted her long dark mussed hair, olive skin, and deep brown eyes. The sight of her was in stark contrast to the horror outside.

"Just do it, baby! Please!" yelled Nathan as he ran down the hall. Another series of quakes shook the house, knocking him to the floor, and he heard a crash downstairs. He struggled up off the carpet and burst into his sons' room. Joshua and David were standing together, looking out the window.

"Don't look!" Nathan screamed as he grabbed their shoulders, pulling them back. They stared at him with wide eyes.

"What's happening?" asked Joshua in a soft voice.

"Help you mother get food and water into the basement," he told them. "Also, grab pillows and blankets. We're going to be there awhile. Move! Fast!"

Nathan ran to the hallway gun case, which was leaning precariously out from the wall. He grabbed everything he could carry and lumbered downstairs into the full basement, turning on the light switch with his elbow as he went. Once there, he set down the load of guns and ammunition, then picked up several pieces of luggage. He climbed back upstairs to the second floor to find the boys and Beth gathered at the boys' window, staring wordlessly at the bright suns blooming in the distance.

Nathan thought he was going to lose his mind. "God damn it!" he howled at them, pulling his family roughly away from the window.

They all turned to him, their eyes wide. "What is going on?" asked Bethany. "Are those for real?"

Nathan knew he would have to explain if he wanted them to move with any sense of urgency. He took a deep breath and clinched his fists to calm himself. "It looks like three nuclear bombs have gone off in Washington and at least two in Baltimore." His voice was surprisingly calm in his own ears. "We're fifty miles from Washington and almost forty from Baltimore, but those are probably ten or twenty kiloton nukes. We've already been irradiated by the initial blast of gamma rays. There's nothing we can do about that now, but we have to limit our exposure from now on if we want to survive. Those are fallout plumes you see rising into the air. In about fifteen minutes, thirty at the most, they're going to start falling to the ground and more radiation particles will descend on top of us. If we aren't protected when that happens...we're dead." The room was silent as he looked them each in the eyes.

"I know this is hard," he said, his voice starting to rise, "but we only have one choice and that is to ride this out underground where there is some protection...but we have to move fast!"

Bethany was the first to break the paralysis. She grabbed an empty suitcase from near Nathan's feet and ran downstairs. Nathan tossed several other pieces of luggage to the boys and followed Bethany with a duffle bag. He went out to the garage and began throwing in items he thought would be useful: duct tape, tools, batteries, flashlights, ammo, candles, and plastic tarps. He saw two large bags of dog food, and after slinging the duffle across his body, picked the bags up on his shoulders. Nathan knew adrenaline was running through him now and that he'd likely be sore the next day...if he survived. Moving toward the basement, he yelled upstairs, "Boys, get Daisy. She's under the bed!"

Nathan kicked the duffle and the two bags of dog food down the basement stairs, one bursting open as it fell. He looked over to see Bethany stacking canned goods neatly into a nearly full box. He walked over, picked up the box, and heaved it down the stairs in a huge crash. "Water, get water!" he yelled as he sprinted upstairs to find the boys.

He met them coming down. David was first with bags stuffed full of clothes and blankets. Joshua came next with Daisy in his arms and a full backpack on his back. "Help your mother with water," he told them. "Fill any jug or container you can find and move. We're almost out of time."

Nathan looked at his watch as he climbed up to the second floor. It seemed only moments since the blasts, but he was stunned to see nearly twelve minutes had passed. He looked around, not sure what he came upstairs to retrieve. He turned to go back down the stairs and saw a portable radio on top of the hall bookshelf. Snatching it up, he leaped down the stairs three at a time to the ground level.

"That's enough. Let's go. Come on, let's go," said Nathan breathlessly.

Bethany and the boys filed downstairs into the cool darkness of the basement. Nathan picked up one of the rolls of duct tape and began sealing the edges of the door leading upstairs. He then went downstairs and sealed the air vents. Bethany and the boys were watching him and not moving. What next? he thought.

He scanned the room and saw their heavy ping pong table in the center of the room. "Here, help me," he said as they pushed it into the corner of the room. He stacked their provisions and other heavy boxes and cases around the edge of the table and piled old boxes on top of it. "Put the bedding under the table; this is where we're going to live. Throw anything you can on top of the table that's not too heavy."

"How long?" asked David.

Nathan paused to look at him. "What?"

"How long are we going to stay down here?" he asked calmly.

"I don't know," answered Nathan truthfully. "As long as we can, I guess."

They settled down under the table close to each other, still and quiet. Nathan felt worried looks on him and wished he could manage some encouragement, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Daisy whined and he patted her head comfortingly.

At that moment, the lights flickered and the world was dark.

*******

They woke to the sound of sirens outside. Nathan looked at his watch, and saw it had been six hours since the blasts.

"Thank God!" said Bethany as she began to get up, grabbing the burning candle Joshua had lit earlier.

"Don't," said Nathan, catching her by the arm.

"There's help out there! Let's go!" urged Bethany.

"We can't," explained Nathan. "Those people are probably getting lethal doses of radiation as we speak, but they think it's okay to come out. We received a lot of gamma rays in the initial blasts; we can't afford anymore. We'll be lucky if we get off with only some radiation sickness." Nathan looked her in the eyes. "Everyone up there right now is dead or will be dead soon. Our only chance is to stay put."

Beth looked close to tears, but nodded solemnly.

"I have to go to the bathroom," said David casually.

"Number one or number two?" asked Nathan.

"Both," answered David.

Nathan sighed. He looked around and saw some buckets in the corner near the floor drain. "Piss into the drain and then cover it up with that filing cabinet. Crap in the bucket and cover it with something to keep the odor down. Use paper out of the cabinet to wipe."

"Gross," said Joshua.

Bethany put her hand on his shoulder. "It'll be fine. We'll get used to it, even the smell."

"Can we throw some of that laundry powder on top of it to help with the stink?" asked Joshua, pointing at the washing area.

Nathan nodded. "Good idea." He turned to David. "Don't dally, you're getting more radiation out from under protection."

"I'll hurry," said David as he climbed out from under the table and moved to the opposite corner. He opened one of the filing cabinet drawers and pulled out a pile of old tax returns. Daisy followed him faithfully.

Joshua reached over and picked up the radio out of the pile of clothes. "Should we see if there's any information?"

Nathan nodded and took the radio out of his hands, turning it on. He raced through the FM dials and heard nothing but static. Nathan flipped over to AM and did the same. They heard a faint voice, so Nathan turned the dial back carefully.

"...off the roads and return to your homes. The hospitals are full, and authorities urge people to stay where they are. All roads along the East Coast are completely impassable. Everyone needs to remain in their homes and not panic." The tired voice paused before going on, "This is the Emergency Radio Broadcast Network operating out of Ripley, West Virginia. The Governor of West Virginia has ordered the state borders closed effective immediately until the crisis is over. He urges people coming west to stay where they are."

Nathan saw Bethany and Joshua staring at him with wide eyes in the flickering candlelight. He turned the dial slowly until he got another faint and static-filled voice. "...reporting indicates multiple nuclear missile strikes at all the major American cities. There has been no official statement or response from the government, and we don't know at this point if they survived the initial blasts. We can only hope that whoever did this to us is suffering also."

Bethany took the radio gently out of Nathan's hand and twisted the knob further. "...potassium iodide if you have it. This will prevent the thyroid gland from absorbing radiated iodine particles out of the atmosphere. If you don't have potassium iodide tablets, consume as much iodine salt as you can stand per day for at least a month. It won't do as well as the tablets, but should help fill up the thyroid gland."

David came back and slid under the table with Daisy lying down beside him, "What'd I miss?"

No one answered him. They sat mesmerized and listened to the radio for what seemed like hours. A hazy story slowly came together like a patchwork quilt of official statements, news conjectures, and wild radio reports. Rumors and theories on various stations made it evident that something really horrific had happened, even if no one knew the whole story. Some stations indicated a nuclear exchange between Iran and Israel. Others reported strikes from North Korea on Japan. One hypothesized that the powder keg between Pakistan and India had finally been lit and consumed the rest of the world. Supposedly, an official warning went out from the government before the bombs started dropping on America, but it was too late in most cases and too early in the morning for anyone to take notice.

An order for all military forces to mobilize and report to their units was transmitted over the open airwaves a quarter hour before the first nuke hit. With the exception of naval forces at sea, this order proved useless. Nathan thought it was an indication of the futility of the act considering he was an active duty Army officer actually living on base and never knew a thing until the bombs started falling. Things must have happened so fast that it caught everyone by surprise.

There had been an Emergency Presidential Address to the Nation, which few saw or heard due to the early hours. A ham radio operator who watched the short address reported that the president looked haggard and even sad, ending with "God bless America," before standing up unceremoniously and walking off the plain set. The screen then cut to a picture of a waving flag while the national anthem played in the background. Incredibly, the station then returned to regular broadcasting of an infomercial about a miracle weight-loss program before going off the air for good several minutes later. Radio and television stations along the East Coast began abruptly blacking out around 4 AM. Nothing now came out of Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Washington, Baltimore, or any other major city.

It was clear that massive destruction and death reigned aboveground. Nathan desperately hoped there were others cowering under the earth waiting as they were. He visualized thousands of people on the surface coming out and helping each other, but in the process being poisoned by an invisible enemy all around them.

*******

They stayed in the basement for nearly four weeks. There were more sirens and vehicle activity the first few days, and once, an inaudible loudspeaker announcement, but there had been no sound aboveground for the last three weeks except for the quiet scurrying of a few animals.

Nathan thought they would have to leave after only ten days due to lack of water, but Joshua came up with the idea of drinking out of the eighty-gallon hot water heater in the basement corner. They also ended up eating all of Daisy's dog food. They each suffered mild radiation sickness symptoms, but nothing more severe than nausea, lack of appetite, and headaches. Nathan thought they would make it without further sickness as long as they were careful about exposure. By the time they were down to the last of their water and were forced to leave the basement, all the radio channels were ominously quiet.

Nathan covered his mouth with a wet bandanna and walked upstairs. He went outside with the shotgun ready before him. Everything was still and silent. He surveyed crashed cars, bloated bodies in the road, and smoke from old fires in all directions. A layer of dirty ash covered every surface. Nathan was the only living thing he saw under the gray foreboding sky. It was late fall, but the air was colder than it should be and the clouds were dark and menacing. Although he didn't like the idea of starting out with winter approaching, Nathan decided it was best to get his family away from the large cities while he could. Those cities were going to continue to emit deadly radiation for generations.

They emerged from their makeshift shelter thin, shaky, and pale. They gathered all the guns, ammunition, food, water, clothing, and supplies they could. Any item they took that wasn't in the basement with them was wiped down carefully to remove radioactive particles. Despite their gnawing hunger, Nathan was afraid to eat any of the topside canned food until they moved further from the radiation centers. He insisted they boil whatever water they used. It probably wouldn't help with the heavier radiated particles, but it should at least prevent them from getting cholera or typhoid fever.

They drove as far as possible on jammed highways for several days before being forced to pack up and begin walking west. They occasionally saw small groups of other survivors doing the same. People they met didn't talk much; they just kept their distance and continued moving. The others were universally dirty, unkempt, and fearfully nervous, almost to the point of craziness. Nathan wondered if he and his family looked the same.

The day Daisy died was a low point. It happened after only a few weeks of traveling. Nathan wasn't sure why, he had heard somewhere that a dog's tolerance to radiation was much higher than a human's. Maybe she just couldn't handle the stress. They buried her with sorrow and few words before moving on.

Over the next few weeks, they traveled west, occasionally seeing individuals at a distance, but never approaching. The bodies with signs of foul play in their path reminded them that caution was now paramount. Nathan and his family had fought off attackers on three occasions already. Fortunately, none of these bands had possessed guns or been too clever.

It was disturbing to Nathan how quickly society broke down into brutality. A week before, they had come upon a still smoldering and deserted town. Everything was covered in soot, including a body hanging from a lamp post by a chain around its neck. A hand scrawled placard on his body explained: "Arson Bastard." Another time, they approached a small group of houses in the twilight and saw a large sign: "Stay Away!" They had run across many such warnings, but the three severed and rotting heads hanging from trees, just out of reach of any larger scavengers, made Nathan keep walking, even though night was approaching.

At least they were away from the decaying death in the streets. Nathan believed these scenes were probably similar all across the country. All the major cities were destroyed. In rings around these cities were various degrees of "dead zones" with increasing levels of radiation depending on how close they were to a nuke impact. The further they moved away from those cities, the less they saw of mass graves and piles of bodies covered in swarms of feeding rats, vultures, and insects. Nathan also began to feel more comfortable eating any canned food they discovered and thought it safe to uncover their faces.

Ironically, it seemed that the instances of suicides increased further away from the cities. At first, Nathan couldn't understand the families they found sitting around their dinner tables, all dead from eating or drinking poison together. He thought it must simply be despair at the idea of living so differently and without hope. In a strange way, these suicides unnerved him more than the piles of rotting bodies being slowly consumed by scavengers.

The highways were totally clogged as they approached the West Virginia border. Vehicles piled high with belongings were packed in so tightly that they touched in some cases. Both sides of the highway, the median, and even the fields on the sides were stuffed with immobile cars, trucks, and RVs headed west.

Nathan and his family were finally forced to walk along the tops of vehicles the last few miles to the border. Large spray-painted plywood signs declared the state quarantined and that no one would be admitted. Empty military vehicles were lined up along the border, but the soldiers, supplies, and weapons were gone. A few rotting bodies showed evidence of trying to force the issue, but not as many as Nathan would have thought. The soldiers had likely lost heart and abandoned their posts, letting the streaming masses of desperate refugees cross the border. Nathan suspected getting into West Virginia had done them little good.

Isn't that what you're trying to do? he asked himself.

Looking around at the carnage and death, Nathan felt like they were in some sort of horrific dream world. A dirty and cold world where all the life and pigment had been sucked away. Would going west do them any good? he wondered.

We're going home, thought Nathan with sudden realization. Initially, he had just been trying to get them away from the East Coast, but now knew where they were going. The nukes hit all the populated areas, but couldn't have covered the entire country. Rural areas are likely largely untouched. We'll get home to family. Maybe it will be safe there.

Nathan led them to the other side of the border where they saw an abandoned and ransacked military camp. In a nearby field behind a field hospital, there were neat lines on the ground composed of hundreds of recent graves, small fresh dirt mounds without markers. They conducted a futile search for anything of value, but all food, shelter, tools, and even scraps of plastic sheeting were long gone. The cold wind screamed in their ears and they hurried west, away from the depressing scene.

Murderous and wild rogues often crept in the forest and along the shadowy road edges, awaiting an opportunity to attack them. At first, Nathan called out to them to ease their fear and hesitation, but learned that these men and women were no longer to be trusted regardless of who they once were. He tried simply to scare these small groups of stalkers away. They would run off for a time only to return soundlessly at night. Nathan now shot at them with the rifle if they refused to show themselves. He was taking no chances. He couldn't afford to.

Moving. Always moving now. They were like nomads. Nathan had previously believed such a life would be romantic and reminded him of the Plains Indians. Now, he thought with wry humor, hunger, cold, and fear just sucked the romance right out of nomadic living. Their time in the hunting shack was warm and restful, but they must not get complacent. This wasn't home, and he was frankly surprised they had made it so far. Nathan shook himself out of his thoughts and turned away from the shack's greasy window.

It's time to move, he thought. We've been in the shack too long. He couldn't say why he felt this, but knew enough to trust his intuition. It had served in well in the past. Nathan remembered the four bodies at the bottom of the hill, probably nothing but bones now. Could have been us. Hell, might be us by the end of the day.

"Let's pack up," he said to his family, awake now and looking at him expectantly. "Time to get on the road again." Nathan started to hum that Willie Nelson song, but stopped when he realized it made him sad.

The wind outside howled as if hungry for them.
Chapter 3 – Roadblock

Nathan and his family continued trudging steadily west after leaving the shack. They used a variety of routes, trying to avoid the major highways. Nathan decided to have them turn south in order to avoid the larger cities of Charleston and Huntington, West Virginia. He hadn't heard anything about those locations, but was unwilling to take a chance they were uncontaminated.

On the roads, they spent most nights in abandoned cars along the road, because these afforded shelter and security. Bethany didn't like to sleep away from the boys, but she understood the rationale of having her and Nathan in one car and the boys in another a good distance apart in case someone surprised either of them. That way, one group could come to the aid of another.

The going was difficult after the luxury of the hunting shack. Nathan and his family were walking in the West Virginian Appalachians in late fall, but this was also a blessing. They saw few people and smoke from fires normally warned them when they were getting close to others.

Joshua was visibly relieved when they turned south off the interstate that led through Huntington. He'd been planning on going to Marshal University the next year. Nathan wanted to say something to comfort his son, but didn't have the words.

They followed the Appalachian Trail for a few days, staying in the hiker cabins located at regular intervals along the well-worn path. Nathan, Joshua, and David had always planned to walk the Appalachian Trail. It was going to be Nathan's retirement gift to himself and his boys. A couple more years and they would have spent a long wonderful summer together. The worn trail was now cloaked in an ominous heaviness as if they were trespassing.

Eight days from the shack they came upon the town of Branchland, West Virginia. The checkpoint surprised Nathan so much he almost walked upon the sentries unaware. The men and young boys looked more frightened than aggressive. Nathan spoke to Wendell, the leader and one of the town's deputy sheriffs. He was courteous enough, but refused to let them enter the town, saying a roving band of thugs came through a month ago stealing their food and gas, looting their shops, and killing one man. Since then, they closed the town borders until better times.

Wendell kindly gave them a milk jug full of cold, earth-filtered water and showed them on a battered roadmap how to backtrack around the town. It was plain that his courteous manner would vanish in an instant if they didn't move along, so they thanked them and departed.

Toll points became more frequent, manned by individuals with wild eyes and desperate natures. Nathan could have easily overcome these wretched poorly-armed wraiths, but Bethany usually took pity on them and tried a softer approach. Where Nathan would have likely shot them just to be safe, Bethany gave them a little food and talked to them. Although they pointed farm tools or shotguns at Nathan's family, threatening to kill them when they arrived, they usually departed with kind words and hesitant smiles.

Nathan was thinking of these encounters as they finished making their way through the deserted town of Fort Gay. It was like many other pitiful towns they saw. Shops were looted, especially liquor stores, and any survivors were hiding. Nathan felt eyes upon him, but kept a steady pace, trusting anyone watching was deterred from aggression by their intentionally visible guns. He spied a bridge spanning a broad icy river through the thick wood line ahead. A road sign told him it was the Big Sandy River, the border between West Virginia and Kentucky.

He stopped and listened, hearing faint talking coming from the direction of the bridge. He did not intend to backtrack again. They needed to get across the river. The weather could turn against them any day now. None of them possessed the energy to waste in extra walking to the next bridge. Hopefully, it was simply a group of people looking for a handout in the form of a toll, which they justified with "guarding the road." Regardless, Nathan was not willing to gamble with his family's lives by walking up unprepared.

Turning to Joshua, Nathan motioned him forward from the rear. "Go find high ground over there and remember the signal, just like the other times. We'll rally at the last road intersection if things go badly."

Joshua nodded without question and moved off at a run, carrying the Weatherby .270 rifle, his long blond hair flying out from under a knit cap. Nathan smiled in approval. Joshua had proven steady and reliable since the incident at the shack.

Bethany and David moved up to Nathan as he crouched near the edge of the road. They all dropped their heavy packs in a ditch and covered them with snow. Nathan quietly told them the rally point and their role in the bridge approach.

Bethany looked worried. "I don't like you walking up to them alone. Maybe we could go with you."

Nathan shook his head. "I won't be alone, and you'll be there. You all can cover me if I need help. Believe me, it's much better this way." He whispered in her ear, "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

He covered the plan again while he switched weapons with David. Nathan took the shotgun and gave David his M4 assault rifle. Bethany and David crept slowly along the edge of the wood line out of sight. They would set up at a good defensive position where they could provide support to Nathan. With any luck, this would turn out as it had several times before. The men would talk, ask for something in return for crossing, and the family would make it through unscathed.

Nathan waited in the ditch by the side of the road near their gear, giving everyone else time to move into position. He let fifteen minutes pass on his watch and then stood and walked to the middle of the road. He looked both ways, but could not see much. This section of the road was in a curve with wooded hills rising on both sides of him. He took a deep breath and stepped off to the west.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed the tall steel structure of the bridge, arching in the middle so that the other end was obscured. He also saw several cars blocking all lanes across the bridge. Six men were gathered around a rusty metal drum that contained a small fire. Only one of the men looked in his general direction. They were talking and laughing about something and appeared totally engrossed in doing nothing in particular. Nathan felt unusually nervous and almost slipped back into the woods out of sight, but he knew they needed to cross the river.

He wanted to get as close as possible before the men noticed him, but he did not want to frighten them. Frightened men with guns usually shot before thinking. He walked purposefully and quickly toward the barricade. Nathan felt the presence of his family off to his left and slung the shotgun over his shoulder. It was a Remington 870 riot gun, and the weight felt awkward on just one side, but he wanted to be able to use the weapon quickly if needed. At the same time, he loosened the pistol in its holster on his hip.

Nathan stopped about fifty feet from the roadblock and stood silently. He was not sure how long he waited, but patience was a trait he had learned over the years. He did not fidget or look around; he simply remained still and stared calmly at the men.

Nathan deliberately removed his hat and held it out in his left hand. Part of him wanted to rush the men now and try to kill them all unawares, but he decided to take the more cautious approach.

After what Nathan guessed was perhaps two minutes, one of the men looked in his direction, started noticeably, and yelled out, "Holy shit!" He scrambled to pull up his rifle. The other five men turned quickly to look at him and also grabbed their weapons, pointing them over the parked vehicles.

One large fellow with a beer belly yelled out, "Don't you move, mister, not a muscle, or we'll blow your damn head off."

Nathan remained still and silent, which seemed to confuse the men. The big man spoke again after some hesitation, "You lay that shotgun on the ground slowly, the pistol too, partner." Nathan hesitated a moment and then complied. He was getting an even worse feeling about this. After laying the weapons down, he stood back up with both hands in the air. His hat remained in his left hand in what he hoped was a harmless pose.

The big man seemed to relax a little. "Now walk over here...carefully."

Nathan started walking and saw the men smile and start chuckling. Instead of being nervous and uncertain about his approach, they now were relaxed and eager. They obviously had something in mind for him. Nathan didn't like that.

He stopped walking. Big Man's smile vanished in an instant. "You just keep on walking there, friend. I don't want to have to blow your head off before seeing what kind of goodies you brought us."

Nathan ignored the order. "I'm looking to cross the bridge. I'll pay whatever toll you're asking for."

The men laughed. "That's good," Big Man said, "because the toll is everything you got. Afterwards, we might let you go on your way."

Nathan put on a forced smile. "Well, in that case, I've obviously made a mistake. Very sorry to bother you, gentlemen. I'll just go back the way I came."

He walked backwards two steps before one of the men fired a shot which ricocheted off the road to his left, surprising the other men as much as Nathan.

Big Man cuffed the shooter angrily on the back of the head before turning back to Nathan and said in a firm voice, "You take another step backwards and you're dead."

Nathan's heart sank. This was the dreaded scenario, but the response was already decided. There was only one way out. Nathan breathed a deep breath and then let go of the hat in his left hand.

Before the hat hit the ground, the side of Big Man's head exploded, followed by the sound of the rifle's roar from the hill to the left. Nathan felt a moment of pride in his son. Joshua had always been an incredible marksman. This shot was followed by two from the M4 with David hitting another man square in the chest. Bethany also opened up with the .22 rifle. The men forgot about Nathan and dropped behind the cars to seek cover.

Nathan knew this was his only opportunity; he certainly didn't want to get into a shootout where his family was outgunned and without the element of surprise.

He drew the large hunting knife out of the back of his belt and charged the cars. He was almost there before one of the men peered over a truck with his rifle. The weapon was pointed directly at Nathan, but the man was so surprised he froze. Nathan ran around the front of the car and jammed his knife into the man's eye while grabbing the barrel of the rifle and yanking it away.

He saw Big Man laying dead and another dying to one side of him. Two other men had not even seen him yet; they were trying to shoot back at David and Bethany from under the cars. Another did see him though, and drawing a pistol, fired at Nathan from about ten feet away. He felt the bullet graze his shoulder as he charged forward, grabbing the man's wrist and lifting the smoking pistol high. He then jammed his knife into the man's exposed armpit.

Both of the other men on the ground heard the scuffle behind then. Turning, they saw Nathan covered in blood behind them. One scrambled up and started running west across the bridge, but only got about twenty feet before Joshua shot him in the back with the rifle. The other man crawled under the car and out the other side where he was met by several carefully aimed shots from David and Bethany.

Then, there was suddenly soothing silence. The men were all dead or dying.

Nathan stopped and leaned against one of the cars after gathering up all the men's weapons. He gave his family the signal that he was okay. He almost motioned them to come out of hiding when he heard alarmed cries from across the river.

Damn it! he thought. Why didn't I think that there might be other men at the opposite end of the bridge? It's what I would have done. He could hear them running and yelling as they made their way across toward him.

Nathan dropped the men's weapons he had gathered and ran back to the middle of the road. He grabbed his shotgun and pistol and sprinted to where David and Bethany lay. Nathan slid in between them saying breathlessly, "Get ready, it's not over yet."
Chapter 4 – Rumor Control

Reginald Philips was not a man who sought duty or responsibility, but throughout his life, he seemed to consistently find both. He was voted high school class president despite telling anyone who would listen he didn't want the job. He had grudgingly served as county judge when the incumbent died without warning, and then he was voted back into office for three subsequent terms. Reginald had even been put in charge of his neighborhood watch program, despite telling his neighbors he would not be around often enough to watch said neighborhood. He had accepted the post as Kentucky Lieutenant Governor mostly as a favor to Governor Jason Henry, his old college roommate.

Reggie had been told he simply carried an air of purpose and quiet dignity about him that people admired without feeling threatened. Right now, he wished he did not have any of those qualities.

He paused in front of the mirror, gazing at himself before continuing to knot his tie. A tall, gaunt figure with gray hair and wrinkles stared back at him. Many would say he was ridiculous for putting on a suit and tie—that such trappings were currently out of place given their grave situation—but Reggie could not disagree more. He believed appearances were even more vital now.

He also knew people were desperate for any type of information, and without it, they would believe anything, no matter how outlandish. This was the main reason he agreed to the weekly radio broadcasts in the first place. They were initially a simple means of putting out news, but they had since turned into one of the most anticipated events of the week. Reggie became the public voice of the Jackson Purchase, even though he wasn't really officially in charge of anything. Heck, no one is, he thought.

The Jackson Purchase as a geographic area was an anomaly. It was composed of the extreme western part of Kentucky bounded on the west by the Mississippi River, on the north by the Ohio River, on the east by the Cumberland River, and on the south by the Tennessee state line. The region technically became part of the state of Kentucky when it was originally organized in 1792, but in practicality remained under Indian control for many years. Only in 1818, when Andrew Jackson and Isaac Shelby purchased the area from the Chickasaw Indians, did it really open for settlement and development. For nearly two hundred years, the name Jackson Purchase was no more than quaint tradition and history, of no real significance.

That all changed with Nuke Day or what everyone had taken to calling N-Day.

Reggie made his way down the stairs, gave his wife Janice a quick kiss, and walked out the front door of his father's old house. He rode toward the radio station on an ancient three-speed bike he had resurrected from the garage. It had needed some oil on the chain and air in the tires, but otherwise was in decent condition.

The town of Murray was mostly quiet, which he thought of as a good thing. The people he passed waved back to him readily enough. Armageddon is not an excuse to be unneighborly, after all, he thought.

At the WKPO station, he entered the front door and walked back to the control booth where Tim, as a sort of one-man show, was setting up for the broadcast.

"Hey, Reggie, you ready?" Tim asked.

"I believe so. Same as usual?" responded Reggie.

"Yes, I'll introduce the show, then you, then allow you to put out general information," Tim explained. "Based on available time, I'll ask you some of the more popular questions that people have requested we bring up. Here's a list of what we've got." Tim handed Reggie a sheet of lined notebook paper with all too familiar topics written down. "We've got about six minutes before air time. I'll signal you one minute out."

Reggie scanned the topics and was not surprised by anything on the page. People wanted to know exactly what had happened and why. They wanted to know who was responsible and who was to blame. They also wanted to know when this would be over and they could go back to their normal lives. Reggie had held off as long as he could, but he was afraid it was time to give everyone a good dose of reality for their own sakes. It had been over three months since N-Day, and society had not yet fallen apart, at least not in the Jackson Purchase. Reggie suspected things would eventually get much worse.

Tim signaled him from the booth, and Reggie moved inside to sit next to the man adjusting dials with an air of solemn competency. Reggie put on the headphones and pulled his own sheet of paper from his jacket pocket.

The clock on the wall was right at noon when Tim flipped several switches and a light on the wall went from red to green.

"Good afternoon, friends and neighbors. This is Tim Reynolds of WKPO and you have tuned in to our weekly discussion with Lieutenant Governor Reggie Philips, where he talks about the issues that are important to you. Good afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Tim, it's good to be here. Thanks for inviting me back."

"My pleasure, would you like to talk about a few of the topics that have come up at the latest Jackson Purchase County Cooperation Council?"

"I certainly would, thank you. For those of you who do not know, this council is made up of all the county executives and mayors from within the Jackson Purchase area. They work together to cooperate on our common interests, and I can frankly tell you this initiative has been a grand success so far." Reggie thought it best not to talk about the fistfight between two of the county executives that occurred at the last meeting.

"Let me go over a few of the key issues decided," Reggie continued. "First, the moratorium on the use of fuel remains in effect. No consumption of gasoline, diesel, natural gas, or kerosene is allowed without authorization until further notice. Any violators will have their supplies confiscated."

Tim raised his hand and Reggie nodded, "Reggie, why is this such an important issue? I mean won't we get more fuel soon enough?" Reggie gave Tim a smile and a thumbs-up.

"Actually, we have no idea when we will ever get more fuel. We have every resource we need to survive for a long period of time, but the fuel we currently possess may be all we ever have. Eventually, horse and manpower might replace gas engines, but we're not ready for that yet, and we're going to need all the fuel for this coming year's planting and harvesting. We also need the fuel for emergency and essential vehicles. We've been fortunate that we're going through a mild winter and spring should come early. Electricity and wood will have to fulfill our heating needs for now."

Reggie was off his agenda, but went with the flow anyway. "I also want to remind everyone that electricity and water will not be a concern due to the continued operation of the TVA hydroelectric dam at Grand Rivers. The hours of electricity and public water operation are still limited to six hours per region each day." Although he had explained the rationale for this move many times, he decided to cover it again, because people were always upset by the rationing. "The reason we have applied these limitations is in order to minimize wear and tear on electrical equipment and the dam turbines. Currently, we only operate one-third of the turbines at any one time."

Reggie paused, remembering an argument he'd had yesterday with an irate citizen over the limitations. "Folks, we don't know when, if ever, things will get back to normal, and we need to conserve and take care of the resources we have. I don't think I need to remind everyone of the horror stories we've heard from other places? There are people out there starving and freezing and dying of sickness and violence. I think we've got it pretty good, all things considered."

"Indeed we do, Mr. Lieutenant Governor," said Tim with a slight raise of his eyebrows. "Perhaps we should move on."

"Right you are, Tim, thank you. I want to remind everyone of the importance of fulfilling your responsibility by paying the levied taxes. Again, the preferred means of payment is a gallon of fuel per family per month, but other items can be substituted in lieu of fuel if necessary, such as batteries, light bulbs, medicine, salt, canned goods, harvested food, or farm animals. I would also ask families that are better off to help their neighbors if there is a need. We don't have the resources to tax according to people's prosperity at this time." Reggie decided to hold off on mentioning the threat of seizure by force that the committee was considering. Let everyone think cooperation was universal, and maybe it would be.

"Also, please cooperate with all Kentucky State Police and National Guard forces you encounter, as they are here to protect you. General Anderson has assured me that the Jackson Purchase borders are secure as per the FEMA plan, and he asks that everyone practice patience and understanding under such trying times."

Tim raised his hand again, and Reggie nodded. "What about those borders? A lot of listeners want to know about freedom of movement."

Reggie rubbed his hands together and continued on, "Let me assure everyone that the purpose of the closed border is to protect the people of the Jackson Purchase. Anyone who wishes to depart may, but I would strongly advise against it since things appear pretty nasty in certain places. Additionally, we are fortunate enough to be in a belt not affected much by any of the radiation fallout, but we can't vouch for other areas. I want to remind everyone to continue to practice caution in that regard and stay indoors during cloudy or rainy weather, at least for a few more months, to avoid potential radiation exposure. Clean any potentially contaminated item before touching it. Also, filter any non-bottled, or non-well, water through six to eight inches of uncontaminated soil."

"What about other people wanting to get into the Jackson Purchase, such as relatives or friends?" Tim asked with some intensity.

"Well, we have decided for the time being to be very judicious in that regard. It sounds harsh, but we have to take care of the people here first. Anyone who possesses a valid driver's license or other proof of residence from one of the eight counties of the Jackson Purchase will be admitted in. All other entry will be reviewed by the on-site border crossing commander."

"Can you talk about the food situation?" asked Tim.

"Certainly," said Reggie. "We estimate that supplies are enough to get us through the next planting and harvest as long as we're smart and don't waste anything. With that said, I want to remind everyone not to throw away any old fruits or vegetables, even if they appear to have gone bad. Plant these in gardens in your yards and they may grow. This is especially true for potatoes. Cut them up into as many small pieces as you can and plant them. Each eye can produce a plant, which could grow as many as eight or more potatoes. Everyone needs to start planting their own gardens, not just the farmers."

Tim pointed at the clock and then a question on the sheet. Reggie nodded after rubbing his head. "Reggie, we're almost out of time, but before we're done, could you please comment on what you know about Governor Henry and what your role currently entails?"

"First, I want to say that we have heard nothing from the governor since N-Day. He activated the National Guard, placing them under state control, and ordered martial law, which we have since decided to suspend locally, and instead initiated the FEMA plan for a state of emergency. At the time, as you know, I was home in Murray for my father's funeral." Reggie thought back, Was that really only a few months ago? It seems like years.

Reggie continued on, "We have heard nothing from the governor since that time, but I must remind you that most everyone else likely does not have electricity or working phones. The roads are also blocked in many places, so even if there is an operational state government in Frankfort, they have no way to contact us or share any information. This is the main reason we decided to set up the cooperative council."

"How would you respond to some who claim the governor is dead and that you are now in charge?" Tim asked quickly.

Reggie frowned at Tim. This was not on the agenda, and was a rumor he did not want to encourage. "I would tell them that we know nothing for certain yet and to speculate is irresponsible. Yes, there were rumors that the governor suffered a heart attack, but that's all we know. Governor Henry is a dear friend of mine, and I know he would want each of us to do our best. I also want to add that I am simply the lieutenant governor, and in the governor's place, I have assumed control of state resources, such as the National Guard, State Police, and public lands and works like Kentucky Dam. I am only an advisor to the cooperative council, which is the lawful operating local civilian government at this time."

"Thank you, sir. Until next week, this is Tim Reynolds and you have been listening to WKPO. Stay strong, friends." Tim flipped the switch, turning the light from green to red, and faced Reggie.

Tim spoke quickly, "Reggie, I'm sorry, it just kind of came out." He looked away with obvious embarrassment.

Reggie sighed wanting to be angry, but knew that feeling was counterproductive. "I know. It's okay. Others are thinking and asking the same thing, so it's probably best to bring up. My intent was to give everyone a cold hard splash of reality, but something kept me from it."

"Ran out of time?" asked Tim.

"No," answered Reggie. "I just decided that it might not be a good idea to suddenly take away their hope without replacing it with something else. That leads to chaos and then society breaks down."

Tim smiled. "Oh, you don't really think something like that could happen here, do you?"

"Actually, I think it might take a miracle to prevent it," answered Reggie grimly.
Chapter 5 – The Surprise

Joshua saw the men running across the bridge toward his family waiting in the ditch below. He had seen them sitting and smoking cigarettes at the opposite end of the bridge before his father even approached the roadblock, but he saw no way to warn him in time other than by firing a shot.

He tracked the approaching men in his riflescope, not sure if his father wanted him to fire or not. Joshua couldn't even see his family now, only knew they were somewhere at the bottom of the hill.

He spied four men running their way, the one in the front was tall, thin and fleet of foot. At the very end was an old codger who couldn't have been a day less than seventy, carrying a double-barreled shotgun. The two in the middle looked like they were brothers, and Joshua could easily spot the resemblance from his vantage point two hundred yards away.

Joshua's mind raced. Normally, his father initiated all the action. Maybe he hadn't foreseen this. If those men got to the roadblock, saw what happened, and then took up covered positions, they would be in the same situation they were when they first approached except without the element of surprise. Retreat would be difficult at best. They probably also didn't want the men to escape now that they were in the open. If these men escaped, they could run back to their barricade at the other end of the bridge and prevent them from crossing. Joshua knew they needed to take these men in the open before they reached defensible positions on either side of the bridge.

The tall thin man in Joshua's scope slowed to a jog as he saw the bodies. His arms sagged and he stared around in disbelief. Joshua suspected his shock would wear off quickly. If the man looked around for stationary targets, he was standing less than twenty yards from the barricade.

Joshua forced himself to relax, and in the process, he slowed his breathing and his heart rate. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, sighting on his target. He drew in a deep breath, held it, then let it all out slowly. As the last of the breath left his lungs, he began to pull the trigger slowly and steadily. When the rifle jumped against his shoulder, it was a surprise, like always.

*******

You bumbling fool, Nathan thought of himself. Of course, they would block both ends of a long bridge like this one. It would do no good to only bottle up one end! Although he could not see them yet, Nathan heard the approaching men's footfalls and muffled yells. He needed a plan.

If he attacked them now in the open, it would be touch-and-go. He didn't even know how many men he faced. Joshua might give them an advantage on the hill, but he would be waiting for Nathan to make a move. Nathan couldn't let these men occupy the position they had just cleared or they were dead.

"Cover me," he whispered to Bethany and David.

Bethany looked at him in alarm, her face seemingly asking him if he had lost his mind.

Nathan smiled and shrugged at his wife. He would have to count on the element of surprise and hope there weren't too many to deal with.

He saw a tall thin blond man come into view and then stop in his tracks. His eyes were wide and darting around in jerky movements. The man drank in all the bloodshed and horror. Comprehension appeared to show in his face, and he pulled the rifle up from his slack hands. When he began looking around at the tree line, his eyes met Nathan's. They stared at each other for what seemed like an infinite moment.

A bullet tore through the man's chest with a meaty splay, a spray of blood popping up and away from his chest. The rifle shot boomed as the man slumped to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Everything was still and the silence was deafening. Nathan couldn't see anyone else; maybe there was only one. That thought left his head as he heard other shouts from beyond the barricade and then another shot from Joshua. He couldn't wait any longer.

Nathan sprinted up to the parked cars and carefully peeked over one of the hoods. He saw the tall thin man trying to crawl under one of the cars, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him. He also saw an older man around the middle of the bridge lying on the ground without moving, evidently a result of Joshua's second shot. There were two other men who looked a lot alike at the edge of the bridge, using the concrete barrier as protection. They were in a heated discussion. One appeared to be arguing for heading back west over the bridge and the other for the closer protection of the roadblock. As they were arguing, Joshua took out the man on the right, drawing a scream of frustration from the other.

The remaining man wasted no time and began running toward the roadblock. Joshua took a shot at him, but it hit the road behind his churning legs. The man sprinted and dived near the cars and then cautiously lifted his head up to get a look at the sniper just as Nathan stuck the barrel of the shotgun over the hood of the old Chevy Nova. The poor man's eyes showed comprehension, seeing the barrel of the shotgun only three feet from his face, as Nathan pulled the trigger and took his head off.

Stillness again. The wind blew dirty gray snow toward them from the direction of the cold river.

Nathan took a deep breath and scanned the bridge for other movement. He saw nothing. Walking around the other side of the car, Nathan saw that the tall man had already bled out, his big lifeless eyes following him nevertheless.

Turning away, Nathan collected weapons, ammo, and anything else of use as quickly as he could. He then jogged back to where Bethany and David waited. Nathan jumped down between them again, distributing the captured gear between the three. They soon heard Joshua approaching them from the hill to their rear.

The boy was panting from running down the steep hill. "That's all of them...that I can see. The other end...is clear. I'm also starting to get low...on ammo for the Weatherby."

Nathan looked at the three rifles he had just collected and selected an impressive Remington .300 Winchester Magnum with a Leopold scope. He handed the rifle to Joshua along with about sixty rounds of ammo recovered from the former owner's backpack. "This should do you until we find more .270. It's not sighted in for you, so don't go trying to take any long shots until you get a feel for it," Nathan explained.

Bethany moved closer. "What's the plan?"

Nathan looked to David, who nodded. The boy turned away from them and moved toward the bridge to give them warning should anyone else approach.

"I think that's all of them," repeated Joshua.

Nathan thought for a moment. "We could cross now. Might even be the smartest thing, but there could be more of them waiting hidden in the trees on the other side. We would walk right into them. Be sitting ducks out there on that open bridge."

Bethany grabbed his arm. "We have to get across here. Another bridge could be days up or down river. We have to keep moving if we're going to make it." She waved her hand in the general direction of the bodies on the road. "Otherwise, why did we do all of this?"

"Yes," Nathan said nodding. "Joshua, go back up to that position and watch for any movement. If anyone crosses the bridge with a weapon, you take them out. If no one crosses by sundown, come to us and we'll make our way over in the dark."

Joshua nodded and took off back up the hill.

Nathan moved quickly down the road and uncovered their packs hidden in the snow. Gathering them all, he ran back to their position. He passed David and Bethany their packs, and traded weapons again with David. All began stowing what they had collected from the dead men.

They then settled in to wait the few hours until dark. Bethany pulled out an old T-shirt from her bag, wet it in the snow, and began to clean spots of blood from Nathan's face. "That was pretty foolish of you," she said.

"Which part?" asked Nathan playfully.

"The part where you ran up to those cars. You had no idea what was waiting for you." She sighed disapprovingly as she kept cleaning, "Don't you always tell the boys to know what they are getting into before they jump? Besides, it looked like Joshua had it under control."

Nathan smiled. "Yes he did, but I wasn't sure he would act without me telling him what to do. He did well."

"You know you're not alone in this. We're all together." Bethany smiled shyly. "Even I can do my small part, although you know I don't want to have to shoot anyone."

"Babe, want has nothing to do with it and you know that."

She placed a calming hand on Nathan's shoulder. "I know, and that's not what I mean. Besides, you'd be proud of me. I'm pretty sure I winged at least one of the first bunch."

"Really?" Nathan asked. "You okay with it?"

"I think so..." said Bethany, thinking to herself. "Should I be freaking out over it or something?"

"I'd prefer you didn't," said Nathan in a tired voice.

"Besides, I already told you, I'll do what needs to be done." Bethany searched for words and then continued, "You act as if everything is on your head and it's not. Some things you just can't control. Some things even work themselves out...and we're here with you."

"Are you trying to say I should have handled things differently?" asked Nathan defensively.

"No. I'm saying you don't have to be so eager to jump right into danger just because you want to protect the rest of us." She looked him in the eyes. "We can handle it too, but if something happens to you, we'll be lost. We need you. I need you. So use your head," she said as she slapped him lightly on the shoulder, not knowing it had been grazed by a bullet.

He had forgotten about getting shot, and groaned. Bethany inspected and saw that it was minor but still hissed with exasperation, "That's exactly what the hell I'm talking about!" The look on her face caused Nathan to laugh and she growled at him.

Bethany cleaned and bandaged his wound with care as they waited in the snowy cold ditch for nightfall.

*******

Shortly after the sun's last pitiful rays fled from the sky, Joshua came back down from his sniper position. Nathan decided that he and David would go across first, one on either side of the bridge while Bethany and Joshua following about fifty yards or so behind them. If things went badly, they would flee back to their original position.

They crossed the bridge under a dark and cloudy sky. Around the middle of the bridge, they passed a sign welcoming them to the State of Kentucky. At the other end, they found another barricade and signs of long occupation. The remains of a fire were still warm and they spent blessed time rubbing life back into their hands and feet after making sure the nearby wood line was clear. Another sign on the road told them they were only a mile from the town of Louisa, Kentucky.

They relaxed for the first time that day, and Nathan even took off his wet boots and socks to dry by the replenished fire. They sat in comfortable silence, grateful for the heat.

David climbed to his feet abruptly. He stood still and alert like a deer looking into the woods. David slowly turned his head from side to side with a concerned look.

"What is it?" whispered Joshua.

David paused before answering, pushing the long dark hair out of his face. He finally nodded his head in decision. "Voices, and not far away..." His face took on an uncertain look before he added, "...and a dog."
Chapter 6 – Borders

General Clarence Anderson's professional opinion was that he was too old to be in charge of the local Mayfield VFW chapter. Putting him in charge of the defense of the battered remnants of civilization was a reach. He had felt tired and stretched thin five years ago when he retired after thirty-six years of wonderful, challenging, and sometimes painful military service. Now, he was inexplicably back at it again, but not for the U.S. Army. General Anderson sipped his hot tea and scowled at the heavily scribbled and highlighted map on his dining room table.

He and Rita had intended to spend their remaining years traveling the country in a large RV purchased the year before Anderson's retirement, but Rita started feeling tired and dizzy for no reason. It wasn't long before they confirmed that his wife of over forty years had terminal and inoperable brain cancer.

The doctors gave Rita only six months to live with chemotherapy, but she refused, saying she had seen too many friends die without their dignity that way. The doctors' subsequent prognosis was grim, no more than a month. Rita, ever the fighter, ignored them. She lived life with her typical boundless joy, even through all the subsequent pain and confusion. She lasted another three years before finally dying last June. Anderson had yet to figure out what to do with that ever-present and gaping hole left in his life.

He had spent most of his time pursuing his two hobbies: reading and gardening. A lifetime of military service had also instilled habits, which he found difficult to ignore, even when they made no sense. Anderson still ran ten to twelve miles a week and executed a series of push-ups and sit-ups as soon as he rolled out of bed each morning. He was old, he thought, but at least he wasn't old and soft. This was no self-delusion; Anderson's body was slim and muscular, strikingly so given his age.

Before N-Day, he dutifully spoke with his two children every week; his son had a family of his own out in Tucson and his daughter was a junior at the University of Miami. They worried about him, but there was really no need. He would never truly be happy again without Rita, but he lived the best life he could until the day they could be together again. He hoped and prayed his children were okay wherever they were, but he feared in his heart that both, given where they lived, were now likely dead.

Anderson was not sure what the rest of his lonely days would have entailed if not for the terrible attacks on his country, but he knew what his remaining days would now be like...driven, purposeful, and relentless. He had never been accused of being imaginative, but General Anderson had been famous for this methodical and detail-oriented nature, which, when combined with a stubborn persistence, made him one of the best strategic planners in the Army. He was also infamous for hard-cutting sarcasm and unwillingness to suffer fools or incompetence. These characteristics served him well as a division commander and corps deputy commander, two of the most difficult and demanding jobs in the military. The tasks before him were not new, but familiarity was not the same as comfort.

He had been stunned by the horrific events a few months ago. As surprised as Anderson was by those events, Lieutenant Governor Philips' subsequent visit to his house a few weeks later left him incredulous. Reggie Philips officially recalled him to active duty and placed him in charge of the military district made up of the Jackson Purchase area. Anderson did not think Philips had the authority to recall retired military members back to active duty, nor to place them in charge of Reserve and National Guard soldiers, but Philips said authority at this point was moot. There was what was legal, and then there was what was necessary.

Anderson politely refused, and Philips insisted. Anderson then impolitely rejected the offer and asked the Lieutenant Governor to leave his house. Philips' response struck him.

"General Anderson, I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but you are recalled to active duty and you are in charge of the defense of us all. You have men and women who will look to you for direction and leadership, even if you stay cooped up in this house." He paused for a long moment and looked Anderson up and down. "Frankly, sir, you don't strike me as the sort of man who is able to shirk his duty and responsibility."

Anderson was speechless as Philips stood to go. He couldn't decide if he had just been offended or flattered.

Philips hesitated at the door. "I'll be down at the Mayfield Courthouse until tomorrow morning when I head back to Murray. We need to talk." Philips opened the door, took one step out, sighed, and came back in. "General Anderson, I know you didn't ask for this any more than I did, but we're relying on you. I hope you can see that."

"Get out, sir," said Anderson tightly. Philips left and Anderson locked the door. Good try, partner, but I'm done, he thought. Anderson again immersed himself in his reading and gardening.

Philips had been right after all, however, and Anderson's ingrained sense of service and responsibility would not let him turn his back.

Over the subsequent months, Anderson used the skills honed over a career to establish a defensible border and an almost competent military force. The border was the easy part. The Jackson Purchase was shaped like a horseshoe with the open end to the south. The horseshoe portion was made up of wide rivers: the Mississippi to the west, the Ohio to the north, and the Tennessee and Cumberland to the east. The south was the problem, simply a line on the map where the Kentucky and Tennessee borders met. The far western portion of this border wasn't too open since it contained Reelfoot Lake, an area of mainly low, swampy ground. The seventy or so miles to the east between this lake and the Cumberland River was an issue.

Anderson's first order of business was to organize the National Guard and Reserve units within the Jackson Purchase. In many ways, the area was fortunate in the fact that the FEMA plan had been briefed and rehearsed by all these units the previous year. Anderson also thought they were lucky to have capable unit commanders. He was ashamed to admit he previously possessed a poor opinion of Guard and Reserve officers and soldiers, but he recognized that he couldn't be more wrong. Yes, there had been problems, but by and large, the available forces had reacted with discipline and professionalism. Anderson thought it probably helped that all these units had recently served multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.

He controlled three National Guard units: a military police battalion stationed at Murray, an engineer battalion located at Benton, and a transportation battalion in Paducah. Fortunately, these units reacted as planned when the governor declared martial law and activated the FEMA plan. The MPs out of Murray had moved to close the southern border, setting up checkpoints along the main roads and blockading the secondary ones with felled trees and debris. The engineer unit from Benton had what proved the most crucial mission: guarding the Kentucky Hydroelectric Dam at Grand Rivers and keeping it operational. They also secured the far ends of all the bridges along the eastern border leading into the Jackson Purchase. The transportation unit in Paducah had a difficult time securing the bridges along the northern and western border due to an additional requirement to quell unrest in Paducah itself. This was the only area in the Jackson Purchase to experience civilian unrest and it was attributable to looting and violence by large established gangs in the area.

Anderson took a page from Philips' book and ordered all retired, reserve, or discharged military personnel recalled to active duty and placed under his command, forming the basis for a staff. He also recommended to Philips they make every effort to keep Murray State University open and functioning. The students had no place to go and were unlikely to be able to return home, as many weren't originally from the Jackson Purchase area. Additionally, the university was a source of much needed and potentially perishable skills and information that could easily be lost under such dire conditions. As part of the university's continued operation, Anderson was granted direct control of the ROTC program with the intention of keeping it functioning as not only a source of trained officers, but also eventually as the base for initial soldier training.

They had been able to establish liaison with other military units. Western Tennessee executed its FEMA plan, and General Sampson, the senior National Guard officer, was in total—and some said ruthless—control of his military district. He was also on his own since both Nashville and Memphis were hit with large nukes. The JP tried to work in cooperation with what General Sampson called the West Tennessee Republic, or the WTR, on several issues. Sampson would have nothing of it, distrusting the Jackson Purchase's control of electricity. His demands had become so forceful and overbearing that Philips ordered the border to remain closed, and relations were currently chilly between the two semi-autonomous regions at best.

Anderson also reenlisted numerous deserters traveling west from Fort Campbell, and he assumed Sampson was doing the same. From what Anderson could tell, the 101st Airborne Division had been deployed during the attacks, and the rear detachment elements and families at the base had simply dispersed in all directions. Nothing was heard or seen of any other federal or state government personnel.

Anderson looked again at the map spread out before him. Units were designated by different colored plastic squares. He reviewed the available supplies, ammunition, and weapons, which were all woefully inadequate. He only hoped they didn't have to face any serious threat in the near future, because they would be in colossal trouble.

"That southern border is a problem," he said to himself again for perhaps the tenth time.

He threw himself into his work, trying not to think about his children or how much he missed his wife.
Chapter 7 – The Captives

David's look of surprise was soon replaced by a grim set of his jaw. He adjusted the sling of his shotgun while ensuring there was a buckshot round in the chamber.

"Are you sure?" asked Joshua, almost pleading.

Nathan knew in that moment he was thinking of Daisy, their dead pet, and not the rabid packs of wild beasts that were a constant concern.

"I'm sure," answered David. "There was talking, then the dog barked and the voices stopped, and then the dog, too. Must still be tame, but means they're part of that group we just dealt with."

Everyone was silent and looked at Nathan.

"We could try to keep going. Maybe get past them," said Bethany, struggling to keep her tone neutral.

Nathan shook his head. "They already know we're here, probably have known since this afternoon. They likely expect us to continue on the road, and then, they'll ambush us. We've got to surprise them ourselves. Hit their camp in the night."

David was already facing north. "The voices were coming from that direction. I can see a light trail in the woods." He indicated a path that would have probably been plain in the day, but was now difficult to see in the faint glow from the rising moon swathed in wispy clouds.

Nathan considered their situation. Nothing today has gone as planned, and we're fortunate none of us has been hurt...well, not hurt seriously, he thought, while shrugging his sore shoulder. He would rather try to get around this group, but the mountain highway was narrow, and they would be channelized into a perfect kill zone in some curve down the road.

"Okay, here's the deal," Nathan began as he bent down to the ground near the fire and grabbed a small stick. Everyone gathered around him and also squatted. "Let's say their camp is up here." Nathan made a circle in the dirt. "And we're here." Another circle under the first. "And this is the highway." A thin line below both circles. "We're going to approach in file until we're within good earshot. If we're lucky, we can take them piecemeal. We'll hit their camp first, while the others are out on the road waiting to ambush us, and then, we get them on their way back after hearing the fighting. We have to be careful approaching, because they might be smarter than most and set an ambush for us on the trail. They could even be coming for us now."

"What happens when we get close?" asked Joshua.

"David will lead, and also go up alone and scout it out for us. Once he comes back, we'll figure out what to do, but more than likely, it will be the standard plan." Nathan again began drawing in the dirt. "David, Joshua, and I will make a line with me in the middle. Bethany, you go back about twenty yards to our rear and cover our backs. Wait for my signal. Also, don't be too quick to rush in when it's over. Remember that others might be coming back to help. Any questions?"

No one said anything, but he could sense Bethany's distress. "What is it?"

"Maybe we shouldn't be so ready to kill everyone that we come across. Maybe these people will walk away if we give them half a chance."

"Honey, I wish there were another way, but these are the same group of crazies that were set to kill me today."

Bethany just looked at him. He hated that look. It made him feel like he was letting her down.

Nathan shook his head. "I'm sorry, but we don't have a choice."

Bethany nodded with a frown. "Okay, but let's leave open the possibility of letting them go. They may not be all bad."

Nathan wanted to tell her it wasn't about good or bad; it was about circumstances that made simple survival uncertain. He wanted to tell her it was about worrying every day if he would watch his family starve, or get radiation sickness, or get tortured to death by some insane bandit. He wanted to tell her that things were different now, that she needed to let go of how she thought before, but he couldn't do it. She certainly had the same fears and concerns. The look on her face nearly broke his heart anyway, and besides, there just wasn't time for talk, even if he trusted himself enough to try and say these things.

He simply looked up at the sky for a moment and then stood up. "They'll get an opportunity to be reasonable. That's all I can promise. If there's blood, it will be on their heads, not ours."

*******

About a half hour later, they lay motionless in the cold snow. The going was tedious in the night. Fortunately, the snow dampened their sound and the clouds parted from the moon, casting a dim eerie glow onto the dingy white world.

They waited nearby as David crept forward. Nathan could see the reflection of a fire ahead and hear soft voices occasionally. It was not long before David glided out of the woods ahead, as silent and sure-footed as a wraith. He slid gracefully down beside Nathan and put his mouth to his father's ear.

"Seven women, eight small girls, no men or boys," he said, leaning away before leaning back down again. "Oh yeah, one German shepherd."

Nathan looked at him questioningly.

David bent down again. "No weapons, no sign of a trap. Also, they look like they've been mistreated. Some are obviously ill and they're all eating now, but in a frantic sort of way, as if they haven't had food in a while."

"Maybe they aren't with the others," whispered Bethany, who had moved up near them. "Or maybe they were taken prisoner and"—she stopped and looked at David and Nathan before continuing—"were taken advantage of."

She's still trying to protect them from the worst of everything, Nathan thought. Although he believed her efforts were futile, he loved her for trying. "Maybe, maybe not. We don't know yet. Could still be a trap," he said.

"Yes, but we know we can now go around them, or maybe even try to talk to them," Bethany pleaded.

Nathan sensed she was right, but inwardly cringed. He had just been through this situation that morning.

Bethany grasped his arm forcefully as an idea occurred to her. "There will be less chance of bloodshed if I approach this time, instead of you." She felt Nathan's resistance, but continued on. "If it's a bunch of women and their children who have been captured and hurt, they'll be less alarmed by a woman than you. Also, in case you haven't noticed, you look like a damn butcher covered with all that dried blood from today. You would scare the living crap out of them right now."

"Maybe we should just go around them," mumbled Nathan uncertain.

Bethany chuckled lightly. "Oh, now that we might be able to help someone and not just kill them, you're not interested in meeting new people?"

Nathan cursed under his breath. She was right and wouldn't be dissuaded at this point, but he didn't like putting Bethany in a dangerous position if he could help it. "Okay, but if anything goes wrong, you just hit the ground and stay there. We'll be watching and we'll come for you."

Bethany nodded, handing David her rifle and Nathan her pistol. She rolled out of her backpack and left it there on the ground while the others did the same.

"You stay here until I signal for you," said Nathan to Bethany. "We'll crawl up into our positions, and when we're there, you stand up and walk down the trail." Nathan paused again. "Don't take any chances you don't have to."

Bethany nodded, took a deep breath, and ran a hand through her dirty hair self-consciously.

Nathan motioned for his sons to crawl over, and he quietly briefed them on the plan. Once everyone understood, the three began to slowly and carefully crawl forward in the snow toward the sounds of strangers.

*******

Nathan looked down at the camp in the hollow. The site was well chosen for concealment. The natural bowl in the earth and the thick trees on the edges masked the firelight and sounds. David's description was true. There looked to be a fairly large stockpile of food under several tarps. Wild-looking women were still going through the food pile, and it appeared that their previous searches weren't conducted with patience. There was also a line of about two dozen stakes hammered into the ground. Each of these stakes connected to a length of metal wire attached to a now empty dog collar and an open padlock. Nathan could almost smell the evil and desperation of the place. He felt another moment of hesitation, but then turned and gave his wife a thumbs-up.

Bethany stood slowly and walked down the path between the trees to the edge of the hollow. She stopped hesitantly, taking a few deep breaths at the shadowy edge while Nathan said a quick prayer. What his wife was getting ready to do was probably one of the most courageous things he had witnessed, and he had witnessed plenty. Why in the hell am I letting her do this? A sense of dark foreboding engulfed him. Nathan climbed to his feet to get her attention and call the whole thing off.

Bethany didn't turn toward him. She took three long steps forward and down into the hollow. She was totally exposed.

Nathan held his breath. He expected shouting and confusion and maybe fighting...but nothing. The women and children were preoccupied with eating or trying to help each other with their injuries. She just stood there staring at the pitiful figures shoving food into their mouths. What finally gave her away was the dog.

The big silver and black shepherd was sleeping, thick muzzle resting on giant front paws near a group of children. Its ears were up, but its eyes were closed. Something made the dog's ears twitch, and it slowly opened its eyes and gazed directly at Bethany. For a moment, nothing happened. It was almost as if the dog thought she were one of their pack. Then, with sudden understanding, the dog let its protective instinct take over.

The huge German shepherd jumped to its feet with hair standing on end and gave a quick series of barks before charging forward, teeth bared and snarling. Bethany's eyes opened wide in sudden fear. The dog was running flat out at her and was less than twenty yards away.

Nathan cursed silently as he brought his rifle on the dog, but he knew it would be a difficult shot. The dog was running fast and laterally to his position. There's no reasoning with a dog protecting its own.

Nathan was preparing to fire a series of shots in the dog's path when it suddenly jerked up short, its back end flipping forward under its front legs, the chain on its neck going taunt.

Bethany put her hand over her heart and laughed nervously. "Oh dear goodness," she gasped smiling in relief. "I thought he was going to—"

She didn't finish because a wild-looking woman standing to Bethany's left moved as quick as a snake. She pulled what looked like a rusty screwdriver from somewhere and slapped Bethany across the face with the butt of the tool. The wild woman jumped on Bethany as she slumped to the ground and straddled her, bringing the point of the screwdriver to Bethany's neck. Even in the dim firelight, Nathan could see the woman smile through her long filthy hair.

Bethany was dazed and blood streamed down her face. She looked over at Nathan, who stood against a nearby tree, ready to take a shot. Bethany raised a hand palm out toward her husband and mouthed faintly, "Wait."

The wild woman spun her head around without taking the screwdriver from Bethany's neck and met Nathan's tense gaze. She smiled impishly.

Nathan noted with dismay that the woman's eyes didn't appear to hold any shred of sanity. She laughed suddenly, turned back to Bethany, and pressed down on her exposed neck.
Chapter 8 – Meeting of the Minds

The first gathering of the Jackson Purchase Emergency Meeting started with tight lips and downcast stares at the table. Lieutenant Governor Reginald Philips had gone to some significant trouble to get the men and women together in the Calloway County courtroom. Reggie came to the conclusion that if the personnel responsible for conducting state duties and services were not gathered and given direction and support, they would slowly melt away into the mass of people just trying to survive. Although he would have preferred it otherwise, he knew as the state's lieutenant governor he was the only person who could legitimately call them here.

There were fewer people than were invited, but more than he had expected. General Clarence Anderson was present and his new deputy commander, retired Marine Major General Dale "Butch" Matthews. Butch had been enjoying retirement teaching classical history at Murray State University on N-Day. After Reggie convinced Anderson to come back on active duty, he in turn did the same with Butch.

Next to Butch sat Frank Simm, the District Commander of the Kentucky State Police, and to his left sat Janet Cline, the state-appointed FEMA Director for the Jackson Purchase. Doctor Thomas Stevens, the President of Murray State University, sat across the table from Janet, and to his left slumped John Downing, the Director of the Tennessee Valley Authority works in Kentucky. TVA responsibility included Kentucky Dam and the Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area. Reggie had six people at the table that would hopefully help him carry this burden. Not many, but he was thankful for them nevertheless.

Reginald cleared his throat. "I appreciate all of you coming here today, and I know many of you had some trouble given the conditions of the roads and lack of gas." He looked around and paused. "I feel like we should begin our session with a prayer for guidance, wisdom, and support." Reggie expected some pushback, but everyone just nodded, with some even giving him encouraging smiles or nods.

Reggie began, "Lord, I thank you for sparing us the destruction that has been visited upon much of our country. We don't know why it came or why we were not destroyed too, but we are grateful we have so much. Lord, in these days ahead, please grant us Your understanding, wisdom, and strength to do what we can to retain decency, justice, and mercy in the world." There was more Reggie wanted to say, but he was afraid he would lose control of his emotions before the meeting even got started. "Amen," he said, and heard several others follow suit.

Reggie deliberately opened his folder and scanned the items on his agenda. "As you probably know, the Executive Council has become the primary means of cooperative governmental decision-making in the Jackson Purchase. I can tell you those representatives are great people who are trying to do their best. The problem is they need a"—Reggie sought for the right word—"framework, let us say, to operate. I believe that is where we come into the picture."

Doctor Stevens spoke up, "You're saying, as state officials, we're separate from their county rivalries and interests, and thus possess a certain position of trust by default."

"In a sense...yes," replied Reggie. "I hope I'm not shocking anyone when I say that I think the federal government of the United States of America is not coming to our rescue." Although Reggie knew this and believed everyone else in the room did also, the silence still made him feel depressed. Speaking these things aloud felt like crossing a point of no return.

He continued after a pause, "People here, given time, will transition to some alternate form of practical government. They all understand democracy and how a representative government works. Our job is to protect them until the day something greater comes into being, and that mainly means we keep doing what we're all doing and keep fear away as much as possible. I know that's hard, but history has shown how fear can destroy us all if it gets a foothold."

Frank Simm, in his immaculate state police uniform, leaned forward and placed his hands on the table in front of him. "Reggie, I hope I'm not overstepping here, but I think we all understand the gravity of the situation. You don't have to convince us. We're with you or we wouldn't be here. Just tell us what we need to do."

The delivery was gruff and direct, but Reggie appreciated the message they accepted his authority. The first hurdle crossed, he plowed forward.

"Well, as you know, I'm invited to the Council Meetings and allowed to speak first. I would like to begin those meetings by telling them what we're doing and propose recommendations to give them the framework we talked about earlier. I know you have all been doing great work. I would like each of you to keep doing that work, bring up issues, and let us talk through problems together."

The room became silent as everyone looked at each other expectantly.

"All right," said Clarence Anderson finally. "I would like to start unless someone else wants to go first." Everyone nodded, so he pulled out reading glasses from his military uniform pocket and began scanning lists.

"The three National Guard units are currently at eighty-six percent manning, thanks to the ability granted at the last Council Meeting to enlist new members. We have also established a basic training and retraining facility outside of Murray for new enlistees and those with no combat training. I would say given the circumstances, this training is progressing well." Anderson took off his glasses and sighed, "With that said, we're going to need more troops. These units are not enough to cover the borders for any extended period of time. We still have refugees streaming over at night or in isolated sections."

Janet spoke up a little defensively, "The FEMA plan was really only designed to operate temporarily, maybe a few weeks at most. We're going on almost four months."

"Exactly," said Anderson, "we have troops away from their families. Desertion, insubordination, and acts of punishment have increased. We're asking them to do too much. Enlistments are going well since food and shelter appear to be incentives enough, but we need more."

"I trust you have a recommendation," said Reggie with a smile.

"Indeed I do," answered Anderson. "I would like to have Butch Matthews here talk about an idea he has that I think might be our best bet."

The short and stocky marine sat forward and looked around at them all. "Thank you, General Matthews. Although enlistments are up, we really cannot afford to significantly increase our troop levels. It costs us incredible amounts of food, fuel, and other resources. As you all know, the monetary system has completely broken down and we rely on a barter system. This makes paying soldiers a nightmare and additional soldiers makes that worse, but frankly, we need them." General Matthews smiled for the first time. "I propose that we take a page from our own history and establish a county-based regimental militia system."

"Excuse me," said Doctor Stevens, "but isn't that what the National Guard is anyway, at least, in essence?"

Butch nodded. "Indeed. Before N-Day that would have described the National Guard's origins, but they have now been activated and constitute the JP's active duty force. In our situation, I don't think we want to change what is working. We need a highly-trained, permanent, and experienced military force. We just don't have enough of them, nor do we have the resources to greatly increase their numbers." Butch shook his head. "No, for all intents and purposes, those three National Guard battalions are now our permanent standing army."

Several voices began talking at once, but Butch rode over them by continuing to talk. "What I propose is that we maintain the current National Guard units as a 'central' force under our control, and encourage each county to form its own militia regiment. These forces can then do the lion's share of the daily border protection duties, freeing the National Guard units to respond to crises and secure key facilities. These county regiments will fall under the control of the civilian government, and like their colonial ancestors, will elect their own leaders and serve largely for free."

Butch had rushed through this explanation in nearly one breath. It was obvious he had rehearsed it several times, not wanting to get bogged down in questions before he could present the essence of his plan. He paused now and looked around expectantly, and Reggie thought, even a little apprehensively.

He believes in this, thought Reggie, and that convinced him. Reggie was not a military man, and even if he was, he couldn't handle all the responsibility in addition to those he was already entrusted with. Butch was a good man; it was enough for Reggie to know that he believed in his plan and thought it best for all of them.

Janet leaned forward with a frown on her face and was getting ready to say something, but Reggie jumped in before she could voice doubt that might be contagious.

"This may be the answer we need. Well done, Butch!" he said with enthusiasm. Butch smiled at him in gratitude while Anderson tilted his head and looked back at Reggie with a knowing smile.

"There will, of course, be challenges and complications," continued Butch. "First of all, we don't have the equipment or resources to outfit these new units yet and the counties are unlikely to have them either. Second, we can't pay these men and the counties will be unwilling to do so. They will have to serve freely for mutual self-preservation, again like our colonial ancestors. And finally," Butch drew in a breath, "we have no system to train these new militia. If we leave it up to the counties, it will result in a mishmash or a rabble that couldn't work together to organize a bake sale, much less fight to protect us."

"But"—added General Anderson, holding up a finger—"we believe we have ways and means to overcome these obstacles. Perhaps we should take these problems which Butch has identified one at a time and then discuss the proposal."

"Wait a minute," said Doctor Stevens abruptly, "is this even legal? Sounds like we're talking about getting together a bunch of yahoos from the local bar and giving them guns. Is that smart? Don't these rednecks already have tons of guns? Can't we continue relying on the National Guard and police until things change?"

"That's the main problem," said Reggie evenly. "Things are not likely to change, and even if they do, they are probably going to get worse before they get better. I know this is difficult to swallow at first, but I recommend we at least hear Butch out. He's put a lot of time and energy into this problem."

Stevens frowned, sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms.

Butch took this as his cue to continue and pulled out a piece of paper from his folder. "We currently have the equipment we need for the National Guard forces, but I must emphasize the word currently. I estimate that in order to outfit the militia regiments, we will need at least five thousand rifles and five hundred thousand rounds of ammunition, not to mention the other equipment, such as uniforms and boots. That stuff we can improvise, but the guns and ammo we can't." Butch looked down at his notes again. "The Remington Arms Plant at Mayfield is working to retool their line to produce what we need, but that will take weeks and doesn't address the raw material and parts issue. Right now, they are mainly tooled to produce hunting shotguns. They also are not set up to produce ammunition at all, but the guys down there know what they're doing. They believe with the proper resources, they can eventually produce one hundred thousand rounds a month, if we are only talking about one or two calibers. That is also contingent on their ability to produce cordite for the ammunition"

"Which brings us to another problem," said Anderson.

"Yes," stated Butch, "we want all our forces to use the same weapons, or at least the same caliber of ammunition, or else logistics will be nearly impossible. Our National Guard units already have 5.56mm for their AR15 and M4s. That is what we need for the militia." Butch again paused and looked around a little sheepishly. "We think we can get all we need from the post at Fort Campbell."

"You mean the army base, where the 101st Airborne Division is?" asked Janet. "Won't they want their stuff?"

"We've had numerous deserters, refugees, or whatever you want to call them, come in from there, and they tell us the place has simply faded away," stated Anderson. "After N-Day, communication and command either openly broke down or slowly melted away over time. Most units locked up their buildings, put everyone on extended leave, and went home, wherever that was."

"Yes," continued Butch, "and fortunately one of the men who made it to us was Master Sergeant John Robels, who ran the base ammunition supply point. He locked everything away tightly, packed up his family, and came home to Ballard County, along with all the keys and security combinations for the ammo point. Ammunition will be simple with his help. He says getting weapons out of unit supply rooms will be fairly easy as long as we have some time and energy to dig through concrete. We just have to get there and come back with the stuff."

"Uh...not to throw any problems into your plan," said Frank Simm, "but are we talking about robbing the U.S. Army?"

"Yes," said Anderson tensely. "But you have to realize, there is no U.S. Army anymore, and we need that equipment and ammo to protect ourselves. Just last week a group of marauders raided from across the Ohio River killing fourteen of our people, taking many women and girls, and stealing a lot of the area's food. This sort of thing is going to increase, not go away. Maybe we should go on to problem two," said Anderson to Butch.

"Of course," said Butch. "The second issue, lack of pay, is not so much a problem as a fact of life. This is something everyone will have to accept. We need to remember that minutemen weren't paid. Militia service needs to become a shared community obligation again, not a job."

"We're recommending universal training of all able-bodied men between the ages of eighteen and forty-five," said Anderson. "We'll also take female volunteers in those age ranges. They can all serve in their county regiments on rotational cycles, which may only be a month at a time, but we can call everyone up for short periods if needed. We can also find support uses in logistics and transportation for anyone with a physical condition that prohibits them from serving in the militia. This is something that we're just going to have to convince everyone of, but we don't want to overstress this proposed system, because from this point forward, we need the majority of people planting and harvesting and producing needed goods."

"It might not be that hard," said Frank. "Towns and communities are already forming small armed bands on their own for just this purpose. They've heard the stories of the raiders and, in some cases, have seen the results. They're scared."

"That will be my job at the next big meeting, should we decide to go that way," said Reggie. "If I judge we can provide the weapons and ammo, the County Executives will have no problem providing the men for their own militia regiments."

"Which brings us to one of our final problems," said Butch, "but not one to be overlooked...training. Without quality and relevant training, this militia will be useless. We want them to be professional, in the sense that when called upon to fight, they do it well and in a disciplined manner." Butch looked at his plan again. "I propose a three-phased approach: initial basic training, an annual major cooperative exercise or engagement per year, and regular unit-level training."

"Sounds complicated," said Janet.

"Not really," answered Butch. "Everyone will go through basic entry-level training focused on light infantry tactics and skills, augmented by many other tasks normally performed by support troops. We've figured out that our troops, especially the militia, will need to have all the skills necessary to look after themselves for extended periods of time, from hunting and tracking, to sewing and first-aid. I'm envisioning this training being a very intensive six weeks."

"Six weeks!" cried Frank. "From my understanding, military basic and advanced training ranges anywhere from four to six months, and our training to make a state trooper is one year. How can you do what you want in six short weeks?"

Butch sighed. "It's true, I'd love to have them for longer, but the situation is approaching a point where we need people out there on the border as soon as possible. We'll focus on core skills and let the units finish the rest. We also plan on cutting out much of the 'fluff' that is normally in military training."

"Fluff?" asked Stevens.

"Yeah," said Anderson gruffly, "things we don't need to train them on like, for instance, sleep. That frees up at least six to eight hours a day." Anderson raised his hand to cut off the objections. "I know everyone needs sleep, but we can incorporate lack of sleep into our training. We can also cut out drill and ceremony, tradition and history, equal opportunity, and my favorite...'consideration of others' training. Did you realize that before N-Day, army basic trainees underwent a full week of training designed to make them more sensitive? I would say we can cut that shit out."

Butch smiled, nodded, and went on. "This training will focus on squad and platoon level tactics in our local terrain. Recruits will train in the exact area they will be assigned to guard. Many of them are already intimately familiar with the ground from hunting, farming, and other more nefarious activities, such as poaching or growing marijuana." Butch shrugged to show he wasn't judging these activities and went on. "We can also eliminate physical training, marksmanship, and other things that they can learn at their unit or already know."

Doctor Stevens cleared his throat and clasped his hands tightly in front of him. "And who will conduct this training? Sounds like it will be as difficult for the trainers, if not more so, than the trainees."

"It's funny you should ask," said Anderson. "Our idea was to use the cadets and cadre of the Murray State ROTC Program. This is what they already do to some extent. They train cadets in light infantry tactics, and all their NCOs and officers are combat veterans. The senior Sergeant Major down there is a long-time Special Forces and Delta veteran. I've spoken to the Professor of Military Science, Lieutenant Colonel Jones, and he believes it can be done. He already has his staff working on a training plan."

Stevens' face scrunched up tightly and his eyes narrowed. "And when was someone going to talk to me about this? I am the president of the university, after all."

Anderson answered Stevens straight-faced, "You know I was going to come talk to you about that, but then I remembered it was none of your damn business!"

"What!?" squealed Stevens.

Anderson set his jaw and leaned across the table toward the man. "We're telling you now. And, by the way, not to put too fine a point on the issue, but you don't own the ROTC program or its people."

"Right!" yelled Stevens. "And neither do you. They belong to the U.S. Army, which belongs to the U.S. Government which is not you, sir!"

Reggie could feel everything unraveling. "Gentlemen, let's just calm down for a minute. We're talking about ideas here. This is a forum for all of us to work together before we present things to a larger audience. This was just the best opportunity to do that very thing." Reggie looked at Anderson, willing him to make peace.

Anderson glared at Reggie then Stevens. "It would be completely within my authority to pull the whole damn program out from under your control and there wouldn't a thing you could do about it. I guarantee every officer, soldier, or cadet over there would listen to me before you. How would you like that, you little piss ant? Hell, I might even tell them to throw you out on your sorry ass!"

Stevens went white and his mouth hung open.

"General Anderson!" said Reggie. "We all need to find a way to cooperate here. The university is key to our future and so is Doctor Stevens."

"Sure, I get that and don't disagree," answered Anderson, "but I don't have time for politics or turf battles. And correct me if I'm wrong, but I think I hold most of the cards here."

Reggie had an angry retort on his lips when Frank Simm stood, drawing all their attention.

"My kids don't know what's happened," said Simm, his voice quivering slightly. "I tried to tell them last night, but they can't understand it. To them, it's all the same. But I know they are going to have to grow up and live in the world we build for them. Starting right here in this room. Now if we can't all come together for that, then there really is no hope."

He looked like he was going to say more, but sat down instead, and no one spoke for a long time.

*******

Reggie walked out of the meeting three hours later totally exhausted but fairly satisfied. In the end, they all agreed on the regimental militia system, although Doctor Stevens insisted on being kept informed of all activities that occurred on Murray State grounds. Anderson grudgingly accepted these terms, much more subdued after Frank Simm had shamed them all with his short speech.

They also agreed to the "raid" on Fort Campbell, as soon as the resources could be gathered and the weather improved. Butch Matthews would plan and lead the operation. Reggie felt very confident he would do whatever was necessary to ensure its success.

Everything had gone as well as Reggie hoped it would until the end. TVA Director John Downing sat silent throughout the heated deliberations, but as the meeting was concluding, he took the opportunity to speak as if awakening from slumber. Reggie initially took his attitude to be indifference or negativity, but he saw with dismay that the man was utterly exhausted.

John looked at them with hallow eyes and spoke almost in a monotone, "We've managed to stabilize the dam's power output after operating at one-third capacity, and this should extend the lifespan of the dam turbines and generators. The electricity consumption is still beyond the means of the dam to provide given the one-third operations. This will continue to result in numerous delays and blackouts. In order to provide consistent service and avoid power outages, twenty-five to forty percent of the current electrical output will need to be cut."

Janet asked him in a snippy voice, "And just who do you propose should be cut? Everyone needs electricity!"

John answered without changing his tone or even looking at her, "Frankly, I don't care. That is your job. Mine is to keep the dam alive and the electricity flowing as long as I can."

After more discussion, they came to the difficult decision to slowly cut off electricity to those areas outside of the JP, unless those outsiders agreed to provide compensation. Although most felt bad about this situation, they thought it only fair since JP citizens paid taxes to keep the electricity running.

Anderson recommended that they attempt to announce their intentions to give people outside their borders an opportunity to comply. All agreed that only General Sampson's territory to the south had any hopes of really working with them. Everything else was small pockets of survivors surrounded by chaos and death.

John sat quietly through all the wrangling about the electricity, but as everyone appeared ready to depart, he spoke again, "My meager staff cannot control or patrol the Land Between the Lakes region. Bandits and other settlers have moved in over the months, setting up camps despite the water and fences around the park. The border is just too long and the park is empty; no one notices when people find their way inside the park. For all practical purposes, we have lost control of all TVA assets and lands except the dam and power plants, which are now my sole and entire focus."

"I appreciate your candor," said Reggie in the stunned silence. "Under the circumstances, I think you made the right decisions and settled upon the correct priority. I understand we are also starting to have a refugee problem."

John nodded and smiled humorlessly. "That is putting it rather lightly. There are several settler camps that have sprung up on our eastern border, the largest of which is near the dam, along Interstate 24."

"Yeah, I've heard about those camps," grumbled Anderson. "They grow every day if the reports are accurate."

Butch Matthews cleared his throat. "Our troops along the border have already established systems to screen individuals who are useful or rightful residents in order to allow entry."

"I'm afraid that isn't going to be enough," said John. "Rival power groups are establishing themselves in these camps and crime is increasing drastically. Lack of food, sanitation, and disease are only compounding the potential dangers."

"Don't you dare say it," said Anderson to the tired man, with comprehension suddenly coming upon him.

John ignored him while everyone else looked on without understanding. "We have no choice but to take over these camps across the river and lake. I know we're stretched thin and these are not JP Citizens, but they will certainly be JP's problem if we don't work with them. We need to establish order there, that is, medical support, food, water, sanitation, electricity, tents, and information. We need to bring them in or encourage them to move on, but what we can't allow to happen is a large, desperate mass of humanity to just sit on our border."

"Can't we use them all for manual labor on farms or such?" asked Doctor Stevens.

Reggie shook his head. "Maybe eventually, but we're not set up or ready for all of them. Letting them into the JP in mass now would only be taking on more mouths to feed with nothing productive for them to do."

"I feel for them," said Simm, "but they aren't really our responsibility."

"I don't give a damn if they all die tonight," answered John. "That would actually be the best thing all around. I've watched day after day from the dam as these groups grow and the situation gets more and more terrible. We need to fill the vacuum there before someone else does it for us. If they decided to push through the border or take over the dam, I'm not sure we could stop them." John went silent again while everyone looked at him with varying degrees of concern.

By the end of the meeting, they decided to take control of the three main refugee camps along the eastern border. They would destroy the other smaller camps after moving the settlers to one of the main camps. Anderson wasn't happy, because he saw before the others that only the National Guard possessed the resources and discipline to perform such a mission. In the end, he didn't fight the decision, because he knew it needed to be done.

After all, Anderson realized bitterly, there is no acceptable excuse for failing to perform one's duty.
Chapter 9 – Over the Edge

Bethany fought to breathe. The woman's weight bore down on her chest painfully. She knew the woman had struck her on the side of the head, but there was no pain yet, only numbness. More than the screwdriver on her neck, the waves of claustrophobia nearly made her panic. She fought to relax and push her fear down enough to think.

Unlike Nathan, Bethany did not believe the woman was crazy. Bethany saw the frantic yet dead look in her eyes, a look she had seen many times before. Her own eyes might even have looked that way for a time after losing their first baby. She understood the woman was in some sort of shock. Bethany peered at the other women huddled in a frightened mass and their story became as clear as glass. This understanding helped keep the fear at bay.

Bethany looked up into her captor's face and saw evidence of abuse. There were thick bruises around her neck and along her face, as well as poorly healed cuts on her scalp. Her nose looked recently broken.

This one was a fighter and did not submit herself easily. She probably even wanted to die, thought Bethany.

Bethany again held out her hand to Nathan while maintaining eye contact with the woman. She was obviously a victim, and Bethany was sure she could get through to the phantom smiling down at her ghoulishly.

"Please," said Bethany breathlessly, "do you have any food? My boys and I are so hungry and haven't eaten for days. Can't we just share your fire for a while? There's no need to hurt us."

The smile vanished from the woman's face in an instant and she looked suddenly confused. She leaned up a little, easing the pressure on Bethany's chest and neck.

For the first time, Bethany felt her head swelling and blood running through her hair where the desperate woman had struck her.

The woman leaned back slowly and looked over her shoulder at the huddled women and children around one of the makeshift tents. She pulled the screwdriver away from Bethany's neck and used it to point back toward the fire.

Conversationally, she said, "There are some beans and franks left, as well as some Spam. It's actually pretty good. Tastes better than it sounds," she said with a slight laugh. The woman turned back to Bethany and the crazy look was almost gone from her eyes. She seemed to suddenly comprehend where she was and what she was doing. The woman looked down at the screwdriver in her hand and Bethany's bloody head and said almost too softly to hear, "Sorry about that."

Those were the last words she ever spoke. Her head suddenly disappeared in an explosion of bloody mist and shotgun blast. Riveted as they were with the scene between Bethany and the crazy woman, no one noticed David creep up from the woods to about fifteen feet from them both. He waited until the woman pulled the screwdriver away from his mother's throat before shooting her at close range.

Bethany was stunned and didn't at first understand what had happened. The woman's headless corpse still straddled her, unmoving. David, with his smoking shotgun, walked over and placed a foot on the dead woman's shoulder, shoving her rudely off his mother. He then reached down and grasped her arm, pulling her up to her shaky feet.

"Mom, are you al—?" David began, but before he could fully get the question out of his mouth, Bethany reared back and slapped him full in the face with a wild roundhouse swing. David's head snapped back both with the force of the blow and the shock of receiving it. He quickly turned back with combined confusion and anger, but before he could get his bearings, Bethany followed up with a left punch full in David's nose, which sent him to his knees with blood pouring down his face.

Nathan raced over and pulled Bethany back, but she was straining, furious with anger. Nathan had never seen his patient and calm wife in such a state. Even while thrashing in Nathan's arms to get at her son again, she screamed at him, "What's wrong with you? What happened to my son? All you care for is blood!"

Bethany began combing through her hair, pulling off pieces of blood, brains, and skull from the dead woman before she hurled them at David in wild swings. "Well, then here you are!" she screamed. "Blood and more blood and more blood! Are you satisfied?"

Nathan finally succeeded in dragging her away and was on the verge of slapping Bethany if he couldn't get her to calm down. Who knew what the other women were doing during all of this? Nathan only hoped Joshua was watching out for them. "Bethany, stop it! For God's sake, stop it!"

Bethany's eyes suddenly focused on Nathan's with fierce anger. "You're happy he's this way! You want him to be a killer! Well, congratulations, look at what a wonderful son you've raised!"

Nathan started to grab her more firmly to shake her, but she planted her palms roughly on his chest and pushed away, wheeling without another word to walk over to the group of frightened women.

Nathan turned back to David, but found him nowhere in sight.

Joshua was suddenly in front of him. "He ran that way," he said pointing back toward the highway.

"You stay with your mother," Nathan said roughly and for the first time noticed the incessant barking of the dog. "And shut that damn dog up before it draws more attention," he added as he took off at a run after David.

Nathan was afraid his son would just keep running and he knew the chances of finding him in the woods at night would be slim, but he soon saw David's tall muscular form ahead in the dim light with his face against a tree. Nathan slowed to a walk and approached his son cautiously. David was breathing in great gasps of air. Nathan wasn't sure that he wouldn't take off again.

"Son," Nathan began in a quiet voice, "she didn't mean it. It's stress and fatigue and months on the road. She didn't mean it."

"But she did mean it!" screamed David as he whirled on his father with anguish in his face. "Dad, I was in goddamn high school! I had a life! I was going to get a football scholarship and go to college! I didn't ask for any of this shit!" David dropped his head and began to sob. "I was happy," he said softly. "I didn't know it, but I was happy, and I want it back the way it was."

Nathan's heart ached and he suddenly despised himself. Bethany was right; he had at least helped make David this way. David had always been the fierce fighter and competitor, but when the world ended, Nathan turned him into what he needed him to be...and he needed him to help protect them. He did it, he thought, out of the necessity to simply survive, but had he somehow forgotten that he was dealing with just a boy? His own son?

Nathan walked over and placed his arms around David. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he had hugged him and wasn't sure if David would accept this show of love, but David wildly grasped him, sinking to his knees, and he began crying all the more.

For the first time since N-Day, Nathan doubted what he was doing. Was survival worth this? Maybe it would have been better to have died months ago, true to themselves. Uncorrupted and unconquered.

Holding his crying and heartbroken son in his arms, Nathan looked up into the clear stars and asked for...anything.
Chapter 10 – Decisions

Harold Buchanan rubbed his head and looked down again at the sheet of figures on his desk. He still could not force himself to use the prison warden's large office, even though the old man ran off over two months ago and was unlikely to return. Harold felt moving out of his small office into the larger one was to accept the fact that none of this was temporary, but in his heart, he knew better. He looked out the window at the rolling, wooded, snow-covered hills of eastern Kentucky and, with a sigh, accepted that the world had gone straight to hell.

Jim Meeks lumbered into his office and collapsed on the couch across from Harold while pulling his baton out of its holster, laying it beside him. The couch groaned in protest as Jim's gigantic frame settled into a comfortable position. Harold looked up and just shook his head.

Jim smiled grimly, twirling the baton in his hands. "As bad as all that?"

"I'm not sure what to do, Jim." Harold admitted while running his hand through thinning hair. "We're losing guards and staff every day and the inmates know it. We have more attacks every shift and they're getting as desperate as we are. Also, I don't think the electricity or water is going to come back on. And even if the Governor had any instructions for little old Hancock State Penitentiary, how would he let us know?"

Jim nodded gravely. "Yeah, I talked to those National Guard boys guarding the Food Lion in town, and they haven't heard anything in over four months. They're only stickin' around because they're local and get first dibs on food. All the others in the unit have taken off, including their commander. Just a few left now and they've stopped accepting money, will only take fuel or ammo."

Harold felt the weight of what must be done. He'd said he didn't know what to do, but he did. Time was clearly against them. Under such circumstances somebody was going to make a mistake. In Harold's experience, mistakes in a prison led directly to death as sure as night followed day.

He was able to keep some of the guards and staff around by allowing them to move their families onto the prison grounds. This arrangement provided the families greater protection from the increased acts of robbery and violence outside the prison. It also meant those guards were less likely to run off or not show for work. Also, Harold could work his people longer hours, but that came with a cost he knew only so well. He had lost an eye working a triple shift at a penitentiary in Kansas many years ago. Harold had not been alert enough to the ever-present danger of working near the most violent and dangerous men a society could produce.

Time was not their friend, and Harold felt each passing minute increase the load on his shoulders.

"Jim, we have to do something soon, before more guards run off or the inmates get organized to make a move. Also, we can't keep feeding them and us, even with the Food Lion," said Harold.

"What are you thinking?" asked Jim.

Harold hesitated. What he was contemplating certainly exceeded his authority as Chief of Prison Security, but he had already assumed the role as acting warden. He also knew that if things ever returned to normal, they would likely put him in prison for the rest of his life, but he felt certain they would never see "normal" again. With that thought, he made up his mind.

"Jim, have all the inmates locked down in their cells as soon as possible, even the trustees and anyone in the infirmary. After that, I want to meet with all the guards and staff and tell them my thoughts."

"You sure you want everyone?" Jim asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, all the way down to janitorial crew, but no family members. This is going to be official. Maybe the last official thing we do here."

Jim started to say something and then thought better of it, lifting his giant frame off the couch. "All right, boss. I'll let you know when we have everyone in the cafeteria. You need anything else from me?"

Harold smiled. "No thanks. I appreciate the offer though."

Jim slid the baton back into his belt and walked out, closing the door on his troubled friend.

*******

An hour later, Harold looked out over a frighteningly small number of worried faces.

"Is this everyone?" he asked Jim incredulously.

"Yes. Walter Burton, Joe Kilzney, and their families took off right after I met with you. Wouldn't stay for the meeting. Said they were done."

"All right then," said Harold trying not to let the distress show on his face. He looked around the room, taking inventory of what he had. Will there be enough to pull this off? he wondered.

"First of all, let me start by saying that I appreciate each of you staying on as long as you have, but we all know things are getting worse. We have to do something soon. I have come up with a course of action I feel is our only option given the circumstances. This decision is mine and I accept full responsibility, but I'll need your help in carrying it out." Harold almost added that their cooperation was voluntary, but that would be stating the obvious. He had everyone's attention. They're smart people; they know we have to do something.

"We need to close the prison and dispose of the inmates as soon as possible. I want to adhere at least to the semblance of law as much as we can. We also have a responsibility not to release violent criminals back out into society, even though that society is disintegrating." No response yet, just a room full of tired eyes looking at him expressionlessly. "But I think men can change given the right circumstances. I've always hoped so anyway, else why would we do this job?"

Harold waited to see if anyone would answer, but the room was dead still. What are they thinking?

"What's the plan, boss?" asked Jim loudly, breaking the spell.

Harold smiled and felt a deep gratitude to the big man. "The seven men on death row awaiting execution will be executed despite any pending appeals. The appeal process is effectively over. Also, any inmate serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole will be executed. Any inmate who has attacked a guard or staff member since the bombs fell will be executed."

Harold paused to allow for righteous protests of indignation, but there was nothing other than a light of understanding in the faces of a few. He continued on.

"All trustees or anyone due to be released within a year will be freed. Everyone else is up for a review process based on their criminal convictions and behavior as a prisoner. Inmates will be allowed to speak for themselves at the review panel made up of selected individuals seated in this room. Until the process is complete, inmates will not be allowed out of their cells except for the review panel, execution, or release."

Harold stopped talking and looked around. He was still expecting a flurry of indignant protests, but the room was as still as a crypt. The faces looking back at him largely reflected relief, their breath visible in the cold room. They realize this ordeal is nearing an end, however terrible that end may be.

Big Jim Meeks eventually spoke up. "Terrence told me yesterday they can't run the gas chamber without electricity, and we're nearly out of fuel for the generator."

Harold let out a long strained breath. "Execution will be carried out by a firing squad made up of volunteers. If there are no volunteers, I will personally carry out the executions. I will also make the final decision as to who will be released and who will be executed based on the recommendations you bring me after each review panel. We need to move fast. I'm talking about having this done by the day after tomorrow."

Finally, a murmur of protest bubbled up from the crowd. Bobby Wilson, the prison's doctor, stood up. "Harold, leaving the morality of this aside for a moment, we have over two hundred fifty inmates here. Do you really think we can do what you ask in a day and a half?"

"Bobby brings up a good point," Harold said. "We need to make the review boards quick...very quick. We also need to release as many prisoners as possible. We're going to have to trust in the fact that these men can live the best way they can. Those that we think will only use this as an opportunity to prey on the weak and defenseless cannot be released." Harold wearily rubbed his head again. "Look, I know this is hard and unsavory, but I see no other way. I welcome any other ideas."

No one spoke and many just looked at the floor. Harold expected some in the room would not help, but he was glad they at least remained silent.

Jim broke the silence again. "How do we start this?"

"That's easy," said Harold with a grimace. "Death row."
Chapter 11 – The Big Raid

Major General Butch Matthews thought that any plan that went exactly as planned was probably destined for a big painful surprise, and the excursion to Fort Campbell went almost too well. The toughest part of the mission so far was negotiating and re-negotiating the fifty or so miles of blocked roads leading from the Jackson Purchase to the abandoned army post. They had brought a wrecker to help pull abandoned vehicles out of the roadways, and the vehicle operator looked like he was near a nervous breakdown by the time they reached Fort Campbell.

Butch thought it was also smart that they came with plenty of armed soldiers. Although there weren't yet any issues, Butch just felt like he was being watched, and in his experience, that feeling usually came right before someone started shooting at him.

Master Sergeant Johnny Robels was true to his word. After making their way through an unmanned checkpoint along the back edge of the post that morning, they first proceeded to one of the brigade motor pools and commandeered several large five-ton trucks as well as six huge fuel tankers. They then drove to base fuel points, cut the locks off the fuel tank covers, fired generators, and filled the vehicles and the fuel trucks to the brim. The fuel wasn't a major objective of their plan, but when Butch saw the tankers, he just couldn't resist.

Robels next took them to the base ammunition supply point, where he pulled a big ring of keys out of his pocket and proceeded to open the large heavy doors to the squat structure built into a grassy hillside.

Once inside, Butch was relieved. His plan rested on their ability to arm themselves quickly. When he saw the inside of the huge underground warehouse, he knew they had found what they were looking for.

Not only were there large pallets of 5.56 rifle ammunition, there was also 7.62 and .50 caliber machine gun ammunition. Sixty- and eighty-millimeter mortar rounds, forty-millimeter grenades, claymore mines, antitank mines, and rockets were in abundance. After conferring with Robels, Butch left half of his men to load up the ammunition and took Robels and the other half to several unit arms rooms nearby to procure weapons.

Getting into the arms rooms was much harder than getting into the ammo supply point, but Robels was an old hat. They dug into each concrete arms room from above, using pickaxes and sledgehammers. Robels explained that the ceiling was the weak point of these vaults, which mainly relied upon electronic measures and warning signs to deter anyone from trying to get in. After cutting locks off weapons racks, they loaded several thousand M4 rifles, a few hundred machine guns, and as many grenade launchers as they could find. Additionally, they loaded dozens of mortar tubes from the division headquarters arms room. Butch almost didn't bother with the night vision goggles, knowing they would be useless without batteries, but in the end, he grabbed twenty pairs of these as well. They also secured Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifles from the 5th Special Forces Group arms room, as well as radios and medical supplies.

Initially, Butch also had planned to take uniforms, equipment, backpacks, and other basic items, but they simply did not have the room after loading all the weapons and ammo. They had already fueled up more trucks and were at maximum capacity with two soldiers per vehicle, one driver and one man riding shotgun. Besides, there were lots of places to get equipment and uniforms, even if they were forced to make them. Weapons and ammo were another story.

Finally, near dusk, everyone was ready to depart. They locked the ammo supply point back up, having not even made a significant dent in the massive stock of ammunition. The men worked straight through in a fever without a break. They were tired and soaked through with sweat. The base itself was strangely quiet. They didn't see anyone, but felt unseen eyes upon them. Robels noted there were still individuals and small groups of soldiers around when he departed several months ago with his family, but he guessed they drifted away on their own when food became scarce.

Butch decided he did not want to spend the night on the base and ordered everyone to load up. They would drive at least an hour west and then camp out in some field if needed.

Butch was in the lead vehicle with Robels bringing up the rear. They were in a long slow convoy several hundred meters long, heading back out the same way they had approached. Although Butch knew this was a tactical mistake, he did not want to waste time stopping to clear another route until they were some distance away from the post.

He was starting to relax as they rounded the final turn, approaching the post checkpoint. As the small building came into view, Butch saw a tree about two feet thick lying across the road. He told the driver to slow to a stop and the trucks behind him did the same.

Butch got out of the truck and looked around. The silence was disturbing, not even a bird or a breeze broke the stillness.

He looked more closely at the tree and saw the base glistening pale with a clean cut, as if by a chainsaw. He turned to the rear of the column and started screaming and waiving his hands. "Back up, back up now!"

He hardly got this out before he heard a large explosion to the rear followed by another smaller explosion, and Butch saw a tall tree slowly topple across the road behind their last vehicle.

A perfect textbook linear ambush, Butch noted. We're dead if these guys know their business. Butch reached into the truck cab and pulled out his newly acquired M4 rifle. He wouldn't go down without a fight.

A loud voice boomed out from his front. "Lay down your arms. You are trespassing on a U.S. Army installation and are hereby under arrest."

Butch looked in the direction of the voice and saw nothing but the checkpoint; then, he noticed a bullhorn attached to the roof with a wire running off into the wood line.

"You are surrounded. Lay down your arms now!" said the voice.

Butch only thought for a few seconds before walking to the front of the convoy and laying down his rifle on the road. He raised his hands out to his sides in a non-threatening manner. Butch turned back to his driver. "Radio everyone and tell them to get out of their vehicles and lay down their weapons." The wide-eyed driver looked at him, but finally understood and grabbed one of the newly acquired rechargeable radios. "Slowly!" Butch hissed at him. He knew there were rifles trailed on them and any sudden movement could be easily misinterpreted.

Butch eased back toward the guard shack and the bullhorn. He was tense, but heartened by the fact that there was no shooting yet. Whoever was out there seemed to identify themselves as a military organization. Hopefully, this meant they were disciplined and not just bandits.

How is this going to go down? he wondered. They're acting like they're still soldiers. Well, two can play at that game.

He made a quick decision and slowly dropped his arms. Once they were down, he hooked his thumbs into the pistol belt of his military combat uniform, which he was now grateful he wore. In his best command voice, he yelled out, "I am United States Marine Corps Major General Butch Matthews. I wish to speak to the commanding officer of this unit." Silence greeted Butch's declaration. He would have to play this out now and hope his hunch was right.

Butch summoned years of ingrained authority, forgetting where he was for a moment, simply accepting that he would be obeyed, yelling out, "If there is an officer here, he will report to me...RIGHT...NOW!" Butch waited again, but began to glare at the woods as he strode from side to side, letting impatience show.

He paced back and forth, glaring into the wood line for perhaps thirty seconds before he heard a stirring to his rear. Butch turned and saw a tall athletically built man of about twenty-five purposefully making his way toward him at a light jog. The man was in an Army combat uniform and carried his M4 in the ready position. The man met his gaze, and without hesitation, the man jogged up to Butch before stopping. He rendered a crisp salute.

"Sir, First Lieutenant Jason Green reporting. Please forgive my actions, sir. I mistook you for thieves."

Butch returned the salute and regarded the young lieutenant for a long moment. The officer was shaved, his weapon was clean, and the ambush executed with precision and discipline. "Stand at ease," he told the officer.

The young man spread his feet apart and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Lieutenant Green, are you in command here?"

"Sir, I am. I was a platoon leader, but my battalion commander left me in charge of the battalion's single enlisted men after putting everyone else on block leave. They were all supposed to be back two months ago, but no one has returned." The lieutenant breathed deeply as he paused and then went on. "Some of my men deserted, and I have consolidated every other man I came across on this base."

"How large is your command?" Butch asked.

"I have one other junior lieutenant and one hundred forty-three enlisted men."

"What are your current orders?"

"Our orders are to maintain order and discipline in the battalion areas, but since everyone has left, I took the liberty of extending that mission to the entire base. As far as I know, I am the senior ranking officer on this post."

Butch was shocked. "You are guarding this based with one hundred forty-three men?"

"Yes, sir, as much of it as we can manage. Most of what we deal with is small groups of hungry trespassers."

Butch decided not to ask how they "dealt with" these trespassers. Probably the same way he would. He looked more closely at the man who seemed so professional and serene. Men found many different ways of coping with stress and this man was firmly grasping his duty.

He came to attention and the lieutenant followed suit. "Lieutenant Green, you are hereby reassigned to my command. You and your men will come with us. This base is to be abandoned as an untenable position. We are establishing further positions to the west."

The young man looked as if Butch had just punched him in the stomach. "Sir, do you mean to say that you are relieving me? Taking away my command?"

Butch smiled comfortingly. "No, son. You will maintain command of your men. You are to be commended. As of this moment, you are hereby promoted to Captain."

The distress on Lieutenant Green's face vanished in an instant and was replaced by a proud smile. "Thank you, sir."

Butch began walking back toward the rear of the convoy and Green fell in beside him. "You will need to clear this road by morning. We will bivouac with you tonight, and tomorrow you will come with us. Do you have vehicles?"

"Yes, sir, and you'll be safe for the night here. No one bothers us."

Butch stopped and looked into the wood line, still not seeing any of Green's men. He felt confident they would be safe.

Green saluted Butch again. "By your leave, sir."

Butch nodded and watched the man walk away and raise his rifle parallel to the ground over his head before giving a piercing whistle.

About sixty soldiers in uniform quickly materialized out of the forest, and without further orders, secured both sides of the road.

Butch let himself relax, thinking that he would not want to go against these men under any circumstance. He was glad they were now on his side.
Chapter 12 – Death and Freedom

Harold Buchannan pushed the plunger of the syringe and watched the look in the man's eyes slowly change from panic to calm. He stopped struggling against the table restraints as the lethal dose of morphine entered his bloodstream and moved toward his heart. Doctor Bobby Wilson stood pensively across the room, watching in clear distaste. Harold didn't much care for it himself, but it was better than the alternative.

My initial plan was a good one, he thought, but I probably should have foreseen the problems.

The firing squads went smoothly at first. His men were marksmen and professionals. Moreover, the inmates on death row had long ago accepted the fact that execution was their due; their resistance had been minimal. Most of these approached their death with resignation and some even a sort of dignity. The shots were clean and death was quick.

Problems arose when they began with those serving life sentences and the men who were guilty of committing murder since N-Day. These seemed to have some sort of fantasy about walking away from their situation. They were most vocal in their innocence and, in attacking the legitimacy of their executions, demanded to see lawyers and to speak to the governor. Many broke down and begged loudly for their lives.

Harold discovered that his trained and hardened marksmen couldn't fire a true shot when the target was a man looking at them and begging not to die. They tried having the prisoners hooded, but it didn't help much and Harold just couldn't bring himself to gag the men. These prisoners were consistently either only wounded or all four firers impossibly missed from only twenty feet.

The breaking point came when Harold gave the command to fire and nothing happened. He repeated the order more forcefully and someone started to speak. Harold knew what was coming next: there would be appeals to reason, and mercy, and more discussion. All of it would be aimed toward relieving the executioners of their duty and their guilt. Harold felt the guilt of what they were doing too, but knew the job had to be done.

As the firers looked at him while lowering their weapons sheepishly, Harold drew his pistol and walked purposefully up to the prisoner tied to a post. The man must have sensed what was happening because from beneath his hood he began screaming, "Oh, God, please no! No, no, NO!"

His words were cut off as Harold shot the man in the side of the head from a foot away. He dropped the pistol to his side so the others could not see his hand shaking. Knowing he could not trust himself to maintain his composure for long, Harold looked at everyone and walked with outward calm to his office where he shut the door. Once there, he pulled a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and with difficulty poured a small amount into a glass instead of drinking directly from the bottle, as he wanted to. The liquid burned as it went down his throat and seemed to steady his nerves some.

Harold craved another drink, but was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop, and if he lost control of himself now, everything could break down. He put the bottle away and went into the bathroom down the hall to splash water on his face. Looking in the mirror, he noticed small specks of blood spattered on his face, hands, and clothes. After washing up and changing clothes, Harold went to find Doctor Bobby Wilson.

"Sure, enough morphine can kill a person, easier way to go, too. I thought you would want to save it for possible injuries or even surgeries."

"I do," Harold sighed, "but I don't think we can go on with the firing squads. We've got at least a dozen more and the guards are already at their breaking point."

"Well," said Wilson, "we probably have enough morphine to do the job, but you have to know up front that as a medical professional, I will not participate. I'll tell you how to do it, and must out of duty advise against all this business, but I won't stand in your way. I think it's wrong, but I also don't see any alternative other than releasing them all and I can't recommend that either."

"Thanks," said Harold, not sure if he meant it or not.

"Should be easy to do," continued Doc. "All the tables have straps and restraints. Just have the guards bring them in here and secure them. You then take one hundred and twenty milligrams of morphine, maybe one hundred and fifty if they're really big, and inject it into a vein in the arm. They'll go right to sleep...and die."

Since that time, Harold had injected fourteen prisoners with the morphine. The guards seemed simultaneously ashamed and relieved by the change in executions. Although it was certainly easier on the executed and the guards who didn't have to kill them, it was a terrible ordeal for Harold. Watching the light go out in each man's eyes seemed to slowly tear at the foundation of his being. Bobby had made it sound so nice and peaceful, he thought, like floating away on billowing clouds.

Harold was pondering these thoughts beside the now dead man as Jim Meek's stuck his head in the infirmary. "Got a minute, boss?"

He nodded and Jim moved in, passing him a folder.

Opening the file, Harold saw it was the inmate record for Jacob Daniels. He knew it well. Overall, Daniels was a model prisoner, exhibited good behavior, and had done what he was told. Despite this history, he made several guards feel nervous and most were convinced something wasn't quite right in the head with Daniels, although the psychologists pronounced him sane after several referrals. His crimes were repeatedly breaking and entering people's homes where he simply stood over the sleeping residents until they woke and called the police. On the last occasion, he even sustained serious injuries from a baseball bat when the house's owner woke to find Daniels standing over his ten-year-old son in the middle of the night.

"So?" asked Harold.

"The board has decided to release Jacob Daniels," said Jim with dismay.

"I take it you don't agree," said Harold.

Jim moved forward and sat down in a chair, leaning over the dead body between them and in toward Harold in a conspiratorial manner. "Something is seriously wrong with this guy. I've seen a lot of cons in my time and this one is bad news. We can't let him out."

"You're saying we should put him down?" asked Harold, while pointing a thumb at the cooling body between them.

Jim just looked at Harold grimly.

"For a repeated B and E offender? Are you serious?"

"Boss," said Jim, "you're the final authority and can overrule the board. This guy is bad. You don't have to do it; just give me a nod and he'll have a tragic accident or something."

Harold was sorely tempted to give in to Jim, but it just didn't feel right. Besides, even if his friend took care of the execution or subsequent accident, it would still be on his hands ultimately. The board had made a decision, and he needed to support them or their decisions were worthless. Harold made up his mind, handing the folder back to Jim.

"I'm going to go with the board on this one. They have reviewed the case and I'd like to think people can change, Jim."

Jim stood upright and his huge form shadowed down on Harold solemnly for a moment. "I hear you, boss, but you're making a big mistake with this one."

He turned and walked out the door, giving a long look to the dead body at Harold's side.
Chapter 13 – Moving Forward

Despite his family's anguish and turmoil, Nathan kept moving forward. It was the only thing he knew to do. Things were not right between Bethany and David, and he had no idea how to fix them. He only had enough energy to focus on keeping them alive another day, just like before. The only difference now was that his family was larger.

They'd stayed a couple of days at the camp in the woods to rest and get everyone's strength up before they began moving again. The first day on the road Nathan sent David up on point and dropped back through the gaggle to walk with his wife, who'd been talking to the women.

"What happened to them?" he asked.

She looked sideways at him. "What do you think? Those bandits murdered their men and enslaved them. If we hadn't come along and killed most of those bastards, they'd never have gotten out."

"But they weren't even chained up when we found them."

She shrugged. "One of the scumbags, maybe the only one with a soul, threw them the keys as he ran away. But they were so scared they just stayed there next to the food. Some of them were afraid they would come back. It's classic abuse. They were terrorized."

He nodded. "I'll try to explain to the boys...tell them to treat them with kid gloves for a while."

"No!" She softened her tone. "No, Nathan, if you do that, they'll just feel like broken toys. Just try to treat them like human beings. That's all any of us are."

He took her advice, and over the next days and weeks, they became closer. Several of the women proved they could handle guns and guarded them with their former captives' weapons.

Eventually, after days tiptoeing around each other, Bethany and David even made a sort of peace. Although they were still cautious around each other, not quite knowing how to get past what was done and said, they went through the motions of reconciliation. Time will have to heal those wounds, thought Nathan.

He was thinking of these things as he walked in front of his new larger family. He wasn't sure what alerted him to the fact that something was wrong, but he froze and raised his hand. He felt the group behind him shuffle to a stop. He turned and signaled everyone to move into the ditch on the right side of the road. Nathan motioned David up and then went forward himself, carefully hugging one edge of the cracked blacktop.

After walking slowly for about a hundred yards, Nathan spied a large dark square compound with a tall fence around it through the dense trees. The road they were traveling passed to the left of the structure. Nathan didn't see anyone, but sensed it was occupied. He pulled his binoculars from his bag and quickly scanned the walls and guard towers. At each corner, he saw at least one man with a rifle and even one man with binoculars of his own. The man seemed to be looking right at him. Nathan dropped back down into the ditch, pulling David with him.

Great, he thought. Did they see us?

They crawled back toward the others. Nathan wondered if there would ever be an end to these nerve-racking encounters.

Death was always close now.
Chapter 14 – Unwanted Authority

Reggie Philips' heart pounded frightfully fast, but he wasn't afraid. In fact, he was smiling broadly. He and his wife Janice were practically flying down the highway in their new horse-drawn buggy. It was a beautiful clear day and the cool wind in their faces was refreshing and brisk. Both of them were reminded of happy days together long ago.

The horse and buggy were a gift from the Jackson Purchase, which ordered twenty sets from the large Mennonite community in Graves County. The Mennonites were the only people around whose life did not seem to have changed in the least since N-Day...with the exception of getting more business. They conducted a steady trade in horses, blacksmithing, animal slaughtering, and various other tasks which they looked upon as normal. The rest of the world only saw such things in old movies or documentaries, if at all.

The buggy ride took longer than a car would have, but fuel was scarcer than ever. Reggie and Janice made the trip from Murray to Paducah for the regular JP County Cooperative Council in three leisurely days. Reggie grew up around horses, but had almost forgotten how temperamental they could be and Clipper presented quite a frisky personality. He thought a lot of people would have to learn about horses, because they were here to stay. Besides horses, bikes now seemed to be the most practical means of transportation.

They were nearing the huge United States Enrichment Corporation, or USECO for short, which would be the new meeting site and presumably the impromptu governmental center for the JP as a whole. USECO began as a gaseous diffusion plant after World War II. The plant processed weapon grade uranium. The facilities were vast, solid, and most importantly made to withstand a direct nuclear strike.

During the Cold War, the U.S. Government knew that USECO was high on the list of Soviet nuclear targets, but for whatever reason, it was not struck during the N-Day attacks. The engineers who ran the plant followed protocol and responsibly placed all radioactive materials in huge, specially-built, lead vaults several stories beneath the ground, and then, they thoroughly secured those vaults. Since then, the staff kept the facility in as good a working order as possible. The committee was now taking advantage of the site's unique features.

It was set on several hundred wooded acres outside of Paducah and surrounded by layers of fences and ditches. The facility itself was not very impressive from the outside, because most of it was located underground. Inside, the work and living spaces were vast and sufficiently supplied to keep a large staff alive indefinitely following a nuclear holocaust. The committee decided the USECO complex was perfect for their use.

The facility was also well stocked with Geiger counters and other radiation detection equipment. Reggie previously ordered these to be handed out to government officials throughout the JP, mainly to calm lingering fears of radiation poisoning. So far, the Geiger counters had only picked up trace radiation amounts, mostly from dead fish in rivers flowing downstream from the destroyed cities of St. Louis, Louisville, Pittsburg, Nashville, and Huntsville. Live fish had proven safe to eat.

As Reggie and his wife rolled through the front gate, he nodded and smiled to the two guards who responded with friendly waves of their own. They rode for several minutes up to the old parking lot near the facility's front entrance. There wasn't a hitching post in sight, so Reggie stopped the buggy near an abandoned car, dismounted, and tied the horse's reins to the front bumper. He then went around and helped Janice down.

General Clarence Anderson was outside smoking with several other people, all of whom came over to greet them. Reggie noticed that the men smoked home-rolled cigarettes that looked rough, but tobacco was still in high demand and would probably continue to be one of the major cash crops for the JP...if they could grow enough food to survive the next winter.

"Afternoon. How was the trip?" Anderson asked, giving Janice a warm hug and then shaking Reggie's hand.

"Wonderful," replied Janice, who was still flushed and smiling.

"Good. With your permission, I would like to take Reggie from you for a while. Everyone's been eagerly awaiting his arrival," he said giving Janice a wink.

Reggie looked at Anderson with sudden concern, but could tell nothing from his expression except possibly suppressed amusement.

"Yes, time for work," said Janice with a smile. "I'll be around here somewhere when you're done." Reggie gave her a peck on the cheek and then followed Anderson inside.

They walked down wide concrete halls lit with florescent lights. At various points along their path stood open metal vault doors that Reggie doubted he could budge if his life depended upon it.

They entered a large meeting room and noticed that no one was arguing, which was exceptionally odd. He also saw that not only were the county executives present, but most of the mayors as well. Reggie shook hands and exchanged greetings as he made his way to an empty chair at the head of the table, typically reserved for him.

Reggie took off his coat and opened his shoulder bag, pulling out a binder and notebook. He sat, put on his glasses, and was just beginning to call the meeting to order, when James Harping, the County Executive of Ballard County, stood and cleared his throat loudly. Here it comes, thought Reggie. Whatever is causing everyone to act so weird, this is it.

"Uh, Reggie, we all feel we have a piece of business that must be handled before anything else." James looked around for support and the others nodded in agreement, something which amazed Reggie since they rarely agreed on much of anything without an immense amount of tedious debate. James continued, "We have decided that this cooperative committee just isn't going to work in the long run. It was okay when we thought things would go back to normal, but we all know that just ain't going to happen."

Reggie grew tenser. He had been dreading the moment when they would make this realization. He was afraid their mutual distrust of each other could tear their fragile cooperative life apart. Reggie tried to speak quickly before James could go on, "Well, James, that's an interesting point, but this is a little sudden and the council serves an important purpose—"

James continued on, evidently emboldened by the support of his peers. "The JP has done better than most. Hell, we know we've got a good thing going, but we need a stronger government than the Cooperative Council."

"What did you have in mind?" asked Reggie, cautiously curious.

"We need an overall leader to direct the council's efforts and also to ensure our security. The council can still handle all the county business and cooperative stuff, but we need someone like a governor or even a president maybe."

"Now wait a minute," started Reggie, "we're not officially anything. The JP is just something we made up."

"That's right," jumped in Brad Williams of McCracken County, "and thank goodness for it. Without the JP, we'd be cold, hungry, and worried about raving crazies killing us and our families. We made the JP up, but it's a good thing, and we need to make sure it sticks around. If the U.S. Government rolls in here tomorrow, we can throw the whole JP business into the river as fast as you please, but I'm not betting money on that horse."

"So..." began Reggie, "what sort of powers would this individual have and how would we select him? I'm presuming some sort of vote?"

James replied with a smile. "Well, as far as powers go, basically everything you've been doing on an unofficial basis. We would just make it official." James paused and looked around before continuing, "And we couldn't think of anyone better to be our new president than you."

Reggie inwardly groaned. Others around the room nodded and grinned ridiculously. They were obviously very pleased with themselves, and why not? They finally put aside their differences, even if only for a single issue. They willingly agreed to submit themselves to authority. Reggie admitted it made sense in a way. They trusted him more than each other.

He raised his hand for everyone to stop talking so he could speak. They eventually did, but kept their wide smiles on. "Gentlemen, I'm grateful, honored, and humbled, but I must emphatically refuse. Please accept this as my final answer."

The room grew quiet for a moment and then one of the mayors spoke from the back. "Reggie, we know it's a shock and all, but you'd really only be doing what you've been doing already."

"That's not the point," said Reggie.

"Then, what is the point?" asked someone with a little attitude.

"Well, there are several problems, actually," responded Reggie as he began to organize his thoughts. "First, any official leadership position for any new government should be a democratically elected official, which I am not. Second, this body does not have the authority to simply choose to set up a government and pick a leader. And finally, I've already got a job...Lieutenant Governor for the state of Kentucky."

Many people started to speak at once, but Clarence Anderson stood. "Gentlemen, I know it is not my place, but I would like to speak, if you don't mind."

Reggie felt relief that someone would establish some sanity to the discussion.

"The Lieutenant Governor is right. He already has a job, which is why he is most qualified to lead us."

Reggie looked at Anderson quizzically.

Anderson continued, "No one in the JP has been democratically elected by the citizens of the JP to any leadership position, except you, Reggie. I believe you carried a majority of the vote of every county in the JP in the last elections."

Reggie smiled. "That's because my ticket was tied to Governor Henry."

Anderson shrugged. "Nevertheless, they elected you. You must recognize we need a stable, practical, working government to survive. What we are playing with just isn't going to work in the long term." Anderson turned and began addressing the whole room. "I'm afraid dangerous times are coming and we better be ready. Everyone has to do their part, even if they do not want to. I've come to know Reggie Philips as a good friend and believe no one is better qualified for the position. The fact that he resists the authority only makes me more confident that he is the right man for the job."

Reggie began to understand with growing horror that this might actually happen and there may be nothing he could do to get out of it.

Anderson turned back to Reggie and with a knowing smile said, "After all, Lieutenant Governor Reginald Philips does not strike me as the sort of man who turns away from what is obviously his duty."

Reggie hoped that his fierce stare at Anderson conveyed his displeasure. Anderson, in return, only seemed more amused.

"With that settled," said Anderson with finality, "I think we can move on to other business."

*******

The meeting continued on with other mundane issues and tasks, but Reggie was hardly aware. His mind whirled with the implications for what just happened. There were so many unknowns that he felt as if he were falling over a cliff. Suddenly, his mind caught hold of the discussion going on about the electrical problem.

They were talking about how their electrical needs were just barely being met, though cutting off areas outside the JP helped somewhat. The last area still receiving power outside the JP was General Sampson's West Tennessee Republic to the south. They had tentatively reached a deal in principle where the WTR gave them compensation in corn and other hard-to-find items. After months of waiting, the JP still had not actually received anything from the WTR in return for the electricity. This was despite many assurances from Sampson.

"I spoke to General Sampson last month," said Anderson. "I'm convinced he is just stalled for more time. It may be harder for them hemmed in by so many irradiated areas."

"But that's not the issue," said Leslie Mitchell, the Paducah mayor. "We've come to realize, we need the extra electricity more than we need anything they can give us in return. We're trying to rebuild, and we're on our way, but we're being held back by the electricity rationing."

"What it sounds like to me," said another, "is that we should use the excuse of them not paying the agreed upon rate as a pretext for cutting them off for good."

"That could be dangerous," said Anderson ominously. "It would make them desperate and desperate people can be unpredictable. They also have a larger population, more military resources, and are essentially a dictatorship under Sampson. I don't think we're ready to take on the WTR."

The room erupted in a confusion of voices with several proclaiming that they felt the JP was ready for anything Sampson's forces could throw against them. Reggie sensed the conversation was getting close to heated topics he'd rather not have discussed yet.

"Ladies and gentlemen," cried Reggie, "let's table this discussion until our next meeting. This topic is obviously very serious and I believe we could make a more enlightened decision after we've all had time to carefully consider the situation and all of our available options."

The men in the room grumbled under their breath but grudgingly agreed. Reggie could tell this would be a hot topic at any future meeting. They covered a few more mundane matters and then adjourned.

As they were walking out, Anderson caught up to Reggie. The general's face was deadly serious. "If we just cut the WTR off, there's liable to be war between us and we're not ready for that, I promise you."

Reggie looked long at Anderson before speaking. "I know. But they'll not submit to the WTR's bullying...too proud. We'll have to figure something out."

Reggie turned to walk away and Anderson asked after him, "What do you want me to do for now about Sampson?"

"For now, simply stall him. Keep giving him the electricity, but don't push for any compensation. We don't really want it now and may need that pretext to cut them off eventually."

Reggie turned back and saw that Anderson's face appeared strained. Reggie continued, "And you say we're not ready for a war. I hear you, but you damn well better get us ready in a hurry, because I think it's coming, ready or not."

President Philips walked slowly back up toward the surface, his load much heavier than it was before.
Chapter 15 – The Spymaster

No one really knew Ethan Schweitzer's history, only that he was a single retiree. Before N-Day, few gave him a passing thought. Ethan was an unassuming small and slightly older man with a bald head. Most people considered him harmless except for those who looked into his piercing blue eyes and hesitated, sensing something troubling and possibly dangerous.

Ethan kept to himself except when he came to town for groceries and an occasional meal at the diner. He didn't cause any trouble and the residents of the small West Tennessee town left him alone. Word was he had worked for the government, but no one really knew more than that, nor cared for that matter.

The truth was Ethan had recently retired after thirty-five years of distinguished work in the National Clandestine Service, with multiple overseas tours and in high threat areas. He was a master at his trade, but in his retired life that meant nothing, because no one could know what it was he did.

That all changed on N-Day. He recognized that chaos and danger that would inevitably come to their doors even as neighbors stood in their yards and exchanged pitiful bits of half-truths and what-ifs. Ethan identified the man who would be in charge—there was always one—and offered his services to him.

That man was General Jeb Sampson. The establishment of the West Tennessee Republic was something Ethan helped create and took considerable pride in. To be honest with himself, Ethan admitted that N-Day was a blessing for him. He gave everything in devoted service and never allowed himself to make attachments. After retirement, he found himself alone but without the familiar duty. The end of the world had probably saved him from at best a lonely and miserable existence...or at worse, a bullet in the brain.

Sampson was a man of unlimited power in the West Tennessee Republic, as only military dictators could be. Ethan had seen it dozens of times in dozens of sad places around the world. The only difference here was Ethan was helping the dictator become much more powerful. It was his idea to establish martial law, universal conscription, and to suspend all basic rights. Ethan recommended seizing the huge army depot at Milan and the Marine and Navy airbase at Meridian. The weapons and equipment allowed them to outfit an army, which would be instrumental in rebuilding the new world.

Ethan was currently walking to Sampson's headquarters to report what he'd just learned. Sampson had invested Ethan with power, not only in intelligence collection, but also in internal security. Ethan's spidery web of informants and influence had already spread thoroughly and firmly throughout the republic and into neighboring lands. What Ethan would tell Sampson came from one of his most reliable and well-placed sources.

As Ethan approached the large squat building, the guards stood aside and opened the door for him. He walked down the hall and silently slipped into the back of a shadowy conference room where there was already a briefing in session. Ethan could barely see the man's face for the dim light cast by the electric lamps.

Ethan waited patiently as the briefing droned on, but at one point, he caught Sampson's eye. The large man abruptly ended the meeting and sent everyone out of the room. He knew better than to ask Ethan's business publicly. The men and women filed out of the room quickly, giving Ethan curious looks. Most had seen him around Sampson, but did not know his role.

As the last person left, Ethan slowly closed the door and then came to sit beside the tense and physically imposing general.

Gruffly, as was normal for him, Sampson got right to the point. "What is it, Ethan? Must be important if you came in here to tell me."

"Yes, sir." Ethan cleared his head of scattered thoughts and focused on the information. "Mr. Reginald Philips has been formally selected to lead the JP. Sounds like it wasn't his idea, that it was forced upon him, but I don't want to underestimate him. It could have been well choreographed."

"General Anderson seems to think highly of him," replied Sampson. "I tried to rattle his chain and get him to say something bad about the man the last time we met, but he wouldn't do it. That means something."

"Word is that Anderson is loyal to Philips. Also, Anderson is working hard to build the military up, and they have gotten their hands on a lot of equipment from Fort Campbell," Ethan explained. "I'm still working on getting a more detailed list of what they've procured."

"Pretty damn smart," remarked Sampson while looking at Ethan pointedly. "We probably should have thought of that; we could have deprived them even if we didn't need it."

Ethan ignored the jab and continued on. "Most disturbing, they are seriously considering cutting off our electricity over not giving them their payments."

Sampson's face took on a hard look as Ethan knew it would. This was a touchy subject. Sampson considered the dam and its electricity everyone's right and not just that of the JP.

Sampson growled through clenched teeth, "Damn them!" He sat silently for a moment, thinking. "Well, I guess we knew this day would come. We've been holding off paying them as long as possible. We'll just have to give them something and stall some more until our plans are ready."

"Yes, General, but there is something else," continued Ethan. "They have decided the electricity they give us is worth more than anything we can pay. They intend to use the lack of compensation as the reason to cut us off. They don't want the payments."

Sampson slapped his hand down and snarled, "They wouldn't dare!"

"Evidently, Anderson recommended against such a course of action, believing it rash."

"Wise man," said Sampson. "What was the final outcome?"

"Philips tabled the discussion until the next meeting, but the proposal appears to be gathering steam."

Sampson frowned into the corner of the room and then smiled. "There's only one thing to be done."

Ethan looked at Sampson quizzically. "Sir?"

"Guess we better pay them what they're owed," said Sampson angrily through a wolf-like grin.
Chapter 16 – Hancock

There were probably two dozen people gathered outside on wooden picnic tables around a small radio. Batteries were becoming scarce, but no one was going to neglect the opportunity to hear a broadcast of Tim Reynolds' WKPO Voice of the Jackson Purchase. People talked quietly, not wanting to miss the break in the static that signaled the beginning of the show.

Harold Buchannan sat at one of the tables thinking about how strange the world was now. Not many months ago he was simply in charge of security at Hancock State Prison, then he became the warden by default. Now, after everything that had happened, he seemed to find himself the unnamed, but very real, leader of those who remained at the prison.

It had been a few weeks since they had taken care of the prisoner problem. The seven men on death row were executed along with the nineteen serving life sentences without the possibility of parole. Another eight were executed for attempted murder—or, in one sad case, successful murder—of prison guards since N-Day. The remaining two hundred and twenty-two prisoners were released after a board screening. Most simply expressed a desire to go home to whatever families they might have. Harold believed the majority of them. Despite this, he took certain precautions.

The parolees were given a blanket, some water, and a little food. They were released individually at five-minute intervals to walk the one main road south or north out of the small town. Any man who returned or was seen in the town of Hancock after sunset, would be shot on sight. Harold also released the least violent men first to give them time to get on the road before the more dangerous types came after. Many begged to stay and probably would have behaved themselves, but Harold just could not think of them as anything other than convicts, and the first rule of prison administration was never trust a con.

The town residents of Hancock weren't happy with the plan, but they understood the need. The majority of the National Guard troops had long since melted away and people didn't like the idea of a bunch of hardened criminals in their neighborhood. The townsfolk lined the main street with their guns and helped funnel the men out of town. Harold insisted on civility, but in a couple of cases, that was simply too much to ask. At least a dozen inmates were beaten badly before they could get away, and one was killed in what was likely misplaced fear, anger, and frustration over the uncertain future. The process took three days, but they were all now long gone, and Harold prayed he had not unleashed a scourge onto the pitiful remnants of society.

Some of the guards and workers left after the releases, but most stayed, moving into Hancock Prison with their families now that there was more space. Hancock Prison in effect became a castle. It was secure from the outside with an ample supply of guns and ammunition. The looming problem was their dwindling food supply. They had enough for several months, but doing the math, Harold knew they would run out eventually. It would be easy to just ignore this impending crisis, but Harold realized a problem ignored eventually returned home in spades. He had an idea, but needed something he currently didn't possess to make it work.

Harold's musings were interrupted by the break in the static, and the crowd around the tables immediately became silent, leaning in close. A bright, clear, and almost cheerful voice came over the radio.

"Good afternoon, friends. This is Tim Reynolds of WKPO, bringing you the broadcast of The Voice of the Jackson Purchase. The local time is 1 PM, and the date is February 15th, exactly one hundred and thirty-eight days since N-Day. This signal is transmitting on 930 and 1620 megahertz." The voice continued on with little pause or inflection; Tim was obviously reading from an all-too-familiar script. "This broadcast will take approximately eighteen minutes and the next broadcast will commence tomorrow at 1 PM, subject to any technical difficulties. Should there be technical problems, listen in at this station at exactly 1 PM on subsequent days. I also want to remind you we will have a special broadcast with newly elected JP President Reggie Philips at noon this Friday before our regular show."

There was a pause as if Tim were shuffling through papers in front of him before he spoke again. "The JP County Cooperative Committee has asked me to remind everyone of the vast importance of paying their allotted taxes and also to apologize for the inconvenience of the very narrow electricity hours. They also want to urge everyone to attempt to pool their resources to make them go further. They have additionally asked that people refrain from buying and selling fuel illegally, which only hurts us all in the long run. Anyone caught engaging in such activity will be fined heavily."

Harold and the others looked at each other slightly in awe. They had electricity and paid taxes. Government was evidently alive and well in the JP.

Tim coughed in a slightly uncomfortable manner before going on. "President Philips has also asked me to remind all those listeners out there who are not part of the JP that the borders are closed. The situation may change in time, but for now, the security situation is simply too dire. He also states that people are discouraged from traveling to any of the refugee camps along the border and not to believe the stories that food and medical care are provided there. Mr. Philips stresses that people are better off where they are than at one of these dangerous camps. Only individuals who can prove they or their immediate family permanently reside within the JP will be admitted. No exceptions."

Harold smiled to himself. Those sly dogs. They were obviously taking care of the people in those camps at least to some degree, but didn't want the camps to swell more than they already were. They might also be letting people in regardless, especially if they possessed special skills, but he couldn't count on that.

Tim Reynolds was speaking again, but Jim Meeks' gigantic frame suddenly thundered up to him in a huff. "Boss, I need you now."

"Now?" asked Harold. "The broadcast will be over soon."

"Sorry, boss. Now."

Harold saw the serious look on Jim's face and asked no more questions. "Everyone keep listening, and fill me in on whatever I miss." Harold walked quickly after the big man.

Harold tried to catch up to Jim, but he was moving too fast through the corridors and up the stairs. Harold figured out that he was leading him to the guard tower overlooking the prison's main entrance. He followed Jim's big figure out into the open sunlight and saw two guards with rifles ready looking down.

"Any change?" asked Jim.

"None. Just stand there," answered the guard to the left.

Harold gazed down and saw a squat muscular man with long scraggly hair and unkempt graying beard in a dirty overcoat looking calmly up at them. He appeared ready to ask them some innocuous question, such as what the best diner was in town or what the price of gas was at the local CITGO.

"He walked up about ten minutes ago and just stood there," said Jim. "Doesn't look armed, but the men have spotted at least a half dozen others off in those ditches and woods across the road." Jim pointed south.

"How did he get through the outer fence?" asked Harold.

"Must have crawled under by the gully," said the other guard. "We don't take care of the fence the way we used to, animals and such come under I'm sure."

Harold looked at the man below him for a long time, and without turning his head, asked Jim, "Well, what do you think?"

"I don't know, boss," Jim seemed to be searching for words. "I don't like it, I can tell you that," he again seemed to be troubled. "It just isn't normal."

Harold almost laughed. "Normal? Are you crazy? What the hell is normal anymore?"

"That's not what I mean." Jim looked away and then turned back with comprehension. "Look, we're a big building with high walls and fences and guards with guns...and this guy just strolls up as easy as you please. To top it off, he just appears so damn calm and cool. It's like he's done this a hundred times or something and knows what to expect. It just isn't normal," he repeated.

Harold stared at the man below him who met his gaze levelly. "Well, I've got something for him he won't expect...I guarantee it."

Harold turned away and began walking back down the stairs. "Let's bring him in."
Chapter 17 - Captured

Nathan wrung his hands nervously and went through everything in his mind again. They could have gone around the big prison, but people were obviously living there and might help Nathan and his family...or whoever these people were could sneak out behind them after they passed and ambush them. Nathan decided it was better to meet the prison residents on his own terms.

He arranged everyone in pairs out of sight. Bethany and the boys had been through this plenty of times before and knew their roles, but the others were new, so Nathan went over everything in great detail. He used a makeshift model on the ground to illustrate individual location and duties.

Following the briefing, Nathan wiggled under one edge of the fence and walked up to within thirty yards of the wall. He noticed several men watching from above during his long exposed approach, but none of them said anything...only stared. Nathan thought that was probably a good sign. Disciplined men were not normally rash.

Nathan was determined to let them make the first move now that he was in position. He would stay still and quiet until they said or did something.

He did not have to wait long.

After about ten minutes, two men appeared at the top of the wall, one huge and menacing-looking, the other older and smaller in comparison. The second man wore an eye patch and carried an air of authority about him. He had earlier seen the big man give directions to the guards before walking away. Big Man now pointed Nathan out to Mister One Eye, who regarded Nathan calmly. One Eye then turned and spoke to the other men and several moved off quickly.

Soon, four men returned to the top of the wall, spoke together, and then spread out. Nathan began to grow uneasy. He thought of taking off his hat in order to give the signal, but there were too many for Joshua to hit and Nathan thought it best to play this scenario cool. The four men reappeared along the length of the wall together and brought up short stubby guns. They were not pointing at Nathan, but high and to his rear.

There was just enough time to recognize they were grenade launchers and that they were not aiming toward him...but his family. The weapons fired almost simultaneously with four muffled thumps. Nathan spun around to look and could track the projectiles in the air, but they went high and came down only about forty yards to Nathan's rear, far short of his family's positions. Not explosions, he noticed, but gray smoke came billowing out.

No, thought Nathan a moment later as his eyes started to water and his nose burn, not grenades...tear gas.

They had effectively isolated him from his support. Nathan realized with a flash that they wanted to take him prisoner without getting shot by his family, whom they had obviously spotted despite Nathan's efforts to conceal them.

These guys are good, thought Nathan with combined admiration and fear.

He considered making a run for it. They didn't want to kill him, and once he got on the other side of the tear gas, it would cover his escape and work in his favor. Going through the tear gas wouldn't be pleasant, but he had endured much worse.

Nathan spun back to look at the gate to see how much time remained for him to escape. Sure enough, there were two men waiting there looking at him through an open door. One held a riot gun aimed straight at Nathan. He saw the flash from the barrel at the same time he felt a blow to his stomach, like someone hitting him with a baseball bat.

Nathan fell to the ground and looked up at the sky with wisps of tear gas floating overhead. He tried to place his hands over his stomach to stop the bleeding. He knew he needed to stay conscious to survive.

Stay awake...stay awake...stay awake, he kept telling himself over and over, as he slipped into blackness.

*******

Nathan woke slowly and realized he could hear voices. He kept his eyes shut and cast his senses around him to determine his environment. He did not yet think about the fact that he should be dead. His training had been too good and complete; he focused on gathering information needed in order to make decisions.

Nathan felt the metal shackles that bound his wrists and ankles to a metal chair. Some sort of strap around him middle held him tightly upright. The room was small, gauging by how the voices did not echo. There were at least two of them with him. They were talking about him, but he could not tell exactly what they were saying due to the fact that they whispered.

Why would they be whispering? he wondered.

"Look. He's awake," said one.

Nathan mentally prepared himself for the ordeal. He had been through the Army's Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape School, SERE for short, and knew how interrogations worked. Giddy up, he thought, opening his eyes and looking at them.

The huge man Nathan had seen outside earlier on the wall moved close to Nathan and looked down at him calmly. "Hello, sir. My name is Officer Jim Meeks, and this is Officer Kevin Jenkins. It is our intention to treat you with respect and courtesy, but that is only possible if you treat us with the same in return." Meeks' voice grew firmer. "That means no spitting, profanity, biting, throwing bodily wastes at us, or in any way trying to injure us. You will also follow our instructions without question or delay. This is for your own safety. Do you understand what I have said, Major Nathan Taylor?"

This was a strange way to begin an interrogation and Nathan's eyes fixed on their uniforms and utility belts. He realized these men were prison guards, and they had just given him their standard 'new convict' script.

"Yes, sir, I understand," answered Nathan. Might I ask what has happened to me and where I am?'

"Certainly," replied Meeks. "You are in Hancock State Prison. You approached and we saw the rest of your crew in the woods with guns. Normally, we would have simply ignored you or driven you off with tear gas, but the boss was curious, so here you are."

"But I was shot," said Nathan, sucking in his stomach and feeling an immediate wave of pain wash over him.

"Yes, with a rubber slug," said Jenkins. "Hurts like hell, but doesn't penetrate clothing or skin. I aimed for the solar plexus in order to knock you out. You'll be sore for a week, but no real damage. The doctor already checked you over and said you were good to go."

Nathan grimaced and nodded. He had been totally outwitted. It was sure to happen at some point. He noticed the water bottle on the table. "May I have a drink of that please? I'm pretty thirsty."

"You may," said Meeks. "I'll even unshackle one of your hands so you can do it yourself, as long as you promise not to try anything stupid. I don't want to have to pepper spray you in this small room."

Nathan smiled again. "I'll mind my manners and keep my elbows off the table, I promise"

"Good enough," said Meeks and pulled a ring of keys from his belt to unlock him. Nathan noticed that Jenkins pulled his pepper spray from his belt and moved over to the other corner of the room so he could have a clear view of Nathan while Meeks uncuffed him.

"What happened to my family?" asked Nathan.

"Your family?" asked Jenkins.

Meeks gave his partner a sharp look. "The boss will be in here in a minute to talk to you about that and any other questions you may have. I'm here to welcome you and make sure you understand the rules. Also, I will take it very personally if you disrespect Warden Buchannan." Meeks looked at Nathan sternly. "Do we understand each other, Major Taylor?"

"Yes, sir. We do," replied Nathan as he slowly drank the cool water, letting it clear the foul taste out of his mouth. He noticed for the first time that he was dressed in hospital scrubs and not his normal clothes. Someone had also obviously washed the irritating tear gas residue from his skin.

Meeks nodded and walked over to the door where he knocked three times. The door opened partially, and Meeks told another man that they were ready and the door closed again. Meeks placed a chair across the table from Nathan and then went to stand behind Nathan. Jenkins remained across the room, looking at Nathan. Neither spoke further.

A few moments later, the door opened again and the one-eyed older man Nathan had seen earlier on the wall entered. "Good afternoon, Major Taylor. My name is Harold Buchannan, and I now run the prison here." He sat across from Nathan and laced his fingers in front of him. Both stared at each other without saying anything. Harold obviously expected Nathan to break the silence.

Nathan decided to indulge him since he had questions, but thought he would throw a curve ball. "What happened to your eye?"

Harold unconsciously reached up and rubbed the patch and then smiled at Nathan. "That's a long story and nothing to do with us here and now."

"Am I now a prisoner here?" asked Nathan.

"Only for the moment, and we promise to treat you well," said Harold. "We're not really a prison anymore."

"What are you, then?"

Harold's look became a little less businesslike and slightly melancholy. "Just a group of people trying to survive, you might say."

"I understand where you're coming from," replied Nathan trying to make a human connection as he had been taught. "That's exactly what my family and I are trying to do."

"Is that your family out there?" asked Harold.

Nathan decided not to lie. "Some are my natural family, some I've adopted. They're all I've got now. So yes, they're my family.

"I see." Harold nodded. "Why did you walk up to the prison?"

Nathan thought carefully before answering. "We've been on the road for a long time, and we try to stop at every house or building we see. Sometimes they're abandoned and there's food. Sometimes people are still there and will give us shelter or trade for supplies."

"Sounds dangerous," said Harold.

"It can be," replied Nathan.

Harold contemplated that for a moment and then turned, holding out his hand to Jenkins, who reached down onto the floor and handed Harold a manila envelope. Harold dumped out the contents, which proved to be what Nathan had been carrying in his pockets.

Harold sifted through the items and lifted up Nathan's military identification card, "Says here that you are a major in the U.S. Army."

"I was a major in the U.S. Army," said Nathan. "Things changed after that day, I guess."

"What did you do in the Army?" asked Harold.

Nathan again decided not to lie. This man was trying to get to something, but Nathan did not sense any malice. "Lots of things. I enlisted as a paratrooper, then went Special Forces for several years. I got married and the life didn't really agree with having a family, so I went to night college and then Officer Candidate School. I was commissioned an intelligence officer. For the past five years, I've been in counterintelligence, mainly focusing on security, terrorism, and counter-espionage."

Harold nodded and put the military identification card down. He sifted through a few other items before holding up Nathan's driver's license. "Says here you're from Mayfield, Kentucky. That's in the JP, isn't it?"

"In the what?" asked Nathan, unsure if he had heard correct.

"The JP. The Jackson Purchase." Harold looked much tenser suddenly.

That's what he's getting at. It's important to him, thought Nathan. "I guess so," said Nathan. "No one really calls it that. I believe it has some sort of historical connotation from the 1800's."

"Well, that's what they're calling it now," said Harold.

"Who is calling what now?" asked Nathan with growing confusion.

Harold looked a bit frustrated. "Where exactly are you and your family headed, Major Taylor?"

"We're headed home, to be with family."

"And home is in the JP," Harold said this with a knowing tone, as if it explained everything.

Nathan was getting a little annoyed. "Listen, I'm getting the feeling this JP is important to you for some reason, but I'm just trying to get home to be with my family. I haven't been able to talk to them since everything went to hell. I'm pretty worried about them and they're likely worried about us."

Harold stared at him with growing amazement and then glanced at Meeks behind Nathan. Nathan turned just in time to see Meeks shrug his shoulders.

"You really don't know, do you?" asked Harold.

"Know what?" said Nathan in chipped tones.

Harold sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with his hands before looking back at Nathan. "That the JP is the only place in this whole damn world that is still sane. That they have electricity for goodness sake. They have government and law and rules and heaven forbid taxes!"

Harold said this in a rush and now stopped to stare at Nathan. "It's the place to be if you want to survive in any normal, civilized sense. The only problem is they are very selective in who they let in."

"Selective? How?" asked Nathan.

"Only people who are from the JP before N-Day can get into the JP. And you are from Mayfield, which my map tells me is right square in the middle." Harold said this while holding up the driver's license.

"But none of you guys are, am I right?" Nathan asked, but they just looked at each other expressionlessly. "And you think if I take you there, you might be able to get in if you are with me. Is that right?"

Harold's jaw looked set. "Yes. That's about right."

Nathan slumped in his chair. "And just how do you even know this is true? Word of mouth isn't necessarily reliable, you know. We've heard a lot of crazy stories on the road. Just the other day we heard that the Cubans were on their way to help."

"It isn't word of mouth. We're getting it directly from the JP by their regular radio broadcasts," explained Harold.

Nathan was struck silent. Radio. That means electricity. That really could mean civilization and stability. There might still be someplace in the world that was somewhat normal. A place you could live without someone trying to cut your throat every time you close your eyes to go to sleep. Could it be true?

"Will you take us?" asked Harold plainly.

"Do I have a choice?" asked Nathan. "You'll just keep me here until I say yes."

"No," said Harold with a sigh. "We can't force you. Wouldn't work. We need you to be our committed and sincere advocate to the JP. I suspect if we take you there by force, it could be a problem the minute we need you to speak on our behalf."

"So you'll let me and my family go regardless?" asked Nathan.

"Yes," Harold answered after a pause. "But consider something. I bet it has been hard for you coming all this distance. It's a dangerous world out there. I have almost thirty trained and armed men and women in addition to their families. Might be a safer way to travel."

Nathan thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what. I don't like making decisions under duress. You release me, let me go back to my group to talk it over, and if we come back, the answer is yes. If we don't, the answer is no."

"The hell we will!" said Meeks, laying heavy hands on Nathan's shoulders.

"Now we see the real deal, huh? Everything you've said is bullshit," growled Nathan, giving Meeks a killing stare. The big man returned it, and Nathan jerked away from the hands on him as much as he was able. Months of stress, fear, and pain burst out of him. "Get your damn hands off me, I'm not one of your convicts! Look at yourselves! You're so used to dealing with prisoners you don't know how to act with normal people!"

Harold held up a palm to Meeks. "Easy there. I meant what I said. We need Major Taylor here to do this because he wants to do it. No other way works." Harold paused again, sizing Nathan up. "I don't really know what else to say other than I hope you'll consider it. For the sake of my people and yours, do this." Harold nodded at Nathan and then stood up and left. As he passed out the door, he said over his shoulder to the men, "Let him go."

The two guards looked at each other and then Meeks started unlocking the shackles and restraints, cursing under his breath.

Nathan stood slowly and painfully, looking at the two guards. "Just out of curiosity, when is the next scheduled JP radio broadcast?"
Chapter 18 – Under the Stars

Nathan was as relaxed and calm as he could remember being in a very long time. He didn't feel like the entire weight of the world was upon his shoulders and that every mistake might be his last...or get someone in his family killed. Now he was part of a pack.

Nathan had always been a dog person and studied how they socialized. A dog's world is the pack and one of the cruelest things you can do to a dog is to isolate them. Nathan always considered himself more of a loner, but he now appreciated being part of a large group.

Twelve days out of Hancock Prison, Nathan sat smoking the last of Harold Buchannan's Vegas 5 cigars with the former warden and the prison doctor, Bobby Wilson.

"How are your patients doing?" Nathan asked. The burden for the women and girls was another he gladly shared.

"Physically, they're fine," answered Bobby. "They're finishing up the rounds of antibiotics I prescribed all of them."

Harold said, "Those are going to be hard to come by. Did they all need them?"

"Need, well, better safe than sorry. I really couldn't do any lab work or anything. Besides, those pharmaceuticals have a limited shelf life. And honestly, I think the pills are helping in other ways, too. What ails them isn't all physical, but sometimes being under a physician's care and following directions can help in ways that aren't readily apparent."

The men sat quiet for a moment, and Nathan contemplated what else could be done. Everyone tried to do their best to support and help, but no one knew how, except to make sure the women and girls understood they were safe and that people cared about them.

Since leaving the prison, travel on the road was slow going at times, but it felt like they were flying after months on foot.

"Will they be okay walking?" asked Nathan. "The bus is down to fumes and won't go further."

Bobby said, "Oh yeah. They'll be fine. A couple could still ride in the truck if they needed to, couldn't they?"

They looked at Harold who insisted on bringing both vehicles, even though it meant siphoning gas whenever possible. The truck had a hitch for the trailer full of supplies and a winch they used a few times a day to pull jammed cars out of their path.

"Certainly," Harold answered. "Anyone in particular we should assign to drive the truck?"

Nathan hid a smile. His sons were always vying for positions behind the wheel. "There's no shortage of volunteers. Doc, you can keep an eye out as we have more walkers and let us know if someone looks like they need a break."

"Be glad to," answered Bobby.

Nathan shook the ash from his cigar. "I really appreciate everything you all are doing. I mean that. A couple weeks ago we were struggling, and now..." He raised his chin and sniffed the air. He guessed it was rabbit cooking on the grill, but regardless, it smelled wonderful. A few more meals before the propane ran out, and he knew the two guards who were hunters would continue to provide for them. "Now I'm camping every night in good company. What more could a man ask for?"

"Uh, how about cable television?" said Bobby.

"Or cold beer," added Harold.

"Maybe some deep dish pizza," quipped Bobby.

Harold put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes with a smile. "A nice hot tub."

"Okay, okay," admitted Nathan, "there is room for improvement, but at least we don't have someone trying to cut out throats or in danger of freezing to death or of having to eat our boots."

"Yet," said Bobby.

"What a bunch of optimists I hitched up with," said Nathan in mock disgust.

"Just being realistic." Harold smiled. "Only thing to do is enjoy each day and not stress too much over tomorrow."

Nathan didn't answer, but he thought that was pretty wise advice. He found he could actually relax...a little. Being fed and rested certainly helped. Security was now also less stressful. Counting Nathan and his two boys, they numbered over forty men and women working in rotation to guard the camp every night. With at least three people on duty at all times, he was as rested as he had been in ages. The feeling was mildly disconcerting and made him feel like he needed to do something.

Nathan finished his cigar, took his leave of Harold and Bobby, and walked the perimeter. Then, he checked out the vehicles, and finally on his family. Everything appeared in order. He settled down beside the bus as night approached and stripped down all his weapons while munching on a bit of rabbit. His guns were already clean, but more never hurt.

Finally, having done all he could think of, Nathan lay down beside a dozing Bethany. He gazed upwards and admired the wondrous stars in the heavens above. Nathan was always amazed when he could get away from the city on a clear night to gaze up and actually see the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy in all its beauty. He graduated with a communications degree years before, but he thought he could have been perfectly content as an astronomer spending all his days gazing up at the heavens.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" asked Bethany, her eyes still closed.

"Thought you were asleep," answered Nathan.

"Not really," she said, sitting up. "Just enjoying being able to relax without always feeling like something bad is getting ready to happen."

Nathan nodded. "I know what you mean." He knew there were plenty of bad things that could still happen to them, but he understood what Bethany meant. It was better being in a large group of people who could trust each other...and were well armed. They had seen some locals recently, but these stayed clear of Nathan's band. Strangers were a suspicious breed these days and best avoided if possible.

"It's also nice to be back home," said Bethany.

Nathan laughed. "We're not there yet."

"I mean Kentucky. Just knowing we're in Kentucky is good."

"There's no missing that fact," answered Nathan, remembering a brave and obviously well-maintained flag on a tall pole a few miles back. Not a flag of the U.S., or even of Kentucky, but of the University of Kentucky Wildcats. The house's inhabitants watched from a distance, and when Joshua waved, they had at least waved back.

Bethany giggled. "Did you see everyone's reaction at that Jerry's Restaurant place?"

Nathan smiled. "I have to admit even I was a little horrified." The abandoned restaurant was in front of a large lake with a giant sign out front which said proudly, 'Jerry's World Famous Catfish Sushi!' "Only in Kentucky," he said.

His wife grew silent. "They will let them in, won't they? Into the Jackson Purchase?"

"Honestly I don't know, honey," answered Nathan. "Hell, they may not let us in."

"But you'll vouch for them, right? You'll convince them if you can," she almost pleaded.

Nathan didn't answer and realized that he hadn't made up his mind yet. "We'll figure that out when we get there."

"Nathan Taylor! These people have helped us! You need to learn to let go of things and not keep gnawing on them like a dog with a bone."

"You like dogs," said Nathan, trying to lighten the conversation. He saw Cujo, the dog rescued with the women and girls, lying by the fire guarding the little ones. The large dog had quickly become a sort of mascot and a favorite among the prison families' children. He smiled at the irony; there couldn't have been a more unsuitable name for a dog. Nathan was certain the original owners had either never read the Stephen King book of that name, or else had a quirky sense of humor.

Bethany would not be put off that easily. "It's not just the Hancock crowd. It's those women and girls we rescued. Are we just going to walk away from them? That's pretty cowardly, isn't it?"

Her words stung and Nathan fought against anger. "Damnit, we don't even know if the freaking JP exists! Those radio broadcasts could be coming from anywhere or be a hoax for that matter."

"You know they're real, and even if they're not, that doesn't change the issue of what you're going to do," Bethany said, poking him with a finger to emphasize her point. "You know what the right thing to do is. It shouldn't matter that you don't like them."

Nathan thought for a long moment. He hadn't liked the prison officials, hadn't liked the way they had captured him and treated him, but that seemed a long time ago.

"I do like them," admitted Nathan softly.

"Good!" said Bethany sweetly. "It's all decided then." She lay back down, closed her eyes, and donned a satisfied smile.

Nathan sighed but smiled in spite of his annoyance.

"Is Joshua on guard duty?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Nathan. "I just checked on him; he's with Big Jim." Jim Meeks seemed to have taken both boys under his wing in a way that just wasn't easy with Nathan. He thought that there came a time when a boy needed acceptance and encouragement from a man who was not obligated to give those things out of love. Joshua had relaxed and flourished in the communal environment.

He looked around and saw David was leaning against a tree, sharpening his knife. Although he was close enough to hear the talk around the fire, he was just far enough away to exclude himself from the camaraderie.

"I'm worried about David," Bethany said.

So was Nathan. David appeared to have lost his sense of purpose and balance. Before Hancock, he was focused on survival and protecting his family and he did so with a single-minded ruthlessness, which Nathan hated to admit he approved of. Since linking up with the larger group, David seemed to be unsure about his place in the world. He was probably confused whether he was supposed to go back to being a normal kid or try to embrace manhood. Nathan hoped and prayed David grabbed hold of whatever tattered shreds of childhood remained before he plunged into the serious and dangerous world of adulthood.

"He'll be okay," said Nathan with a conviction he didn't feel. "Just feeling out where he fits in is all."

"I shouldn't have done that," said Bethany almost in a whisper.

Nathan didn't have to ask what she meant. Her reaction to David after he killed the crazy woman holding her down still haunted her.

"It's okay. He can take it. We've all be under a little bit of stress."

"But he was trying to protect me," said Bethany with a heavy voice. "How could I do that to him?'

Nathan put his hand on her shoulder. "Honey, you've talked to him and done what you could to let him know it's okay and that you're sorry. Now you need to let go of it, too. He's probably reacting to your guilt and feeling like you're still mad at him. Let it go."

"Hello?" she said in a deeper voice. "Kettle? Yeah, this is the pot. I'd like to talk to you about—"

Nathan poked his wife in the ribs. "Very funny."

Suddenly, Nathan's breath caught in his throat, his thoughts interrupted. The entire group went silent. The sounds coming across the clearing were unexpected beauty and peace. One of the prison guard's daughters was playing a violin and the pure, wondrous notes actually brought tears to Nathan's eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard music and thought he recognized the haunting notes of Vivaldi.

After a few minutes, Bethany put her hand on his shoulder, and when he turned to look at her, he saw there were tears in her eyes as well. "There is still beauty in this world, Nathan," she whispered. "Don't forget that." She squeezed his shoulder, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and rolled over to sleep.

Nathan lay down, closed his eyes, and soaked up the music and the peace. He knew it might all be fleeting, but he was grateful for it nevertheless.

He gazed at the expanse of brilliant stars above him until he drifted off to peaceful sleep.
Chapter 19 – Camp Beaver

Nathan's band knew they were close to the Jackson Purchase two days before they arrived. They saw the glow of lights in the dark night sky off to the west. It was a sight that struck wonder and awe in their collective spirit. It was real, they said to each other in hushed whispers, as if they might scare it away with the sound of their voices. They had dared to hope, but tried to remain skeptical, not wanting to be let down. Seeing the lights meant more than most dared to imagine.

Their pace became unconsciously brisk and the mood upbeat. Everyone wanted to see what was on the other side of each hill and beyond the next bend in the road. Talk was light and laughter easy. Smiles were present, but more and more Nathan noticed long looks and glances his way. He couldn't figure it out at first, but then he understood. Their collective fates were in his hands as they saw it. Unless he got them into the JP, they would probably never get in. Not getting into the JP meant a cold, dark, miserable life filled with dangerous people and a crushing lack of hope.

The sun was bright the day they arrived at Camp Beaver. They saw it from a rise, and the makeshift camp was fairly impressive in all the wrong ways. Row upon row of drab tents and shacks spread out before them like something from the crowded slums of Brazil or Haiti. Even at a distance, Nathan could sense the squalor, desperation, and danger. Nathan wasn't sure how the camp got its name, but it possessed none of the charm, order, or ingenuity that a beaver would have provided. They formed up and proceeded.

As they drew closer to the camp, people began to approach them either to beg or sell, but the sight of the armed men on either flank of the road, and likely that of a functioning vehicle, caused them to keep their distance. The air was filled with the smell of sweat and cooking fires. Yet, not everything was bad Nathan noted.

For one, Nathan did not see sick or dead in the streets, nor human waste or garbage for that matter, which could cause sickness. The next thing he noticed were figures walking throughout the camp with plastic buckets filled with what looked like clear water. As they got near the center of the camp, Nathan saw why. There was a well in the ground with a neat and orderly line of people waiting their turn. Two swarthy men stood nearby with thick bundles of car radio antennas taped together, clearly to beat anyone who refused to maintain order.

Nathan also saw a raised platform nearby with three sets of rough wooden stocks, one of them actually occupied by a skinny and bruised boy. Two other men with antenna batons stood nearby. Nathan noticed a large wooden sign posted to the front of the platform with bright blue painted words. The sign read: "Camp Beaver Rules" and underneath: "1. No stealing 2. No fighting 3. Everyone pulls their weight 4. No drunkenness 5. If sick, go to the infirmary 6. Only relieve yourself at the latrines 7. No disrespect to women 8. No bullying 9. Obey the camp authorities 10. Report all infractions."

It was crude, but Nathan was impressed. The camp was poor and dirty, but not overly so. It appeared people were going about their business without apparent fear. They soon came to what was obviously the infirmary and also a food distribution center, with another set of guards. All the guards so far had eyed them suspiciously, but made no attempt to question them or impede their progress.

There were also thin metal poles at regular intervals along the main avenue with lights and loudspeakers attached. The people might have been poor by the standards of a year ago, but by today's, they were fabulously wealthy.

The actual entrance to the JP almost caught them by surprise. The road led right to the I-24 bridge across the Cumberland River. The near side of the bridge contained several makeshift bunkers and approximately a dozen armed men in uniform with rifles and machine guns. Even more amazing, there was an American flag waiving bravely on a long pole in the gentle breeze. The men were lazily sitting around until they saw Nathan's armed band come into view. With a crisp order, they all moved back behind the barriers and pointed their weapons at the approaching band. Nathan's crew stopped.

Nathan walked up to Harold. "Let me handle this. I'm an old pro at it."

"Yeah, we saw how well that worked out for you last time," said Harold.

Nathan smiled. "Just make sure whatever happens, no one from our end shoots."

"No problem," said Harold, "but be careful."

Nathan nodded and handed Harold all his weapons. He turned and began slowly walking toward the men with his hands raised. He eased forward with all eyes upon him. When he was about twenty yards from the barricade, he heard, "That's far enough. Stop and state your business."

Nathan couldn't see who addressed him, but he lowered his arms and spoke to the uniformed group eyeing him over their weapons. "I am Major Nathan Taylor, U.S. Army, and I have come home with my family. I grew up here and this is my home." Nathan took a hard swallow. "Please let me in."

There was silence for a moment and then the voice again, almost bored. "Do you have any documentary proof of your claims?"

"I have a driver's license from Graves County and my military identification card. I also have family in there that will vouch for me."

The man who had been speaking stood from behind the barricade, and Nathan noticed he was a staff sergeant. "Proceed forward," he said, and then moved his eyes to the rest of the group. "Just you."

As Nathan walked slowly forward to the edge of the barricade, the man stuck his hand out and Nathan at first thought he was going to shake his hand but then realized he wanted the documentation. Nathan pulled out his entire wallet and handed it to the man. The sergeant took the wallet and quickly began flipping through the contents, peering up at Nathan every now and then. "And how many are with you?" asked the man.

"My wife, two sons, and about forty others all told," he said.

The man looked at him for a moment and smiled slightly. "And all of them are from the JP?"

"Well, no, my family and I are, but I can vouch for the others and would like to speak to whoever is in charge about getting them in," said Nathan.

The man started to retort with a smart reply and then looked down at the military identification card and paused. "Wait here...sir." After a few moments, Nathan could hear the squelch of a radio and a conversation. Nathan couldn't make out what was said, but it was brief.

The sergeant quickly came back. "You and your family can come in; the rest have to wait until after the review process. You're to proceed to the other end of the bridge where my commanding officer will meet you and talk to you further."

Nathan thought about arguing the point, but saw the man's set look and knew it would be no use. Orders were orders. The man obviously didn't like this job and had probably been through this a hundred times before.

"Let me go talk to my group and get my family," Nathan said.

"Sure, no problem," said the sergeant. "Take all day if you like," he said with obvious sarcasm.

Nathan turned back and looked at the man, quickly realizing he was on the verge of giving the man a serious ass chewing.

Get it together, he told himself, taking a few quick breaths. The sergeant must have seen the look because he quickly turned and moved back behind the covered barricade area.

Nathan walked back to the group where he met Harold, Jim Meeks, and his family. "Only us for now," said Nathan, "but I'm going to talk to the commanding officer at the other end. Don't worry."

Harold lowered his head and said nothing. Jim cursed quietly.

"We could stay together; we don't need the stupid JP," said Joshua.

"No," said Jim softly. "You all go. It's only right; you'll be better off in there."

Joshua looked anguished, but said no more. Jim patted him on the shoulder, turned, and walked away without another word.

"I'll keep my promise," Nathan said, looking Harold in his eyes. After a moment, the two shook hands. Nathan took back his weapons and retrieved their packs from the trailer before turning and walking toward the barricade with Bethany and the boys behind him. At the barricade, the sergeant checked all their identification and then turned them over to the care of another soldier who placed all their bags and belongings in a shopping cart and pushed it ahead for them toward the far end of the long bridge.

As they walked west into the JP, Nathan looked back at what had very quickly become his friends. People he trusted and cared for. All he saw were dejected, scared, and disappointed faces. He knew it would do no good, but he just couldn't help himself. He looked toward them and waved.

Several raised their hands in return and then Nathan Taylor turned his back on them and walked across the bridge with his family. Finally home, but feeling almost sick.
Part II

From The Ground Up
Chapter 1 – A Proposal

General Clarence Anderson made his way down the hill toward a quaint little cabin near the water. Butch Matthews was with him, along with Captain Terry Johns, the National Guard commander in charge of the troops at the dam. Johns had been given very specific instructions, and when he called Anderson telling him they might have found what he was looking for, Anderson didn't waste time hitching the horse or getting on a bike. They drove.

Johns told him everything he knew, which was plenty. He also told him that the man they were meeting was none too happy about being detained, and Anderson certainly understood. He hoped it didn't get in the way of their business. If the man was the unreasonable sort, he probably wasn't who they were looking for anyway.

They went around to the back of the cabin and onto a wide deck that took full advantage of the wonderful view of the water and the brilliant sunshine. It was cold, but the sun took away most of the bite of winter. He saw a relaxed guard nearby and a family of four at a wooden table. A dark attractive woman was working on a jigsaw puzzle with a handsome and smiling blond teenager. Anderson also saw a stocky man playing chess with a lean dark-haired teenager. The boy was up a few pieces, but his queen was in the center of the board and his pieces were not fully developed. The man was about to spring his trap. The teenager looked up at Anderson as he approached and immediately gave him a stern look, which amused Anderson, although he did not show it.

Captain Johns walked to the middle of the group and said, "Good afternoon, Taylor family. Let me introduce Lieutenant General Clarence Anderson and Major General Butch Matthews. They have come a long way to meet you."

Anderson could see the man forming angry words, but his beautiful wife jumped in gracefully, moving up in front of the two men. "Generals, it is my pleasure to meet you. I'm Bethany, my two boys Joshua and David, and my husband Nathan. As far as you've come to meet us, I bet we've come much further to meet you by a long shot." She smiled broadly, and Anderson followed suit, breaking the tension.

Well done, little lady, he thought.

Nathan approached the generals and held out his hand. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Nathan Taylor, most recently of Fort Meade, Maryland."

Anderson and Butch shook his hand and then looked at each other before looking back at Nathan. "We are very pleased to meet you, and coincidently, that was exactly what we wanted to talk to you about."

Anderson detected suspicion in Nathan's demeanor, although his face remained neutral. Nathan started to voice a question, but Butch turned to the woman, "Ma'am, would you mind terribly much if we borrowed your husband for a little bit? We promise to have him back to you soon."

Bethany, obviously a seasoned military spouse, knew how things worked. "By all means, gentlemen. As a matter of fact, I insist that you dine with us tonight."

Anderson could see that this comment made Captain Johns uncomfortable. He figured the Taylor family fare was pretty meager and, at least in the Captain's mind, unfit for the two visiting generals. The man would likely have a nervous breakdown trying to ensure there was a suitable feast that night.

"We would be delighted," said Anderson, smiling broadly. "Now, with your permission."

*******

The three went into the cabin and sat around the kitchen table. Johns and the guard stayed outside on the deck.

Anderson started to speak, but Nathan had evidently had enough, holding up his hand.

"Sir, I held my tongue out there for the sake of politeness, but now it's my turn to talk."

"Go ahead," Anderson said with a resigned tone and sat back in his chair.

"Thank you very much," Nathan said sarcastically. "Now, where to begin? Oh yes, with being prisoners." Anderson started to speak and Nathan just kept talking. "We walk eight hundred dangerous, cold, terrible miles to get home and when we arrive, we're separated from our party and imprisoned here. I haven't even been able to call my family and tell them we're alive."

"Where is your family?" asked Butch suddenly.

Nathan was temporarily thrown off his tirade, which he had rehearsed in detail over several days. "My wife and I are both from Mayfield."

"No kidding!" said Butch. "That's where General Anderson lives!"

Nathan looked at them in surprise and wondered if they were playing with him, but saw serious looks. "Did you go to Mayfield High School or Graves County High?" asked Nathan simply as a point of conversation, his brain working quickly to process information.

Anderson shook his head. "Graves County consolidation was before my time. I went to Wingo High."

Nathan smiled in spite of himself. "Wingo? My uncle Dale Turpin has a farm out there."

"Crazy Dale." Anderson smiled. "Knew him well when I was younger. Now only see him every so often."

Nathan re-focused himself, "I was planning to give you hell for what you've done to my family, but this conversation has made my point for me. Damn man! I'm from here! Our families are from here! We probably know two dozen of the same people. Why are you putting us through this? You know we belong here!"

Anderson sighed, "Yes, I know. You getting in was never in doubt. I just wanted to meet you and thought it was important enough to keep you where I could find you until we had a chance to talk."

"Are you serious?" Nathan asked incredulous. "This wasn't the best of beginnings, I can tell you."

"I understand that," Anderson explained, "but it was necessary. Let me ask you a question."

"By all means, go ahead," said Nathan, still annoyed and trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Why did you come here?"

Nathan was momentarily taken aback. "To see my family, to make sure they were okay, and to make sure they knew we were okay. We've lived a lot of places in the military, but at the end of the day, this is home."

"What about the people you came with; why are they here?"

Nathan was glad Anderson had mentioned them instead of him having to do it. "Actually, they came because they heard this was the last place where there was courtesy, civilization, and decency. Imagine their disappointment."

"Yes, I think I can," said Anderson. "But...as wonderful as all of this is, especially compared to the outside world, it is in reality a house of cards, ready to blow away at the first strong wind."

Nathan was surprised and kept quiet. The man had his attention.

Anderson continued, "We have electricity and good borders and that's it. We also have everyone else in the world trying to get into the JP, and our resources just can't support that many. And we also have a covetous neighbor to the south who is only waiting his chance to take what we have." Anderson let that all sink in. "One wrong move and we're done for."

Nathan nodded. "Sir, I appreciate that, but what does that have to do with me and my family?"

"In short, Major, we need you," said Anderson. "We don't have enough smart and capable military men to protect our borders. Our National Guard troops are spread too thin and new recruits are raw and unreliable. We need you to take charge."

"Take charge? Of what, exactly?"

"Well, I'm going to have to explain a little bit of background first," said Anderson as he pulled out a map. "I'm sure you're familiar with the Land Between the Lakes Park, which basically makes up the JP's entire eastern border. Well, it doesn't technically fall into any county for government, nor does it have inhabitants to protect it. We thought about abandoning it, but we just can't."

"Because of the dam," said Nathan, looking at the map.

Anderson smiled, impressed. "Exactly right. The dam sits right at the top of the park and makes electricity from the water flowing northward from those two manmade lakes. We can't abandon the park without making the dam vulnerable. We've already got squatters and other people making their way into the park, and we have no control over them. The southern portion is also a wide open highway for General Sampson, should he choose to come north."

"You mean invade?" asked Nathan, surprised.

"Yes," said Butch. "This is the Wild West, friend. We're going to have to fight to keep what we have and real soon. Which is why we need your help."

Anderson got to the crux of the matter. "I want you to be the military governor and commander of the Land Between the Lakes region."

"We're prepared to overlook any charges we could bring against you for desertion of your post at Fort Meade," said Butch casually.

Nathan was suddenly furious again. He pointed his finger in succession at first Matthews and Anderson. "One. Piss off and piss off. Two. You can take that desertion crap and shove it up your asses. You've been here the whole time and have no idea what is going on out there."

Both men's face showed surprise and then anger. They started to say something, but Nathan overrode them by talking louder. "And three, I'll do it."

The generals became quiet in sudden surprise.

"But..." said Nathan in a very intense tone. "I have conditions to accepting this headache of all headache jobs and I'm not going to quibble about it. If you don't give me what I want, then you can let us go and I'll be on my way. I'm serious."

"So are we," said Anderson. "Tell us your conditions."

Nathan paused as he quickly ran things through his head. "First, the group I came in with gets into the JP. Not next week, not tonight, right this very freaking minute. We're not going to discuss a damn thing until you tell me that's happening."

Nathan sat back and crossed his arms, and the two men stared at him for a moment and then at each other. Anderson shrugged his shoulders, and Butch got up and spoke quietly with Captain Johns who then ran off.

"Done," said Anderson. "But they settle in the park. They're your first settlers."

"Fine," continued Nathan tersely, but inwardly immensely relieved. "Second, if I'm in charge, I want to be in charge. Oh, I know I'll have to report to you or the guy in charge of the JP, but you know what I mean. If it's my business, you'll let it be my business, and that means appointing who I want to be in charge of stuff to include military commissions and such. I'm not just some major anymore."

"Again, no problem and more power to you"—Anderson held up his finger for emphasis—"as long as you get the job done. We don't have the luxury to tolerate someone who can't do the job."

Nathan smiled. "Wouldn't want it any other way. Besides, what are you going to do, fire me? Don't think so. Last one. I want support, real support. You're not going to give me a job and then not equip me to do it. I'll not be your fall guy. That means men, equipment, food, houses, electricity, and whatever else I decide I need."

Butch spoke up, "We understand the importance of the job we've given you, and we need it to succeed. We'll give you everything we can and support you in every way we can, but...you are going to have to solve problems yourself and find resources on your own."

Nathan wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but he decided to let it go for now. "Sorry, one more thing I almost forgot about." Nathan looked at them both as he leaned across the table toward them on his elbows, "If you ever confine me or any of my family again, that will be the end of us working together on anything...ever."

Anderson sat silent for a moment staring at Nathan and then said, "Well, it looks like we understand each other. Welcome aboard. Butch here will sit down with you tomorrow to help work out a strategy and to see what you need. I have to go back tonight after we have dinner."

"So that's it then?" asked Nathan as they stood suddenly.

"Not quite," Anderson said as they walked back outside onto the deck. He pulled a box out of his pocket and stood stiffly in front of Nathan. "As of now, you are promoted to colonel and assigned as the military governor of the Land Between the Lakes." Anderson pinned the bright shiny eagles to the collars of Nathan's red flannel shirt.

Nathan was stunned and almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. "Sir, is that even legal?"

"Who cares?" said Anderson. "It's legal in every way that matters now and I'm deadly serious. Never doubt that."

Bethany and the boys were looking at him with some confusion and surprise.

"Does this mean that we get to go home now?" asked Joshua.

"No," said Nathan. "It means we are home now."
Chapter 2 – Homecoming

They could have driven to Mayfield, but Nathan declined, choosing to ride the mountain bikes they'd found. Now that he was so close to home, he felt an irrational fear of the unknown. He needed a little more time.

So, they took their time and were on their fourth day of the fifty-mile journey. After months of walking from Maryland, the bikes were heavenly and the weather was spectacular. Unlike most of the areas they walked through getting to the JP, here the people they saw waved, and they also witnessed farmers in the fields clearing and preparing for planting, sometimes with tractors and sometimes with teams of horses.

Although Nathan didn't use the offered fuel to drive home, he hadn't hesitated to use the telephone.

Emotions running high, Nathan and Bethany called their parents. "Mom, it's me...Nathan." They were the only words spoken while his mother cried over the phone for several minutes. With Bethany and her folks, the line was choked with outright sobbing.

The reunion with the Hancock crew was almost as emotional. Cujo led the way across the bridge, and many hugs and back slaps were exchanged. Dry eyes were hard to find as the large group crossed the bridge together into the Jackson Purchase. Although they wouldn't say it to Nathan, he sensed that all of them had likely thought that he had abandoned them. It was a validation of sorts to see them safe in the JP.

They got their party settled down in cabins near the Taylor family. The dinner with Generals Anderson and Matthews turned into a larger affair, nearly a full-fledged party. Nathan almost felt sorry for the harried Captain Johns.

The next day, Nathan, Harold Buchannan, and Jim Meeks met with Butch Matthews. General Anderson left the previous evening and Nathan was glad. Butch was easier to get along with and less pretentious than Anderson.

Nathan declared Harold Buchannan his deputy commander with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel and tasked him to help with the defensive planning they were working on.

"Well, how long do you need?" asked Butch, rushing to the heart of the matter.

Nathan glared at the map and list of figures on the chalkboard. "To take control of security for the dam, the Land Between the Lakes Park, the refugee camps, and the whole damn eastern border of the JP? For that, we probably need to at least wait until after lunch. Best to start on a full stomach, don't you think?"

"Seriously," pressed Butch, "we need the National Guard unit in Paducah. They've got troubles there with some gangs."

"Gangs?" asked Harold. "I wouldn't think you would need soldiers to deal with gangs."

"These are no ordinary gangs," explained Butch. "Their leader Brazen is smart and has unified all the gangs under his cause. They've taken over a large portion of the city, and police aren't even allowing entry into their areas. It's only a matter of time before things blow up."

"Sir," said Nathan slowly, "I understand your position and the need, but we just got here. We're going to need some time to get our feet under us. I don't know how long it will take, but I'll go as fast as I can in order to free the troops up."

Butch didn't say anything for several long seconds. "I guess that will have to be good enough. I'll try to be as patient as I can, but if the shit hits the fan in Paducah, I'll have to pull them whether you're ready or not."

"I understand, sir," answered Nathan. "Are you giving us any troops to keep permanently?"

"Actually, you'll inherit former Lieutenant, now Captain, Jason Green and his men from Fort Campbell. We initially gave them the nearly impossible task of policing the entire Land Between the Lakes area, but we changed all of that last week," explained Butch.

"Changed how?" asked Harold.

Butch pointed at a map, "His unit is spread out on a line east to west and working its way south from the dam all the way to the Tennessee border. Any squatters or stragglers are to either to be enlisted voluntarily or driven south by force. Once at the border, he is to devise a defensive barrier and prevent any further incursions north. The last report I received from him indicates his line is approximately here." He indicated an area about halfway down the park.

Nathan thought for a moment and then nodded approvingly. "Good. Very good. So assuming Captain Green is successful in his mission, we only have to worry about the northern area."

"Yes," answered Butch. "I understand it's a large area, but if you have to prioritize anything, protect the dam at all costs. That electricity is key to everything."

"I've been thinking about that," said Nathan. "I'm going to make Jim Meeks here a company commander with the rank of Captain. He's going to have the job of security of the dam and his company will be made up of our folks from Hancock. That won't be enough, but I'm thinking we'll grow his ranks pretty quickly."

"Captain?" said Jim sheepishly and smiled at Nathan and Harold.

"You'll earn it," said Nathan sternly. "It's not a gift. Leading troops isn't like looking after cons. You sure you're up to it."

Jim's smile vanished and he took on a harsh look. "I'm up to it, don't you worry, Colonel Taylor."

"I'll also need to take a few of your best men," added Nathan.

"My best men?" asked Jim defensively. "I don't have that many to begin with. What are you going to use them for?"

Nathan pointed to the bridges along the eastern border and the refugee camps marked by red circles. "I'm going to make them platoon leaders with Lieutenant Commissions. They'll each be assigned either a bridge to guard or a camp to monitor."

"Excellent," responded Butch. "I'm also leaving you former Master Sergeant Johnny Robels, now Captain, as your quartermaster. You may have heard about our Fort Campbell raid? That was his idea and his show. I've already set him to work establishing a sustainable logistics plan that will cover the entire park area and the new residents."

Butch paused and looked slightly uncomfortable. "There is another issue you'll inherit. Let me first explain that the JP doesn't really have the convenience of placing criminal in jails or prisons for any length of time. Anyone guilty of minor offenses pays a fine, is given a public whipping, put in stocks for a day or two, or sent to work the Park's old iron ore mine as forced labor for a month or more."

"Forced prison labor?" asked Harold. "I've seen it done, in some cases done well, but it was outlawed in most states years ago."

"We don't really have any choice," answered Butch. "We need that iron ore. It's our primary trade commodity with the Mennonites for finished goods. We give most men the option of banishment from the JP, but no one has chosen that yet. You'll take over and run this operation also."

"Even with all the men we've talked about, we're going to need more bodies," said Jim. "Where are we supposed to get them?"

"Wherever you can," answered Butch. "You are now the sole authority on decisions of who gets into the JP from the east with the understanding that they settle in the LBL Park area and work for you. Any of them don't pan out, throw 'em back. You're call."

Nathan leaned on the table looking at the map, "We're going to need soldiers first. Sure we can put others to work, but to free up the troops, we need soldiers. What you're talking about is using raw material. We'll need to train them and weed out the unfit."

Butch nodded. "I agree and have already ordered Sergeant Major Luke Carter from the Murray State ROTC program to come over to set up a crash basic training program similar to what he had already done for the JP troops. Carter is a good man; just let him know when you need him and he'll be here. He'll be doing double-duty training your troops and cadets over at Murray, but eventually, I see him working for you full time if you need him."

"I think we probably will," answered Nathan, a little amazed at the resources Butch was willing to push his way. He had come into the meeting prepared to play hardball to get whatever he could, but that didn't seem necessary.

Butch looked around at them and then at his watch. "Gentlemen, I need to get to Paducah, but I trust you understand the gravity and importance of the mission we've entrusted to you. General Anderson has taken some heat for letting outsiders—forgive me for saying it—take this on. We need this to work. We're nearly out of options."

Nathan bristled at being called an outsider and pushed down an angry response, "Sir, we understand...better than you folks, I think. We may be outsiders, but this is now our home."

Over the ensuring weeks, those words took on a power in themselves. Mini communities established themselves around housing location or trade. Previous class distinctions to status meant less than nothing. Everyone pulled their weight and worked together, knowing they could be thrown out of the JP otherwise.

These communities grew daily, and Camp Beaver became the primary entry point into the Land Between the Lakes Park from the east. They quickly determined that the organized nature of Camp Beaver was due to one man, Doctor James Bryant.

Bryant was an old retired widower who lived near Camp Beaver. When people started showing up at the camp, he began to walk over each day and treat their medical issues.

A hierarchy of sorts naturally established itself, and when those in power started to become brutal, the doctor refused to treat any of their gang, even under threat of death. In the end, Bryant and the gang leader reached an agreement. Bryant took care of all sick and distributed the food given to them from the JP, and the gang ensured peace and order were maintained. It was an arrangement that worked surprisingly well given the circumstances.

Nathan saw no reason to mess up a good thing. He met with both the doctor and the camp leader, and promised to keep up the regular supply of food, electricity, and basic medical supplies in return for peace, quiet, and order. They also set up a station to screen inhabitants of the camp for any special or needed skills.

Medical personnel were the most sought after, doctors, nurses, and EMT's mainly. They found several and brought them and their families over into the park, allowing a few to go out and help Bryant each day.

They next sought out anyone with law enforcement or military experience and found about two dozen, many of them from Forts Campbell and Knox. These men were added to their growing military forces, and their families were settled in the increasingly crowded holiday rental cottage areas. Carpenters, electricians, plumbers, mechanics, construction workers, seamstresses, farmers, and even hunters and fishermen were brought into the park and given tasks suited to their skills.

They also quickly learned that first generation Americans were a godsend since they knew how to do and make things, which wealthy western societies had long forgotten. These were accepted readily and taught others how to process food, cure and tan leather, and safely deliver babies among other things.

Even after all those steps, they still needed more men, and Nathan decided to simply set up an enlistment stand right at the bridge for any able-bodied man willing to serve indefinitely. In return, they and their families could enter the JP and settle in the park area. They would be fed and clothed while their service lasted. Should that service end for any reason, all could be thrown right back out of the JP. None hesitated. It was a better deal than they could ever hope to find anywhere else. Destitute and frightened families walked across that long bridge into the park and found a new life, security, and friends.

Before long, the refugee camps were nearly abandoned. Groups now walked down the road through the hollow remnants of the previous bustling camp to the edge of the JP and signed right up to get in, not believing their fortune. Nathan even recruited the camp leader and his thugs, but their duty was mainly to run the shrinking camp. Those not fit for military service and without any useful skills such as previous white-collar workers, were put under the apprenticeship of a skilled laborer to learn and practice a trade. Even the elderly were put to work cooking, doing laundry, or babysitting younger children.

Nathan demanded that the new troops be pushed hard but taken care of. He felt certain now that a conflict was coming, and he wanted to be ready when it did. The familiar weight of responsibility again fell heavily upon him. He took this job initially as a means to an end, but now he cared deeply about what happened here, just like the rest of them. This was their second chance none of them thought they would have. The new community thrived and grew.

All of this change happened with surprising swiftness. From the time he met Clarence Anderson until his first furlough was just over a month, and the spring would soon be upon them. Only this week did Nathan feel comfortable enough to leave everything in the very capable hands of Harold and finally take a few days to go see their families in Mayfield. Although they had called before they left, Nathan wasn't sure what to expect. His mother tended toward extremes.

From the park, they traveled due west on Route 80 through the little town of Hardin. Nathan remembered when as a boy his family would drive there to eat fried catfish on Sunday afternoons. From Hardin, they continued west, getting closer every minute to home. Nathan savored every familiar sight, sound, and smell, and was gently coasting down a long curved hill of the two-lane road. They wore their backpacks with their familiar long guns attached. The guns probably weren't needed, but they were comforting.

Nathan realized with a start that they were near the outskirts of his hometown. He had intended to give the boys warning and talk about old memories, but his mind wandered, and now, they were almost there.

Nathan would not find out until later that the local radio station allowed his family to make an announcement the day before their arrival and it now looked like the whole town had turned out. Times were hard, but it was obvious that they had rolled out a day-long party in their honor. Nathan could see barbeque pits, men playing instruments on a makeshift bandstand, and plenty of people gathered around to drink something that he bet was not lemonade. They stopped their bikes on the hill overlooking the scene and said nothing. For an instant that seemed to stretch on forever, nothing happened. Nathan and his family just took in the sight and no one below saw them yet.

But then someone looked up and set off a cry.

The word spread like wildfire, and people stopped what they were doing and looked their way. "Well, are you ready for this?" Nathan asked his family. He then got back on his bike and started to peddle toward the group with Bethany and the boys falling in close behind them, but he soon coasted to a stop. People were running at them in a mad crazy dash. Nathan had just enough time to be alarmed and had a crazy instinct to pull his pistol and start shooting right before this wave of excited and joyous people washed over them.

He wasn't knocked over, but it was a near thing. Everyone was talking at once, and touching him, and hugging him, and Nathan felt a loss of control bordering on panic. Then, he amazingly heard a clear voice out of the din. It was his mother.

He would recognize the voice anywhere. "You sons-of-bitches better get your asses out of my way right now or else!" Nathan smiled and looked to see the crowd part for her. She smiled with tears running down her face and walked purposefully into Nathan's embrace.

For the first time, Nathan allowed all the tension to flow out of him. They had made it. They had done it. He had saved his family.

His mother hugged him tight and whispered in his ear, "Welcome home, son."

With no warning, Nathan found himself sobbing in her arms, and could not make himself stop for some time.
Chapter 3 – Friendly Relations

Clarence Anderson recommended that he, instead of Reggie Philips, go meet General Jeb Sampson at Fulton along the Kentucky-Tennessee border. Reggie thought the recommendation odd considering Sampson was his counterpart in the WTR, but he deferred to Anderson's reasoning.

Anderson didn't trust Sampson but felt they saw more eye to eye as military men, and if something happened to Anderson, Butch Matthews would fill his shoes more than adequately. If something happened to Reggie, no one could step in to fill those shoes, because there was no one so universally respected and trusted. Without Reggie, the whole enterprise might just fall apart.

Anderson suspected the requested meeting was for Sampson to explain further delays in delivering the compensation owed in exchange for the electricity. The man would certainly reassure the JP that it would be coming soon. Sampson would also probably rail at him for selling something that he thought belonged equally to all of them. Anderson had learned not to debate right and wrong with Sampson, only to explain how things were. Sampson fully believed that might made right, and the JP had the might when it came to electricity, which infuriated Sampson.

These periodic meetings were slightly ritualistic. One or the other would send a message requesting a meeting at one of the border crossings at a particular time and date. The other party would accept or decline but propose another time and date. They would then go to the planned location, and each party's escort would gather and look at each other until the planned time. For this meeting, Sampson had asked to meet along the old Georgia-Pacific rail line in Fulton, which ran from south to north. Anderson normally arrived first and casually waited for Sampson who arrived late, probably thinking it established his superior position.

Typically, Sampson swooped in with a flurry of calls to attention, flags presented and other ceremony. This time was no different. One of Anderson's aides unnecessarily let him know the show was about to begin. Sampson strode forward of the line followed by an aide and in a fairly arrogant manner waved General Clarence Anderson to him. Anderson smiled slightly to himself and strode forward with his aide. Anderson looked at his watch and saw it was 10:35, thirty-five minutes past the agreed meeting time. He thought about asking General Sampson sarcastically what time he wanted to have the ten o'clock meeting, but refrained.

"Greetings, General Anderson," said Sampson. "Thank you for coming today, I see Mister Philips could not make it."

"President Philips sends his regrets sir, but again asks that you deal with me on all matters and to let you know I have his full confidence and authority to speak for him."

"How very trusting of him." Sampson began to say something else and then stopped himself, appearing to search for words. "Well, let's get on with it. If you look to my rear, you will see we have delivered all the compensation that we owe you." Sampson said these words with obvious distaste, while his aide made a signal to the rear.

Anderson looked and saw a low platform on what appeared to be an old train flatcar being pushed up on the railroad tracks from around the side of a warehouse by about two dozen men. The railcar was piled high with what Anderson was sure were bags of corn and other agreed upon items of trade, such as bicycle tires. He was a little taken aback by the sudden payment, having expected more excuses, but he quickly recovered himself. He waved men forward from his side to take over from Sampson's men.

Sampson continued on, "There's a hundred head each of goats and sheep grazing a mile to the east of here which your men can take control of. I believe that will settle our account in full."

"General, this is most unexpected, thank you." Anderson nodded slightly.

Sampson looked at him sternly. "Unexpected how? I agreed to your ridiculous terms, and I keep my word. This is what you requested in return for electricity through next summer, correct? I expect to get what I paid for."

"Yes, General." Anderson was thinking fast. "I meant no offense, but you must know that we've been having some problems with our electrical delivery and outages are more frequent. It might be prudent to return some of the payment to you until we can be assured of our ability to deliver."

Sampson scowled. "I expect to receive what I've paid for. Your delivery and electrical problems are your concern, not mine."

Anderson felt anger rising and suppressed it. He was starting to get the feeling that Sampson wanted a confrontation.

Sampson continued on. "Perhaps you should allow my very capable electrical engineers and technicians to assist you. We could run the dam together in the spirit of cooperation. Makes more sense given your problems, and that the dam doesn't really belong to the JP anyway."

Anderson recognized the trap. He could neither accept nor refuse. "General, your offer is very generous. I will take it back to the council and Mr. Philips, and propose it as a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Sampson smiled. "Ah, the council. How is that working out for you? Playing at democracy like the ancient city-states of Greece." Sampson's smile vanished. "It won't work. Times are dangerous. Strong hands are what are needed regardless of what people think they want. Even the Greeks eventually learned that. It is the responsibility of capable men to take control for the benefit of all."

"Be that as it may, sir," said Anderson, "I am committed to the council and President Philips as our leader."

"I see," said Sampson. "I understand and appreciate your loyalty, but you do not have to express your frustration for me to see it within you...no need to talk of it, I know you can't, but we are the same, and I think we understand each other."

Anderson held his tongue waiting to see where this was going.

"There is another matter," continued Sampson. "He turned slightly and reached back to his aide who handed him a thick envelope. "This, General Anderson, is a proposal for a military and economic alliance between the West Tennessee Republic and the Jackson Purchase. We have devoted much time to this proposal, and once you read it, I believe you will see its merits and its logic."

Sampson handed the proposal to Anderson who, without reading it, handed it to his aide who opened the envelope and began to scan silently.

Anderson looked at Sampson, who was regarding him inquisitively. "General Sampson, I will take this proposal to the council and President Philips." By this time, Anderson's aide had finished scanning the document and whispered the general parameters of the treaty quickly into his ear.

Anderson nodded and turned back to Sampson. "Sir, just to ensure I understand your proposal before I deliver it, you are proposing that in exchange for electricity without cost, you will provide us military protection."

"In essence, yes," said Sampson. "It is a very generous offer, if I must say. We are militarily superior to you, have three times your population and military production capacity, and could, therefore, help you should you be invaded or attacked. You could even disband your own pitiful forces since they would be unnecessary."

"And who could possibly want to invade or attack our pitiful forces?" asked Anderson.

"Why quite a lot of people," said Sampson. "It is a dangerous world out there, and you are the only ones that I know of with your own functioning supply of electricity. That alone could cause someone to try to take what you have. That would be very bad for both of us, wouldn't it?"

Anderson gritted his teeth at the implied threat.

Sampson stared at him for a few moments and then asked, "Might we speak in private for a few moments without our aides?"

Anderson was even more suspicious now. "Sir, I'm not sure that is proper given that I am representing the JP and not speaking on my own behalf."

"Well, in that case," said Sampson, "let me speak to you about personal matters between us that have nothing to do with our official positions. As a matter of fact, I insist upon it."

Anderson thought for a moment and then nodded. Both aides turned and returned to their lines. Sampson and Anderson stood and regarded one another silently for a moment.

"General Anderson," began Sampson, "I believe you are a smart, dedicated man trying to do what is right for your people. I am the same. We have much in common and can assist each other."

"I agree," said Anderson, "the JP and the WTR should work together as much as possible."

"Yes, but I'm not necessarily talking about our governments. I'm talking about us, you and I," said Sampson.

"General, I'm not quite sure I understand."

"Oh I think you do, even if you don't want to admit it." Sampson smiled. "You are forced to support a government of people led by individuals who neither know nor understand anything about sacrifice, duty, or command. It must be frustrating."

"Not at all, General, it is an honor and a privilege."

Sampson let out a hearty laugh while wagging his finger at Anderson. "You are good, very good...but the time for games is soon coming to an end."

Anderson saw Sampson's men fidgeting nervously behind the general and thought his own men were likely also unnerved by the meeting. This is accomplishing nothing but fostering harmful rumors, he thought. Maybe that is Sampson's purpose. Everyone will talk of this conspiratorial private meeting.

"I fear that your government could make a bad decision, possibly several bad decisions," said Sampson. "Bad decisions in normal times may not have life or death consequences, but in these times, they could be catastrophic. For your government not to sign that treaty with us would be a very bad decision."

Sampson let the words hang in the air, and when Anderson still did not respond, continued on. "I feel like you are a true patriot and a man willing to sacrifice for the welfare of others. I could work with you. We could work together."

"I agree, General, we should work together on behalf of our governments. It is only logical," said Anderson neutrally.

Sampson reddened and raised his voice loud enough for men on both sides to hear, "Damn it to hell, man! You know what I'm saying." He looked around and then lowered his voice again. "Let me be plain. If you were to decide to take control of the JP, I would support you in any way needed, including military force. My price would be that treaty there and accepting my continued...shall we say, patronage." Sampson pointed at the envelope now in Anderson's hand.

Anderson felt the very weight of the words. It took awhile for the significance of the proposal to sink into his brain. When he finally responded, he made sure that his emotions were in check and that his voice was firm. "General, I appreciate your being plain. Let be also be plain. I will not now, nor ever in the future, take part in any military coup attempt or conspiracy of any kind against the civilian government of the JP. I also must insist that you never speak to me of this again, and that you consider this my final answer."

Sampson stared at him for a long moment. When he spoke again, his tone was ominously soft, "Things change, General. I hear you, but if you change your mind, my offer will still stand. Regardless, you better not cut off our electricity. Don't even think about it. It's not an option for you. If you do so, our people will no longer be friends. Do we understand each other?"

"I don't take kindly to threats, sir," said Anderson evenly.

Sampson stared at him, smirked, turned, and marched off without another word, leaving Anderson standing on the border alone between the two former neighbors.
Chapter 4 – A Delicate Problem

General Anderson passed a message to Nathan at his parents' home only a few days after the Taylors arrived in Mayfield. He wanted to talk to him about something and also introduce President Reggie Philips, whom Nathan had heard much about.

Nathan recommended they meet for lunch at Hill's Restaurant. Hill's served the very best barbeque to be found anywhere around, and N-Day had not diminished the wonderful quality of its food...although rationing had lowered the portions and limited the options considerably.

Nathan arrived early, shook hands, and talked to old friends. His celebrity status since arriving several days ago was not diminished. The stories of their adventures over many miles of dangerous territory were already legend, and gave hope to some that their separated family members might make it home also. Normally, Nathan would have tired of it quickly, but not so far. These people just seemed so genuinely glad to see him and to know that he was okay. It was hard to grow annoyed with that sort of attitude.

He sat at a corner table away from the crowd where he could see the front door. Nathan ordered iced tea, and within a quarter hour, saw General Anderson walk into the front of the restaurant in jeans and a polo shirt, foregoing his normal uniform. Anderson also evidently knew many of the same people and shook hands and talked as he made his way toward Nathan's table. Nathan noticed a dignified looking man in a coat and tie following behind Anderson. He also greeted individuals warmly and talked easily, but to Nathan, looked tired.

They eventually made their way over to his table as Nathan stood to greet them. He shook Clarence Anderson's hand and then President Philip's as they were introduced. "It is a pleasure to meet you Colonel Taylor. I have heard so many good things about you from General Anderson."

Nathan wasn't sure what good things Anderson had told him, but he thanked him anyway. Asking them to sit, he waved over Annie, the waitress and his second cousin, who brought them iced tea as well. Besides water and occasionally coffee, it was the only drink on the menu. Nathan took the liberty of ordering them all barbeque plates with extra hot sauce, knowing they would enjoy it and secretly hoping it was a little too hot for Clarence Anderson.

Anderson abruptly got down to business. "When were you planning to head back to the LBL Park?"

The question immediately put Nathan on the defensive. He'd been gone for years and endured countless risks to get home. Now, after only three days, Anderson was pushing him. Nathan controlled himself. "I figured I would head back next week with the family."

Reggie shifted uncomfortably, obviously picking up on Nathan's tone. "Colonel Taylor, you misunderstand. We have a problem that we hope you can help us with that might delay your return. Can Lieutenant Colonel—?"

He searched for the name and Anderson jumped in. "Buchannan. Lieutenant Colonel Harold Buchannan."

"Yes. Can Lieutenant Colonel Buchannan handle things there for a few more weeks while you help us with an issue here?" asked Reggie.

"Well, I can tell you he is more than capable, but I don't want to be away too long. We still have a lot of work to do. Perhaps we should begin with what the problem is and what I can do to help."

Anderson agreed and quickly told Nathan about the interaction with Sampson the previous week. He left nothing out, not even Sampson's offer to support a coup d'état by Anderson. He also described the strained relationship between the JP and the WTR and how Sampson had a much stronger and more capable military force. Sampson was in all regards a military dictator and had mobilized every available resource to his ends.

Nathan sat back in thought. He had, of course, heard about Sampson, but never in such stark terms.

"That is bad," said Nathan. "But that doesn't explain why you would want to delay my return. I would think you would want me there faster, to get our defenses ready."

"No, it doesn't," said Reggie, and he next told Nathan about the last meeting of the Executive Council where they openly discussed cutting off the WTR's electricity over the pretext of them not having made their payments.

"So," said Nathan in comprehension, "you believe that Sampson's sudden change of attitude is due to knowing what was talked about in the council?"

"Yes," said Anderson. "Sampson doesn't give up something for nothing. It might be a coincidence, but I doubt it. I think we have a spy in our midst."

"Which is why we have come to you," said Reggie. "General Anderson tells me that you were a counterintelligence agent. If I understand correctly, that means you caught spies for a living."

Nathan smiled. "Occasionally yes, it's much harder than it sounds. It's funny you should bring this up. I've even been thinking about how to develop our own spy network, but...don't you have anyone else who can do this? I've got a few other things going on, as you can imagine."

"Not really," said Anderson. "Not anyone who knows about this stuff. We also know you're not involved, because you just got here. We can trust you."

Nathan wasn't sure if he had just been insulted or complimented, but decided to continue on. "So what exactly do you want me to do?"

"Find out who it is and let us know," said Reggie matter-of-factly.

Nathan rubbed his face and breathed out. "It's not that simple. I'm not sure where to begin exactly." Nathan searched for words and looked out the window.

"Just tell us what you think, Nathan," said Reggie and smiled calmly. Nathan immediately felt more relaxed. As much as Anderson seemed to unintentionally get under his skin at every turn, Reggie Philips was the opposite and made him feel at ease.

"Well, first of all," began Nathan, "you may not be looking for someone. If this were a year ago, I would think you've got a listening device in your midst, but that seems less likely given the difficulty of electronic storage and transmission, but still might be worth checking out. Also, you might be looking for several individuals who don't even know of each other. If General Sampson is smart enough to run a spy into our midst, he's also smart enough not to put all of his eggs in one basket. Granted, we know at least one of them has access to the council, but he or she may not even have been in the room."

"What do you mean exactly?" asked Anderson.

"Well, let's say one of the attendees of this meeting talked about the meeting to a girlfriend as pillow-talk or something and the girlfriend is your spy. We could be dealing with someone removed a few paces."

"I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or not," said Reggie. "It would be a relief to think that one of the men I've worked so hard with might not actually be a traitor, just maybe...indiscreet. But that would make it harder to identify the individual, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, exactly," stated Nathan. "Another problem is that investigations almost always take a long time unless you catch someone in the act, which is rare. Most of the cases I worked went months, and many went years in duration. Also, understand..." Nathan almost didn't go on, but decided to anyway. "If we're dealing with someone well trained by a professional intelligence operative, the chances of us ever catching them are remote."

"Why?" asked Anderson. "We know they are close to us."

"True," Nathan answered. "But they want to keep their sources protected and hidden. The side committing espionage normally has most of the advantages, and the way we almost always catch them is when they make a mistake. If they're smart, disciplined, and patient, the chances of them getting caught are slim."

"So," Reggie interjected, "we have to hope that Sampson or his spies make a mistake."

"Actually," said Nathan, "I believe he has already. Letting us know, even in a roundabout way, that he knew of our plans was a mistake. He shouldn't have done that. We would have probably gone for a long time without suspecting anything if only he had been a little more subtle."

"Subtlety is not in his nature," said Anderson.

"But," Nathan went on, "knowing we have a spy is the first step; we are still a long way from identifying him."

Nathan could tell that Anderson was getting frustrated, but Reggie stepped in smoothly. "So, if you were in our shoes, what would you recommend?"

Nathan sat back and thought for a moment before going on. "Well, I would start by being careful about what is discussed at those meetings. Take it for granted from this point forward that whatever is talked about will get to Sampson. Next, I would start sensitizing people to the danger of loose lips. Use the radio, newspapers, fliers, anything. Tell them if they see anything suspicious to report it."

"Report to whom?" asked Anderson.

"Well, that's a good point," answered Nathan. "You need someone, an organization actually, in charge of investigating such incidents and claims. It needs to be professionals who have recognized authority, but also skilled in investigative work. I know it's not their area, but the State Police would probably be the best option for now. Espionage is a crime, after all. They would have to start small with the basics and work toward a fully developed counterintelligence program. It will take time, and it will take lots of hard work and patience on your part."

"So, a few weeks of your help is not going to solve the problem?" asked Reggie.

"It might, but it's unlikely. Even if by some miracle we catch this person, it wouldn't fix the larger issues. You need a group of people doing this full time," said Nathan. "What I would recommend is letting me go help train the State Police and then work with them as needed and when I can."

Reggie Philips and General Anderson looked at each other for a moment and then nodded.

Reggie turned back at Nathan. "That is a very good recommendation, thank you. I'll put you in touch with the State Police Commander, Frank Simm, and we'll get the ball rolling. You have already gone a long way toward putting my mind at ease."

Anderson seemed to have another thought. "It occurs to me that Sampson probably knows a lot about what is going on in the JP, but we know nothing about what is going on in the WTR or along our other borders. You mentioned earlier that you were already thinking about developing our own spy network?"

"Well, that's a little bit of a larger and slightly more complicated issue," said Nathan. "I would recommend that we focus on protecting our own house first and then expand our activities later. But...with your permission, I would like to start tentatively running some reconnaissance patrols out of the LBL area and would recommend other commanders do the same along their borders."

"You have our permission, and that's a good recommendation we'll pass to the other units," said Anderson. "Just be careful in the south. We don't want to set off this powder keg before we have to."

Nathan thought for a moment and decided to ask. "I have an idea of what you want to do about the spy, but may I ask what you plan on doing about Sampson and his threats?"

"Well, we're going to play nice for as long as we can, as best we can," said Reggie.

"That will work for a time, but then what?" asked Nathan.

Anderson got a hard look on his face as he answered. "When we're ready, we cut off all their electricity and there will be war." He said this without any emotion, and Nathan knew it wasn't simply boasting, but reality. A graveyard atmosphere settled over the table, and the talk ended awkwardly as the seriousness of the future set in.

The plates of food arrived, piled high with the savory pulled pork and sides of cole slaw and potatoes. The smell was wonderful and Nathan was sure it was just as delicious to taste. He started to eat and then thought of something.

"How do you think Sampson knew?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Anderson.

"Well," continued Nathan, "the border is pretty tightly controlled. It's not like you can walk back and forth across unless we have holes in it."

"No, we've made that a top priority and should be covered, especially now that you have the LBL bottled up," said Anderson.

"Good. So our people aren't regularly crossing to the south and they aren't regularly crossing north," said Nathan. "Mail doesn't exactly run, so that's out. That really only leaves one obvious answer of how the information was passed to him."

"And what's that?" asked Reggie around a mouthful of barbeque.

"Phones," answered Nathan with a smile. He saw their bemused looks and continued on. "We have wired and wireless phones and functioning cell phone towers because we have electricity. The WTR has electricity from us, so we must assume they also have phones. That...is how our guy is passing secrets." Nathan smiled and took a bite of his sandwich.

"So how does that help?" asked Anderson.

"Easy," said Nathan. "We pull all the phone records and see who is calling to the south and then cross reference that against people who might have reason to know council business. That should give you a manageable subject pool to begin investigating."

Both men stopped eating and looked at him in amazement. Nathan laughed in spite of himself. "Well, I did do this for a living, after all!"
Chapter 5 – Conquering Fate

Timothy "Brazen" Walker never believed in fate. He always thought each man made his own life by his own decisions. He lived that way and didn't question the purpose of it all...until recently.

Brazen sat near the back of the Freedom Baptist Church of Paducah. The church doors remained unlocked most times, but Brazen was the only person there at such an early hour. He never prayed anymore. People who knew him would probably be shocked by the idea of Brazen actually inside a church. Nevertheless, simply being here gave him some semblance of peace. It wasn't that he didn't believe in God—he believed in Him with all his heart—he simply did not believe in God's forgiveness. At least, not in his case.

Timothy Walker came from a broken home and was raised along with his little sister by a strict and religious grandmother. His mother was an infrequent and unreliable presence in their lives, and the siblings never knew their father. Timothy grew up among numerous extended family, all of which made a living through various nefarious "trades" frowned upon by lawful society. Brazen's friends were in gangs and most had been arrested at least once.

His grandmother, Noni, had certainly tried, and at one point, Brazen would have admitted she succeeded with him. She saw the dark path he was on, growing up without a father figure and instinctively seeking that figure in all the wrong places. Noni convinced Pastor Lancourt of Freedom Baptist to try to mentor her grandson. It was a rocky road and not one Brazen accepted willingly, but Noni could be very convincing. Brazen found himself smiling at the memories and dropped his head as they flooded through him.

Pastor Lancourt had been a hard man to figure out. He was tough and serious at the same time he was kind, sincere, and generous in all he did. In a world where manhood was defined by empty words and pompous displays of false courage, usually measured through illegitimate children and random acts of violence, Lancourt was something different. Brazen knew Lancourt had more stones than any gangbanger he ever met...and he knew why.

Lancourt firmly, and with all his heart, believed that God was with him at all times and in all circumstances. Brazen eventually came to believe it too and wanted the same. Pastor Lancourt showed Brazen the true nature of courage and manhood. He came to believe that he made his own fate through God's help and did not have to lead a life like those he saw around him.

Still in high school then, the teachers were shocked at the depth of Brazen's intellect. Beneath a shell of rebellion and disinterest lay a mind that soaked up knowledge and demanded more. They said he was a prodigy and held him up as an example of how the school district "turned around" a troubled teen. Eventually, that got him noticed by good universities very far away.

Truth was Brazen was an absolute whiz with mathematics and engineering. The day he received a full academic scholarship to the prestigious Massachusetts Institute of Technology, in far off Cambridge, was one of Noni's proudest. They all believed he had defied the odds and made it. That he had made his own fate.

The bright future was eclipsed by tragedy. During his senior year of college, he got the call from Noni. Brazen's little sister was dead, caught in the crossfire of rival gang activity two blocks from home. The target of the attack lived, despite suffering numerous gunshot wounds.

Noni was still strong, drawing strength from her faith, but to Brazen, it all seemed like a bad dream. Pastor Lancourt took his hands on several occasions and talked about God's will and why bad things happen to good people, but Brazen couldn't hear any of it. None of it came home until the day he received the envelope that changed his life. If not for the envelope, he might have overcome his grief and gathered his dreams around him like a comforting cloak and found a life, but that was not to be.

The envelope came with little fanfare a few days after the funeral. The door buzzer rang, but by the time he got to the door, no one was there, just a little kid running off down the street casting darting looks back over his shoulder at him as he ran. Brazen looked down at a large manila envelope with "Timmy" written on it. Inside was ten thousand cash in dirty bills in various denominations and a scrap of white paper with two words scrawled on it, "Sorry Bro." Brazen let the money fall to the floor as he clutched the paper and stared at it in amazement.

That simple scrap of paper made everything real. He broke down and cried for the first time over the loss of his sister. Then, his grief gave way to consuming rage and anger. He knew he should not think this way, but he embraced the hate and violence that welled within him. It felt better than the emptiness and pain.

Brazen very carefully picked up all the money and placed it back into the envelope, just as carefully he folded up the piece of paper and placed it in his wallet. He knew where it came from. Only one person in the world ever called him Bro.

Brazen took the money and deposited all but five hundred dollars into Noni's savings account. He then went to a pawn store and bought a snub-nosed .38 caliber pistol and fifty rounds of ammunition. With no clear idea what he was going to do just yet, Brazen used the thinking skills from the best technical school in the world and put his brilliant mind to deadly use.

It was not too difficult to find the thugs involved. Chino, Two Tone, and Jams were part of the 15th Street Posse, a group with connections to larger gangs on the East Coast. Brazen stalked each of them carefully and patiently. It was surprisingly easy. He walked up to each when they were alone on the street, and with no words or fanfare, shot them in the head and kept going. The last thing he expected to feel was nothing.

Killing the three directly responsible was not enough. He continued killing Posse members until it was rare to see them alone, and most thought rival gangs were to blame. Although there were plenty of Posse members to kill, Brazen decided that maybe if he could kill the gang leader, the man who called him Bro, then he could go on with his life. Maybe that empty feeling in his chest would be filled. The Posse leader, Jaden, was once Brazen's best friend, but there was a gulf between them now that could not be bridged.

The Posse was deathly afraid of nighttime attacks, but they felt safe during the day, especially in public places. Brazen realized he could get Jaden if he really wanted, but there would be no walking away. Brazen decided he could live with those terms.

Paducah Sun Newspaper - Thursday, July 14th

Brazen Killing in Mall Food Court

On Wednesday, a lone male walked into the Food Court Area of 100 Oaks Mall and shot to death Jaden Brown, age twenty-two of Paducah, Kentucky. Witnesses claim an individual approached Brown and three of his acquaintances before reportedly pulling a pistol and shooting Brown in the chest. The assailant then kicked a wounded Brown over in his chair and emptied the other five shots into Brown's body. Witnesses say the assailant then tossed the gun away and sat down to wait for the police to arrive. The motive for the shooting is unknown at this time, but authorities suspect illegal drugs are involved.

The authorities took one suspect into custody. Timothy Walker, twenty-two years old of Paducah, Kentucky, who was arrested at the scene.

Civic officials denounced this brazen attack as the latest in over a dozen unsolved murders in Paducah in the last two months.

Jaden Brown is survived by his mother Tonya Brown and grandmother Ester Liggins.

The subsequent trial took into account his loss and grief, and the judge only sentenced him to fifteen years. His lawyer thought he might only serve five with good behavior. Brazen didn't care. The one thing he had not factored into his careful consideration was Noni. He soon suspected that his actions were more painful to her than the death of his sister.

In a year's time, the false rumors of his association with smaller gangs led from his protection in prison to his leadership. Various gang members followed him around and watched his back and did not resent his total lack of acknowledgement of their existence. Over time, Brazen began to come out of his shell and started to exert influence. Although he felt confident in his damnation, he was not without a conscience.

Within two years, Brazen controlled a large network of smaller gangs known as Brothers for Life, a play on words in prison since many of the gang members were serving life sentences.

By the third year, Brazen's leadership extended beyond the prison walls. He stopped drug sales, prostitution, and violent crimes, and turned the gangs' illegal activity toward extortion, robbery, and violence against other gangs.

In his fourth year, he blocked Noni from visitation. He could operate without pain and without considering what he had lost ...except during Noni's visits.

She came every week and talked to him as if nothing had ever happened. "I love you, Timmy. I pray for you every night." Yet, Brazen could see she was dying a little each time she entered those gray walls, which to her, represented failure in so many ways. Eventually, Brazen could take it no longer and told her to never come back. She ignored him and kept coming. He finally convinced the guards to prevent her from visiting him due to health concerns for the old lady caused by the stress of the prison. The guards complied, and Brazen never saw Noni again. In less than a year, she was dead. Noni reminded him of who he had once been and who he had hoped to be. Such thoughts could not be borne.

The lawyer was right and Brazen was placed on parole at the five-year mark based on good behavior and the education program he helped set up within the prison. He wanted out of the prison, but wasn't exactly sure where he wanted to do or be. Going back to finish at MIT was now out of the question, so without thought, he drifted back home.

At first, Brazen tried to live a legitimate life of some sort, but he supposed he simply wasn't strong enough. He accepted the role thrust upon him as leader of the Brothers. He continued his plan for getting away from crimes that carried severe prison sentences and attracted police attention, instead focusing on other activities. The one area where the Brothers remained violent was toward other gangs who did not accept Brazen's leadership or rules.

The Brothers set up a system borrowed from the Italian Mafia where they demanded protection money from the inhabitants of neighborhoods, but in return, made them the safest in the city. Brazen severely punished any of his people who were impolite or rude to any of the people under their care. The Brothers were also fiercely protective, and Brazen often told them to think of themselves as sheepdogs protecting their flock from the wolves.

Brazen was too honest to try to fool himself into thinking he was a good man doing good work for society. He could accept that they took a scourge on honest people and at least controlled it. That work became even more important after N-Day when the world turned upside down.

Many said the Brothers were lifesavers. They protected the citizens under their care while gathering food, water, and needed medical care. The Brothers continued to accept the "payment" for protection, but in other forms, such as gasoline. This payment, in the end, caused all the problems.

The city demanded taxes, but did not provide anything in return. They could point to the electricity, but that ran regardless and was at best an unreliable commodity. The police and National Guard got more serious and attempted to force their way into the Brothers' areas, but were pushed back. Three of Brazen's men were shot along with six police and National Guard troops. Word reached Brazen just this morning that one of the policemen died. Brazen knew he was losing control and wasn't sure how to regain it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of someone from behind him. He knew his men would let no one sneak up on him, so he remained at ease, but he looked around nevertheless. It was Pastor Lancourt, much older now, but still filled with that formidable presence.

"Timothy," stated Lancourt with a genuine smile. "It is a blessing to see you in this place. I have missed you, my son." Lancourt's embrace took Brazen by total surprise. He had expected many reactions from this man, but affection was not one of them. Lancourt continued on, "How are you doing?"

With most people, this question was simply a cursory passing question, not really requiring an honest answer, but Brazen knew Lancourt wanted the truth. Brazen quickly looked around to make sure none of his men were close enough to hear and whispered, "Lost, I think. Things got out of control. I didn't want any of it to happen, and now, I'm not sure how to fix it."

Lancourt nodded. "I know, son. Your sister's loss and your grandmother's death were a tragedy, but neither were your fault."

Brazen sucked in his breath in surprise and sudden anger. "That's not what I'm talking about and you know it!"

"Is it not?" asked Lancourt. "Seems to me that ever since your sister's death you have been searching for something to fill that hole in your heart, but you have been searching in all the wrong places."

Brazen was nodding his head. "I know where you're headed preacher, but it's not going to work on me."

"What's not going to work on you?"

"Your"—Brazen searched for words—"Jesus talk about love and forgiveness and redemption. My fate was sealed long ago. You don't know everything I've done. If you did, you would know my sins are unforgivable." As Brazen said these words, he nearly choked on them. He hadn't meant to verbalize his greatest belief and fear, but it was now out there.

Lancourt looked at Brazen for a long moment before speaking. "Son, I want you to listen to me. Have I ever in your entire life lied to you about anything?"

"No," said Brazen.

"Well, I'm not going to start now, but there are some things you need to hear. I need you to listen to me very carefully." Lancourt waved his hand dismissively. "After that, you can go do whatever you decide to do."

Brazen wouldn't have listened to such talk from many men, but he owed Pastor Lancourt much and swallowed his pride. "Okay, shoot."

Lancourt smiled. "All right, I will. First of all, the only unforgivable sins are the ones you refuse to confess. God is eternally merciful. The only sins he can't forgive are the ones you will not let go of."

Brazen's resentment welled up in him at this, but Lancourt continued on. "Second, I'm going to pray for you to let go of those sins every day until either I die or you die."

"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Brazen.

"I know you do," said Lancourt immediately. "That's your pride talking. You want to hold onto your sins and wallow in them. But it's not right and it's not going to bring back what you've lost. I'm going to pray for you and there is nothing you can do to stop me."

Brazen started to get up, but Lancourt pushed him back down forcefully, surprising Brazen with the old man's strength. "And third, there is no fate. There are only the decisions we make and God's will. Fate is a copout. You're better than that. Take control of your own life now. It's never too late, I promise you."

There was silence between them for several moments before Lancourt spoke again. "God still loves you, son, and wants the best for you. And so do I."

Lancourt stood and kissed the top of Brazen's bowed head, before he turned and walked away, leaving Brazen to his troubled thoughts.
Chapter 6 – Only One

"You want what?" asked Nathan, suddenly less distracted. He looked at Sergeant Major Luke Carter and then at both David and Joshua who were standing with him in Nathan's office. Up to that moment, the day was actually been going pretty well for once.

Carter repeated his request without the slightest trace of emotion. "I want to conduct a long range reconnaissance to the south just as you directed, but I want Joshua and David here to lead it."

Nathan looked at his boys in turn. He had heard about how well they were performing as trainers for Carter and was not really surprised. He saw Joshua's worried but hopeful look and David's defiant and proud one and decided to steer clear of the obvious issue of the boys' age. The Sergeant Major certainly had a reason for coming to him with such a request. He thought he should probably hear him out.

"Let's hear it," said Nathan, "Tell me why."

"Dad, listen," began Joshua.

Nathan cut him off with a look and a point of his finger. "You keep your mouth shut unless I ask you something. This is between the Sergeant Major and I. I'm frankly not even sure why he brought you here." Nathan gave Carter a hard knowing look as he said this because in fact he did suspect why they were there. "Go on," he told Carter.

"Certainly, sir," said Carter unperturbed. "We must begin the discussion with the importance of the mission. Although we have numerous areas of weakness here, our lack of intelligence prevents us from prioritizing which areas to address first with scarce resources."

"I know that part," said Nathan. "We've had conversations of just such matters. I also understand why you want to recon south. Get to the part where you think David and Joshua should take part."

"Sir," said Carter, "let me be clear. I don't just want them to participate in the recon. I want them to lead it."

Nathan opened his mouth to retort and then quickly caught his words. He was again careful about wounding the boys' pride. He also thought there was something else at play here that he did not quite understand yet. "Why them?" he asked simply.

"For a variety of reasons, sir," he answered. "First and most importantly, they are the most qualified men I have under me right now for such a mission. I know they are young, but they have much more practical experience than I did the first time I went into enemy territory. Also, they have been training these men for months, and the men respect them. And"—Carter paused before going on—"if they are to be two of my platoon leaders, I want them to have the experience behind them."

"Your what?" asked Nathan.

"Sir, it's no secret that you plan to commission me a captain after this current training class and put me in charge of the central region of the park." Carter was matter-of-fact. "You've asked my commander at Murray State who talked to me about it. If I'm going to be a commander, I need good subordinate leaders. I want these two to be lieutenants under me."

Nathan shook his head and blew out a breath. "Sergeant Major, don't you think they need a few more years under their belts first? We both know leadership is a heavy burden. Also, won't folks just say they're being commissioned only because they're my sons?"

Carter smiled slightly for the first time. "Sir, in my experience the only way to obtain leadership experience is to lead. As far as what people think, that's one reason I want them conducting this mission. No one can question their capabilities if they're the first to lead such a patrol. All who know them already know better, and those who don't, soon will after this."

"I'm flattered, but are you telling me that of all the men you've trained lately that these two are your first choice for platoon leaders?" asked Nathan.

"Actually, no," replied Carter. "I have a former SEAL whom I'm making my executive officer, a park service game warden who is going to make a fine platoon leader, and one of those NCO's from Fort Campbell is going to be my headquarters and support platoon leader. But on a standard company organization that leaves two platoon leader slots open, and these two are more than capable. They know their stuff."

"I see you've given this a lot of thought," said Nathan, pondering. He would have preferred them to be older, but they were old enough to make their own decisions. David, at least, would likely go with or without Nathan's blessing.

"Boys," Nathan began and inwardly cringed at the word. They weren't really boys anymore. "How do you feel about this?"

"We're ready," said Joshua eagerly, "and we'll be careful."

Nathan continued on. "I'm sure the Sergeant Major has talked to you about being a leader, but I'm going to add my two cents' worth." He looked at them carefully to ensure he had their attention. "There are three things you need to know about being a leader going in." Nathan held up three fingers and began counting them off. "First, leadership is lonely. You carry the burden alone, not your men. Second, leadership is not fair. You are responsible for everything they do or fail to do. And third"—Nathan looked hard—"you're most likely going to have men die under you if you do this long enough. Make damn sure you did everything possible to prevent it from happening ahead of time so that you know it isn't your fault when it happens. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," both said in unison.

"So we are good to go?" asked Carter.

Nathan smiled and shook his head. "Not so fast. Have you ever been in an airborne unit, Sergeant Major?"

"Of course," responded Carter. "Lots of them."

"Ever been in one where you had brothers in the same unit?" asked Nathan.

"Can't say that I have," answered Carter after some thought.

"Well, I was once," said Nathan. "At Fort Bragg, I was in a company that actually had three brothers in it. They fought like cats and dogs." Nathan smiled at the memory. "But, the point is, on airborne operations all three couldn't be on the same plane. Two could, but not all three. Do you know why?"

Carter nodded. "I guess in case the plane goes down the family doesn't lose all three sons."

"Exactly right," said Nathan, "and a good policy it is, too. So, I'll agree to the recon and to the boys leading it, on several conditions. First, I want them fully prepared and briefed with numerous contingency plans. Second, I want to be at the final rehearsals, pre-combat checks, and pre-mission briefs. And finally"—Nathan paused for a long moment—"only one of them goes on the patrol."

They all stared back at him in silence for a moment before David asked, "Which one gets to go?"

"That's for the Sergeant Major here to decide, and I'll stay out of it," answered Nathan. "The other one can lead the next recon and they can take turns if you like, but I don't want both of them out at the same time and certainly not on the same mission. That is non-negotiable."

Carter nodded. "Understood, sir. I hear you loud and clear. We'll start planning and let you know what our timeframe looks like."

"Good," said Nathan. "Now get out of here before I change my mind."

Carter smartly saluted, followed by the boys' more hesitant salutes, after which they all filed out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

Nathan stood and looked out the window as the boys walked away from the building. Bethany is going to kill me, he thought.
Chapter 7 – A Simple Choice

Brazen wasn't quite sure how the meeting was going to go and realized he was a little nervous. Lancourt had worked hard to set up a face-to-face with the Paducah mayor, and Brazen now sat beside the pastor at a corner table in Little John's Bar and Grill. Brazen knew Lancourt was slightly uncomfortable in the surroundings, but to his credit, he didn't show it.

Over the past few days the tension in the city had grown with even more violence and bloodshed foreseeable. Brazen knew the mayor was under pressure to do something, which was the only reason he was willing to meet with a gang leader. The mayor probably thought he was there to orchestrate a sort of peace, but Brazen had something totally different in mind.

Lancourt's words had been working on Brazen's heart since their earlier conversation, and although Brazen wasn't willing to totally accept what the pastor was telling him, he was willing to try. He was haunted by the memory of what Noni would have wanted him to do and how he sometimes thought she looked down upon him.

The other thing that drove him was a 3 x 5 index card in his wallet, which he had carried with him since high school. On the card were two quotes, which had always inspired, challenged, and at times, comforted him. The second of the two quotes was the one he was thinking of now. It was by an eighteenth century British politician, Edmund Burke. Burke stated that the only thing necessary for evil to triumph was for good men to do nothing. Brazen spent considerable time trying to figure out if he was the good man doing nothing or part of the evil.

Little John's Bar was what could be called neutral territory not really claimed by any rival gangs or controlled by the city. It was a nice enough place and remained that way because the owner, John, a giant of a man and one-time professional wrestler, tolerated no monkey business. He always kept at least one large goon with a bat around to emphasize the point; today, he had four. Brazen had talked to John ahead of time and assured him things would be fine, but John was taking no chances.

As for Brazen, he came to the meeting alone except for Lancourt, something he would not have even considered previously, but things were changing. For the better, he hoped.

A large white passenger van pulled up outside the bar, and Brazen knew the mayor had arrived. Very few people could afford the extravagance of fuel, and any working vehicle attracted lots of attention. Brazen and Lancourt rode bikes themselves, with Brazen in a light disguise to protect him in transit.

Brazen expected the mayor to come with an escort but did not expect it to be as large as it was. Four state troopers in SWAT gear and assault rifles got out immediately, and two entered the front of the bar while the others went around the building in opposite directions, presumably to check the outside of the building. The two men who entered walked in, and without talking to anyone, stalked through the bar checking out the kitchens, bathrooms, and offices in back. John's heavies started to protest, but he held up a hand and no one said anything. The two men finally came over to Brazen and Lancourt.

"Are you two men Brazen Walker and Pastor Lancourt?" asked the one while the other covered him from a safe distance. His weapon wasn't exactly pointed at them, but it wasn't far off, Brazen noticed.

"Yes, we are," answered Lancourt.

The first trooper nodded. "Are either of you carrying any sort of weapon?"

"No, we're not," Brazen responded. "We didn't think they would be needed."

"Good thinking. Stand and put your hands against the wall."

Brazen stood while he was frisked thoroughly, and then, they did the same with Lancourt. Brazen thought about resisting but knew it would do no good. These men were under orders. They must have thought that he would be dumb enough to try something against the mayor here. It remained to be seen if the mayor might be dumb enough to try something against him.

Once the trooper was satisfied, he faced them both. "Remain seated throughout the meeting and make no threatening movements. Also, watch your language."

"I didn't know the mayor was so sensitive," said Brazen.

The trooper frowned at him. "Do what I say, and we'll all be fine." He then nodded to one of the troopers from outside who stationed himself within the front doorway. This man relayed a signal to the van. Finally, the mayor emerged from the van followed by an individual in an immaculate state trooper uniform who Brazen guessed was Commander Frank Simm. Two other individuals also followed behind them.

Lancourt quickly grabbed Brazen's hand. "I don't know if this is good or bad, but that's the county exec and the big man himself, President Reggie Philips! Remember, go easy, gentle as a dove, wise as a snake. And...best to let me do most of the talking."

Brazen just shrugged in response.

As the group approached, Lancourt stood up and moved around to the other side of the table to greet them. The trooper looked at Brazen angrily and hissed, "Get on your feet and show some respect!"

Brazen responded in his best smartass tone, "You just told us to stay seated, chief." At this the trooper raised his rifle to eye level with Brazen. "Okay, easy, I'll stand now if you want, you just need to decide what you want is all," conceded Brazen.

The four men walked up and the mood was decidedly tense. Brazen could probably understand why. The dead trooper was likely a friend of some in the room and Brazen was a thorn in all their sides.

Lancourt took the initiative and stepped forward. "Gentlemen, thank you all for coming. My name is Pastor Gary Lancourt and I have been a friend of the family of Timothy Walker here for many years. I applaud your presence here today and hope this will be the beginning of peace in our city and the end to the senseless bloodshed."

The four men looked on silently for a few moments. Brazen expected an angry outburst at least, but the controlled silence was even more disquieting. Lancourt appeared unconcerned. "Might we begin with introductions?"

"I don't think that is necessary," said Frank Simm. "We all know each other as well as we want to." The hostility fairly dripped off the man and Brazen welcomed it. He knew how to deal with such situations.

"Well, in that case," said Lancourt, "might we sit? I believe we can also offer you some water or iced tea if you would like."

"No, thank you. This isn't a social call," said Mayor Leslie Mitchell.

"Actually, I would like some iced tea. That would be wonderful," said Reggie Philips from the back of the group in such a relaxed tone that it shocked Brazen by its contrast to the general mood. "I used to drink it as sweet as could be back in the day, but I'm grateful to have any tea whatsoever, especially if it's cool." Reggie's smile appeared genuine if a little tired.

Lancourt smiled and nodded at John, who was hanging on the edge of the conversation.

Reggie moved forward and took command himself. "Sit, please." He motioned to everyone. The rest of his group didn't look too happy about sitting with Brazen, but did as directed.

"I must say that I'm surprised you're here, Mister President," said Lancourt. "We asked to meet with the mayor to discuss the recent unfortunate events, but we're honored by your presence."

"Yes," said the mayor slowly. "I brought this meeting up at the Executive Council and both the president and county executive insisted they join me." Brazen could tell that the mayor was not happy about having those men here.

"And as far as the unfortunate events," said Simm, "you need to know that unless you disband and disarm your thugs, there will only be more bloodshed."

"Not gonna happen," growled Brazen.

"Hear us out, gentlemen" said Lancourt before anyone could retort. "You've come this far; at least hear what we have to say."

"Yes, let's hear what they have to say," said Simm, leaning on the table toward Brazen and crossing his arms. "Shouldn't take too long. This one here doesn't seem to be a big talker." Brazen simply smiled back at him.

"Easy now," said Executive Williams, laying his hand on the trooper's arm.

The trooper shook it off. "Easy hell! This thug got one of my men killed! I knew the man for twenty years! My kids played with his kids! Why don't we just take him right now like I said earlier? Is there any good reason why we shouldn't do that?"

"Actually, there is," said Brazen. "If both of us do not return home by six tonight, my boys with burn this city to the ground. And...they know where all your families live."

The table was instantly silent, and all eyes were on Brazen, who looked back calmly.

"You bastard!" said the mayor. He then turned to Lancourt, "And you! You call yourself a pastor! A man of God! How?"

"Perhaps we should hear what they have to say," said Reggie.

The trooper stood up. "To hell with that!" he said and walked away from the table and out the front door. All eyes watched him as he departed, and then, they turned back to each other.

"Well, then," said Reggie in a calm, resigned voice. "By all means, please proceed."

At first, Brazen took the man's calm as a sign of an oblivious nature, but he was starting to suspect that Reggie Phillips was more calculating and formidable than all the others. He also decided that Philips was the man to deal with.

Lancourt started to speak again, but Brazen put his hand on his arm, stopping him. "Thank you, Gary, but I think it's come time for my part in this." He smiled at Lancourt, who frowned in return and then sat slowly back in his chair.

Brazen looked at Reggie for a moment before beginning. "Let me first say that I regret there has been any loss of life in the past few days, and the men responsible have been punished."

"Punished how?" asked the Mayor Mitchell.

"That is not important and not your concern," said Brazen, never taking his eyes off Reggie. "Just trust that they have been. Also, I want to say that I am not happy with the way things are, and I see the bigger picture."

"Do you now?" asked Mitchell, clearly growing exasperated.

"Yes," said Brazen, still locked onto Reggie. "The city is in the midst of a civil war, and the JP is devoting scarce resources to keep it contained. At the same time, WTR forces to the south are gathering strength and could look to make a move soon."

At this, Reggie's eyes widened, clearly surprised at Brazen's knowledge. However, he only responded with, "You are correct. But you must also know that we are committed to doing whatever it takes to provide a safe, clean, civilized society for every citizen here."

Brazen nodded. "I know that's what you want, but you can't do it."

"And why not?" asked the mayor.

"Because you can't control the gangs of this city. You can't stop the rampant crime. You can't convince the people to trust you, because you're not one of them. You don't live among them. I can do all these things."

Reggie steeped his fingers in front of him. "Let's say for the sake of argument that you are correct in all your claims. Why would you stop the crime? Why would you help us make a safe and peaceful city?"

"Because as hard as it may be to believe, I want the same thing. We only differ in our methods."

"Those methods might be the problem," said Mitchell.

Brazen sighed, "Do you know why no crime or violence occurs in areas under my control?"

"Because you kill anyone who commits a crime?" answered the mayor.

Brazen smiled. "Sometimes...but, that's not it. Although for some crimes, I would say people do deserve to die, but as Pastor Lancourt assures me, we all in the end deserve to die. No, the reason there is no crime or violence is because I do not allow it. You may counter that neither does the city of Paducah, but the chances of breaking laws and getting caught by the city are slim. The chances of someone in my area breaking the rules and getting caught are a certainty. Any person who sees someone doing something against the common welfare will report it immediately. Do you know why?"

This time, it was Reggie who answered, in all seriousness. "Because they believe you will do what is in the common interest and because they know you will always punish accordingly."

Brazen was surprised that he got it so quickly. "That is exactly right. They also know me, and they trust me."

"You're a regular saint, aren't you?" said Mayor Mitchell.

Brazen smiled. "That's not what I said. I have no illusion about what I am and neither do these people. That's what makes me trustworthy. In a sense, I can be relied upon to maintain order, because that is what allows me to maintain my control and power. Control and power is what we're talking about here, not whether I am Mother Teresa. Everyone knows if they break my rules, the consequences are ruthless and certain."

The McCracken Country Executive Brad Williams took this opportunity to butt in. "Mr. Walker, perhaps you should explain exactly what it is you are proposing."

"Yes," said Brazen, who turned back to Lancourt. "I've heard that you are setting up county regiments for public defense and to provide the day to day law and order. These regiments are made up of volunteers, but the equipment and supplies are paid for by the state."

"That's true," said Williams. "Colonel Gerald Rollins is the new McCracken Regimental Commander."

"Actually," said Brazen, "that's the job I want."

Everyone across the table looked like they had been hit by a shovel. "You can't be serious!" said the mayor.

"It makes sense if you think about it from a practical standpoint," said Brazen. "Get past the fact that you don't like me for a minute and ask yourself who could better keep the city safe. My people are disciplined and will maintain the peace. That will allow you to move those troops and police elsewhere, perhaps to the south to deal with the Tennessee boys."

"But"—Reggie looked confused—"may I ask why? Why would you want this job?"

For the first time, Brazen felt uncomfortable, "Because"—he struggled for words to explain lost and confused feelings—"there's another way. You think because I'm in a gang I love blood and drugs and violence. That's not the case. I hate those things. I'm also a realist and understand that the JP could crash and burn at any time. In short, you need my help and I'm willing to give it."

"But what about Colonel Rollins?" asked Williams.

Brazen smiled. "I can probably use a good second. He could work for Colonel Brazen Walker."

Williams started to exclaim, but Reggie put his hand on his arm and spoke to Lancourt. "What do you think of this?"

Lancourt seemed to think for a moment before answering, "I think God chooses tools to do His will that man has cast aside. When I look at Timothy, I think of Jeremiah 29:11, 'For I know the plans I have for you says the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.' Timothy is being called to something greater than himself I believe, and this might just be it."

"Excuse me, for just a minute," said the mayor, "but we can't all seriously be considering this. It's ridiculous."

"Maybe," said Reggie. "But it does solve a lot of our problems, and we don't necessarily have the luxury of choosing our allies right now. One question though, Mister Walker, can we trust you to execute your duties in a professional and selfless manner and to be loyal to the JP?"

"You can trust me to be loyal to the people here and to deal with you honestly and straightforwardly," answered Brazen. "As far as selfless, there's nothing really that this gets me that I couldn't already take by force if I wanted, except legitimacy. Legitimacy has eluded me for a very long time."

Reggie thought for a moment and then looked at the others. Both Mitchell and Williams looked like they wanted to discuss this with Reggie in private, obviously to express their further misgivings. "Well, Mister Walker, you have given us a lot to think about. We will present this at the next council meeting and—"

"No," said Brazen.

"Excuse me?" asked Reggie.

"You will not bring this up at the council meeting. This is a one-time offer. You agree to my proposal now or you reject it now; there is no in between. I won't be debated over and vilified. It is yes now or it is no forever."

"I don't like ultimatums," said Reggie.

"So that's a no?" asked Brazen with a lifted eyebrow.

Reggie stared intently at him without speaking for several long moments.

Brazen broke the silence. "You don't need the council's approval for this. You all have the power right here. You can do up the paperwork or whatever later, but I want a gentleman's agreement, right here, right now. I shouldn't have to warn you gentlemen that you do not want to go back on a gentleman's agreement with me."

"Let's go," said Williams. Mitchell got up to follow, but Reggie didn't move. He just sat there, staring at Brazen fixedly.

"Mister Walker," said Reggie, "I've spent most of my life trying to do right by those around me. I haven't always succeeded, but I've tried. Now I'm in a position where if I make a mistake, lots of people suffer, maybe even die. I take that responsibility very seriously. Would you? Could you? I don't question your abilities; I question your motives. I want to trust you, hell, we need to end this fighting and trust you, but..." Reggie waved his hand as if he couldn't find the words.

Brazen decided on the spot that he liked the man and should be honest. "Sir, I've done some bad things in my life, things I'm not proud of. I've tried to get past them and do right. That's what this is about for me, and I also know I can fix the problems I see around here. I'm not sure anyone else really can. That's not arrogance, it's truth. You need me and part of me needs to help. I also want to regain something I lost long ago...my self respect."

Williams saw how this was going and he laid his hand on Reggie's shoulder. "Reggie, you can't. Not against my will. I'm the County Executive; this is my business."

"You're right," answered Reggie. "But what is your answer to the problem? We talked about it coming over here. We're in a pickle. I admit it's a gamble, but we're getting to a place in the game where we have to gamble. I think Mister Walker might be a better than even bet."

Williams stared at the back of Reggie's head for a moment before saying quietly, "Go ahead then, do what you want, but it's on your head if things go wrong." He then turned and walked out the door with the mayor following along behind him.

"Isn't it always," said Reggie quietly to himself.

Brazen stared at the departing men and then at Reggie, "So do we have an agreement?"

Reggie nodded for a moment and then said, "Yes, we have an agreement, but with one condition, this is only for one year. At the end of the year, you can stay if we like or you step down peacefully. I want your gentleman's agreement on that."

Brazen was amused and excited in spite of himself. "You have it."

Reggie continued on. "We'll have lots of details to work out, but in principle, we're in agreement. Give us three days to figure out how to announce this, and in the meantime, no more fights with the police or the army."

"Understood," said Brazen, who reached across the table to shake Reggie's hand.

Reggie stared at the hand for a moment before sighing and accepting the firm grasp. He noticed for the first time that Brazen was still a young man.

He almost looks like a kid when he smiles, thought Reggie. Could all the things I've heard about this man be true? Does any of it really matter at this point?

Brazen reached down under the table and brought back up a bottle and two glasses. After he straightened, he saw the man with the rifle pointed at him with his finger white on the trigger. Brazen briefly thought how ironic it would be for him to be shot and killed here now.

He placed the square clear bottle on the table. "This is Woodford's Reserve, the best Kentucky Bourbon in the world and very hard to find, I might add. I would be honored if you would drink a glass with me."

Reggie felt touched in spite of himself, nodding at the bottle, and Brazen poured him a small glass in response.

Brazen lifted his drink, looking at the amber liquid. "Here's to Kentucky."

Reggie lifted his glass in return. "Here's to the JP." He took a sip of the bourbon and felt the smooth, slightly smoky flavor slide down his throat and into his stomach, warming his entire body.

He smiled at both Brazen and Lancourt. "Gentlemen, please don't make me regret this."
Chapter 8 – Shut Down

Nathan and Harold quickly made their way through the winding corridors of the interior of the enormous Kentucky Dam complex. John Downing, the TVA Director, had sent an urgent message saying they needed to come see him immediately. When Nathan tried to put him off, John became nearly frantic and screamed at him that there was nothing more important than what he had to show him. Nathan grabbed Harold and a couple of horses and headed north from the center of the park.

Although John Downing was originally in charge of the entire park as the TVA Director, he had wisely abandoned those duties to focus on what he saw as his most important duty...keeping the dam functioning. This was even more crucial considering that the dam director had disappeared after N-Day, and no one had heard from him since. Nathan knew John did not have the technical expertise, but despite this, was doing a good job.

The Land Between the Lakes Park was a thin strip of land between Kentucky and Barkley Lakes and traveling the distance from the center to the north end took all morning, even on horses. John was not a man to get excited easily, but Nathan wasn't willing to consume precious gasoline on an unstated problem. They slowly but steadily made their way north along The Trace, which was the main road running north and south through the park.

"This is bad timing," said Harold. "We have several things on our plate right now that need to be dealt with, and oh, by the way, Anderson says we need to get ready for a full scale invasion. John better not be wasting our time."

Nathan had thought the same thing. "I don't think he would do that; he sounded pretty frantic, which is rare for him."

"How bad could it be?" asked Harold. "The water flows and electricity comes out the other end. He's probably freaked out over one of those giant catfish getting caught in a turbine or something. We need to get the regiment ready, not this."

Nathan didn't disagree. An attack could come any day now and the regiment wasn't ready. But they were getting there, be it ever so slowly.

The LBL regiment was organized into three companies. Captain Jason Green of Fort Campbell commanded the southern region with the primary responsibility of preparing strong defensive works to the south as quickly as possible and to defend that border. Captain Jim Meeks commanded the northern region, which included the dam and Camp Beaver refugee camp. He also had the task of managing the convicts who worked the iron mine, although many of these quickly saw the light and volunteered to join the regiment.

Sergeant Major Luke Carter had indeed been commissioned as a captain and placed in charge of the central region with the additional task of training new troops and controlling the small refugee camp to their east. Johnny Robels from Fort Campbell was placed in charge of all headquarters functions in addition to his role as quartermaster for the regiment. Although they needed more troops, more supplies, and more time, Nathan felt they were beginning to get out of dangerous territory.

Harold meanwhile stayed busy improving the quality of life for everyone. LBL was mostly an unpopulated park before N-Day, but now it was the home of nearly one thousand troops and their families. Living quarters needed to be found. Harold decided to build housing areas around old campgrounds, because those areas already possessed good roads, electrical hookups, and a clean water supply. Sewage was a problem, but they were working on that. Harold begged, borrowed, and commandeered all the mobile homes, campers, trailers, and houseboats that he could to provide lodging. Although these met the immediate need, it would not be enough come winter, so Harold put everyone he could scrape together building large communal wood cabins that would each probably house eight to ten families. Privacy would be lacking, but they would be warm in the winter. He also directed the other companies to build barracks for their soldiers.

Nathan and Harold continued to talk about all these issues while traveling and were still doing so as they entered the dam facility. Their conversation began to trail off as they noticed the hectic and worried expressions of the dam workers hurrying from one area to another. Up ahead, they saw Jim Meeks waiting for them.

Jim walked up and shook hands with each. "I would have called you, but John said he already had. Nearly beside himself."

"What's this all about, Jim?" asked Harold.

"Well, I should probably let John give you the details since I don't completely understand it all myself," answered Jim, "but it sounds bad. I think we're going to have to shut down the dam. That's assuming it doesn't just blow up before then."

"What?" asked Nathan. "We can't shut down the dam!"

"That's what I told them," said Jim, "but they seem serious about it. Worse yet, they seem scared."

Harold grunted, "We better go find John."

They quickly walked down into the bowels of the dam. After a few minutes, Nathan came around a corner and spotted John looking at a set of computer screens with several technicians gathered around him. He turned and saw Nathan and the relief in his face was evident.

"Thank God! What took you so long? Never mind." John was speaking so fast Nathan had to concentrate to understand him. "We've been monitoring the dam's general internal temperature for several months due to a slight elevation indicating a major electrical problem somewhere."

"Slight elevation?" asked Harold.

"Yes," said John exasperated. "About half a degree a week for the past few months. We knew it was something we needed to track down, but we thought we had more time."

"Why is the temperature important?" asked Nathan.

John took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself before continuing on. "An overall temperature rise indicates electrical resistance somewhere. Resistance is not a bad thing if we want resistance in the circuit, but when it's not part of a planned circuit, it could lead to a short or a meltdown. A non-localized heat rise throughout the facility indicates we have a major problem that we need to deal with, but again, we thought we had time."

"What has changed?" asked Nathan.

"Well, I told you the rise was a half a degree a week. Starting yesterday morning, it began rising a full degree an hour. Since we noticed the change, it's risen nearly forty degrees."

"Doesn't seem that hot in here," said Harold.

"That's because we've got the air conditioning going full blast, but that is only a Band-Aid to a gushing wound. Also, the AC is putting even more pressure on the overall electrical systems. This is a short-term fix. The core temperature in there is now about one hundred and seventy-eight degrees, nearly one hundred above where we want it to be. Once it gets around two hundred, things start melting and shorting out. If that happens, we can't replace what is destroyed. We just don't have the expertise or the equipment anymore."

"How much time do we have?" asked Nathan.

"At two hundred degrees, things start going really bad, but I'd like to shut it down before it gets to one hundred ninety," said John.

"So that gives us...what...twelve hours?" asked Jim.

John shook his head. "Not necessarily. The heat could build upon itself and the rate could go up to two degrees an hour or four or twenty. We need to shut it down now."

"What is causing this?" asked Harold.

"We don't know!" screamed John in clear frustration. "It could be coming from anywhere. We've been overloading the dam for months and not conducting regular maintenance because we don't have the people or the parts. The only way to find the problem is to shut everything down and do checks section by section and circuit by circuit to find the problem."

"How long will that take?" asked Nathan.

"Frankly, I don't know," said John taking a few ragged breathes. "There are miles of wires and circuits and systems in here. We can start with likely areas, but we've already checked most of those. We're going to have to systematically go from one end of the grid to the other. It could take weeks."

They were all silent as the enormity of what they were talking about began to sink in. The JP had enjoyed at least semi-regular power since N-Day. It had made them different and given them comfort. It had kept everyone calm and civilization in place.

At least this didn't happen in the winter, thought Nathan. The worst of the cold is past. He mentally visualized the second and third order effects of turning off the power. It was evident it had to be done, as they couldn't risk losing electricity forever.

"We're going to need at least a few hours notice to shut this down," he finally said. "Doing it all of the sudden will cause a panic. I need time to tell President Philips and General Anderson; maybe they can get a special radio broadcast out before we do this."

"That might make things worse here," said John. "When people hear that broadcast, they are going to all rush to do everything they can electrical at the same time. Fifty thousand loads of laundry going at once, kitchen appliances at full blast, charging countless electrical devices and batteries. It would probably overload the system right there."

"Why not coordinate the radio broadcast and the shut down?" asked Jim. "We could have a set time, say"—Jim looked at his watch—"It's 12:36 now. Why not say the broadcast goes on at 3:00 and we shut down at 3:01. Shouldn't need much time to send a set statement. We can start putting out the word now in a radio message that there will be a special broadcast at 3:00."

Nathan nodded. It was a good plan. If he was going to give President Philips such bad news, he wanted to be able to give him a good practical plan to go along with it. His mind started going through the conversation he would have with Philips when he noticed Harold's stricken look. "What is it?" he asked Harold.

Harold pulled Nathan out of earshot from the others and whispered in his ear, "Remember the conversation you said you had with General Anderson and Reggie Philips several weeks ago about Sampson?"

"Oh crap," said Nathan, comprehending.

"Sampson wants the dam, and he's looking for a pretext to take it," said Harold. "He's paid in return for electricity for a whole year, and we suddenly cut him off? Things could go very bad, very fast."

"I'll talk to Anderson," said Nathan. "Meanwhile, put all the units on alert, but don't tell them why yet."

Harold nodded and headed off with Jim. Nathan moved into an office where he called General Anderson first and told him the situation. Anderson decided he would call Sampson personally and try to explain the situation and even offer to give the compensation back. It would be a good test of Sampson's intentions. If he refused to accept the payment's return, he was likely looking to take control of the dam, and as a result, all of the JP. Anderson also told Nathan to go ahead and call President Philips and tell Philips that Anderson approved of Nathan's plan.

Nathan had expected a lot of questions and some ranting, but Anderson was cool and supportive. Perhaps he is okay, after all, he thought.

Nathan next called Reggie Philips and told him what was going on. It took Reggie a little longer for everything to sink in, but when it did, he agreed to Nathan's plan. He ended the call and just sat enjoying a few moments of quiet peace in the empty office.

Things are going to get very tricky very fast, he thought, especially if Sampson moves. We should put out more patrols to see what he is doing.

It was when he remembered that one of his sons was already out there and possibly in the path of whatever menace Sampson intended.

*******

"Good afternoon, this is Tim Reynolds' WKPO Voice of the Jackson Purchase with a special broadcast." Tim's voice had its usual cheerful quality, but something sounded slightly off, as if he were nervous or rushed.

"I will be reading a prepared statement from President Reginald Philips. Any and all questions regarding this statement should be directed to your local government officials."

"'Dear friends: I regret to inform you that due to the need for long overdue maintenance of the turbines, generators, and electrical systems of the Kentucky Dam, we must institute a JP-wide electrical outage effective immediately. Although it is impossible to know how long the outage will be in effect, it is not expected to go beyond several weeks and could be as short as a few days. I have it on good authority that failure to institute the outage now and conduct the maintenance could endanger our ability to generate electricity.

"'Now, friends, I know this is disheartening, but I ask everyone to remain calm. We have been blessed with a number of things that others around us do not have. Electricity is the most tangible, but it is not the most important. Our spirit of unity is what sets us apart. Remember that we are still together and still a community and still friends, neighbors, and family even without electricity, and we will get through this.'

"'After all, it wasn't too long ago that our forefathers lived their entire lives without electricity. We can do this. I urge everyone to stay calm, work through issues and problems together as a community, and remember who you are. Even without electricity, we're different than those poor souls around us. We are the envy of everyone else. We are the JP. Stay strong and stay true to each other. God bless us all.'"

Tim stopped reading and looked at the clock on the wall. He had a few moments left. "This is Tim Reynolds signing off, and until you hear from me again, stay strong, friends."

Tim flipped the switch to end the broadcast and found that his hands were shaking. He rubbed his face to get himself under control and started to look at the clock again to see how much time was remaining, but that was when everything suddenly went dark as night in the control booth.
Chapter 9 - Panic

Reggie Philips was flat-out exhausted. The three days since losing electricity had been the worst of his life. He stood outside around the corner of the main entrance to the giant concrete and steel USECO bunker. Reggie had bummed a cigarette to smoke. It was his first in over twenty years. It wasn't the only thing he was doing that he had told himself he would not do. He was avoiding his responsibility.

He had been bombarded by everyone's needs for so long, that over the past few days he was afraid he was coming to resent those he served. He just needed a few minutes alone where no one could find him. He needed to hide for a while.

The council meeting he just fled from was going nothing like Reggie wanted it to. He had planned to talk first of course about the electrical outage, but portray it as a good thing. Reggie was going to explain that this was a perfect time for a needed outage for maintenance and then move on to other topics. He wanted to talk about getting the school system working again, instituting some form of currency to replace the shaky barter system they were currently working under, and to at least start the conversation of legal reform so there could be some standardization of punishment for crimes throughout the JP.

He also planned to discuss the status of the regimental system and hopefully slide quietly past the topic of Timothy Walker's commission without anyone raising too much of a fuss if possible. Reggie also decided against General Anderson's recommendation to share with the council the interaction he had with General Sampson several weeks ago. Anderson was worried about the spy in their midst, but Reggie didn't think they could give anything away the spy didn't already know.

Unfortunately, they weren't able to get away from the electricity issue. Reggie had expected some trepidation from the average citizens, but was shocked by the near open panic and irrationality of the leaders gathered around him. Reggie could only explain their reaction as denial. They had convinced themselves for so long that nothing had changed. Oh, they would admit that some minor things had changed, like not being able to watch Monday Night Football, but nothing of real significance. They could pretend that N-Day never happened and that the world outside wasn't in desolation. Cutting off the electricity took away this illusion and forced them to admit reality. Some hadn't dealt with the current reality very well.

Most areas remained calm, but not everywhere. Within hours of Tim Reynolds's radio broadcast, the station was mobbed and looted. People were looking for Reynolds, convinced he had more information he wasn't giving out. Thankfully, he had already left the station.

Reggie was also careful about his public appearances, and the JP put the police and military forces on alert. Surprisingly, Paducah remained calm through all the turmoil, justifying his trust in Brazen.

So far, things were still under control, but they could come apart at the seams at any moment, and Reggie wasn't quite sure what to do. He wished Clarence Anderson were here to give him counsel, but the general had taken the local guard forces south and was working on organizing the southern defense against any incursion by Sampson.

Reggie was aware of someone beside him also smoking. He had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Brazen. "Mind if I hide with you?" he asked.

Reggie smiled in spite of himself. "Help yourself, but they're sure to find us eventually."

"At least you didn't have to deal with introducing me," said Brazen with a smile of his own.

That was true. They never got to that topic and Reggie judged they probably never would. It would simply now be a given. They were within their power after all to appoint him. He only intended to bring it up as a courtesy, and if anyone asked later, he could always say the discussion was dominated by other more pressing matters.

"Yes, Colonel Walker, that was the silver lining to this particular cloud I suppose. You know things are getting ready to get bad, don't you?"

"I think I do," answered Brazen, taking a long draw off his cigarette. "I'm down to only one carton. Figure I'll be out of cigarettes in less than a month. I'm scared to think what the world will look like after that."

"You know what I'm talking about," said Reggie, amused nevertheless.

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about," answered Brazen. "And all we can do is keep doing what we have been. Get ready and then see what happens. It's not all on us, you know? If the people want to have the JP, there's going to come a point where we're going to have to fight for it. Not just the leaders, but everyone."

Reggie was silent for a moment. It was somehow encouraging to think that the weight of everything wasn't squarely on his shoulders. "Yes, I suppose so. But will we be ready?"

"We'll be as ready as we're ready," answered Brazen. "It's going to suck, but not as much as the uncertainty. There will come a time when there just isn't anything you can do to get ready for bad stuff. You just can't prepare yourself for a kick in the balls. You can see and know it's coming, but nothing is going to make it hurt less."

Reggie started laughing and realized it was the first time he had laughed in quite awhile. It felt pretty good. He turned to look at Brazen, "Colonel Walker?"

"Yes...sir?" said Brazen.

"I sure hope I'm right about you, because, if I'm not, we're all doomed. Everyone is going to be focused on the south with Sampson, and here you will be in the north controlling most of our wealth, manufacturing, people, and everything else. It would be a good opportunity for you to set yourself up pretty nice, if you wanted to."

"Yes it would," said Brazen. "But I won't."

"And how do I know that?" asked Reggie.

"You don't," answered Brazen as he snubbed his cigarette out against the wall. "You're just going to have to trust me, but I've given you my word."

They looked at each other for another moment before Brazen turned and began walking away, but then turned back abruptly.

"Oh yeah," began Brazen, "regarding our lack of electricity. I've been thinking about that."

"Haven't we all," said Reggie with a grimace.

Brazen smiled. "You see all the abandoned cars around here with no use whatsoever?"

Reggie nodded.

"Why not just pull the alternators out and hook them to something that turns like a crank, or a windmill, or wagon for that matter. It would charge a car battery, which could be used to power just about anything small for a short period of time. Might take the shock out of peoples' minds if they realize electricity isn't gone forever, even if the dam is never fixed."

Reggie froze. It was so simple, yet none of them had thought about it. He looked at Brazen in amazement.

"Don't look so shocked," said Brazen with a mischievous smile as he turned away again. "I was an engineering major at MIT, after all."

Reggie smiled to himself and realized that he wasn't so tired anymore.
Chapter 10 – The Right Time

Ethan Schweitzer had always enjoyed intelligence work. He liked the idea of secrecy and being able to know things that others did not. Most of all he liked being important and having powerful men ask him what to do. To Ethan, that was just the cat's meow and made all the effort and time worth it.

After mandatory retirement, he made his peace with the fact that he would never have that feeling again, and he was okay with it. But he had just been lying to himself. He was not okay with it. Now things were back the way they were supposed to be.

General Sampson might be the most powerful man in North America, and he was looking at Ethan with such an expectant and open face that Ethan just had to take a moment to soak in the feelings of...well, what was it? Ethan thought for a moment. He was many things, but self-delusional was not one of them. He had spent a lifetime manipulating people to do what he wanted them to do through recognizing and exploiting their wants, needs, and vulnerabilities. Ethan could certainly recognize his own. He had a need to be accepted which characterized itself so typically as egotism mixed with a deep insecurity. Knowing this about himself did not cause Ethan to want to change anything about his character.

"So, what's this all about?" asked Sampson. "Is Anderson for real?"

Ethan nodded. "It appears he is telling the truth. The power plant of Kentucky Dam is shut down indefinitely, and the whole JP is without electricity just like we are. My sources tell me they came close to a burnout of some sort at the dam and had to cut everything off to stop from causing damage that possibly could never have been repaired. A wise move, I would say."

"How long is this going to last?" asked Sampson.

"They don't actually know," said Ethan. "They're without many trained technicians and electricians, and of course replacement parts are an issue."

"Those pompous jerks should have asked me for help. We have several Tennessee Valley Authority guys here who escaped from the east and worked at dams. They might have helped," said Sampson.

"General, they fear your influence on the dam. They fear your power, your leadership, your vision. As a matter of fact, that fear is likely the only reason they agreed to let us keep getting electricity from them in exchange for compensation," said Ethan. "They believe that the electricity they are providing you is worth far more than what they're getting in exchange and would cut us off if they could. When the time is right for them, they will cut us off. Rest assured."

Sampson rubbed his chin in thought. "How long until they would feel secure enough to do that?"

"Hard to say," said Ethan. "But they are getting militarily stronger every day. Their borders are more secure; that regimental system of theirs is a joke, but it at least frees up their other troops. They also have the weapons they need due to the raid on Fort Campbell. All in all, they're nowhere close to us, but given enough time, they could be."

"What about the people there? What would their feelings be toward an annexation into the WTR should it come to that?" asked Sampson.

"In my opinion, General, their feelings would be irrelevant. As long as you provided them electricity, they would be happy with whatever else you allowed them to keep. The dam, General, is the key to everything because electricity and all the other things it makes possible, has become the rarest of commodities."

"Are they expecting an attack from us over this?" asked Sampson.

"Almost certainly. The fact that Anderson called you immediately and offered to give everything back shows that not only does he consider it a possibility, but something he fears greatly. Additionally, we know they are pushing troops south and preparing defensive positions. All their forces are on alert."

"So we've already lost the element of surprise?" asked Sampson with a frown.

Ethan smiled. "Not necessarily." He moved over to the map on the wall and pointed at the common border. They are expecting attacks, or at least some sort of intimidation, here along our northern area. But not in these regions." Ethan pointed at two other areas of the map. "We could feint toward what they expect, and attack where they do not, catching them by surprise."

Sampson was suddenly intense. "It might work. I know what I think, but what about you? Is it the right time?"

Ethan felt the enormity of the moment upon him and something akin to a physical rush. "General, this is exactly the right time. We could not have planned a better time. Not only is the JP unprepared for a conflict with us, they do it without the benefit of electricity, which means limited communications and much lower production. Their people will also be demoralized and lack confident in their leadership due to the sudden loss of power. On top of that, you have a perfect pretext to start a war. They broke a deal with us. We paid and they didn't give what they promised. It's not our fault they cannot properly manage the great responsibility given to them in the dam. Perhaps other more capable hands should take over that responsibility for the welfare of all concerned. JP, as well as WTR citizens."

Ethan smiled again to himself. "Honestly, based on what my sources tell me, the mere threat of invasion may cause the JP to settle with us without the need for conflict."

Sampson stared at him for a long moment, absorbing all that Ethan had said. He then nodded and began to smile. "The time is now. This is what I was put here to do. Right here and now is the time for me to fulfill my destiny!" Sampson stood and began to walk out the door and then turned and looked at Ethan, "We'll move forward immediately. And...what about the other thing we discussed, is it ready?"

"It is, General, my man is ready."

"Then do it," said Sampson forcefully. "I want to strike a blow to their heart before we meet them on the field of battle. The JP might just roll over and welcome us with open arms after we've dealt with Mister Phillips."

Ethan started to say something, but Sampson turned away and continued walking, calling back over his shoulder. "And Ethan!"

"Yes, General?"

"I want you to stay very close to me from now on. I'm going to need you even more in the coming days," Sampson spoke as he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

Ethan's heart swelled and his mind raced. Actually, it is my time, he thought to himself. Things are coming together the way I wanted them to.

Ethan suddenly realized that N-Day was the best thing that ever happened to him in his entire life.
Chapter 11 – The Coming Storm

General Clarence Anderson stared hard at the map spread out on the large table in front of him. Acetate plastic sheeting covered the map, and there were red and blue magic marker sketches showing the locations and dispositions of their forces and those of the WTR's. At least as best we can guess, he thought.

He swore in disgust. What have I been thinking? Did I really think this day would never come? Actually, I thought it would, but not so soon. We've made great strides, but we're not ready.

One of the biggest problems was they didn't know exactly what they were facing or where to focus. The JP had a general idea of the WTR's forces, which were forming along the border, but they didn't know exact composition, disposition, or intentions. Anderson couldn't risk sending patrols across the border and spark an actual conflict if Sampson's intention was only intimidation. They should have been working earlier on an intelligence network similar to what the WTR obviously possessed in the JP.

The other major problem, stemming from the first, was that they did not know exactly where they needed to defend. The JP had to array its forces in order to respond to any incursion along the entire southern border. He had decided to pull all his guard troops back and keep them in reserve to respond, using transport trucks when and where they were needed. Anderson hated the idea of using the precious fuel, but if there was ever a time for it, that time was now.

The Hickman, Graves, and Calloway County Regiments formed thin screens along the border and their mission was simply to harass, slow, and report on any attack until the guard forces could arrive. It would have to be an elastic defense in depth. Some key strongholds were ready, but not enough to hold up a general advance.

The electrical outage caused a number of unforeseen problems. One of the biggest was the lack of communications. They had relied upon the landlines and cell phone towers, which all required electricity. Now everything was communicated through runners and bicyclists, causing serious delays. They had a few satellite phones, but not enough. General Butch Matthews had thankfully brought back many old sets of TA-312 army crank telephones and bundles of wire from Fort Campbell, but you couldn't just run a hundred miles of wire across the entire border. The phones helped, but mostly at the tactical, small-unit level.

Thinking of Butch made Anderson look at his watch and wonder when he would return. He had sent him to their consolidated supply warehouse in Paducah to bring back every single mine of any type they could find. If they were lucky, they would have time to lay them along the border, and if they were even luckier, they could use them to channel Sampson's forces into narrow areas, possibly negating some of his numerical superiority.

The lack of information and ability to communicate was so damn frustrating. It made Anderson think of books he had read about the First World War, when they had carrier pigeons and in some cases trained messenger dogs. Too bad they didn't have any of those, although it might not be a bad idea to try to train some if they ever got out of this spot. Intel had been a problem back then too, and the great need for it actually led to the birth of the air corps. Those little biplanes had initially been nothing more than platforms to view enemy dispositions, similar to hot air balloons during the Civil War.

Anderson caught his breath with a stunning idea. Would it work? At least worth a try, why not?

He grabbed one of his staff officers at random. "Take my car and go to the nearest airfield you can find. Find a pilot from anywhere and get up there as fast as you can. I want a detailed report on what forces we face out there and what they are doing from the Mississippi to the Cumberland River. But don't cross the border; stay on our side. Do you understand? Any questions?"

Lieutenant Beau Myers looked a little overwhelmed by the instructions. "But, sir, do we even have fuel left for planes?"

Anderson nodded. "Possibly, airplane fuel is different from regular gasoline. I think it still works in automobiles, but maybe someone at an airport saved it or forgot about it."

"Sir, I don't know where to find a pilot!" the man said with alarm, but then stopped, thinking. "Well, maybe I do at that," he said as a thought came to him.

"Good," said Anderson. "Get up there and get me information as fast as you can. I need the information to be accurate, but I also need it quickly, so don't stay up there all day. Make one trip up and down and then back to me, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Beau.

"Then get after it!" yelled Anderson and then remembering something else, called him back. He scribbled an order on a piece of paper and gave it to him. "This is in case anyone gives you grief about using a plane or fuel. Better yet, take two armed soldiers with you, and if you get any trouble, take what you need by force. This is very important."

Beau nodded again and took off at a run.

Anderson knew the odds were strongly against them, but there was always a chance. It was then that he noticed the gray menacing clouds along the horizon. That could be trouble for the plane he thought to himself. He hoped they could at least get some information before the weather turned bad.

He looked back into the sky and saw how the gray clouds swirled together, but there was almost no wind at ground level. Everything had also gone eerily silent. Anderson had seen this sort of weather before. As a kid, it would have caused his family to go to the cellar.

There's a bad storm coming, for sure, he thought.
Chapter 12 – Delay

Joshua thought he was in just about a perfect position. They were on a tall hill covered with thick trees overlooking the Cumberland River. What had drawn them to this location were numerous rumors and hints gathered from locals talking about activity along the major waterway. Joshua and his recon squad now saw the activity they were referring to.

Below them were what appeared to be several dozen small boats and six larger double-decker passenger ships typically used for tours along the river. Currently, the large ships were empty, but through the binoculars, Joshua could see several hundred men, their tents, and cooking fires in the wood line nearby. Meanwhile, men were working furiously to mount large machine guns, grenade launchers, and rockets in various configurations onto the smaller boats.

Joshua again checked the cell phone and saw there still wasn't a signal. They had a hand crank generator to keep the phone charged, but the dam must still be down which meant the cell towers weren't functioning. Luke Carter called him nearly a week ago and told him the situation before the signal went dead, but neither really had a good answer for how to communicate the information the team gathered. Joshua hoped the power would come back up soon. Someone needed to know what they had discovered.

It was easy for Joshua to see what was planned below. Everyone was expecting an attack from the south, but no one was looking for an attack along the Cumberland River up through Barkley Lake. They could land anywhere along the park. Hell, they could land right at the dam.

Joshua's mind raced quickly and he thought back over his conclusion again. It made sense. The dam was the key. They were conducting a sneak attack on the dam either to take it or possibly even destroy it.

He wondered, Could they really be crazy enough to want to destroy the one source of electricity? Maybe. People did crazy things when they couldn't get what they wanted. If it was a surprise attack, they would want to maintain secrecy as long as possible, which means they would probably only travel at night.

Joshua wasn't familiar with the lakes or boating, but figured that it would take them several days at least to travel that far north.

Joshua made up his mind and called his two team leaders together. His recon squad was made up of two four-man teams, each with a team leader, sniper, medic, and automatic rifleman. He now addressed Billy, the better of his two team leaders, a teenager only a few months younger than himself.

"Leave me your sniper, but take the rest of your team back as fast as you can to warn them of what is going on here," said Joshua quickly. "If you can get to Captain Green in time, maybe he can try to stop them from getting too far north. At a minimum, we have to do what we can to warn everyone. I think they're going to try to take or destroy the dam."

"Holy crap!" said Billy with his eyes a little wide.

Joshua grabbed his arm the way his father did to focus his attention. "You're going to have to move as fast as you can. Steal the first car, bikes, horses, or whatever you come across. I know we're not supposed to do that, but we have no choice. Be very careful. Only rest when you have to and never for very long. And for God's sake, don't get caught!"

"I understand," said Billy while pulling out his map to study the return route.

"You're also going to have to get a boat at some point to cross over to warn Captain Green," said Joshua. "You won't have time to get up to the Route 68 bridge and then come back down. As a matter of fact, you might make better time on the water overall if you can get a boat early enough."

"Won't those motor boats catch up with them?" asked Henry, his second team chief, who had come near them.

"That's going to be our job," said Joshua. "We're going to delay them as long as we can. With any luck, they're not going to try to depart for another day, maybe two." Another thought came to Joshua. "Also warn them that another such group could be coming up the Tennessee River into Kentucky Lake; they might be trying to attack the dam from two sides."

"Got it," said Billy putting away his map and looking around for his team members.

Joshua was nervous. "And Billy, be careful."

The team leader smiled back. "You already said that. See you in a few days." He took off down the hill at a run to gather his remaining two men and get going.

*******

Joshua lay on the top of the hill with his binoculars, looking at the boats. He figured the best time to slow them down was right before they loaded the transports to depart. If the men were already loaded, they might just push ahead despite what Joshua and his team were doing. He also didn't want to start messing with them too soon and cause them to speed up their own timeline. He sensed it would be soon though. The men had stopped working on the small boats and there was a flurry of activity in the camp.

A sniper lay to each side of Joshua. Each shouldered the large, and somehow beautiful, Barrett M83 .50 caliber sniper rifle. Joshua was in love with the rifles and wanted to fire one, but the ammo was too scarce. As a matter of fact, none of them had fired the weapons since they were taken from Fort Campbell. They had been checked for functionality and cleaned, but not yet zeroed to the individual shooters who had trained with other, more plentiful, calibers. Joshua decided to use this opportunity to do exactly that. Accuracy was not necessarily important to accomplish what he had in mind, anyway.

He looked back down the hill to his rear, but could not see Henry and the other two men who were providing them security. They had laid out claymore mines and prepared an escape route. There wasn't much more they could do to prepare and were as ready as they would probably ever be.

Joshua looked back though the binoculars and saw men lining up in front of the boats in formations. "All right, boys, get ready. On my command, right gun first, then left, then alternate so we can adjust fire. Aim for the nearest two gangplanks to start off. Understood?"

Both men answered that they did.

"Okay then," said Joshua slowly. "Make sure you have earplugs in. I bet these babies are wicked loud." He looked again and decided the time had come. He had a moment's hesitation, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Was he doing what his father wanted him to do? He didn't have any way to talk to anyone, but this seemed best. He would roll with it.

"Right gun," said Joshua, "fire, when ready."

A second later, the Barrett to Joshua's right boomed and he saw a splash of water near the gangplank. "Three feet to the right and two feet down," Joshua said and the sniper began making the adjustments on his scope. Joshua looked down at the men along the shore and surprisingly nothing seemed to have happened. He imagined it from their point of view; they likely only heard a splash like someone throwing a rock into the water, followed several seconds later by a boom in the distance.

"Left gunner, fire when ready," said Joshua.

The second gun boomed and Joshua called out adjustments. He now saw several men yelling and seeking cover as understanding dawned, but the vast majority still stood dumbly in formation. They took several more shots until they were zeroed, and then Joshua decided to bring it home to them.

"Target any leaders. Fire when ready, fire at will," said Joshua.

He looked through the binoculars as the guns boomed repeatedly beside him and saw officers and NCO's falling to the ground with horrific wounds. Chaos ensued as the soldiers scrambled into the cover of the wood line.

"That's enough for now; save the ammo," said Joshua, stopping them for the moment. "Let's wait and see what they do." Joshua again looked through his binoculars and smiled.

It appears to be working for now, he thought. Will it be enough?
Chapter 13 – Tornados

Lieutenant Beau Myers was more than a little overwhelmed by the mission General Anderson had so suddenly thrust upon him. It was not just the obvious importance of the mission, but also the near complete lack of means to accomplish it. Thankfully, he had thought of his cousin Teddy just in time.

Teddy had taken just enough flying lessons to crop-dust his father's various large corn, soybean, and tobacco fields. He loved flying, hunting deer, drinking whiskey, and not much else. He and Beau had gotten in lots of trouble over the years, but nothing too serious.

When Beau pulled up to Teddy's house with the two soldiers, Teddy was thrilled at the idea of flying, and they immediately drove over to the small county airfield. No one was around, so they broke into the flight office to get the keys for a nice little Cessna Teddy liked and then hit the fuel shed. After fueling up the plane, they left the soldiers behind and lifted off without a flight plan, or any other real plan for that matter.

Beau initially felt some concern about the dark clouds that seemed to hang over everything, but Teddy wasn't worried, so Beau deferred to his superior experience in such matters. It was not until later that Beau suspected Teddy's lack of concern was related to the fact he had been drinking heavily since noon.

Beau had never flown before and was mesmerized by the sight below him, but probably not as much as those individuals on the ground. They looked up at the low flying plane in total amazement while Teddy whooped and yelled and Beau waved. Beau's sense of responsibility eventually asserted itself. He directed Teddy to fly south while he consulted maps and a list of notes he had made on the way over of information he thought Anderson would want.

His biggest fear, other than crashing, was crossing over into Tennessee. On the map there was a very clear line, but he knew he would not have that benefit from the air, and after vainly looking for landmarks, decided to err on the side of caution. They changed their course from dead south to due east several miles from the border. He also told Beau to get some altitude so he could get a better look at the forces to the south.

Beau was just starting to get a good look to the south when he heard Teddy say, "Uh oh."

"Uh oh, what?" said Beau.

"Uh oh, those clouds," said Teddy. "Those are tornado clouds. We need to get either some distance or some altitude."

"Well, give me a few minutes. I just saw something," said Beau. He refocused his binoculars and saw what he was afraid he had seen. There to the south, directly adjacent to the Purchase Parkway behind some barns and farm buildings, Beau saw three tanks. He had always been fascinated by tanks and recognized these as M1 Abrams. They must have cost a fortune in fuel to move them at all, much less get them north. If Beau remembered correctly, those monsters burned something like thirty gallons of fuel per hour simply idling. He had also heard they actually had a jet engine and therefore required special aviation jet fuel.

Teddy interrupted his thoughts. "Uh...Beau, we gotta go, buddy."

"Okay, okay, just give me a minute," responded Beau.

"No, now!" yelled Teddy, and Beau noticed that he sounded completely sober all of the sudden.

Turbulence threw the small plane about like a cork on the water. Beau looked from the ground to see Teddy's eyes were wide toward the front. Following his cousin's gaze, he saw a large black funnel cloud descending toward the ground in the distance and three more angry tornadoes further ahead. Teddy was leaning forward to look up through the windscreen to see if any funnel clouds were descending on them from above as he quietly said under his breath over and over, "ohshitohshitohshitohshit."

Teddy pulled the plane in a tight turn and headed back north where the skies looked clearer while Beau gazed out the back. After flying a few minutes north, he convinced Teddy to turn around so they could see what was happening. When they did resume their course, it was like a scene from a nightmare.

The sky looked like it was literally boiling and there were at least six large tornados over miles of ground, each cutting wide swathes of destruction hundreds of feet wide. Beau saw debris thrown high and people running in every direction, some of whom were suddenly sucked right off their feet into the center of one of the angry tornados. Teddy and Beau watched the scene, mesmerized for what seemed like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Eventually, the tornados receded back up into the clouds where they had formed, and the sky quickly cleared up as if nothing had ever happened.

"That...was...awesome!" said Teddy suddenly breaking the silence. "I mean, like really awesome! Can you believe that? I ain't ever seen nothing like that!"

"It was definitely something," said Beau, feeling the adrenalin flooding through him. His mission reoccurred to him. "Let's get a little closer and then turn east to see what we can see."

They turned east and flew for the next twenty minutes while Beau looked through the binoculars, making notes on everything he saw. Every three seconds, Teddy asked, "Whacha see?"

At Barkley Lake, they turned around and went back west. He was tempted to have Teddy land at the airport so he could rush the information he had back to General Anderson. He would be shocked by what Beau had seen, but his orders were clear, so they continued on for another fifteen minutes past the airport to the Mississippi River before turning around and heading back toward the airport. This took some convincing on Beau's part since, for some strange reason, Teddy was insistent that while up they just had to fly over the house of one of his old girlfriends up in Draffenville.

They barely came to a stop before Beau jumped out and began racing toward the two soldiers lying on top of the general's car. He yelled and waved frantically for them to get the car started.

Teddy followed Beau along in the plane, ignoring the taxiway. He yelled out, "Hey, buddy, that was fun! Let's do that again!" Beau had a moment of horror when he thought Teddy would accidentally run him down and cut him up with the spinning propeller. He turned on an extra bit of speed.

Beau made a mental note to come back and lock up the keys and the fuel. Neither would now be safe from Teddy's drunken ideas on how to overcome boredom, but that would have to wait. He had to get to General Anderson right away and tell him what he had seen.

He wasn't going to believe it.
Chapter 14 – Race Against Time

David, his platoon, and all their gear were crammed into three pickups, going north at a crazy pace. He prayed a deer or something didn't jump into their path because his men would certainly all die. They were hanging on for dear life in those open vehicle beds.

They had gotten Joshua's message. Billy and his team were nearly dead on their feet by the time they reached Captain Jason Green at the southern portion of the park. Luckily, Harold decided after the electricity had gone out to run a single TA312 wire from north to south allowing them to communicate, at least on a rudimentary level.

Captain Green reasoned he could not cover both the Lake Barkley and the Kentucky Lake approaches and still have men left to cover the southern border. He recommended that he detach what troops he could to focus on the Lake Barkley approach while troops from the central region cover the Kentucky Lake side against any possible attack on that side.

Nathan decided to take a different approach. He was skeptical of the ability of troops on the shore to impede a large armada of ships passing, due to the width of the lake, which was nearly a quarter of a mile in most places. Nathan would be happy if Captain Green could only slow the armada and give them time.

As far as guarding against an approach on the other lake, Nathan decided against it completely. They had too few troops to place them everywhere an enemy might attack. Since he reasonably believed the dam was their target, Nathan directed Captain Luke Carter to detach what troops he could to go reinforce the dam. The remainder of Carter's troops were to protect the headquarters and civilians in case the enemy decided to raid into the park south of the dam.

So, David and his platoon volunteered to go north, and Captain Carter accepted without another word. David admitted to himself that he was still a little raw over Joshua getting to lead the recon instead of him. It was possible Carter had allowed him to lead this mission to make up for the one he lost.

When they arrived, David directed his men to unload while he went to seek out Captain Jim Meeks. He found the large man in the thick of frantic activity and reported to him. David was glad to see Jim and thought the feeling was mutual.

"Where do you want us?" asked David.

"I've been thinking about that," said Jim. "We don't have enough soldiers to cover every approach, and there are several possibilities, due to the way this whole thing is built. Both lakes come together at the dam and the locks at the top of the land between them. I'm going to take a risk and leave the waterside approach thinly guarded since it will be hard for them to climb the dam walls. We've let some water out in order to make it even more difficult for them to get over. If they want to take the dam, they have to land troops and approach from land. My guys can cover the approach from the west and the top of the park. Can you cover the east side approach over the locks?"

"I can, but we could probably do more," said David.

"I'm not doing you any favors; you'll have plenty to do," said Jim. "You're going to have those WTR boys on you first. I'd rather give you more help, but I can't until I know they're not coming up both lakes. Just hold them off for a while, and I'll try to get you some help."

David nodded and ran off to gather his men, taking them east along the road atop the dam toward the locks. After seeing their position, he had to admit that he really had no idea what he was talking about earlier with Jim Meeks. The area his men were covering was rather large. Their main threat was a landing on the east side to roll up their flank. He decided to put his heavy weapons there and focus his efforts initially on building a strong defense where the locks met the land.

He looked out across the lake and was struck by how beautiful it was. The sun was on the still water and ducks flew in the distance. His father had spent most of his youth and weekends up here fishing with his own father or hanging out with friends once he was older. David thought that image seemed pretty nice, and he had a moment of resentment toward his father for the ability to have had such wonderful carefree times.

David's thoughts were shattered by yelling and scrambling from the dam area. Within a few minutes, one of Jim's runners came up out of breath, started to give David a salute, stopped halfway, and then went ahead and finished it. He seemed not quite certain what to do. David returned the salute and would have given the boy a hard tongue lashing, as he had seen Captain Carter do, but doubted he had time for it.

"Sir, Captain Meeks directed I report to you that we just received word from Captain Green in the south," said the boy out of breath. "The Tennessee ships passed by their position and they could do nothing to stop them, although they got a lot of good shots off. The distance was just too great. Central Region is going to try to slow them some more when they pass under the big bridge at Route 68, but they likely won't stop them either. Says he wants you to know that time is limited, and whatever you need to do, do it quick."

"Thank you, private," said David. "Tell Captain Meeks that we will be ready, and also request that you be assigned as the runner between us so I might keep him regularly informed of our situation."

"Yes, sir," said the private, who saluted and then ran off at a lope.

David sighed and wished his father were there to see him. He might be proud of me, thought David wishfully.

He went to prepare his men as best he could.
Chapter 15 – A Desperate Plan

Although every fiber of General Anderson's being screamed for him to get up and start moving, to start issuing orders, he resisted the impulse and sat, appearing outwardly calm and patient while Lieutenant Beau Myers finished giving him his report. When Myers finished, Anderson clearly saw what must be done, but first he had to take care of other business. He knew that in times of extreme conflict and strife, men usually showed their true colors and maybe his initial impression of Beau Myers as a clueless screw-up wasn't completely fair. Heck, I only sent him on that all-important mission because he was the only officer around at the time.

"Very good report, Lieutenant Myers," said Anderson to the pensive young man in front of him. "But why exactly did you feel it was so important to rush back here to tell me this information? The soldiers tell me you made them pull over so you could drive since they evidently weren't going fast enough. Told me you nearly got them killed in the process."

Beau looked flabbergasted and was at first without any words. "Sir, the force on the river going north—"

"There's nothing we can do about that," interrupted Anderson. "Our comms are down and they're too far away. We just have to hope and pray for the best and that Colonel Taylor and his men are ready. Is there any other reason you were in such a hurry?"

Beau again looked concerned. "Sir, those tanks—"

"What about them?" asked Anderson, inwardly tense.

Beau thought for a moment before speaking. "Sir, we don't have anything that can stop those tanks. They would roll right over us; we'd be crushed meat to them."

"So?" asked Anderson.

"But, sir!" Beau nearly yelled, forgetting his courtesies. "They're all in disarray from the tornadoes, maybe not for long, but for now. We could race in there and destroy those tanks before they could use them against us!"

Anderson smiled openly at Beau and let a breath out, "Exactly. Well done. Do you know there are probably not many soldiers who would have gotten the tactical significance of what you saw, but you did. How did this all come to you?"

Beau looked relieved and confused at the same time. "I'm not sure, sir, it just seemed right."

"Just seemed right, huh?" asked Anderson. He squinted at the young man for a moment. Lieutenant Myers reminded Anderson of his own son. They would be about the same age. Anderson hadn't pushed any of his children toward the military, but had secretly and in vain hoped his son would one day become an officer.

This is not your son, he reminded himself. Do what is best for your country. Anderson made a quick decision and said without ceremony, "Lieutenant Myers, I hereby promote you to Captain. Go find some rank and then get back here."

Beau looked flustered, turned to leave, then turned back and started to salute, and then turned back again.

"Get!" yelled Anderson and smiled as Beau ran off down the hall at a sprint. Anderson turned and called for an orderly outside to summon the Commander of the National Guard Engineer Battalion responsible for their current sector. Approximately ten minutes later, the battalion commander and his sergeant major reported. Anderson quickly briefed them on what Myers had seen concerning the tanks and the disarray the tornados had caused.

"Colonel," said Anderson, "I want a task force from your battalion to attack and destroy those tanks as quickly as possible and just as quickly to get back over here. We're not looking to engage enemy or win any battles, just take care of the tanks. Do you understand?"

"Begging your pardon, sir," said the sergeant major, "but won't we be starting a war? I thought we were trying to avoid that."

"War's already started," growled Anderson, "and we nearly missed it. They've invaded in force to the east. We have to do what we can to help them."

"Sir, if it's all the same to you," said the commander with concern on his face, "I'd really rather not risk my men on such a mission."

Anderson's face showed surprise. "You'd rather not. Well, hell, why didn't you say so? In that case, do it the fuck anyway!" Anderson roared.

Both the commander and the sergeant major looked shocked.

"Both of you get a few things straight," continued Anderson with a fierce gaze. "First, your unit will conduct this mission; after all, you are in the military. Second, those tanks could destroy this entire army. We have nothing that can even slow them down. And third, we have a very narrow window of opportunity to do something about them." Anderson paused and gazed each of them in the eye, allowing his heart rate to slow. "Do you understand?"

The two men nodded solemnly and the commander began to speak, possibly to apologize, but Anderson knew there wasn't time. He continued, "I suggest you send a reinforced platoon at least, in several trucks. Speed will be key. Try to bypass any resistance. You don't want to get bogged down." Anderson saw that they understood. "Now, how do you plan to destroy those tanks?"

The battalion commander looked momentarily uncertain, but the sergeant major spoke up. "Sir, we disengage the halon fire control systems, pop thermite grenades into the engine compartment, and run like hell. That should start a fire and also set off the tank rounds in the ammo compartments."

"Do we have thermite grenades?" asked Anderson.

"Well, no," admitted the sergeant major, "but we probably don't need them. Turn off the halon, pour diesel all over the inside and the tank rounds, maybe throw some rounds onto the engine for good measure, and then set the whole thing ablaze. Could probably put some C4 from a few of the claymores into the tank barrels so there's no way they can be used again just to be sure."

"Very good," said Anderson, satisfied. About that time, Beau Myers returned out of breath, wearing captain's rank.

"Captain Myers here will serve as guide to the location of the tanks," said Anderson. "He saw the area from the air and knows the lay of the land. He is an advisor only; your designee is in charge. Speaking of which, who will lead the mission?"

Before the battalion commander could answer, the sergeant major grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear.

"What is it?" asked Anderson, annoyed.

"Sergeant Major Givens here would like to lead the mission," said the commander. "And it makes sense. He's a veteran combat engineer and grew up in north Tennessee. He should lead the mission."

"All right then," said Anderson. "Again, speed is the key. I know you would like more time, but I want you to depart here no more than one hour from now, earlier if you can."

"Yes sir. With your permission..." asked the sergeant major, indicating the need to get moving.

"By all means," said Anderson. "And good luck. We need to destroy those tanks. Otherwise...well, I don't want to think about what happens if we don't."

"I understand, General," said the sergeant major as he and his commander strode out the door. Anderson turned and saw Myers looking at him expectantly.

"Damn it man, go with him!" said Anderson in annoyance as he felt the time melting away. Myers took off in a flash after the sergeant major.

"And, for goodness sake, don't do anything to get yourself killed!" yelled Anderson after him.
Chapter 16 – The Assassin

Walter Beale always knew he was destined for greatness. Life had been hard and filled with disappointment, but things were starting to look up. Gabriel had called and told him it was time. He was so jittery with excitement that it felt like electricity was coursing through his body.

After Gabriel recruited him for this unique mission, it took time for him to make his way carefully east out of the WTR. Walter had then turned north at least a hundred miles from Nashville. He traveled for several days and made his way back west again toward Camp Beaver on the JP's eastern border. It hadn't been too difficult for a handyman like Walter to get into the JP. Getting in was easy compared to keeping his satellite phone hidden and finding a time to check it regularly.

Walter discovered that satellite phones didn't work as shown in the movies. You had to find an open area with clear skies and stand still for sometimes as long as five minutes to acquire signal. Walter did this every few days after crossing into the JP and had almost grown weary of living among these traitors, but a week ago, the signal arrived. The words "OPS POPULUS" waited on the green display once the phone gained signal strength.

Walter and Gabriel decided upon the coded message for the mission together. It was Latin and roughly translated into "power to the people." This was a play on words meant to include not only political, economic, and military power, but also actual electricity that the JP was hoarding.

Gabriel was a godsend to Walter. He had never really fit in anywhere or been accepted, but Gabriel understood him like no one since his late mother. The old man was wise, understanding, and most importantly, did not think Walter's ideas or dreams were dumb or ridiculous as everyone else did. It was Gabriel who convinced him he had a destiny, one that would make him famous for generations to come.

Movement interrupted Walter's thoughts, and he refocused his attention to the figures emerging from the little house on the lonely Murray Street. He was cold and hungry from days of sleeping outdoors and hiding, but it was almost over. He looked again and counted three men leave the house, the last of the group Walter saw enter several hours earlier. It was now only the traitor and his wife. If he could spare her, he would, but he wouldn't lose any sleep if he had to kill her, too.

Dusk was fast approaching when he watched the wife through the window as she lit an oil lamp and appeared to be preparing food. At the same time, the old man came out onto the back patio and sat down alone, facing away from Walter's cover. The time was now.

Walter looked both ways and then crossed the street, casually walking to the side of the house. He took a moment to gather his racing heart and pull out the revolver. The enormity of the moment was almost too much for him; only a few people in the history of the world had ever killed a president or national leader, and all of them were famous. Walter Beale was about to be one of them.

He said a quick prayer for success and then glided around the edge of the house onto the patio. President Reggie Phillips sat there smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and watching the fading light. This is the last sunset he will ever see, Walter thought.

Gabriel's instructions were clear. Walk up, shoot the President in the chest until the gun was empty, drop the gun, and walk away. No words, no discussion, no theatrics. Walter couldn't help himself.

"President Phillips," said Walter jocularly.

The old man startled, which filled Walter will glee and a sense of power.

"Who are you?" Phillips asked, but when he saw the gun, fear flickered in his eyes.

Walter smiled. "A patriot, a free man representing a whole nation of free men who will not be kept in servitude by you or your like any longer. Power to the people. Ops Popu..." He stopped as he saw Phillips' eyes dart to Walter's rear.

He spun with the gun outstretched and saw a blur of movement just before excruciating pain filled his face and head. Walter dropped to the ground, but managed to fire his pistol at the unknown assailant before everything went black.
Chapter 17 – Overrun

Jim Meeks sensed right away that they were in deep trouble. The armada showed up on Barkley Lake nearly to the minute they thought it might.

David and his platoon started to engage the large transports with carefully aimed gunfire as the dozen faster boats raced up and began spraying their positions with machine gun fire from their mounted weapons.

The JP soldiers tried to target the boats, but they were moving too fast, and in order to even take a single shot, shooters had to make themselves vulnerable to the swarm of bullets in the air. At least five of Jim's men were already wounded.

Jim kept moving and taking quick looks over the edge. He saw that one of the transports had landed on the north end of the park directly across from them, and troops were running off the boat carrying equipment and weapons. He also saw that the rest of the transports were attempting to land on the east side of Barkley Lake on David's flank. David's men were harassing these vessels, but were taking heavy casualties in turn.

Even in the din and smoke of the fight, Jim felt a moment of pride for his men. He had known nearly all of them for years. Although it was hell and chaos around them, they maintained their composure, tended wounded comrades, kept their heads down, and fired back when they could. Jim supposed that this was not his men's first rodeo, given that they had endured numerous prison riots and even one bloody prison takeover and subsequent crackdown. He wondered if David's soldiers were fairing as well. They were taking the brunt of the attack and were not as seasoned as Jim's men. He was just about to send a squad of his men to help when he spotted something that made him change his mind.

While taking a quick peek over the concrete edge, he saw another flotilla of small-armed speedboats and more transports coming around the right edge of the park from the Kentucky Lake side.

Jim groaned. He wasn't surprised but had hoped it would only be one attack they faced. He studied the new force carefully and in that effort forgot himself. He felt a sharp pain on the side of his head and fell back onto the pavement. He feared the worst, and blood appeared to be everywhere, but when he reached up to his head, he didn't find any holes or fragments, only a graze along his skull. He was lucky, luckier than probably about ten of his men, he noticed with dismay.

A medic ran over to him, but Jim waved the man away, saying he was all right. The medic insisted on throwing a bandage around his head to at least slow the bleeding. Once this was done, Jim peeked back over the edge and saw additional speedboats also firing at their position, keeping them pinned down. He noticed that the new troop transports were dispersing all of their troops on the north end of the park. He then saw something that truly scared him. The soldiers who had landed from the first transport had been busy in the edge of the woods and appeared to have set up several mortar tubes.

Good grief! thought Jim. As if the machine guns weren't enough. "Take cover!" he screamed as he ran the length of the dam. "Incoming! Incoming!" Jim had never said those words in his life, but in all the war movies they yelled this when artillery was coming in, so he figured it was okay. The men seemed to understand immediately, because they dove under vehicles or any other solid shelter they could find. Jim reached the east end of the position and was yelling in David's direction when he heard several muffled whumfs.

"Oh hell," said Jim. He looked up and could actually see the projectiles in flight. The sight was so amazing that he nearly got caught looking before diving under a large pallet of sheet metal. A moment later, he heard explosions high above them followed by thousands of dings, strikes, and thumps all around and over him, as if some giant had thrown down a double handful of gravel. He knew it wasn't gravel as he heard the screams of his men.

Jim decided there was nothing they could do. Between the machine gun fire, the airburst mortars, and the overwhelming number of men rapidly outflanking them, they had to retreat into the dam complex and try to make a stand there.

Jim turned to David's position to give him the order to withdraw, but saw nothing but smoke, blood, and dead bodies. Enemy troops were already at the other end of the road running across the dam and were advancing their way. Jim let out an audible moan over the loss of David and his men, but knew he couldn't dwell on it. He quickly passed the word for everyone to withdraw inside.

Jim was headed in when he remembered the TA312 phone outside which ran south to where Nathan and Harold were. He almost disconnected it, but then wound the phone crank and picked up the handset. It seemed like forever before someone answered, and it was neither Nathan nor Harold.

"Hello," said a maddeningly calm voice. "Corporal Evans here, how may I assist you."

"This is Captain Jim Meeks. Get me either the commander or deputy commander right now!" yelled Jim.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the polite and cheerful voice. "Neither is available at the moment."

"You find them now!" yelled Jim.

"Again, I'm sorry, sir, but I can't. They're not expected back any time soon," explained the corporal.

Jim almost screamed, but knowing he only had moments left calmed himself and said, "Corporal, pass along to them that Captain Meeks is being overrun by forces on both the Barkley and Kentucky Lakes side by fast boats with medium machine guns, probably about two dozen. They've also got maybe six hundred men and have already seized the east end of the dam road and the top of the locks. We're pinned down with mortar fire. I'm withdrawing into the dam and will try to hold, but it doesn't look likely. Do you have all that, Corporal?" Jim screamed in a rush.

"Yes, sir, I do," said the corporal, not nearly so cheerful, "but you should hopefully see Colonel Taylor and Lieutenant Colonel Buchannan soon."

Jim was in the act of hanging up when he caught this last part and screamed, "What?"

"Yes, sir," said the corporal hurriedly. "They left with all the troops they could gather this morning to come north after the enemy passed under the bridge. We tried to stop the ships—honestly, sir—but they just kept going."

"This morning?" asked Jim, trying to hear above another mortar strike. "Coming here?"

"Yes, sir," said the corporal in a compassionate tone. "Help's coming, sir. Just hold on, and good luck."

"Thank you, Corporal," Jim said and hung up. He unhooked the phone and carried it under his arm into the dark shelter of the dam, which he knew might very well be their tomb.
Chapter 18 – An Act of Bravery

Beau Myers thought that the raid was almost too easy, especially at first. Their trucks packed with soldiers quickly sped past the barriers and checkpoints at the Tennessee border while the disorganized Tennessee troops had simply stared in amazement. After the border, everyone they encountered waved at them apparently thinking them to be some of their own troops. Beau couldn't quite figure it out until he noticed with a start that everyone was wearing the same U.S. Army uniforms and no one thought to look close enough to tell the difference. Eventually, what gave them away were their license plates.

They made good time south on the Purchase Parkway, but Beau got confused and they had to turn around several times before finding the right farm where the tanks were hidden. Everything was totally rearranged by the debris and destruction left by the tornados. There were people and vehicles going in every direction. It certainly helps us blend in, thought Beau. Hardly anyone gives us a second glance.

Finally, Beau was able to spot the bright red barn he had seen from the air. The initial plan had been to park the vehicles a distance away and approach the tanks on foot in a combat wedge formation. Now, given that time was essential, they decided to press on.

They hoped to find the tanks unguarded; no such luck. As they pulled into the farm driveway, a man in uniform with a weapon slung over his shoulder stepped out into their path from a group of men idling in the shade. He held his hand up for them to stop.

"Hold on right there!" he yelled in a pompous tone. "No one goes any further. Orders from General Sampson himself." The man seemed very pleased and self-important by the fact that he was able to utter these words and had probably waited in anticipation of saying them to someone.

Beau and Sergeant Major Givens were in the lead vehicle. They looked at each other for a moment, and Beau saw the sergeant major tighten his grip on his weapon. Beau knew he was getting ready to fight. Beau thought it might be worth pushing their luck a little further and stepped out of the vehicle toward the man.

"We're here on orders from General Sampson," said Beau with what he hoped was conviction. "I am Captain Myers and this is my platoon. We're to relieve you of your duty so you can return to your unit. They need you there."

The man looked confused and uncertain. "Yes, sir, but...are you sure? That doesn't make any sense to me."

"I don't think General Sampson took you into consideration when he made his plans," said Beau. "I suggest you get back to your unit as fast as you can and leave the guard duty to us."

"Guard duty?" asked the man again, confused.

"The tanks?" said Beau, "We're to guard the tanks now. You can go."

The man looked even more confused. "We're not here to guard the tanks; we're supposed to attack with them north when we get the word. These are our tanks and we're not..." The man's voice trailed off as he noticed the Kentucky license plates.

It would have only taken a moment to switch the plates, thought Beau, seeing what the man was looking at, but it didn't occur to anyone.

Meanwhile, the man's head turned back to Beau with his eyes wide. Beau shrugged and smiled. The man started to grab his weapon off his shoulder, but Beau drew the 9mm Beretta pistol from his holster and pointed it at him. At the same time, he felt the sergeant major come up behind him with his rifle and cover the other men in the shade, who looked up in amazement.

The Kentucky men quickly got out of the vehicles and helped disarm the Tennessee soldiers, placing them in neat-seated rows where they could be easily watched. The sergeant major ordered the demolition team to get to work on the tanks. Beau started to turn to look at the three tanks about a hundred yards to their left when he heard a rough loud coughing noise and saw smoke suddenly come billowing from the engine compartment of one of the tanks. It was starting up. Evidently all the tankers aren't idling in the shade, Beau realized.

A moment later, the turret turned their direction with an electric pneumatic whine before it stopped. There was a momentary pause, which seemed to stretch out forever, and then the tank's main gun spewed forth fire and thunder as the tank rocked back on its rear springs.

Beau was transfixed by the sight and thought he could actually see the tank round come out of the barrel and fly toward him in slow motion. He would later swear he actually saw the shell's stabilizing fins deploy while in flight. At the last minute, he leaped to the side as time regained its normal pace and the round slammed into their lead truck with a deafening explosion and a huge wave of heat and fire.

Beau momentarily couldn't remember where he was. He saw burning bodies in the wreckage of the truck. Some of the bodies were clearly dead; others sadly were not. These looked to be screaming, but Beau could not hear them and realized with calm distraction that his eardrums had probably been blown out by the overpressure of the blast.

He also noticed distractedly that his uniform was on fire, and he calmly rolled in the grass until it was out, thinking the whole time about the elementary school safety mantra to stop, drop, and roll. His pistol was still in his hand and he holstered it with difficulty.

After putting out his uniform fire, Beau looked back at the tank as it swiveled again slowly and came to a stop. He realized that it was going to fire at the second vehicle and he screamed a warning, not certain if anyone could hear him since he couldn't hear himself. It seemed to take forever for the shot to come, and Beau suddenly knew why. Whoever was in that tank was alone. Normally, there were four crew members - a driver, a commander, a gunner, and a loader. This man was forced to move to the gunner's position to move the turret, then down to load a very heavy round, then back up to the gunner's seat to fire. Beau had a moment to be thankful that this individual seemed enamored with firing the big gun instead of unloading on them with the coaxial machine gun, which would have done them all in quickly. Maybe he just didn't want to also kill his friends in the process.

The second shot came as ferociously as the first, but thankfully not as damaging since everyone had already gotten clear of the second truck, but the burning flying metal pieces still did plenty of damage. Beau saw men on both sides screaming in pain.

We're dead meat, he thought. Beau looked around to see if he could find the sergeant major. They had to get out of here and fast, or they were all dead. He couldn't see him anywhere in all the confusion.

Incredibly, the top hatch of the tank opened and a blond-haired man stuck his head out. He began frantically yelling and waving for his friends to come get in the tank with him, and many took off running in that direction. Beau thought this was their one and only very slim chance of getting out of there alive. Either way, it was better than being mowed over by that monster.

Beau Myers had been a star football halfback at Mayfield High School on one of their state championship teams. He got plenty of attention from college scouts, but most thought he was too small. They also couldn't figure out why he seemed so blazing fast on the football field, but in tryouts he seldom ran the forty in less than five seconds. As a matter of fact, Beau had discovered that he never did anything in his life nearly as well as he did on the football field during those games of old. He missed that feeling of clarity and energy he got when he stepped on the field, and the loss of that feeling haunted him. Beau realized he had that old familiar energy and focus flooding through him now, and he rejoiced in his heart despite the dire situation.

Although there were plenty of enemies between him and the tank, Beau knew he could beat them; he had to. He began sprinting with all his strength toward the tank. He passed surprised and dazed men one by one until he was in front. The man at the top of the turret didn't seem to notice at first; he just kept waving everyone on. He even cheered Beau on and encouraged him for a moment before realizing that he didn't recognize the smoking and bloody man headed his way. The man's face turned angry and savage, yelling at Beau defiantly before ducking back down into the hole and reaching up to pull down the hatch.

Beau turned on every last bit of strength he had. He didn't stop to climb the four-foot-tall side of the tank; instead, he simply leaped in stride and then dived toward the closing hatch with his outstretched arms. The hatch slammed down on his forearms painfully.

The man inside cursed loudly and lifted the lid again and brought it down harder, putting his full weight behind it. Beau managed to get one arm free, grabbed his pistol, and stuck it into the gap, firing off five quick shots. Immediately, the pressure on his arm stopped, and Beau pushed the hatch all the way up. He was just starting to look inside when someone hit him in the small of the back, knocking the wind out of him. Amazingly he was able to keep hold of the pistol.

He fell down on top of the tank and rolled over to see another soldier with a rifle butt ready to smash it down on Beau's head. Beau had a moment to wonder why the man just didn't shoot him when his arm came up of its own volition and shot the man in the chest. The man fell backwards and tumbled off the side of the tank. Beau looked up in time to see other Tennessee soldiers running his way and quickly scrambled into the tank, closing the hatch securely behind him and throwing the bolt, locking it shut.

Beau moved down the short ladder, wiping blood off his face and saw the man he had shot lying on the floor bleeding from a horrible wound in his neck. He appeared to be trying to talk to Beau, angry and defiant even unto death, but thankfully Beau was still deaf. The man would be dead in a moment, and there was nothing Beau could do about it.

Besides, he was trying to kill me and the others. Beau had a moment to wonder how it had all come to this so quickly; less than a year ago they were all Americans and neighbors.

He grabbed the bleeding man by the shoulders and pulled him out of the way and then settled into what must be the gunner's seat. The controls appeared fairly easy with labels for everything. Beau found he could move the turret by looking through the range finder and then moving the joystick. He also found a selector switch and changed it from "main gun" to "coaxial." He then looked back through the rangefinder and saw the men who had been running toward the tank milling about nearby uncertainly. He sighted the red crosshair on the men and pressed the trigger.

Beau felt rather than heard a faint hum through his hands as he saw the men almost disintegrate in bursts of red mist. The bursts lasted only heartbeats, but it was enough to do the job. He traversed the turret to look for other enemies, but didn't see any. He looked back toward his men and saw that they were getting control of the remaining prisoners. Some of the JP men even appeared to be cheering.

He climbed out of the gunner's position and made his way through the tight corridor to the driver's position, sliding into the seat and looking around. He saw what looked like a throttle and instead of a steering wheel, a horizontal bar with grips at each end like a straight motorcycle handle.

"Let's see if I can drive this bad boy," said Beau to himself has he pressed down on the throttle.

*******

Beau sure hoped General Anderson wasn't going to be mad. They hadn't quite followed orders, but with their trucks destroyed, they had to get back somehow and this just seemed to make the most sense.

They had disarmed the surviving enemy, turned them loose, and then crammed everyone inside the three tanks. After that, they drove in single file back up the Purchase Parkway to Kentucky. Again, no Tennesseans seemed to realize that they were stealing the WTR's tanks. People either waved them on or ignored them in their efforts to clean up the tornados' destruction.

The tanks made good time and were topped off with fuel. When they came over the last rise and approached the Kentucky border, Beau could see that pandemonium had broken loose on the other side. Soldiers were pointing and getting into defensive positions while others appeared to be fleeing to the rear. Beau smiled and realized that he was enjoying all of this immensely.

As they neared the border, Beau briefly remembered something about General Matthews going north to get anti-tanks mines. He had a moment to realize they might be getting ready to roll over these mines, but it was too late to stop. Beau held his breath as they crossed over and then breathed easier when nothing happened.

They crossed the border before spinning around and lining up facing the Tennessee border. Beau had previously ordered the tanks to turn their guns in the enemy's direction in an effort to show everyone that they were friendly. Beau climbed up out of his commander's seat and opened the hatch. He stuck both hands out and yelled, "Don't shoot, we're friendly, it's Captain Myers and I'm coming out, DO...NOT...SHOOT!"

Beau slowly raised his head up out of the hatch and glanced around. He looked at the amazed faces and lowered his arms, sitting on the side of the turret.

A wide smile crossed his face at the exact moment he was shot, falling back into the tank with blood pouring out of his chest.
Chapter 19 – Total Destruction

David led his ragged platoon of bloody and wounded survivors into the depths of the locks, closing and securing any doors they came through. He weaved in and out of several corridors, but he wasn't looking for an escape, defensive position, or even a place to hide. He had previously come into the lock to scout those things out while his men had prepared defensive positions above. He had seen something else that caught his attention.

"Emergency Manual Lock Controls – South" said, the bright yellow, stenciled lettering on the gray metal door. He had seen a similarly marked room for the north lock doors at the other end of the facility, but the north doors were already open, unlike those on the south. David was fascinated by these sets of gates, which allowed ships to transit from different water levels between the lakes and the river.

They all crowded around the marked door and stared at the padlock, but David had already grabbed a heavy metal pry bar from the tool room they passed a few minutes before. He slid the narrow end of the bar into the lock hasp and pried with his whole body behind the effort. There was a moment of resistance and then the lock broke apart so suddenly that David nearly fell backwards. He flung the door open and ushered everyone inside, then closed the door behind them.

The room was much larger than David expected. It was also just as pitch black as it was out in the hallways. Their flashlights went every which way, casting menacing shadows in all directions. He grabbed one of the lights and began examining the controls at the other end of the room. David saw several levers and switches and two large crank flywheels, one larger than the other. There were several metal sheets attached to the wall with directions on how to open the locks manually along with a list as long as his arm on reasons it was not a good idea to do so.

There were fastened security clamps on both flywheels and on the main lever. David easily popped these off. He read the dusty directions again in the dim light and pushed the main lever upward. He walked over to the smaller of the flywheels, which was about two feet in diameter, and tried to turn the wheel, but it was stuck. He hit it several times with the pry bar while one of the other men held the light. He could hear them mumbling and asking among themselves what he was doing, but he ignored them. Time was critical. David dropped the pry bar and tried again. This time, the wheel moved grudgingly at first and then gradually became easier until the wheel spun in his hands. David turned the wheel as far as it would go, releasing the locking bolts and the immense counterweights deep in the bowels of the facility.

Then, he turned to the larger wheel, which was nearly five feet in diameter. This was the wheel, connected to numerous other flywheels, that actually cranked open the outside lock doors. David grabbed the wheel and began to pull downwards. It didn't budge. He tried the other direction and got the same result. He cursed in frustration, imagining what was going on above them, and yelled for his men to come help.

About a dozen men gathered around the wheel and began to pull downward to no avail when one noticed an arrow carved on the wall indicating they were trying to turn the wheel in the wrong direction. They reversed course and tried again. Again, nothing initially happened, but then the wheel began to slowly inch clockwise with a loud grinding and clanking noise deep in the depths of the facility. They moved the wheel painfully, and unlike the first wheel, there never seemed to be a point where the wheel overcame its initial inertia. To move this wheel, they fought for every painful inch. They kept at the wheel for possibly five minutes before it would turn no further. Then, they all collapsed on the ground in exhaustion.

David hoped it was enough and that it was the right thing to do. Joshua and his father were always the thinkers and knew what actions to take; he was the one who did it. He hoped it was the right thing this time. David would simply have to wait and see.

"We'll sit tight for here now," David told them, "and take care of our wounded. Let's also keep a couple of guards posted outside that door."

His soldiers did as he bid them. Some just slid to the floor to sit silently in the cool stillness.

David waited possibly two minutes before he couldn't stand it any longer and decided he had to go see what was happening. He put his senior soldier in charge and told them to stay put for now, he would only be gone a minute. David checked his rifle to make sure a round was chambered and then he stepped out into the darkness of the hallway.

*******

Nathan ordered the vehicles to stop and the soldiers unloaded well before the dam. He could hear the explosions and see the smoke, so he knew they were late but maybe not too late. Time was crucial, but it wouldn't do to bumble in and get themselves killed or captured. He had the units form up on line facing north and set out at a cautious pace while several small patrols ran ahead to gather information.

It didn't take long for one of the patrols to return. He reported that the defenders at the dam had been completed overwhelmed and there were no sign of them. The WTR position ahead contained several hundred troops and a half dozen mortar tubes. The scout was emphatic that security in their direction was non-existent. The enemy, for whatever reason, was gathered silently near the shore staring at something the scout couldn't see. There was also no sign of boats. All fighting had ceased.

That doesn't make any sense, Nathan thought. He called Captain Carter and his three remaining platoon leaders to him. Without hesitating, Nathan took control of all the troops at his disposal. He tried not to think about the fact that David was over there somewhere, perhaps bleeding and hurt, maybe dead already.

He directed two platoons to advance parallel to each other until they spotted enemy. They were to take up positions while the headquarters platoon remained behind to cover their rear and serve as a reserve if needed. Nathan would personally initiate the attack and ordered no one to let their soldiers get out of hand and start firing before his signal.

Nathan directed Harold to stay back while he and Captain Carter went forward to oversee the positioning of the troops. He found a small hill where he could get a good view of the situation. What he saw amazed him. He suddenly understood why the enemy was standing silent on the shore.

The first thing Nathan noticed was the fact that both lakes appeared to be draining away. The water was running north, fast as rapids, carrying branches, logs, trees and other debris in its wake. He saw the open lock, into which all the water was rushing in a wild and chaotic display. The lock doors were only partially opened, maybe about twenty feet, but it was enough to cause the pent up water in the lakes to rush wildly through the hole. The current had been strong enough to pull in all of the enemy transports and most of the smaller craft. These ships were piled up in the opening, crashing and crushing each other under the immense pressure. Portions of the ships were torn apart, thrown through the opening, and carried downriver while other boats were pushed further and further under the water down to the bed of the lake. The sight was unbelievable. Both Nathan and Captain Carter stared silently for at least a minute before they regained their senses.

Nathan realized they had the perfect element of surprise now and did not want to waste it. Although they were heavily outnumbered and overmatched in weapons, Nathan thought they just might be able to pull this off.

He passed the order to the platoon leaders to have their machine gunners take out the mortars first. They couldn't afford to let those be turned against them. When Nathan judged the time was right, he gave the signal, and fire erupted nearly simultaneously along the entire line.

The shock and surprise was complete. Men were mowed down in bloody clumps. There was no cover on the bare beaches and the men trying to escape into the water were quickly sucked away with the boats. Others tried to hide behind their comrades, dead or alive.

The slaughter was complete, and Nathan did not see a single WTR soldier return fire among the hundreds on the beach. They simply died where they stood. Nathan was shocked by the speed of the slaughter. These were recently their fellow Americans. Many were relatives or friends and they were past resistance.

He began running up and down the line, ordering men to cease fire. In addition, to wanting to spare as many lives as possible, he wanted prisoners to question, and at this rate, there wouldn't be a soul left alive on that deadly patch of ground.

He and Captain Carter finally succeeded in getting the firing stopped, and each platoon sent out several squads to round up and secure the survivors while the other squads provided cover. Thankfully, there were more enemies left alive than Nathan initially thought, but there were also scores of gruesomely wounded men for whom they could do nothing. All the survivors appeared to be in some sort of shock or tears. Some refused to be separated from their dead friends and had to be pried away by force. Many of the JP soldiers looked stunned.

Nathan found the sight was making him physically nauseous, and he had to turn away. He had seen many battlefields and his share of death, but it never failed to sicken him.

Nathan looked out over what had once been beautiful Kentucky Lake. All he saw was a muddy bare ditch nearly a quarter of a mile across. The fading sun glinted on the shiny surface. Hundreds of fish flapped about in the mud, totally confused as to what had happened to their world.

Something made Nathan look over at the dam, its concrete surface and edges torn and wrecked. He saw a lone figure there that seemed to be looking directly at him. The distance was far too great to recognize him, but Nathan somehow knew it was David. The figure raised its hand to him and Nathan did the same in return. The figure then turned away and walked out of sight.

Nathan strode through the woods back toward the rear position. He smiled to himself in relief over David and took a moment to pray for Joshua, who was also somewhere out there. Nathan had to stop and get control of himself, thinking for a minute that he was going to break down in tears. He finally got control saying, "He's all right, too." He started walking again, but took only a few steps before he had to bend down and spit the awful taste out of his throat.

He straightened and whipped his mouth on his sleeve. Harold was running toward him through the woods, his face pale and ghastly. He stopped in front of Nathan, bending over to catch his breath.

"No need to look so bad," said Nathan. "It worked out, we're okay."

Harold shook his head, his expression growing worse. "Word just arrived. President Phillips has been assassinated."
Part III

A Time for War
Chapter 1 – Continuing On

It had been several days since the Tennessee invasion force pushed north despite Joshua's team's best efforts to delay them. They had tried to stay with them as long as possible, taking out as many soldiers as they could, but even running along the ridgeline they couldn't keep up with the boats on the river.

The team faced a decision: should they continue on with the reconnaissance mission, or go back to the JP? Joshua gathered everyone together and sought counsel; the decision was pretty evenly split with logical reasons on each side.

"We should stay behind enemy lines and continue to gather information," said Henry, his remaining team chief. "It will be more difficult for other patrols to get out now."

"Why not get a boat and go after them? We can snipe at their rear some more," said Aaron, one of his two snipers.

Joshua shook his head. "It doesn't serve much purpose at this point other than to kill a few more soldiers. We want to stop or delay the invasion. Shooting at their rear will only delay a few boats and maybe even speed them up."

Kyle, their big medic and the oldest member of the team at twenty, cleared his throat. "Our mission is to gather and report intelligence. If we have no way to report information, we can't do much to help in this fight."

"We have good info," answered Henry, "troops strengths, equipment, capabilities—"

"Yes, but no way to tell our leadership"—Kyle looked at Joshua—"to tell Colonel Taylor."

Everyone else looked at Joshua. They expected him to make a decision now, he realized.

"It doesn't make any sense to continue to collect information when we have no way to report it, but Henry is right about the fact that other recon elements may have trouble getting out now." Joshua thought for a moment, visualizing a map of the lakes region. "We'll head back north to report what we've learned, but go through WTR territory and gather as much intelligence as possible on the way."

They all nodded understanding and gathered up their gear again.

The team found boats and crossed the Cumberland River, turning north to travel between the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers. Their course would bring them to the southern edge of the Land Between the Lakes Park. Because the park wasn't well settled, Sampson's forces were expected to attack via this same route.

Joshua and his team proceeded cautiously, not wanting to come upon any enemy or civilians who might compromise their operation. Joshua began to worry when they saw no soldiers. Either the enemy was very well hidden or was already invading northward at that moment. Joshua wanted to query a civilian, but he couldn't risk one of the locals getting suspicious and reporting them, so he played it safe and avoided contact just as Sergeant Major Carter had taught them.

Joshua made a conscious decision to stay off of the major highways so that their chances of being seen would be less, but he remained near enough to spot an enemy force. They only saw lone vehicles occasionally on the single major highway running from Tennessee north into LBL. It was nothing like what they expected so close to the border on the eve of an invasion.

The fifth day after crossing the Cumberland River they finally reached the border and couldn't fathom what they saw.

"Are we too late?" asked Kyle.

"No, I don't think so," answered Henry, looking through binoculars. "The JP border is still intact and I can see our troops over there looking a little nervous."

"Let's move in for a closer look," said Joshua.

They found what appeared to be a large invasion force on the Tennessee side of the border. There were nearly a hundred parked vehicles and probably that same amount of large tents. Countless lights hung from the trees connected to generators. They heard the busy sounds of a large camp, drilling and shouted commands.

"Something is not right with this," said Joshua.

After a few minutes Aaron smiled. "The camp is nearly deserted. I see about a dozen soldiers, but no more. See those boom-box radios?"

They saw numerous stereos spread around the camp with extension cords running to the generators. These camp sounds were coming from the radios.

"The whole thing is a sham!" exclaimed Henry a little too loudly.

"Shish!" hissed Joshua. "You know what this means, right?"

Kyle nodded. "It means this is a ruse to convince our forces to the north that they face an imminent invasion. In reality, they face only a hollow shell."

"Why go through all this trouble?" asked Aaron. "Their invasion is on the lake, maybe both lakes."

Joshua thought and then smiled. "Because they want to keep our forces here facing south instead of moving north to help defend against the invasion. But, they've also left the back door open and they know it."

They looked at him, not understanding, and Joshua had to stop himself from chuckling.

"They've gambled on this invasion," he explained. "There is no one here to protect the WTR's eastern flank. Our forces could push it back like a pillow."

"We have to tell Colonel Taylor," said Henry.

"Let's just walk up to the border," said Aaron. "Those few WTR boys are spread so thin they likely wouldn't even see us, much less get in our way."

Joshua thought for a second and then shook his head. "We can't risk them knowing that we know. If that happens, they might pull other troops from the west to reinforce here and we would lose our opportunity."

"Opportunity for what?" asked Aaron.

"To win the war," answered Joshua.

*******

Joshua led the team across the water by cover of night. They placed their boots and clothes in their rucksacks, inflating the waterproof bags inside into makeshift one-person rafts just as Sergeant Major Carter had taught them. Joshua led everyone down to Kentucky Lake on the Tennessee side of the border.

After their weapons and ammunition were strapped safely on top of their floating rucksacks, Joshua whispered, "Wade out carefully. No noise. The last thing we need is to take fire midstream from enemy or friendly."

They swam directly out into the lake in a file for perhaps a hundred yards and then turned north. It was slow and clumsy going with one arm dragging the raft for the next half hour. Joshua noticed that the lake seemed much shallower than normal with a stronger current to the north. They were all winded by the time Joshua swung them toward shore.

His hand signal stopped them. Aware of their danger, they searched the dark wood line. No signs of life were detectable. They climbed out of the water and redressed before heading in toward the Trace. Joshua thought it would be the safest way to approach the tense JP soldiers at night.

Finding a path in the under growth where briars tugged at their clothing with every step was difficult. Finally, they came across an old cleared firebreak and turned west, making much better time. They jogged and walked about an hour, hit the Trace, and turned southward on the road till they saw lights and heard voice.

Joshua stopped them in their tracks. He was wrong earlier. This was the most dangerous part of their journey. He could very easily get killed by friendly troops after surviving weeks in the heart of enemy territory.

Joshua left his men in the tree line, giving them his weapons much as his father had so often before. He approached as near to the edge of the friendly perimeter as he dared. Then, standing in the center of the road, he took the flashlight off his belt, raised his arms, and shined the light downward so that it illuminated him from the head down.

"Hello, friends!" yelled Joshua. The sound of his voice even spooked him, coming out much louder than he intended and cutting through the night.

He heard men scrambling, equipment dropping, and then cursing before a bright light was shone on him. "Who goes there!" yelled an obviously frightened voice.

This isn't good, thought Joshua. His father had taught him that frightened people were the most dangerous and unpredictable.

"Take it easy there," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "I'm Lieutenant Joshua Taylor. Colonel Nathan Taylor is my father. I've just returned from a patrol and need to speak to your commander."

"A patrol?" asked a voice. "From where?"

"I'm really not at liberty to discuss that right now," said Joshua apologetically. "But I'll tell everything to your commander if you would just take me to him."

"Why are you coming from this direction if you were on patrol?" asked the voice again.

Joshua tensed. The man seemed to be getting more edgy instead of less. He was afraid if he told him the truth, it might occur to him that the enemy could do what they had done just as easily. He didn't want that thought to occur, and he had never been good at lying. "Again, I'm sorry, but that is a discussion that I need to have with your commander."

There was silence for a time and then whispering while the light stayed in his face preventing him from seeing anything.

"Maybe we should just shoot you to be safe," said the voice with calculated bravado.

"That would be safe if I were lying about who I am, but I'm not," said Joshua. "You shoot me and I guarantee my father will have you killed...or worse. He's very protective."

"I've heard that," said another voice.

"Shut up!" said the first voice again. More silence. Evidently, he was thinking...slowly. Finally, he made up his mind. "Stay there and don't move! I'm going to get the commander. One wrong move and you're a dead man!"

Joshua could tell the man still stood there after saying this, expecting an answer of some sort, but when he finally figured he wasn't going to get one, he ran off.

All was quiet for a few minutes before Joshua heard the second voice say, "Lieutenant Taylor?"

"Yes?" said Joshua.

"We're real sorry about all this, sir. Everyone's pretty tense after the attacks to the north and with what happened to President Phillips. Hope you don't hold it against us," said the man apologetically.

Joshua frowned. He knew about the attack north, but what had happened to Reggie Phillips? Probably best not to get into it now. "I certainly don't; you're just doing your job, but do you mind if I lower my arms? They're pretty tired."

"No problem, sir," answered the man. "Just please raise them back up again when you hear Jimmy come back. He's keyed up and we don't want him to get any more riled than he already is."

"We certainly don't," said Joshua as he lowered his arms. He stood there for perhaps ten minutes before he heard men approaching and raised his arms up again. The light was back in his eyes, and before he knew it, a man actually walked right up to him.

"You can put your arms down, Lieutenant," said Captain Green in a low voice. "I apologize for the inconvenience. These are my newer troops and they get a little spooked. I have my active guys on the border."

"I understand, sir," said Joshua. "They were only doing their job, and doing it quite well I might add." Joshua said this part loudly for the benefit of the soldiers nearby. He saw Captain Green smile knowingly. "Sir, I need to talk to you and my father about what I saw out there. Do you have any way to contact him?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," said Green. "And I would be interested in whatever you have seen. Your father put out the word to be on the lookout for you. He's been mighty worried and will be glad to hear you're okay."

Joshua smiled and started to ask about bringing his men in, but the captain grabbed his arm and drew him close. "I also wanted to say that was a damn fine job holding up those Tennessee men while sending your guys to spread the word. Probably saved a lot of lives and maybe even kept us from losing everything. Good work, Lieutenant."

Joshua thanked him and asked to bring in his men. He suddenly noticed that he was dead exhausted with relief. It was good to be back.
Chapter 2 – The Reckoning

Walter Beale's physical pain was immense, but nothing compared to the agony of disappointment. After waking up, the brutal thugs explained in detail what happened between punches to the face, stomach, and groin. Instead of shooting President Phillips, he shot his wife Janice who snuck up behind him, hitting him with a cast iron skillet, crushing his face. He heard his shot shattered her left femur and they had to amputate her leg above the knee. That helped take some of the edge off his disappointment.

He was also pleased that his action had spread like wildfire, with rumors growing by the minute. One of his guards let it slip that most people thought he had killed Reggie Phillips and it was only with great difficulty they informed people of their leader's safety. Walter Beale's name was famous regardless, he thought with a hint of satisfaction.

Walter was now in a small gray room without windows, shadows from the lantern dancing on the walls. Two men stood silently nearby. After the beatings, he thought they would torture or kill him, but instead, they transported him to the LBL park, an area he knew well. The bunk he had slept on for over a month was less than a hundred feet from where he sat now.

The door opened abruptly and in walked a stocky man filled with purpose and energy. Colonel Nathan Taylor himself, thought Walter. The man stood for a moment regarding Walter.

"Leave us," he said to the two guards.

"But, sir..." began one.

"It's okay," said Nathan softly. "Go."

The two men walked out of the room, closing the door behind them. Somehow, the shadows became even more menacing.

"I suppose you want some time with me yourself," said Walter with a smile.

Nathan smiled in return. "You have no idea."

Walter closed his eyes and resigned himself to the beating, but after several moments, none came and he opened his eyes to see Colonel Taylor still staring at him silently.

"What do you want?" asked Walter confused.

"How could you have failed?" he asked shaking his head. "You had the perfect opportunity. You were five feet from him. We may never get that good a chance again."

Walter was stunned, his eyes wide.

Nathan grimaced. "Do you know how long we have waited for someone like you? Someone with the courage and conviction to do what needed to be done? We may be doomed now."

"Why?" asked Walter.

"Because the WTR probably assumes you were successful," explained Nathan. "Their actions depend on attacking after the JP is confused and chaotic. Bloodshed would be minimized. They could liberate us without destroying us. Now there will be much death on both sides. The opportunity may be lost."

"It doesn't matter," said Walter. "They'll come regardless."

"Yes!" said Colonel Taylor intently, "but we could help them! We could rise up!" His voice grew soft. "We could even finish what you started."

"What are you saying?" asked Walter suspicious.

"Ops Populus. Power to the people," said Nathan. "That's what I'm talking about. You're not alone in this brother, but I need your help."

"How can I help you? I'm finished," moaned Walter.

Nathan placed Walter's backpack on the table and pulled out the satellite phone. "Tell me who to contact and what to tell them. Let me tell them there is still a chance. You can still be successful; let me help you."

"You don't need my help to kill Reggie Phillips," said Walter.

"No," answered Nathan, "but we need your help to saves lives and prevent needless misery. If the WTR will just give us a little more time to take out that tyrant, we can peacefully resolve this. We could unite and everything will be okay. You will have made possible the birth of a new nation. Your name will be remembered forever."

Walter was silent, thinking. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't," he answered. "But you have so little to lose now and so much to gain. Please...for all of our sakes, help me," pleaded Colonel Taylor. "We don't have much time."

Walter was silent for so long that Nathan thought everything had failed. "His name is Gabriel," he finally said.

"Gabriel?" asked Nathan. "Who is he?"

"I don't really know exactly," said Walter, "but he found me and showed me my destiny."

"How did you know when the right time was?"

Walter nodded at the table. "The phone. I checked it every night I could. The code came a few weeks ago after the electricity went out. 'Ops Populus' was the message."

"Are their others like you here?" asked Nathan.

"Not that I know of," answered Walter. "Gabriel told me I was unique and everything depended on me."

"Were you supposed to send a message back, letting him know if you were successful or not?"

"Yes," said Walter smiling. "'Brutus' was the code for success, 'Hinckley' for failure."

"What is his number?" asked Nathan. "The call records have all been erased."

Walter hesitated. "Gabriel insisted on it. He said the number was only for me, made me memorize it."

"I need it, Walter," said Nathan. "We don't have much time. You have to trust me."

The bloody and broken man sat still for a moment and then let out a deep breath. "881-734-0365."

Nathan reached out and grasped Walter's shackled hand compassionately. "Thank you." He then stood up and opened the door, allowing the two guards back in. He was almost gone when one of the guards called after him.

"Sir, what are we to do with him?"

Nathan turned back, his mask gone, fury pouring out of his eyes, "Hang him! Hang that cowardly bastard right now!"
Chapter 3 – Waking Up

The first thing Beau Myers noticed as he started to come awake was that he could hear again. There was a distinct ringing in his ears, but he could clearly hear people talking in the distance and somewhere a bird chirping.

He slowly opened his eyes to the bright light of what was certainly a hospital room. His eyes were drawn to the most beautiful girl he had ever seen; she was standing at the foot of his bed looking at a chart.

He probably would have lain there looking at her silently as long as she stayed, but evidently sensing something, she glanced up and then jumped, startled at the sight of him looking at her. "Oh my goodness!" she said, putting her hand to her chest. "You nearly scared me to death! How are you feeling?"

Beau's mind went completely blank. Where am I? What had happened? Who was this girl? Was she married? All sorts of questions raced through his head.

"We'll just check you out there," said the girl while taking his blood pressure and heart rate. "Humm..." she said concerned, "your heart rate is a little high. I'll mention it to the doctor. You know you gave everyone here a bit of a scare, but looks like you'll be all right." She looked at him with an expectant smile, waiting for him to say something. He couldn't think of a thing, but wondered how his hair looked.

"You're probably thirsty," she said as she handed him a cup of water with a flexible straw. He drank greedily.

"Thank you," he said.

"It lives!" she shrieked in mock fear and then laughed.

Beau smiled and found his voice. "Where...what...?"

"You're in the Fulton Hospital," she said. "Took a bullet to the upper chest, but you were lucky. Missed all the real vital stuff and exited cleanly out the back. Doc says you'll be fine in a few days, just need to take it easy."

"How long have I been here?" he asked.

"A little over three days. You were unconscious when they brought you in. Good thing too, anesthesia is kind of hit or miss right now."

Beau felt down at his chest and found thick bandages. She quickly grabbed his hand in both of hers to keep him from touching them. Beau clearly felt what must have been ten thousand volts of electricity pass between them.

"Easy there, fella," she said seriously. "We just patched you up; don't go messin with our work."

"Yes, ma'am," said Beau, smiling up at her.

"You can call me Amy," she said with a smile, patting his hand. "There's someone here to visit you; just let me go get him. I'll be back in just a minute." She walked briskly out of the room into the dim hallway. Beau followed her buttocks with his eyes, and it took him several minutes to snap out of some sort of hypnosis to look around at the room.

The windows were open to bright sunlight and there was a light breeze blowing the curtains gently. Beau listened for the sounds of gunfire or fighting but didn't hear any, so he guessed that was a good sign. A few minutes later, Amy walked back in with General Anderson and then returned to the hallway after giving Beau a smile.

Beau realized that he was still staring expectantly where Amy had departed and that several long moments had passed. He looked quickly at General Anderson who was staring at him with clear concern. "You okay, son?"

"Yes, sir," Beau said, embarrassed. What the heck is wrong with me? "Just a little out of it, that's all."

General Anderson nodded and pulled up a chair beside his bed and sat down. He stared at Beau long enough to make him feel slightly uncomfortable before he started talking. "Sergeant Major Givens told me what happened out there. Hell of a thing."

The general's tone was decidedly neutral and he stared at Beau expectantly. It would be nice to know if he were in trouble or not before answering. "Uh...yes, sir."

"I couldn't help but notice that you brought back three tanks that I clearly remember telling you to destroy," Anderson said with a tilt of his head.

"Yes, sir, about that..." began Beau.

"What do you think military orders are about?" asked Anderson.

"It's about doing what you're told," answered Beau grimly.

"Nope," said Anderson. "It's about executing a mission. We can't blindly follow orders because the situation can change, but we follow those orders to meet our commander's objectives until the situation changes. When things go to crap, we use our best judgment. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Beau, starting to feel a little better.

"You did the right thing," said Anderson. "Your vehicles were destroyed and it was the best way to get back here. If I'd been smart enough to think about it, that might have been our plan all along, but I didn't. You did well."

Beau suddenly felt like a weight had come off his chest. "Thank you, sir."

"What do you think we should do with those tanks now that we have them?" asked Anderson.

Beau felt confused. "Well, I don't know sir."

"Come on, Lieutenant." Anderson scowled. "You act like you're dumb as a rock and scared to death to boot, but you're smart enough and you've obviously got several yards of guts. So why do you act like such a ninny?"

Beau was mortified. "I guess I don't know, sir."

"Well, I know," said Anderson. "Because that's the way you see yourself. The truth is you're smart, capable, courageous, and other people see it and want to follow you. Hell, lots of people want to be you. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," said Beau, not sure if he believed what he was hearing.

"So?" said Anderson. "The tanks?"

Beau thought. He had gotten pretty well acquainted with them in a few short hours and had to admit he had instantly fallen in love with those monstrous metal beasts. "They're not terribly practical for day to day activity because they use up fuel like crazy, but they'd be nearly unstoppable if we chose to use them in an attack."

"And what do you think could stop them?" asked Anderson.

Beau thought. "Confined spaces like ditches. Antitank mines. Running out of fuel, certainly." There was something else he thought and then he had it. "Or other tanks."

"Yes." Anderson smiled. "We don't know if they have more tanks. If they do, the only thing that can quickly stop them is our tanks. So what do we do with them?"

"We could spread them out or pull them back so they could respond to an attack, but we'd likely just have to respond to this location since it's the best approach for tanks from the south," answered Beau.

"That's what I was thinking," said Anderson, nodding. "Here is the threat of a tank attack. Also, no sense in pulling them back just so we have to bring them back up here again. Uses too much fuel."

"But if they're close to the border," said Beau, "the enemy could do the same thing we did and steal them back or destroy them."

"Well, you'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen?"

"Me?" asked Beau meekly.

"Yes," answered Anderson. "You're now the JP's one and only tank commander. Congratulations. Also, an aide told me the Paducah Airport has a storage reservoir of twelve thousand gallons of jet fuel. It's yours for the tanks, but use it sparingly."

"Thank you, sir, but you know I don't know anything about tanks."

Anderson looked at him sternly. "You know enough, son, and that's exactly the sort of attitude I've been talking about. If you can't have confidence in yourself, then have confidence in my confidence in you. Now, let's talk about that insane one-man assault you conducted on a tank. What made you think that was a good idea?"

Beau was silent for a moment before answering. "It just kind a seemed like the right thing to do...the only thing to do really."

"Probably so," said Anderson. "Remember this. Anytime you are caught dead...attack. Sometimes you'll catch 'em napping and get out of their grip like you did. Damn brave thing to do though. You know that, right?"

"I guess so," said Beau, embarrassed.

Anderson looked at him speculatively for a long moment before asking, "Have you ever heard of William Tecumseh Sherman?"

"Yes, sir," said Beau. "He marched on Atlanta and destroyed the South during the Civil War."

"He was more than that. He was an aggressive and dynamic leader in an age when everyone was cautious and methodical. He was different and in many ways changed war. Do you know how he got that way?"

"Study and training, I guess," answered Beau.

"Partly," said Anderson, "but in 1862, at the Battle of Shiloh, not too far south of here actually, he was a leader like those of his day. He was competent but nothing special. Something happened on the second day of that battle that changed him forever. Do you know what it was?"

"No, sir," said Beau, fascinated by the tale.

"He was shot. Right through his hand. He was on a horse trying to rally his fleeing troops and took a bullet through his hand. From that point forward, he was no longer timid and cautious; he was clearly different. He became fearless and confident." Anderson stared at him for a moment longer, searching for words. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that if there is something you're waiting on in order to be who you really are, this might be it. You can come out of here whoever you want to be. I know it sounds corny, but it's happened before, just look at Sherman."

"It's not corny, sir," said Beau quietly.

One of Anderson's aides stepped into the room. "Excuse me, sir, but dispatches have arrived from both Colonel Taylor and Lieutenant Governor Philips. Both are marked urgent."

Anderson stuck his hand out. The aide delivered them to him and then departed into the hallway but stayed near the door. He opened the first one and read with concentration, shook his head then folded it back up.

"Damn bad business," mumbled Anderson. "You're going to hear it eventually, so I might as well give you the news. There was an assassination attempt on President Phillips life. It was thwarted by his wife, but she lost her leg in the process. Everyone is in an uproar, and Reggie's had to spend most of his time since the attack convincing people he's still alive. It's killing him to be away from Janice now, but he's afraid this whole JP business could unravel."

Beau's mind raced. He had missed a lot in three days.

Anderson opened the next dispatch and almost immediately became agitated. He seemed to read with alarm and then reread the dispatch, his eyes jumping all over the page.

Anderson stood up suddenly. "Sorry, but I have to go, pressing business. You get well soon, Captain, and think about what I've said."

"Yes, sir," said Beau.

Anderson walked out into the hallway, but then stuck his head back in. "Captain?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Get those tanks ready to go as quickly as you can," ordered Anderson. "We may have need of them sooner than we planned." With that, he vanished into the dim hallway.

So much for resting up, thought Beau as he slowly swung his legs out of bed.
Chapter 4 – Changes in the Air

Getting the locks repaired and closed was a top priority. Although they still hadn't located the mysterious source of the dam's heat fluctuation, it could take months to build up the water level to power the turbines once the problem was fixed. Although the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers still flowed northwards, the combined flow was a bare trickle at the bottom of the vast muddy chasm where the lakes once stood.

Closing the lock doors was more difficult than Nathan initially thought it would be. First of all, water still poured through the narrow opening, granted at a slower pace than when it had the entire force of the two lakes behind it, but it still necessitated opening all the dam doors to help relieve the water pressure on the locks.

The next step was to clear the pile of debris left in the locks. Mangled boats and dredged up debris filled the space. Cranes and wenches carefully pulled items away, but it would take the rest of the week to complete that job. Then, they could see how badly the lock doors were damaged and what needed to be done to repair them. At this point, Nathan hesitated to even think about that daunting task; he had enough to worry about already. He would leave those problems in Jim Meeks' hands.

Nathan was shocked and outraged by the talk going around after the battle. Once the fear and uncertainty of the threat ended, negative talk started circulating about David's actions. After the fact second guessing was unfortunately natural in warfare. It was fueled by everyone's fear that electricity was gone forever. Such talk wouldn't normally bother him, but David's ego seemed fragile of late and the talk only made him more defensive.

Nathan made David sit down once there was an opportunity. "You know that your actions probably saved the JP."

"A lot of people would disagree," said David, tense.

"Those people don't know what they're talking about," answered Nathan. "You were thinking when everyone else was losing their heads. If you had not done what you did, me and my force would have likely been killed after coming upon a superior force."

David squirmed. "But the dam, they say it's my fault everyone still doesn't have electricity."

"They don't know shit," said Nathan. "The dam was broken long before this. You saved us, son. You did well, and I'm proud of you."

A heavy weight appeared to lift off David's shoulders. He smiled at his father like he'd used to, before the dark times. David returned to his platoon, light in his step.

Nathan's troops were also busy cleaning up after the battle. There were more prisoners than expected, and when not burying their comrades, they helped clear the debris from the locks or were interrogated. Nathan felt the need to personally supervise this task since he knew how easy it was for interrogations to get out of control. Walter Beale's earlier interrogation brought this home to Nathan. These interrogations, combined with the battle and Joshua's information from the south, necessitated Nathan's hurried dispatch to General Anderson. Despite the seriousness of the information he sent to General Anderson, he was surprised to see him at the dam within several days. He was even more shocked to see Reggie Phillips with him.

Reggie looked horrible. He was pale, drawn, and his normally engaging eyes were heavy and clouded. Several State Troopers with assault rifles followed behind them. They weren't taking any more chances.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Nathan. "I'm surprised you are here. My apologies for not greeting you."

"No problem, Colonel Taylor," said Anderson. "We needed to see the damage to the dam ourselves. I also wanted to see the site of the first battle of the new world. I have to say it doesn't look a whole lot different from other battlefields I've experienced." Anderson stated this while staring at the grave digging parties.

"No, sir, it doesn't," said Nathan soberly.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Reggie as he walked over to see the work at the locks, his bodyguards in tow.

"How's he holding up?" asked Nathan.

Anderson sighed, "As good as can be expected I guess. Janice is still alive, that's something. Life is a fragile thing."

"True enough," said Nathan, wondering if Anderson was thinking of his deceased wife.

Anderson looked at Nathan directly and spoke abruptly. "You don't like me very much, do you? Why is that exactly?"

Nathan was taken aback. "Sir, I...guess it's the circumstances under which we met. You forced me into a decision."

Anderson nodded. "Maybe, but these times call us to things we wouldn't choose for ourselves. I was happily retired before Reggie put me in a similar position." He looked away and back at the digging. "I'm too old for this and was content to spend my time gardening and reading, but that was not what was demanded of me."

Nathan was surprised at the general's openness. A self-important, pompous man would not speak this way. Maybe I haven't been fair.

"Nathan," said Anderson, "I wish I could apologize to you, but I can't without lying because I'm glad you're with us. You saved our bacon here, and without you, I'm not sure what we would have done. So...I understand you may not like me, but we have to be able to trust each other and work together for the benefit of everyone else. I know you will, but I want us to mutually respect and trust one another. That sort of thing takes time and is a two-way street. So I want you to hear me say that I respect the hell out of you and thank you for what you've done."

Nathan was floored and started to mumble something, maybe even an apology, but the general didn't give him a chance.

"Now let's talk about your dispatches. I understand and can see the situation regarding the battle. How many prisoners did you take?"

"One hundred seventy-two," said Nathan. "We've screened and interrogated all of them. Some warrant further follow up, but the gem was Captain Hamlin, who most recently worked on Sampson's staff. He's the one who gave up the enemy dispositions which were confirmed by the bits and pieces we got from others."

"Do I even want to know how you got him to give up that information?" asked Anderson.

Nathan smiled. "Don't worry, we promised future privileges to his men. It wasn't that hard actually. They were scared stiff we were going to torture them to death."

"Yes, that would never happen, right?" asked Anderson.

"General," said Nathan, feeling the old suspicion coming back. "You said we had to trust each other, so I'll be straight. I've done a lot of interrogations in my time, but torture never works."

"Really?" Anderson raised an eyebrow.

"No," said Nathan. "People will tell you whatever they think will make you stop. It also makes the torturer a monster once he goes down that road. It's real hard to come back from that. On the other hand, the fear of torture is exceptionally effective," Nathan added.

"I see," said Anderson. "Is that what you did with Walter Beale?"

Nathan was silent for a moment. "No. With him, I did something different. An idealist is more difficult. I'd rather not get into it, just trust that I got everything of use out of him."

"Okay," said Anderson. "We'll come back to Beale in a moment, but as far as the WTR forces...we know most of their troops are poised to the north around Fulton for an invasion?"

"With the exception of another group somewhere to the south," answered Nathan. "No one is sure exactly where that force is or what it's doing."

"And their border to your south is still wide open?"

"Yes, and as far as they're concerned, we're none the wiser," said Nathan.

Anderson sighed and nodded. "Nathan, I'm sure you know as well as I the situation. We're outnumbered and outgunned, but this information presents us with a unique opportunity."

"Yes, we can attack south, turn west, and catch their forces on the flank at the same time we attack south from Fulton, catching them in the middle."

"Precisely," said Anderson. "How fast can you prepare for such a mission?"

Nathan thought. "We could probably be ready to go in a week, maybe five days if we push it."

"Sorry," said Anderson, "but you need to start three days from now at the latest. It's already been decided. We'll need you to hit them in the flank one week from today. I know that's tight, but this opportunity might slip away."

Nathan just dropped his head and sighed. He knew better than to argue. "Okay, we'll do it. I figure we can attack with close to two reinforced companies, but that will leave a skeleton crew here mostly focused on getting the dam back up and running."

"I understand. It's a risk worth taking. Just make sure you have a good man leading that advance."

"As far as the leader, that would be me," said Nathan.

"Sorry again, Nathan," said Anderson. "You can't do it, and I'll explain why in a minute. Harold is also out. Who else?"

"Well," replied Nathan, "Captain Green is the logical choice and his company has yet to see action. They would be the main component of the attack force."

"Sounds good," said Anderson. "Please let me know if you need anything to get ready or if for some reason you are delayed, but for goodness sake, don't let there be any delays."

"We'll do our best. Now can you tell me why I can't lead it?"

"Because you're being promoted," said Anderson.

"Promoted?" asked Nathan. "To what? Your job?"

"No, although I would welcome it." Anderson smiled. "No, the past few weeks have highlighted our complete deficiency in intelligence and information gathering. That lack has come close to destroying us, especially given that the WTR is light-years ahead of us in this regard. Since you are the only professional intelligence officer anyone around here knows of, you're the logical choice for the post."

"What post?" asked Nathan slowly.

"You're to be the head of the new JP Central Intelligence Agency."

"Are you serious?" asked Nathan. "Give me a break."

"Okay, I made up the whole CIA thing. You can call it whatever you want, but I'm serious about the job. We need for you to organize and start an intelligence service that gets us information. We also need you to catch Sampson's spies and assassins as fast as possible."

Nathan felt flummoxed. "Do you understand how large a task that will be? What are my resources? What is my budget? Do I even have a budget? What is my authority? How many people do I get?"

"All good questions that I don't have the answer to yet," said Anderson. "And honestly, I doubt if anyone else does. We're going to need you to do it all. Design it, build it, and get it running fast. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, you will work directly for President Phillips, and...you're now Brigadier General Taylor...Congratulations."

"And who is to take over here?"

Anderson nodded. "Yes, that has been decided as well. Harold Buchannan will be promoted and assume the post as the LBL Military Governor. I believe he is a good man and will do well."

"He is and he will," agreed Nathan.

Reggie walked back up to them and said abruptly, "Let's talk about Beale and what you got out of him."

Nathan hesitated, but Anderson nodded. "He was recruited by a skilled handler who took advantage of Mr. Beale's insecurities and fantasies. Beale didn't know much about Gabriel, only had a phone number."

"I understand you got the phone to go along with the number," said Reggie. "What can we do with it?"

"I've been thinking a lot about that myself," answered Nathan. "Before N-Day, we could have done plenty, but now are options are limited. Once the electricity comes back up, we can check it against internal phones records and see if there is any other contact to this number, but...I doubt we'll find anything."

"Why is that?" asked Anderson.

"Because Gabriel strikes me as a professional. He understands operational security, meaning that phone number was for Beale alone."

"What about the code words your report mentioned?" asked Reggie.

Nathan sighed, "I thought about that, too. We might mislead them and send the message for success, but their other spies probably know by now that the assassination was unsuccessful."

"So there's nothing we can do with it?" asked Anderson.

"Not really," answered Nathan.

"Give me the phone," said Reggie abruptly.

Nathan was uncertain what to say or do, "Sir...there's nothing..."

"Get me that phone and punch in the number...now," ordered Reggie.

Nathan looked to Anderson for support who simply nodded. Nathan called over his aide who ran off to retrieve the phone. A few minutes later, he returned, handing the black satellite phone to Nathan who held onto it looking at Reggie.

"Dial the number," said Reggie.

"Perhaps we should think about this first," said Nathan.

Reggie had the sternest face Nathan had ever seen on him. "Colonel Taylor, are you refusing to dial the number?"

Nathan sighed, "No, sir." He took a few moments to acquire signal and then dialed the number from a sheet of paper the aide provided and handed the phone to Reggie, uncertain what was going to happen.

Reggie put the phone to his ear and after several rings, heard the ringing stop and the line go active. "Who is this?" asked Reggie.

Silence at the other end.

"This is President Reggie Phillips the duly elected leader of the Jackson Purchase. You need to know that your assassination attempt on my life failed, but it did cost my wife her leg. Walter Beale is also dead."

Silence at the other end, not even breathing.

Reggie continued, "I suspect you wanted to time my death with your attack on the dam in order to catch us by surprise and cause as much chaos as possible. Both have failed miserably and caused great suffering and loss of life. I don't know what your plans are for those forces to the south, but you had better rethink them. We're onto you and we're ready."

More silence. Reggie looked at the phone display to ensure he was still connected.

"Cease your aggression and we can work to try to live with each other peacefully. The world has destroyed itself and here the ragged remnants are trying to do it again. It's ridiculous and inconceivable."

Reggie took a deep breath. "I'm willing to overlook your attack on my life and the hurt you have done my wife in the best interest of both our people. Cease the attacks, stand down the military, and let's talk this out. There's still time."

There was silence on the line for perhaps ten seconds before the other end disconnected the call.
Chapter 5 - Disappointment

Ethan's source network and communications systems were so good that he generally knew what happened in the JP before the JP leadership did, especially now that they were without electricity and phones. Ethan had also used his considerable power to collect every satellite phone within the WTR, and after combining these with crank chargers, they provided the perfect means of communicating instantly over long distances. The world may be dead, he thought, but those satellites up in orbit just keep on trucking.

The satellite phones were provided to key sources within the JP. They used these phones to call and relay information to their respective source handlers, all of whom worked for Ethan and were personally trained by him...except for Walter Beale. That mission had been so sensitive that he could not entrust it to another. The assassination failure was disappointing, but not a great loss. The JP would be scared of further attempts and expend resources to protect against it. Ethan admitted that the one-sided conversation he had with Reggie Phillips was somewhat surprising, but again of no real concern.

Overall, his spy network worked well and efficiently. Sometimes too efficiently, Ethan told himself as he ended a meeting with his operations officer. This man had the daunting task of collecting all the intelligence reports and providing the information to Ethan. He in turn provided taskings for the numerous spy handlers operating throughout the extended area. They already knew of the embarrassing and frustrating raid along the border, which resulted in the loss of three tanks. Sampson was beside himself with fury, promising dire punishments for those responsible. Ethan noticed that Sampson's behavior over the past few weeks had become more irrational and unpredictable. He was concerned how this latest news would affect him.

Ethan looked at his watch and knew it was nearly time for his briefing to the general. He walked over to his office, mentally prepared himself, and then knocked.

"What?" yelled Sampson.

"Sir, it's Ethan."

"Get in here!" yelled the gruff voice. Ethan walked in as Sampson motioned him to sit and jumped right to business. "So, any news about the dam?"

"Actually yes, sir, and I'm afraid it isn't good," said Ethan.

Sampson's face reddened. "It better be good! I've had enough bad news. First, your moron fails to kill Phillips, then your lack of warning allows them to steal my tanks, and now something else? You better have good news for me."

"Sir," started Ethan hesitantly, "the entire force was lost, but the good news is that the dam itself may be damaged beyond repair. We also know that the lakes are gone due to the damage our forces inflicted on the dam." Ethan saw that the news wasn't being received well. "Sir, if you remember, we knew this was a gamble to begin with, but we thought it worth the risk if there was a chance to capture the dam. Barring that, we wanted to at least destroy it so the enemy couldn't use it. In that regard, it is a partial success, and we have certainly destroyed many of their troops. And we dealt the JP populace a crushing psychological blow."

"I don't want to hear about partial victories!" growled Sampson, jumping up and slamming his hand down on the table. "We should be rolling over those losers! We should be achieving victory on every front! Instead, we're taking solace in the silver linings!" Sampson stood there for a minute, fuming. "I'm starting to wonder if someone isn't against me."

"Sir?" asked Ethan.

"You know what I mean," said Sampson impatiently. "Someone on our side is sabotaging our efforts. Sabotaging me. Someone maybe even close to me."

Ethan felt like he was on dangerous ground with someone he might no longer have control over. He decided to change the subject. "Are we still going forward with our other surprise attack given our recent setbacks?"

Sampson thought for a moment. "Yes. Yes, we must. Victory is all that is acceptable. We must keep moving forward."

Ethan spoke in, what he hoped was, a neutral tone, "Sir, might I recommend that we either postpone the attack or coordinate it with another attack to spread the enemy defenses."

Sampson rubbed his chin and looked at Ethan with what Ethan thought might be a suspicious look. "No postponement. But a coordinated attack might not be a bad idea. We could use the force up near the border and push north when the other force hits on the Mississippi. Catch 'em by surprise. Might even get my tanks back."

Ethan started to tell him the other bit of news. News that might cause Sampson to rethink using the force near the border. He had heard sketchy reports that the LBL forces were preparing for something big, possibly an offensive. Ethan agonized over this and felt it was possible that the JP had uncovered the ruse and knew the southern border was paper thin. The JP also knew the WTR northern force was near Fulton and that its eastern flank was exposed. Ethan thought it was a stretch, but he had to assume that the JP forces were going to attack the northern force in a combined operation from the north and southwest. He started to tell Sampson this when Sampson started talking again.

"You know a lot of this would have been avoided if I had the right information," Sampson muttered. He wasn't looking at Ethan anymore, but was staring out the window. "Information that I should have gotten, plans I could have made, victory that would have been mine if not for the disloyalty of others." Sampson's voice became louder and surer. "The people always want someone to blame. Hell, they've lost family members; they deserve someone to blame. Ethan, if things don't start going right soon, I won't have to look far to find someone to blame. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"All too well," said Ethan truthfully.

"Good, then we should proceed with the combined offensive. I believe I will lead the northern force personally. I'm sick of sitting in the rear and watching cowardly subordinates piss away my victories."

Normally, Ethan would have tried to dissuade Sampson from such a course, but he held his tongue.

"There comes a time, Ethan, when every man has to accept the consequences of his actions and cannot hide behind others. I hope you understand and don't take personally any potential...complications, that might happen." Sampson stopped awkwardly at the window and looked as if he had more to say, but finally blurted out, "That is all. You are dismissed."

Ethan walked out of Sampson's office, closing the door softly behind him. "I do understand, and much better than you, old fool," said Ethan to himself as he walked back outside.
Chapter 6 – Recommendations

CONFIDENTIAL REPORT

EYES ONLY FOR: Jackson Purchase President Reginald Philips

SUBJECT: Establishment of a Centralized State Security Service

FROM: Brigadier General Nathan Taylor

Mr. President,

The purpose of this report is to provide basic recommendations, and to give an update on the status, of establishing a Centralized State Security Service for the Jackson Purchase (JP) as per your earlier directive.

Although I have received all the support I require, the task is still a daunting one and will take time, maybe even years. With that said, I understand the importance of bringing all our resources to bear during this time of crisis. A professional security organization must be one of those resources.

I recommend this organization initially build on the capability it already possesses—tactical reconnaissance. This also makes the most practical sense given the current war with the West Tennessee Republic (WTR). The existing tactical reconnaissance patrols have proven the value of such information and of the specialized units which conduct them. It will likely be necessary to disband many of the existing reconnaissance units in order to provide men to serve as leaders for other such elements. New recruits can more readily fill vacancies in these units' ranks if they possess solid leaders.

Responsive and reliable reporting is still a problem without electricity, but I have recommended unit commanders conduct missions of shorter duration, which allow for face-to-face reporting if necessary. We will also need an analytical capability to sift through the intelligence gathered in order to produce finished intelligence products. I plan to detail my recommendations for this problem in a separate report.

Beyond the tactical military side, the mission of a central security service becomes more complicated. Even a framework is in question. I have examined many agencies such as the CIA, FBI, and DHS to determine if these are proper organizations to model our state service after. I have even studied the OSS, or Office of Strategic Services of World War II fame, but we need an organization that is primarily able to operate during peacetime.

The key functions of this organization should include intelligence collection in all forms, counterintelligence, and security at the state or higher level. The only area with an established framework is counterintelligence. The state troopers have been conducting this mission for several months, but it must be asked if this will remain a law enforcement, security/intelligence, or joint responsibility. I would like to recommend that the state troopers maintain this mission along with their law enforcement duties and that the state police fall under my new security service. I envision them having law enforcement authority, but also counterintelligence capabilities, similar to the FBI.

We will also need to establish a framework for intelligence collection. Since there is still no electricity, we should rely on what is traditionally referred to as "low tech." Even when electrical services are restored, I believe it is best to found our capabilities on what has worked for thousands of years. The most reliable and low tech of all intelligence collection methods is human source operations. This requires extremely well-trained and experienced handlers to run such operations. We will need to establish a robust training program for these source handlers, and my recommendations on how to accomplish this training will be discussed in a separate report.

In order to conduct source operations, it is necessary to lay the groundwork for spotting potential intelligence sources in areas surrounding the JP, but most specifically in the WTR. Many JP residents have friends or relatives in the WTR. Some of these individuals would likely travel into the WTR given the opportunity. These two groups alone would make a good initial candidate pool to screen for sources. Also, individuals inside the WTR could provide information on what was happening there in addition to early warning of troop movements. We will also need a means to learn about these potential sources.

A travel pass program seems like the best option. The JP can put out notices that personnel from outside the JP could travel into the JP for short periods of time, as long as they were sponsored by a JP citizen and underwent an interview. The interview will give my organization an opportunity to evaluate these individuals' suitability and willingness to work for us, possibly in exchange for something they want. We will also eventually need JP residents who were willing to go out beyond the borders to live for long periods of time among the local populaces and then report back useful information. The task of establishing this network will be significant and time consuming and the details of my plan will be included in a separate report.

Counterintelligence and security are another huge endeavor. Although the state troopers have the lead for investigations, and might eventually be able to take on all the other duties, they are not ready to handle everything else needed to protect the JP's secrets and critical resources. The first line of defense should be the average citizen's diligent and natural suspicion. The JP governing bodies need to convince the people not to talk idly about things they hear and see. The state also needs to convince them to report anything out of the ordinary since they are much more likely to notice something odd before an official would.

In summary, I envision a comprehensive intelligence, security, and law enforcement agency capable of gathering needed information on its enemies, protecting the JP's most prized resources, and investigating and arresting those who would harm the JP. Although the idea of such an organization with broad powers makes sense, it also raises concerns. A significant amount of power will reside with one organization and by default with this organization's leader. There will need to be checks on such power.

An official could be elected to head this organization, but that would mean a critical position could go to someone with no experience and who may have political agendas to boot. It could be a political appointee like myself, but that appointee could at some point hold whoever had appointed him as a political hostage over threats of blackmail much as Hoover was rumored to have done with the FBI. The leader could be determined by seniority in the organization, but that had its own pitfalls. The best idea that I can envision at this point is to use a political appointee elected by the Executive Council who serves for a defined time period, say five years, with absolutely no ability to stay longer under any circumstances. This person could continue to advise and assist the organization and the state after their term has ended, but could no longer hold such power. I understand that these thoughts are premature, but the last thing we want to do is create an apparatus that could be used to subdue a democratic populace. The state needs a comprehensive organization with extensive powers, but that accepts the risk of investing too much power in any one person's or group of persons' hands.

With your approval, sir, I would like to begin the work of establishing the Strategic Security Agency with the above basic guidelines. As always, I am available for further discussion and would welcome any feedback or guidance you may have on this issue.

Sincerely,

ORIGINAL SIGNED

Brigadier General Nathan Taylor

Recommendations Approved/Disapproved/Provide Further Information

ORIGINAL SIGNED

President Reginald Philips
Chapter 7 – The Burned City

An old man in sweat-stained overalls galloped up to the McCracken County Municipal Building in Paducah on a lathered horse. He slid from the saddle before the horse had even stopped.

"They're coming!" he yelled as he hobbled up the stairs. "From the south, on the river, dozens of them, filled with soldiers!"

Some gathered on the steps to discuss what the now vanished man had been hollering about. He did look old enough to be senile. They smiled, shook their heads, and continued on with their business.

About five minutes later, Mayor Leslie Mitchell fled the building, taking one of the fueled up police vehicles with the lights and siren going as he sped off to who knew where.

Several men and women still stood in the mayor's office, not sure what to do. The old messenger had been questioned by those in the room and then with his duty done had departed. The room was quiet, and those in attendance kept unconsciously looking to the empty mayor's chair.

"Maybe he went to get help or something," said the mayor's secretary, referring to her now fled boss.

"You heard what he said," answered the county clerk. "The mayor isn't coming back, at least not when we need him."

"What about County Executive Williams?" asked a sheriff's deputy who happened to be in the building when the old man stormed in.

The clerk shook his head. "He's out of town, won't be back in time."

"What are we supposed to do?" asked the secretary. "Who the hell is in charge now?"

Everyone looked at the clerk expectantly and he looked almost sick. "You won't like it."

Confused looks stared back at him until understanding dawned in the deputy's eyes. Incredulous, he said, "You can't be serious!"

"I'm afraid so," said the clerk. "That damn murdering gang leader is now in charge of everything. God help us."

"Best run while you can," said the deputy.

They did just that.

*******

Brazen quickly organized the regimental companies. He still couldn't help but call them gangs in his own mind. They evacuated the people from the center of Paducah. Brazen figured that was where the WTR troops would land, so he sent the civilians to the outlying regions of Reidland, Heath, and Lone Oak. The gangs were brutally efficient, as Brazen expected. He couldn't be worrying about saving some individual while trying to fight an invader. Many went into the crowded stuffy buses against their wills.

Defending the entire city was out of the question. If the old man's story was to be believed, there must be close to three hundred or more soldiers on the way and they probably had heavy machine guns, grenades, and mortars. Brazen's regiment was taking in new recruits, but they were mostly untrained, and his forces chiefly consisted of the gangs. They were fanatical in their own way, but would never be able to stand up to such troops in the open, at least not yet.

His leaders argued for opposing the WTR landing at the river flood walls.

Brazen disagreed, "If they get resistance before they have landed their troops, they might simply move on downriver, could attack where the civilians are. The battle has to be in the city."

"Won't they just be able to do more damage there? Best to meet them straight on," said a state trooper, one of the few JP officials who had come to hear the plan and try to help instead of fleeing south and east.

Brazen grimaced at the trooper. "We have to believe these are WTR soldiers. Our men won't be able to stand up against them in normal battle. Plus, we'll likely be outgunned."

"What then? Just let them walk into the city?" asked Jinks, one of his leaders.

Brazen nodded. "That's exactly what we do."

They looked at him like he had lost his senses before protesting in louder and louder voices. He held up his hand to cut off their protests.

"Anyone know about the Battle of Stalingrad?" Some faces showed semblances of recognition, but most were blank. "During World War Two the Germans tried to take the industrial city, but the Russians simply fought building to building, nullifying the German's superior mobility and fire power. Maybe we can do something similar here in Paducah on a smaller scale. Unless, of course, someone has any better ideas?"

No one did.

They established a hasty perimeter around the downtown area, mainly using additional men or teenage boys who volunteered to help instead of evacuate. Brazen divided the city up into sections and assigned each of the five gangs an area to defend. He told them it wasn't about bravery, but about killing as many of the enemy as they could without being killed or getting captured. They understood.

It was the next morning when they spotted the invasion force. They counted three small barges carrying men and equipment and a dozen smaller support craft. The barges lumbered close to the flood walls until their metal bottoms scraped with a shrill protest on the sloped concrete embankments. Ladders and ramps were lifted over the side, and the men were able to come ashore with no more than their lower half wet.

The WTR forces seemed surprised at the ease of the landing and the fact that the city appeared to be abandoned. The enemy squads worked their way slowly away from the river and into the center of the city.

When they were spread apart and too far from their boats to retreat easily, Brazen gave the signal.

His men started taking pot shots from inside the tall buildings. The WTR troops responded with overwhelming firepower, putting machine gun rounds and grenades into any window or position that fired on them. Many of Brazen's men died, but they harassed the invader's advance, and by sunset, had slowed them to a crawl.

Too far from the river to return in the dark, the invaders set up a defensive perimeter, using several buildings to wait out the night. That was when the gangs went to work.

In the pitch black confined streets, Brazen's men were able to sneak up close to the perimeter guards and pick them off one by one. The enemy was forced to tighten its perimeter as they took casualties. Psychologically, the men became even more afraid of the night.

Before sunrise, they were forced to make a slow and painful withdrawal back to their boats, carrying their dead and wounded on makeshift litters. The WTR troops firebombed every building they passed on their way, but Brazen's men kept up their harassment at a terrible cost to both sides. Soon, WTR dead and wounded were being left behind, first as individuals, then in droves.

Brazen even thought they might actually be able to trap and destroy the entire force. He led a flanking attack on the boats, but they were too heavily defended. The WTR army had left a strong guard force, definitely wanting to secure their way home. Brazen abandoned the plan after a brief probe and settled with just driving the invaders out of the city. They would have to be content with killing as many of the enemy as they could.

The WTR force continued to make a hasty withdrawal, loading the barges while sustaining heavy casualties. By dawn's light, Brazen's men saw the boats already in the middle of the Mississippi steaming back south. Many of Brazen's men came down to the river to cheer and heckle the fleeing men, but machine gun fire from one of the boats scattered them and wounded one man. The enemy might be defeated, but they were definitely still dangerous.

Brazen cut their cheering short with a piercing whistle. "Listen up! You men have done great things, but we still have work to do. We need to tend to the wounded, get those fires out, and most importantly, warn people down the river."

"Won't they already know?" asked Jinks, a dirty bandage around his right forearm. "They saw them come up."

"Yes," answered Brazen, "but the invading force only wanted to attack us. They'll go back dragging their tails and be more likely to take it out on some poor unsuspecting farmers and such."

They dispatched warning riders south on bikes. He also sent riders with reports to President Philips in Murray and General Anderson at Fulton. Brazen finally sent a rider to locate the county executive who he thought was on his way back from visiting the dam and seeing the destruction there.

Brazen was now left to clean up the mess. Many of his men were dead, but it could have been much worse. Only a few of the civilians, who had refusing to evacuate, had been killed in the fighting. The buses were now bringing people back to downtown to help try to put out the fires as best they could. A number didn't want to help and just wished to go home, but Brazen made it clear there was no choice. They were a community after all, and true communities helped their neighbors...whether they wanted to or not.

Brazen and his men walked through the smoldering, charred remains of downtown. Much of the city was still burning, but they just didn't have the firefighting equipment, especially without electricity to power the water pumps, so they had to watch as the old buildings burned and collapsed.

When the electricity had gone off, no one thought to shut down the water feed from the city's water towers and these drained almost dry within the first day as water consumption continued at a normal rate. All the water lines were now bone dry.

Groups of civilians carefully watched as WTR prisoners had been organized into bucket lines from the river to help as many houses as possible, but most of downtown was too large to save. Brazen thought it was ironic that only a few weeks ago he had actually threatened to do this very deed. Good thing it smells of rain, he thought.

Brazen noticed that Lancourt was nearby. The man was tireless in organizing the evacuation, taking care of setting up first-aid stations and shelter at numerous locations, and getting them back here efficiently. He also organized the fire parties, food and water distribution, and gathering clothing and found homes for those who were burned out. Even Brazen's gang members did what Pastor Lancourt asked of them. His greatest value though, was probably his ability to keep everyone calm.

When word spread that a West Tennessee Army was preparing to land in their city far to the north where they had thought they were safe, waves of panic and impending doom spread. Lancourt was able to exude calm, peace, and hope wherever he went.

Brazen was amazed when he visited one of the food centers to see that Lancourt had established a sort of daycare center for the children so their parents could help put out the fires. He witnessed Lancourt telling the rapt children story after story and several who had dried tears on their faces, who were now totally absorbed in the yarns he was spinning.

"Heck of a mess, isn't it?" Brazen asked him during a slow moment.

"Actually, no," said Lancourt. "The city itself is in shambles, but the people are fine and better than fine. This has caused them to draw together and see themselves as one unified community. Where once there was suspicion and infighting, now they are together helping each other."

"Some against their will," said Brazen.

"Just as well," said Lancourt with a wave of his hand. "Action and habit precede changes in attitude. This is good for their souls, even if done under duress. A year from now, they'll be proudly telling of the eager work they did. They'll convince themselves. Everyone wants to be better than they are; sometimes they just need a little encouragement. It's good for their souls."

"Their souls?" Brazen mused. "You think all this death and destruction is good for anyone?"

"Yes." Lancourt turned to face him. "It is. Death is a certainty to all; it is what we do until then that defines our character. Adversity brings out the best in us...or the worst. We also frequently only seek God's will and support when we are without hope or are facing destruction. I'm not saying this is God's will, but He does work in ways we cannot comprehend. Let's take you for example." Lancourt poked him with a finger. "Do you really think for a minute that you're ready for the power that is coming your way?"

"What do you mean?" asked Brazen.

"I've told you before, God has a plan for you, and He's calling you back to Him." Lancourt put his hand on Brazen's shoulder. "You are the lost sheep, and God is fanatical and relentless in pursuing those who are His. You can run as hard and as long as you want, but in the end, you will just be caught tired and with regrets about what could have been."

Brazen was silent for a moment and then said, "No, I'm not ready. Heck I'm not ready for this." He indicated all the destruction around him.

Lancourt smiled and turned back to him. "That is the beginning of wisdom and understanding. None of us is able alone to handle the magnificent plans God has for our lives. Without Him, we are lost, petty, selfish, and broken. With Him, we are royalty, capable of literally anything. You can accept that and move on with your life or keep half-stepping like you have been. I suggest you quit playing around and fooling yourself before you get a bunch of people killed. This is no time for self-delusion."

Lancourt said the last with a stern stare and then walked back toward the food line, leaving Brazen to his thoughts in the smoldering ruins of his city.

I never liked this city anyway, he thought.
Chapter 8 – Death on the Camp

David looked at his watch. It was almost time. He mentally went over everything again and decided they were ready. They had lain quietly and patiently in their positions since midnight and it was almost noon of the next day. With any luck, they would achieve total surprise.

Captain Green and his company were several miles to the north preparing to make a similar attack on the main WTR force south of Fulton. David and his platoon had the task of assaulting and securing the WTR army rear camp, which hopefully would be largely deserted at this time of day with almost everyone at the main force positions up north.

David's soldiers would take out all the support troops and those tending the camp. They would also set up a blocking position to the north of the camp to intercept anyone fleeing from Captain Green's forces.

Joshua's recon platoon was given the task of screening for the entire JP force to the south. If anyone approached from that direction, their job was to stop them, and if they were too large to stop, then at least slow them long enough to give everyone time to prepare. It was a solid plan.

Their coordination with the JP forces to the north was limited at best. Everyone had a specific time when the show was supposed to kick off, but the individual forces were not able to rehearse together or even to meet beforehand. Captain Green was seriously concerned about the possibility of friendly fire incidents, which is why everyone tied a white ribbon or band around their left arms beforehand. Captain Green also sent a runner north to try to pass this information to General Anderson, but no one knew if the message had gotten through. This was a legitimate concern since both sides of the conflict were wearing the same U.S. Army uniforms.

David looked at his watch again and saw he only had a few minutes. At his far left, he saw the support teams in place. He would lead the smaller assault team. They had difficulty deciding how to signal the initiation of the attack without radios or other devices. David wanted to be able to give the signal himself, but he needed the support teams and their superior firepower to start the firing, in order to kill as many WTR troops as quickly as possible. He also wanted to protect the secrecy of the assault team's position until the last minute. One of his privates came up with a practical solution.

They ran a length of twine from the rear of the support team leader position over to the rear of the assault team and then to David. It was a long length of twine in low tree limbs. David hoped it didn't break.

He looked at his watch again and saw it was time. He was about to pull the twine when he heard several large muffled explosions to the north of them. Captain Green's main assault had evidently begun. David saw members of the WTR camp come out of their tents and look to the north, and others ran to get their weapons. It was now or never. David began tugging on the twine.

Nothing happened. David began tugging harder and harder, cursing under his breath till he heard both the M240 machine guns to his left open up at the same time. A moment later the rest of the support team began firing with their rifles and squad automatic weapons. The bigger M240 machine guns settled into a good rhythm where one would fire for several seconds and stop, then the next one would fire for several seconds, alternating back and forth. This was necessary to prevent the barrels from overheating. Training taught him that when done properly, it sounded as if they were talking to each other, and right now they had a very good dialogue going on.

David looked back at his watch. They had thirty seconds to go, and he saw that the camp was in pandemonium with dead and wounded lying among the tents. Several men in the camp were attempting to fight back, but not many. Most hid or fled.

"Get ready," David said to the men on his left and right who passed the word down the line. He waited until the designated time, stood up, and began running toward the camp. He didn't check to see if anyone was following him but felt confident that he had a line of troops on both his left and right.

About twenty yards from the edge of the camp, he blew a whistle as he ran. This was the signal for the support team to lift and shift its fire to the far edge of the camp so they did not shoot anyone in the assault team. It also meant that a nearly solid wall of bullets awaited anyone from the camp fleeing away from David's team. He looked for signs that the fire had shifted. David no longer saw bullet impacts in the camp. They were clear to assault through the objective.

Speed and ferocity were paramount. They were likely still outnumbered and temporarily had the advantage of surprise. That would pass quickly. David hoped his men didn't flinch from the plan which was to shoot anything that moved and to keep going. He also told them to stay in a line and take out everything in their path. Enemy surrender was not possible. Everyone depended on everyone else to do his job, otherwise they would assault through only to have enemy soldiers at their exposed rear.

David stopped thinking as he saw a soldier come out of a tent right in front of him. The soldier's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of David and his men so close. He attempted to pull his rifle up to shoot, but he didn't have a chance. David put two rounds into the man and kept moving. He was aware of other similar shots on either side of him. It was reassuring.

Coming to the middle of the camp, he saw two men trying to get a heavy machine gun loaded. David ran toward them just in time to see them look up in panic and fear. He could tell they knew they were out of time and were going to die. David felt bad for the men but shot them both anyway and kept moving.

Before he knew it, he was at the other end of the camp. He knelt on a knee and turned back to see the rest of the assault team come to the same location. David pulled out his whistle and began blowing on it again. The firing from the support teams sputtered and stopped. His soldiers moved to establish a perimeter around the camp facing out, preparing for any sort of counter attack. At the same time, members of the assault team paired up and began going back through the camp looking for survivors to finish off. They also searched bodies for information or useful equipment.

David received a report from both the assault and support teams. He was relieved that not a single one of his soldiers was even wounded. He continued to hear isolated shots and pops as his men killed the worst of the wounded and tried not to think about right or wrong. They were in enemy territory and heavily outnumbered. They couldn't take prisoners or risk survivors revealing their existence. It's a cruel war in a cruel world, David told himself.

He began studying the north side of the camp and its approaches. David was torn between setting up a linear blocking position or a classic ambush along the main approach from the north. He decided that since survivors would be coming individually and in small groups, and considering they might not even use the normal paths, he would focus on spreading his men out in a line along the north edge. But he placed his machine guns along the main path since the majority of the survivors would likely come by that way. As he finished this thought, he saw a man out of breath frantically stumble down the path and nearly bump into David before going around him and through the camp.

No white armband.

David turned quickly and shot him twice in the back.

He yelled for his men to hustle to their new positions, leaving only a few to provide security to their rear. As his men began moving, David could already see enemy survivors coming down the path through the woods. His men were shooting them as they raced to their positions, but there were just too many. Several got through and David decided to drop back at the edge of the camp and shoot anyone who got past the line of his men.

The flood of survivors eventually slowed to a trickle and then stopped as the woods became silent. David ordered his men to remain in position and stay quiet for now. A few minutes later, they heard a larger group coming down the path. David moved up along the path. His men were getting ready to let loose on the machine guns. David recognized the glint of white through the trees.

"Hold your fire, hold you fire, friendly coming in!" David shouted.

The men came running around the curve and stopped in surprise at all the dead bodies on the path; then they saw the soldiers in the woods with their smoking weapons. David started to introduce himself, but he heard one of his machine gunners say, "What kept you boys?"

They all smiled in relief in that place of death...relief that it wasn't death for them.
Chapter 9 – Betrayal

General Sampson could not understand what was happening. He was getting conflicting reports from every direction and everyone seemed to have lost their minds. He could hear fighting to his front, and it was clear that either someone had initiated his attack early or, unbelievably, the JP had actually attacked him! What didn't make sense was the sound of fighting that was coming from their rear. Sampson sent one aide after another to find out what was going on, but none of them had returned.

In disgust, Sampson threw down his glasses and stormed out of the tent to assess the situation himself. He saw men running in every direction. Sampson began grabbing soldiers at random as they passed. Most did not even know what they were running from, but Sampson's harsh insistence that they get themselves under control seemed to calm them considerably.

Where are the officers of these men? asked Sampson to himself. This only proves that I'm being undermined from within. Not even my own officers can be trusted.

Sampson saw one panicky man running toward him. Unlike the others, he looked to have seen action as he was covered in dust and blood. Sampson grabbed the man by the shirt as he passed and used the soldier's forward momentum to fling him to the ground. The man looked up in shock, but some sort of sanity appeared to reassert itself.

"What do you think you're doing, soldier?" asked Sampson gruffly.

"Sir," said the man, still out of breath as he swallowed with difficulty, "the enemy, they're everywhere, and those tanks are just rolling over everything!"

"Tanks?" asked Sampson. "How many? Where?"

"Three, sir, cutting through everything!" the man said before getting up and running on again. Sampson didn't notice. My tanks! I want them back.

Sampson saw one of his commanders packing up to leave and ordered him to plan an immediate counteroffensive with the goal of recovering the tanks. The officer looked at Sampson like he thought the general had lost his mind, but Sampson didn't notice the look. He went on talking about crushing the JP now that they had made the mistake of standing and fighting.

This is my chance, what it has all been leading to, thought Sampson. My greatest victory was at hand.

He noticed that the men at least seemed to be running now back toward the front. But they looked just as panicked as they had been while previously running away from it. Something wasn't right here. He started to stop another soldier when one of his aides finally returned and grabbed Sampson by the arm. Sampson promptly slapped it off furiously.

"Lieutenant, how dare you!" Sampson was outraged. "You touch me again and you'll regret it!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said the man suitably cowed, "but it isn't safe for you here. We have to get you to safety!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Sampson suspiciously.

"Sir, we're caught between forces. A large force has somehow come up behind us," said the lieutenant breathlessly. "They are already breaking through our lines and we haven't much time."

"We've been betrayed!" said Sampson. "How else could they get in behind us?"

"Quite possibly," admitted the man. "But please, General, we have to get you out of here. The WTR cannot risk you being caught, or heaven forbid, killed. If you are lost, all is lost for us," the man pleaded.

This last entreaty seemed to penetrate Sampson. "Well, we can build further armies, ones that aren't so cowardly and do not betray me. What is your plan of escape?"

"Sir," said the lieutenant with obvious relief. "I have a squad that will take us to a car hidden on a trail over that hill there. So far, none of the enemy has come from that direction, and I believe we can escape undetected, but only if we leave now."

"Okay," said Sampson convinced. "I approve your plan. Proceed."

"Thank you, sir." The lieutenant yelled at several soldiers nearby. They formed a circle around Sampson and the aide. They all set off at a fast walk to the west of the fighting. They proceeded for perhaps ten minutes steadily downhill through dense woods and foliage. At a clearing, the lieutenant stopped the group suddenly. The sounds of fighting were dull and distant now.

"Where is the car?" asked Sampson. "Why are we stopping?"

The lieutenant turned to face him. "It's up ahead, but I'm afraid you've run out of time."

"What do you mean?" yelled Sampson, clearly angry and frustrated. "Explain yourself!"

The lieutenant seemed totally calm and composed, the distinct opposite of his earlier behavior. Sampson had the faintest sense of unease. He looked around and saw the squad of soldiers in a circle around them facing outwards with their weapons.

The lieutenant stood, looking at him silently for several seconds, and Sampson was about to repeat his demand when the lieutenant spoke.

"Ethan said to tell you it wasn't personal."

Sampson opened his mouth to yell at the man when he raised his arm and shot Sampson in the head with his pistol. Sampson fell to the ground, gasping for air, wondering what had happened.

The lieutenant walked over and stood, studying him silently, expressionlessly, before firing three quick rounds into his chest. He then gave the men a quick order and they continued on their way.

General Jeb Sampson lay in the grass dying and already forgotten.
Chapter 10 – Victory

General Anderson had to get control of the situation. He had not anticipated that the enemy would crumble so completely and so quickly. They were defeated, but the killing went on and threatened to disintegrate into mass murder. He saw that discipline and cohesion had broken down in the euphoria of victory following their earlier intense fear. The further he walked into the battlefield, the more he saw signs of executions and looting of bodies. He continued to hear the disquieting sounds of individual shots that could only mean one thing.

He saw tanks nearby. Anderson ran over and found Captain Beau Myers standing on top of his vehicle looking south with binoculars like he had just conquered the world. His soldiers were also gathered on and around the tanks with a similar attitude of celebration. He ran up and yelled to get the captain's attention.

Beau immediately responded with a smile, jumped off his tank, and saluted Anderson, "Sir, the enemy is fleeing in all directions! We've won and we're—"

"Stop, Captain!" yelled Anderson, cutting through his enthusiasm. "I have a different mission for you and your men, and I need it to be done right now."

"Yes, sir," said Beau, now calm and attentive.

"The army is coming apart right now and is vulnerable. They're looting, killing, and doing God knows what else. We're vulnerable to a counterattack and we have to get control. I'm afraid we're also executing men who have surrendered. It may seem like a good idea now, but people will regret it tomorrow. I do now."

"What do you need me to do, sir?" asked Beau.

Anderson sighed before continuing. There would be no returning from what he was about to do, but he saw no other way to stop the carnage and the craziness. Most would never forgive him. Nevertheless, he felt it was the right call.

"Captain, leave a guard for the tanks and take the rest of your men on foot and sweep through the battlefield to get everyone back under control. Have soldiers report to their unit. Anyone who does not have a unit or can't find it is to fall under your command. Any officer you see who refuses to do his duty, you have the authority to relieve on the spot in my name. Anyone who is executing or torturing prisoners is to be arrested. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one, sir," said Beau gravely. "How far am I allowed to go in this?"

Anderson's face was grim as he told Beau to gather his men around so he could tell them all. "Men, I've just given your commander a very key and difficult mission. You have authority to shoot anyone who does not comply. I hope it doesn't come to that, but I fear it will at first. I accept full responsibility. It's up to you to bring the army back under control."

They all nodded that they understood, heading off to do their duty.

*******

Two hours later, it was done. The JP forces were back in their assigned unit positions. They had established a defensive perimeter and sent out patrols to intercept any counterattacks from the south. They also began tending the wounded, burying the dead, and gathering up the prisoners. Jubilation was replaced by soberness as word spread of what had happened.

The final cost of Beau's mission was twenty-two arrested, three relieved, and one dead. Beau reported that they came across a major who was walking down a line of kneeling men and shooting each in the head with a pistol while others looked on.

Beau ordered him to stop. The major shot another man in the head. Beau ordered him relieved of his position and told his men to place him under arrest. The major smiled, took a step to the right, and shot the next man in the head. His soldiers didn't move.

Beau warned the major he would have to shoot him if he did not stop. The major laughed, took a step to the right, put the pistol up to the next man's head, but fell over bleeding when Beau shot him in the back.

The shot broke the spell. Beau ordered all the men to bury the dead and then report to their unit. He took control of the prisoners and continued on his mission with the prisoners in tow.

Although Anderson did not regret his actions, he knew this would not end well. He also knew Reggie Philips would stand behind him, which could endanger Reggie's legitimacy. Anderson couldn't have that. He had come to love the JP too much to see it made vulnerable.

Anderson sent a quick dispatch north to General Butch Matthews to report to him immediately. He did not tell him why, just that it was urgent. He kept his intentions to himself.

He would resign his post to Butch until an official investigation could be conducted into his army's actions. Regardless, he knew dangerous and possibly dark days were ahead.

On the bright side, maybe I'll be able to catch up on my gardening, he mused, looking at the sky.
Chapter 11 – Cease Fire

The reality of the situation hit President Reggie Philips as he walked toward an outdoor tent with the sides rolled up. General Butch Matthews was on his right and General Nathan Taylor on his left. The meeting was requested by the leadership of the WTR following a cease fire. Reggie eagerly accepted the offer, but admitted to himself it was unexpected and a little suspicious. It was also odd that General Sampson was not at this event. No one could yet explain his absence.

As they approached, Reggie noticed only one small unassuming man on the other side of the table. He appeared meek and totally non-threatening. With no sense of hesitation or uncertainty, the man walked around the end of the table and stuck his hand out to Reggie.

"President Philips, what a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ethan Schweitzer," said the small, older man while shaking Reggie's hand in both of his. He turned to the other two, greeted them just as warmly, and invited them to all sit.

"Gentlemen," began Ethan, "let me first thank you all very much on behalf of all the people of the West Tennessee Republic for coming. I hope and pray that our work today will be the beginning of a peaceful relationship that ends all of this ridiculous fighting between our two peaceful people—"

"Sir," said Butch. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I must ask. Where is General Sampson? No talks can go forward without him present."

Ethan looked stricken and uncomfortable. "I apologize, but I must inform you that General Sampson died at the Battle of Fulton. No one is sure exactly how, but there is some evidence that leads us to believe he was accidently killed by his own troops, much like Stonewall Jackson I could say. General Sampson would be honored by the comparison, but regardless, we are conducting a full investigation into the matter. I am here simply as a chosen representative of the people of the WTR."

"And if you do not mind me asking," said Nathan, "just what is your relationship, sorry, was your relationship to General Sampson?"

"I was his chief advisor," said Ethan. "Although he rarely listened to me. I told him this war was a bad idea and would only cause grief and trouble for everyone, but he didn't listen. It gives me no solace to know I was right." Ethan looked as if another thought occurred to him.

"Gentleman, I must tell you before we go further with any sort of negotiations for peace, that most of the WTR was against the war and only participated grudgingly. General Sampson was an absolute military dictator who ruled with an iron fist. I can certainly tell you that the people of the WTR are as happy, if not more so, than you are that General Sampson is no longer in power. I would even hazard to say that if not for General Sampson, there would never have been bad feelings between us, much less this wasteful tragic war."

Ethan seemed to catch himself rambling. "I apologize, I only bring this up in order to humbly request that you deal with the ordinary, peace-loving, and innocent people of the Republic with kindness and understanding. I promise you they will remember it and it will establish a long tradition of respect and gratitude in return for your mercy and understanding."

"If General Sampson is dead," asked Reggie, "then who exactly is in charge of the WTR?"

"Actually, no one." said Ethan with a smile. "I've been asked to represent our people here and serve as an unofficial...facilitator for the public good, as it were, until general elections can be held. We've had enough of dictatorships."

Reggie was becoming wary for some reason, but decided to get down to business. "Well, sir, we appreciate your overtures to us to end this conflict and are open to your proposals."

"Yes," said Ethan. "I appreciate your tact and not wanting to humiliate us, but we should talk straight here. We are here to discuss the terms of our surrender. The cease fire was the first step toward that end, and I pray that another shot will not be fired between us after this day. I again ask you to consider that the war was not against the WTR, but against General Sampson. The common people have been victims of his heavy-handed brutality. I would also like to say that I am here to surrender. We are certainly in no position to quibble, but I am reminded of the lop-sided peace treaties where one side dealt too harshly with the other such as in the World Wars or the Punic Wars. Those unfair treaties led to further and more costly conflicts. I hope today, at this table, we can establish a treaty between us that will allow our children and grandchildren to live in peace."

Butch, who seemed taken aback by the man's openness, cleared his throat. "In the spirit of cooperation, I recommend we begin by exchanging prisoners."

"A splendid idea, sir," said Ethan with an easy smile. "Are you considering a certain ratio of exchange or a simple one for one swap?"

"All for all," said Reggie quickly. "If the war is to be over, then it is to be over for everyone."

Reggie thought for a moment that the man might cry. He looked to be overcome by emotion. "You are as good and as just as they say, Mister President. Thank you!"

"On the other hand," said Butch, "we will need you to hand over any more tanks that you have and fuel for them. They are simply too dangerous. How many do you have?"

"Actually, I don't know," said Ethan after a moment of consideration, "but it will not be a problem. What use could we possibly have for tanks?"

"I'm glad you feel that way," said Butch. "I feel we can trust you to turn them over, but be aware that having even one single tank after we sign the treaty is grounds for the war to begin afresh."

"I understand," said Ethan. "It will not be a problem, I promise you."

"It is also good to hear that you are holding free and democratic elections," said Reggie. "We wish to have friendly relations with your people and propose that we form a military alliance where we agree to come to each other's aid if requested. We also have to insist though that you do not make any other alliances, make war, or make peace with anyone else without our permission."

"Yes, although there doesn't appear to be any other governments left but our two. Nevertheless, it is reasonable," said Ethan. "It's much like the old Roman alliance system."

"Yes, exactly," said Butch, recognizing a fellow historian.

"As part of such a system, are we to pay tribute?" asked Ethan neutrally.

The three men looked at each other and then Nathan spoke. "We were not of the mind to demand reparations, but we must ask that you cede territory we already occupy south of the border in order to make our boundaries more secure."

Ethan nodded. He appeared saddened, but understood. "Yes. I only ask that you allow those citizens living there the right to sell their homes and move south or grant them full JP citizenship rights. They are innocents in all of this, after all."

"That seems reasonable," said Reggie. "We agree."

"Also, sir, if I might be so bold," said Ethan, "although you are not to exact tribute from us, we would like to provide you our previous tax plus twenty-five percent in exchange for the previous amount of electricity that we were receiving."

"That is going to be difficult," said Nathan. "Our dam is currently damaged, and we do not know when it will be repaired or the electricity restored."

"We are willing to pay anyway with the belief that you will repair it and have electricity again," said Ethan. "After all, you are as motivated as we are, and our people will welcome the day they see the bright lights to the north again, because it means prosperity for us, too."

Reggie knew that this had been a point of contention before. Many JP leaders wanted to cut the WTR off completely, but Reggie just couldn't see doing that without fostering the hard feelings Ethan spoke of. It would also tie the WTR to the JP more tightly than any treaty would. "I think that can be arranged."

Ethan smiled and thanked them again with a broad smile. "Gentlemen, I am truly your humble servant and in your debt. Please tell me what else I can do to cement our new relationship. Whatever you ask, I promise to do it, if it is within my power."

"Actually," said Reggie, "we only had one other point and that is toward future prosperity. We wish for trading rights allowing us to sell and trade goods within the WTR and to have free transport on all of its roads and waterways. Tied to that, I would like us to have an agreement where we respect the rights of one another's citizens when they are traveling within our respective areas."

"Sir," said Ethan, "very prudent points and wise. Might we also be allowed to trade in your jurisdiction and use your roads?"

Reggie felt slightly uncomfortable. "That will be a point for the future. I hope that we will eventually reach such a relationship, but the time is not now. My people would never accept such a situation, but might given enough time. Rest assured, I believe it will happen eventually."

Ethan again nodded, ruefully. "Yes, you are right; it was presumptuous for me to ask such a thing. You have already shown yourselves to be merciful, and I ask for more than you can give. Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," said Reggie. "You are simply looking out for the welfare of your people."

All of them nodded and looked at each other expectantly. Nathan abruptly broke the silence, "Who is Gabriel?"

Ethan looked confused, "Excuse me?"

Nathan's instinct told him there was something here. "The assassin your government sent to kill President Phillips said he worked for a man called Gabriel. Who is he?"

"Sir," began Ethan looking alarmed, "please believe me when I say that must have been General Sampson's doing and we were mortified when we heard of it. No one in the WTR would have committed such a cowardly and heinous act."

Nathan stared hard at the meek man in front of him. He looked like wind would blow him over, but Nathan thought something wasn't right. "You haven't answered my question. Who is Gabriel?"

"I don't know!" wailed Ethan, looking like he was on the verge of tears. "Please believe me, I don't know a Gabriel; we had nothing to do with that! You must believe me."

"We believe you," said Reggie putting his hand on Nathan's arm. "Nathan, it's okay."

There was silence again and Reggie broke it this time, "Well, gentlemen, I believe we are in agreement. We can have the documents drawn up and signed by the representatives of each of our territories and published for all to see. Until then, can we all assume the points we have agreed upon to be in effect? Can we also assume that you have the authority to agree to the terms we've spoken of today?"

"Indeed, I can, on both issues," said Ethan. They all stood up and shook hands. All parties left pleased with the result and hopeful for the future.

Ethan left as the most pleased of all. His plans were progressing exactly as planned and he was one step closer to his ultimate objective. He would have to keep an eye on that Nathan Taylor fellow though, Ethan thought to himself.
Chapter 12 – The Water Flows

Harold Buchannan stood with Jim Meeks on the top of the dam. It seemed to him that every waking moment since the attack was spent here. Today, he hoped was the day he could get back to somewhat of a normal life and look after other things.

Although the priority was to repair the locks and the problems within the dam, they had also planned and executed the southern offensive. That campaign seemed to have miraculously broken the WTR's back and won the war in one swift stroke.

As the military governor, Harold's duties had increased during that critical time, and he missed the days when he worked under Nathan as deputy. Now his duties were about to change again.

"I heard the WTR signed the treaty," commented Jim.

Harold nodded. "The terms were fair; we could have been a lot harder on them. I bet the worst part was giving up territory to us."

As part of the peace treaty, new territory was added to the JP including land south of the LBL. The initial thought was to simply create new counties out of the territory, but Harold thought wiser minds prevailed. Fearing those areas would continue to associate themselves with the WTR, the JP leadership decided to add the new territory into the bordering JP counties to the north which meant that Calloway, Graves, and Hickman Counties gained substantial territory to the south. LBL also added a large strip of land.

"They'll be better off with us," said Jim. "The WTR, or whatever the hell they want to call themselves, is in shambles."

"They seem to have a good competent leader now from what I hear," commented Harold.

Jim laughed skeptically. "We'll see. Speaking of which, are you ready for the new job?"

The next week, Harold Buchannan would transition from military governor to county executive for the new JP county of New Harvest. Jim Meeks would be promoted to colonel and assume duties as the newly formed New Harvest Regimental Commander. Captain Green also received recognition for his actions at Fulton. He was recently promoted to battalion commander of one of the newly formed regular army forces made up primarily of his own men from Fort Campbell.

"I'm not sure," answered Harold truthfully. "Seems like a long way from Hancock."

Jim smiled. "You got that right." He slapped Harold lightly on the back, an unusually exuberant show of affection for the big man. "Don't worry, boss. You'll be great."

Harold hoped he was right. He would settle for not being a total disaster. Overall, the general feeling in the air was one of hope, confidence, and satisfaction. Before the war, there seemed to be an attitude of trepidation and uncertainty, but nearly overnight those feelings changed. Harold thought it was the result of a group of individuals growing stronger, closer, and more aware of themselves as a people due to adversity and victory. He had to admit he had some of those same feelings himself.

The problems with the dam were the only observable cloud in an otherwise clear sky, and hopefully those issues would be resolved soon. John Downing had the idea of asking the Murray State University Engineering Department for help when his own people reached their wit's end. The students and faculty came not only to help, but also stated they would stay until the problem was found and resolved.

One professor told Harold, "This is an excellent learning experience for the students and likely the place where many of them would end up working, anyway." After seeing the students in action, Harold felt more confident of what the future would bring.

The college students brought a sense of optimism, enthusiasm, and cockiness. Normally, Harold found these attitudes annoying, but given the current dam workers sense of defeat and dejection, this was just what was needed. Within a few days, they not only identified the primary problem but also came up with a plan to manufacture the necessary replacement parts.

An ingenious graduate student also found several inherent problems that were preventing the electrical generators from running at optimal performance and corrected those issues. They thought once the dam was back up and running, it could go back to full capacity, eliminating the blackout periods the JP routinely experienced. Harold promised to find all the students jobs whenever they wanted them.

The water level of the lakes finally reached a point where it could turn the turbines and create electricity. Although the lock doors were damaged, the crews were able to seal them shut by permanently welding them. Harold thought the days of heavy barges transiting the locks were either long past or pretty far in the future. If they needed the lock doors to open, they could deal with that issue later. As it was, it would still take time to raise the water back to normal level. For now, they hoped to have enough water pressure to create electricity.

John Downing ran up to Harold and Jim. "We think we're ready. Should we open the turbine doors?"

Harold nodded and said, "Yes, but only one dam door for now. If we get electricity, then open the next one and so on. It will save us a lot of trouble if this doesn't work." Without electricity, the heavy dam doors were manually cranked open, no easy task.

John turned and ran off. Harold thought he looked younger and spryer than he had ever seen him. Maybe it was having some help and not feeling like everything was on his shoulders. Perhaps it was simply the new feeling of optimism. Regardless, Harold liked it and laid to rest previous worries about John Downing.

"Think it will work?" asked Jim.

"I really do," said Harold. "Although as a rule I try to hedge my bets against disappointment. Not sure how to do that here."

"Me either. We're going to have a lot of upset people if we can't get this thing running again." Jim started to say more, but they heard the heavy grinding noise of one of the dam doors sliding open. The noise went on for perhaps thirty seconds and then stopped. Everyone heard the water rushing out the other side of the dam and looked at each other expectantly.

Harold stared at the dead light bulb nearby for several long minutes and then dropped his head.

"We'll figure it out, boss, don't worry," said Jim. Just then they heard the grinding noise again. Must be the dam door being closed, thought Harold.

Harold shook his head. "If these big brains can't figure it out, I'm not sure what we're going to do." They then heard the grinding noise again and Harold wondered if they were trying another door. Possibly there was a problem with a single turbine. He felt a flicker of hope.

Jim leaned out over the wall and waved Harold over. They looked down and saw that three of the doors were opened. The water was rushing through to the rivers on the other side. "I'm going to kill John," said Harold.

About that time, John came back up the stairs from below with a wide grin and nearly skipped up to them. He noticed Harold glaring at him with his one good eye and stopped, his smile vanishing.

"What?" he asked.

Harold suppressed the urge to grab the man by the collar and simply pointed at the dead light bulb.

John looked at the bulb without comprehension and then smiled, "Oh that, forgot to tell you, we haven't diverted the power to main supply yet; we're charging all the internal systems and batteries. Should take about an hour and then we can switch over to main power."

Harold stared at the man in amazement and then he heard Jim's robust laugh. Jim grabbed John in a bear hug. "It works?" asked Harold cautiously.

"Yes," said John with a smile. "Better than before. The output levels are way up."

Harold saw everyone looking at them with trepidation. They were unsure yet what had happened.

"It works!" he yelled at them as loud as he could. The cheering and celebration along the top of the dam and the shore was like a wave as the word passed. They were back in the modern age.
Chapter 13 – A Lifetime of Service

Clarence Anderson heard the knock on his front door and was pleased to find Beau Myers. He greeted him warmly and asked him in for a cup of hot tea. Anderson could tell right away that Beau was upset about something and he probably knew why.

The last few weeks were euphoric, but also difficult for Anderson. While they all celebrated the victory over the WTR, many took sides over Anderson's actions following the Battle of Fulton. Some even tried to blame Beau and save Anderson the disgrace, but Anderson refused to let that happen.

General Nathan Taylor's official investigation was quick and efficient. It cleared General Anderson of any criminal actions or negligence. His overall performance at the Battle of Fulton was officially applauded. Despite this, Anderson knew that a cloud would hang over him for the rest of his life, casting a shadow over everyone he was around. This was why he resigned his position officially after he was cleared, entering his second retirement.

Although the retirement was bittersweet, the days back in his little house collecting his thoughts, gardening, and writing in his journals felt good. Peace and acceptance came upon him. Although he wished the actions he was forced to take at the battle had not happened, he still felt they were necessary and had probably saved the army from chaos and shame it may never have overcome. His biggest regret was that he had involved Captain Beau Myers.

Anderson imagined that was why Beau wished to talk to him. He saw he was right by the official orders in the young man's hand. Although he had been polite so far—and Anderson made a point of being oblivious to Beau's bubbling emotion—he knew they would have a serious talk soon. He prepared the tea and they sat.

"Okay," said Anderson with resignation. "Let's have it."

Beau could barely contain himself. "How could you?" he asked while slapping the orders down on the table. Anderson did not have to look at the orders; he already knew what they said. He had signed them as his last official duty before resigning.

"Son, you have no reason to follow my path," said Anderson compassionately. "What we did was my decision and I bear the responsibility alone. This is not on you."

"It was me that killed that man! And before you say you ordered me to, I don't regret it, but killing that sack of shit wasn't your decision. It was mine!" said Beau with more emotion than Anderson had ever seen.

Anderson tried to feel his way through this carefully. "Beau, why exactly are you so angry?"

Beau looked exasperated. "Because of the things they have said! We would have lost the war without you! Hell, there wouldn't even have been an army to fight back if it weren't for you. And now they are talking about you like you are the devil!"

Anderson smiled. "It is the way of the world. Besides, what they think about me has no bearing whatsoever on whom I am. It was actually time for me to retire. I felt old before this all started. And anyway, what does that have to do with you resigning your commission? How is that going to fix things?"

"It will show them they are wrong," said Beau with conviction. "Also, I don't want to be associated with an organization that would force you out like this."

"First of all," said Anderson, "they didn't force me into anything. I retired by my own choice and it was the right decision. Second of all, the significance of your resignation would be lost on everyone and only result in weakening us in the days to come. We will need soldiers like you. Son, my days are past, but yours are ahead. Do not let what others say keep you from fulfilling what you were meant to do and are good at."

"Good at?" Beau threw his hand up in the air. "Sir, I'm only here because of you."

"That's not true," said Anderson forcefully. "You are a strong, courageous, capable leader, and only you seem to have trouble seeing that. Beau, I'm not given to taking on strays because I like them. As a matter of fact, most people disappoint me as much as I disappoint myself. I took you on and gave you responsibility and opportunity, because I thought you were worth it. And you know what? You are!"

"Come on," said Beau, turning away.

"Stop it," said Anderson. "You're either playing dumb, or embarrassed, or self-delusional. We don't have time for that anymore. I appreciate a man who is humble, but I cannot pardon a man who uses that modesty as an excuse to keep from doing his best or avoiding his duty. Beau, everything we have fought to protect will need you to protect it again, have no doubt. Probably sooner than we think."

Beau was quiet for a moment. "It was still my decision. You could have talked to me instead of simply denying my request to resign. I feel like I'm stuck doing this against my will."

"Well, I'm talking to you about it now," said Anderson trying not to let his impatience show. "Evidently, I have a bad habit of doing that. Ask Nathan Taylor for one. It's because I see you are making a mistake and I want to spare you that, but you're right. It should be your decision. If you really want to resign, then let me know and I'll talk to General Matthews. He'll agree to it. But...before you decide to do something like that, I want you to be able to explain to me and yourself why you're doing it, and don't give me any crap about showing them they made a mistake about me."

Beau looked at him for a long moment. "You'll really get it approved if it's what I want?"

Anderson sighed with dismay. "Yes, I will, but I still think it's a mistake. I guess you've earned the right to make it."

Beau stood there, thinking. "I'd like some time to think about it and let you know if that is okay. I'd also like to talk to..." Beau stopped suddenly and reddened.

"Huh, talk to whom? I didn't get that last part," said Anderson.

"Nothing. Just wanted to sleep on it."

"Right," said Anderson with amusement. "You want to talk to that pretty nurse you met. I heard you two were getting rather close."

Beau started to turn even redder and stammer some sort of awkward reply, but Anderson cut him off.

"Don't be embarrassed, son. She's a fine girl. I wish you both the best." Anderson became nostalgic. "Believe me when I tell you life is short. I wasted time I didn't have and should have spent with my Rita. She was gone before I was ready. Don't waste time when you know what you want. But, if you two are going to make a life together, she should be involved in a decision such as this. That would be very wise, wiser than I was when I was in your shoes, to include her."

"What happened with you and your wife?" asked Beau.

"That's a long sad story, not worth the telling," answered Anderson. "Just understand that someone you love, respect, and can make a life with is a rare thing. Don't just brush past it. That may not ever come along again. Do you understand me?"

"I think so," said Beau, smiling. "She really is wonderful."

Anderson just smiled and poured the tea.

"Doesn't it bother you though?" asked Beau.

"What?" asked Anderson.

"That after so many years of service, it's all to end like this."

"It hurts," said Anderson. "But not everything that hurts is bad for us. I've served my entire adult life, nearly forty years in uniform. Those years have been better than I could have ever hoped. I've done much and seen more. I've had the opportunity to experience life to its fullest and understand how precious and precarious it is. What I have given my whole life to serve has in return served me well. It has always been my passion to give myself totally to something worthy of that service, and I found it, both in the US and in the JP. So, you're asking me if at the end of the road I'm upset by how it ended?"

"I guess so," said Beau.

"Have you ever heard of Socrates?" asked Anderson.

"Yes, the Greek philosopher who trained Plato."

"Very good," said Anderson. "At the end of his life, he was convicted of treason on trumped up charges. They simply wanted to banish him, but he would have none of that. He forced their hand so that they condemned him to death. Even after this, friends found a way for him to escape with his life. He could have gone away from the city of Athens that had wronged him and taken his life. Do you know what he did?"

"He drank the hemlock anyway."

"Yes," said Anderson. "But before that, he told his friends why and it is captured in writing by his student Plato. Socrates told them a man who had enjoyed the benefits of his country his entire life, lived under its protection, and prospered through its gifts, has no right to begrudge anything that nation asks afterwards. A man can leave his nation at any time, but he who waits to do so only when his country asks something of him is no patriot. Socrates willingly gave his life because he was a patriot. It made no difference to him that his nation was wrong to ask his life of him. It was what was demanded and he willingly gave it. Socrates was a true patriot, one I have hoped to emulate. Retirement is a poor comparison to death." Anderson sat back and smiled. "I have no reason to feel bitter. I have had a good life and I've gotten much from my country. Both of them."

Anderson looked at Beau and hoped that what he was saying sank in. "Beau, this new land of ours is worthy of our best service. It is a fragile candle flame in a dark and stormy world. There is madness and death out there, but here we are protecting humanity itself from sinking into brutality and baseness. The JP needs men like us who are willing to devote our lives to its protection. There are not many like us, and rest assured, if you serve it you will not be appreciated and may end up vilified, but it is still worthy of our best service."

"You're still not leaving me much choice," said Beau with a slight smile.

"Maybe, but mainly I'm telling you that the fire in your heart, and that desire to seek after something worthy of your efforts, can be found in a life of service to your home and your people. Whether or not those people appreciate your service is irrelevant."

Beau sat quietly for a moment. "Sir, I appreciate you taking time to talk. I'm also grateful for everything you have done for me."

"Say nothing of it. Again, I had my selfish motives. I saw what you were and who you could become," Anderson said sincerely.

"So," asked Beau, "what will you do now that you are retired and your life of service is over?"

Anderson smiled. "What makes you think my service is over just because I'm not wearing a uniform anymore? Haven't you been listening? A devotion to service is not a job; it's a life. It will end when I'm dead."

"Well, what do you intend to do now then?"

"I don't quite know yet," said Anderson quietly. "Rest assured, something will come up."
Chapter 14 – Address to a Nation

"This is Tim Reynolds of WKPO's voice of the Jackson Purchase!" said the characteristically cheerful voice. "Today, we have a special treat. I have President Reggie Philips here to talk about all the dynamic happenings in the last few months, and what a time it has been! Welcome, sir."

"Thank you very much, Tim," said Reggie. "It's good to be here."

"Let's start off with the most practical topic of discussion considering the broadcast, the repair of the dam, and the return of electricity."

"Yes, Tim, that is a wonderful thing and it's due to the tireless efforts of many people," said Reggie. "I want to thank all the men and women who helped with this project, and also mention the Murray State University Engineering Department, which played a key role."

"We've heard rumors," said Tim, "that the dam is working better than ever, and it might mean a reduction, or even an end, of the blackout periods."

"Yes, that is a possibility," said Reggie, "but it's too early to know for certain. We're taking steps to slowly increase the loads on our systems and see what they can take and what is sustainable. The last thing we want to do it overload everything again."

"Very exciting possibility," said Tim. "Let's turn to our other major topic, the surrender of the West Tennessee Republic following our stunning victories at the Battles of Fulton and Kentucky Dam. Tell me, Reggie, how did you feel when that moment finally came and you knew it was over?"

"It was a wonderful feeling," said Reggie, "but I also want to let everyone know that the WTR has suffered terribly under the brutal dictatorship of General Sampson. They were just as much victims of his aggression and ambition as we were, and now that he is gone, they can go on toward peaceful and productive lives. I also want to thank all the people of the JP for their sacrifice during this trying time, including the citizens of Paducah who had to fight off a surprise invader and did so against overwhelming odds."

Tim flipped through a notebook. "Reggie, I've been looking over the peace treaty and it's clear that the JP made out quite well, particularly in gaining territory. How do you see those new lands and people fitting in with us?"

"Thanks, Tim," said Reggie. "I'm glad you brought that up. First of all, let me state that acquiring territory was never a goal of ours, but something we decided was necessary to secure our southern border. Before, the border was an arbitrary line on a map; now it is tied to key terrain, which will make the border more permanent.

"I want to stress to everyone that our newest citizens of the newly acquired territory, in addition to those of New Harvest County, are full and equal citizens of the JP and should be treated as such. Any person who treats one of these differently is not only acting selfishly, but not in the best interests of the whole. The war is now over, and it will take work for us to move forward, but move forward we must."

"Reggie, I've also read and heard that following the upcoming elections, we'll no longer be called the Jackson Purchase. Can you talk a little about that?"

"Sure, Tim," said Reggie. "I'm sure everyone knows that the JP was never really an official name of any sort of government, but was only initially intended to designate a geographic area. Due to the need to settle a peace treaty with the WTR, it became evident that we had to establish a more formal government and give it a name. The JP name didn't work because parts of the new territories were outside this geographical area. After much deliberation, it was decided that the new name of our nation, and rest assured that is what we are now, will be called Kentahten."

"Say again?"

"Ken-tah-ten," said Reggie slowly. "It was actually the Iroquoian Indian name for this area before early settlers Anglicized the name to Kentucky. Kentahten means 'Land of Tomorrow' in Iroquois, and we couldn't think of a more fitting name for our new endeavor.

"Kentahten. And what sort of government can we expect?" asked Tim. "If I understand correctly, that hasn't been fully ironed out."

"On the contrary," said Reggie, "the county executives right now are finishing up a document that will be to us, what the Constitution was to early America. As a matter of fact, much of it is based on the Constitution. Essentially the county executives and their council will remain in place to run the counties, but we will also have a unicameral senate with three elected representatives from each county. This group will be the senior law-making body of the government. They are also working to solidify the existing court system to give it more permanent authority."

"Speaking of elections," said Tim, "I understand that you are to be sworn in as the acting president of this new government until the actual elections are conducted. Is that true and are you planning to run for re-election?"

"Yes," said Reggie, "that is true. I will be installed as soon as the new government document is approved and signed by all the country representatives. I have been asked to let my name be on the ballot for the position when those elections occur in the next few weeks, and I have agreed. As far as campaigning, I've never much liked it myself, so don't expect to see me out there drumming up votes, especially since I'm still helping my wife to recover."

"Yes, very nasty business that was," said Tim distastefully, "and you've asked me not to talk about the assassination attempt, so we'll move on, but elections in a few weeks?" asked Tim. "Do you think that will be enough time to get elections set up?"

"We believe so," said Reggie. "We also believe it should be a priority to legitimize our new government. Although I was the elected Lieutenant Governor of Kentucky, I've not really been elected to anything here, so the people need to decide on their own."

"Oh, I can't see how you could lose, sir, or who would vote against you."

"That remains to be seen. If I'm re-elected, it will be my honor to continue to serve, and if not, I will do all in my power to support the people's choice."

"One more topic, since we're running out of time," said Tim hurriedly. "Tell the listeners about the new currency that is due to come out soon."

"Yes," said Reggie. "That's another aspect of the new government that will take effect soon. I'm sure everyone has noticed that although a barter system may meet our basic needs, it makes it rather difficult to conduct business. We will soon begin circulating paper dollars that are backed up by a huge supply of iron from the mines in New Harvest. As you know, iron has become an extremely precious commodity. Rest assured that these paper dollars will retain their value and can be trusted and exchanged for iron at any time."

"Reggie, we've only got a few minutes left. Is there anything else you would like to say to the listeners out there?"

"Yes I would," said Reggie. "I just wanted to again say how very proud I am to be one of you today. We have become a community and have stood many tests in the past few weeks. We have proven that we are strong and capable of much when we work together.

"My friends, never forget this moment or what we are capable of, especially now as we embark as a new nation. These are exciting times and proof that humanity can salvage itself out of the chaos and destruction that is all around us. I applaud you all and thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Tim nodded and smiled. "Thank you very much, Mister Philips, for your time and your sentiments which I'm sure most of us share today. A proud day for everyone in the JP. Remember it well. This is Tim Reynolds signing off for now as the voice of the JP. Stay strong, friends."
Chapter 15 – The World Outside

CONFIDENTIAL REPORT

EYES ONLY FOR: Jackson Purchase President Reginald Philips

SUBJECT: Identification of WTR Spy within the JP - Initial Report

FROM: Brigadier General Nathan Taylor, Director, Strategic Security Agency

Mr. President,

I would like to begin my report by applauding the diligent efforts of the state troopers. Although counterintelligence is not part of their normal duties, they have exceeded all my expectations and are to be commended for their diligent work.

We have been able to successfully identify a WTR infiltrator in the USECO Complex (full identification withheld from this report for security purposes). He is a maintenance man and groundskeeper at the facility. He was able to listen in on the side discussions and report what he heard to his handler in the WTR.

The man was recruited through leverage on his mother who lived in Western Tennessee. His handler told him his elderly mother would be taken care of if he helped them, but if not, they couldn't guarantee her safety. In the end, the man had felt like he had no choice but to cooperate.

The man's biggest concern is now for the safety of his mother, and he hopes his handler did not learn that he has been caught. I believe this situation could present us with an opportunity. We could allow the man to continue providing information, but in reality, he would be working for my new intelligence service. Such an arrangement would allow us to pass disinformation along and also hopefully allow us to learn about the WTR intelligence network. It is risky, but in my judgment, worth the gamble.

We have unfortunately been able to learn little about the WTR handler. What we have gathered indicates a highly-trained professional in espionage tradecraft and operational security. Full identification of this individual will be one of the primary objectives of the above operation.

The infiltrator also has information indicating that he is not the only recruited spy within the JP. He does not possess any information specific enough to identify these individuals, but we are opening cases and using his information to build subject profiles.

Sir, I will continue to keep you informed of the above situations as they develop. As always, I welcome your thoughts and guidance.

Respectfully,

ORIGINAL SIGNED

Brigadier General Nathan Taylor

ORIGINAL SIGNED

President Reginald Philips with the words "See me ASAP!" written in the president's hand.

*******

CONFIDENTIAL REPORT

EYES ONLY FOR: Jackson Purchase Senior Council Officials and Military Commanders - Further Dissemination is Unauthorized Without Written Approval of the Undersigned

SUBJECT: Intelligence Situation Report

FROM: Brigadier General Nathan Taylor, Director, Strategic Security Agency

The Strategic Security Agency over the last month has been monitoring shortwave radio transmissions using local trusted volunteers. Each was given particular bandwidths to monitor and report on what they heard of interest. Although my expectations were low, I have been surprised by the amount of radio traffic and the information they gathered.

It is apparent that what we would describe as the civilized world is now limited to the Southeast Asian nations with Thailand, Indonesia, Singapore, Vietnam, Australia, and New Zealand as the world's leaders in every area. Although South America and Africa were spared widespread nuclear bombardment, they were behind Southeast Asia in development and production. N-Day appears to have set off a fresh wave of continent-wide violent chaos in Africa, which continues even now.

North America, Europe, Northern Asia, China, India, and Southwest Asia are now largely nuclear wastelands where little lives and any hope for recovery is probably unknown decades in the future. Fortunately, the nuclear fallout clouds and debris were limited to the central part of the northern hemisphere and have dissipated more quickly and easily than anyone could have predicted before N-Day.

The majority of the radio traffic we have intercepted is from the Southeast Asia Basin or from Spanish broadcasts in Latin and South America, but there were some other surprising signal sources. Although the southern edge of Canada near the Great Lakes and Vancouver took direct nuclear hits, most of the rest of the country was left untouched. The people there appear to have utilized their natural resources and ingenuity to form communities similar to the JP, despite their obvious disadvantages of extreme weather and isolation.

We are also regularly monitoring transmissions from something called The Alaskan Free State, which gives indications of a functioning highly-developed government of its own.

I have carefully considered the pros and cons of attempting to make official shortwave radio contact with these elements in Alaska and Canada, but could not see the benefit since we are too far away to help each other or provide practical information. I decided to let our radio operators talk to counterparts in these areas, but any sort of diplomatic relations are unnecessary and probably ridiculous, given the circumstances.

There are also radio transmissions from within the United States, but these are mostly pitiful in their loneness and abject despair. Others are often frightening in their threats of violence or proud proclamations of despicable deeds. There are also some indications of militant organized tribal groups forming to the west. These groups are aggressive and appear bent on conquest and destruction. I have forbidden the radio operators from communicating with any of these sources. We don't know how dangerous these elements are, but the less they know about the JP, the better.

The radio operators have on occasion picked up bits and pieces of information about something called Continuity of Government, possibly in Colorado. We know that before the war, the United States had post-nuclear war contingency plans to save key government leaders and continue the government. We do not know for certain if there are remnants of the American government holed up in some mountain fortress or if this is a false hope. Regardless, the information is so limited as to make it nearly useless.

The radio broadcasts have further emphasized how fortunate the JP was compared to the rest of the country. All the major cities in the United States took at least one direct nuclear hit and many more than one. Following the attacks, the nuclear fallout drifted east with the prevailing winds and weather patterns. All the major cities near the JP were to the east, north, or south. The closest city to the west hit by a nuke was Wichita, and it only sustained a smaller strike resulting in almost no fallout settling in the JP.

Although people in the JP still occasionally show signs of mild radiation sickness, this is nothing compared to the reports we've heard of piles of decayed bodies in the streets and cities across America. In short, the situation outside the JP, especially in high population density areas, is dire.

We cannot count on any outside help and may need to be prepared to defend what we have. Fortune has smiled upon us to date, but we cannot gamble the lives of our families on the hope that she will continue to do so.

We are surrounded by enemies and death. Retreat is impossible. We must prepare ourselves for the worst to come.

Respectfully,

ORIGINAL SIGNED

Brigadier General Nathan Taylor
Chapter 16 – Farewell

The last month was difficult for Reggie. He was glad it would all be over soon. Never in his life had he been attacked and vilified so publically and unfairly. His opponent had come out of nowhere, a former lawyer from Carlisle County who was willing to do whatever it took to win. Reggie was unwilling to do the same, and most said that was what cost him the election by a very narrow margin.

Reggie wasn't so upset that Paul Campbell said such hateful lies, but that so many were willing to believe them. He had been part of politics long enough to know that integrity and honor did not trump intense ambition, and thus, some men were willing to sell their very souls for power. It was obvious Campbell was one of those. Reggie's greatest fear was that Campbell's ambition and selfishness would destroy the fledgling nation they had fought so hard to create.

"Five minutes, sir," said a man at Reggie's shoulder. Reggie nodded in return. It would all be over today. He would present his farewell speech in an outdoor arena to the Executive Council and any other civilians who chose to attend. Reggie couldn't get a feel for the number of people there, but it seemed to be rather large. WKPO was also broadcasting his address live over the airwaves.

"All things come to an end. Don't be such a baby," he said, making himself smile a little. His wife balanced on her crutches saw the smile and squeezed his arm. She gave him a peck on the cheek, which made him feel a whole lot better. Not all of this was bad. Retirement did have its advantages.

Reggie spotted Paul Campbell in the crowd, shaking hands and slapping backs. It had taken every bit of willpower Reggie possessed to congratulate him and concede the election once the ballots were in. Campbell was gracious in victory as he could afford to be, but it did not take back all of the things that had passed between them. Reggie considered not congratulating him, but people were watching and expected it. Civility and courtesy, even their shallow displays, were important, maybe now more than ever.

Despite the attacks, Reggie was still surprised he lost. All the negative issues that were exaggerated by Campbell were things beyond his control or issues he had worked hard to resolve. The war, of course, was a major issue, as were the actions after the Battle of Fulton. People were angry about the loss of electricity and the burning of Paducah, but all of that was really to be expected. What had probably done the most damage were the claims of disloyalty to the JP due to the less than harsh terms levied on the WTR at the peace table. People wanted blood, but they just couldn't seem to understand that such a road demanded further war or total annihilation of the enemy. Reggie didn't have the heart for either and wanted more for his people.

Reggie's musings were interrupted by his introduction and the applause. He squeezed his wife's hand and made his way up to the platform and a podium. The speaker shook his hand and then dashed off the other end of the stage. Reggie turned toward the people and was momentarily speechless at the size of the crowd. There had to be several thousand attendees and they all seemed to be cheering for him. Reggie fought back emotion. He had never considered himself needy or overly emotional, but the recent attacks had undermined his self-worth more than he admitted.

He looked down at the first row and saw friends and colleagues smiling back at him. Many of them had sacrificed as much or more than he. He looked them each in the eye, Clarence Anderson, Butch Matthews, Nathan Taylor, Harold Buchannan, Jim Meeks, and many friends from the council who had worked with him in good times and bad. Reggie instantly recognized a bond with these men born out of adversity and strife and sealed in victory. The public may not realize it or appreciate that sacrifice, but this made it all the more special and worthy of pride.

As the crowds began to sit down in groups on blankets and lawn chairs, Reggie saw Brazen, standing there, smiling at him. Before the ceremony, he approached Reggie and gave him the other quote he carried with him everywhere. That quote was more apt and fitting now, and Reggie decided on a whim to use it.

"Thank you, my friends. Thank you," said Reggie as the applause died down completely. "Let me first thank you all for coming today. We should all be proud that we can gather like this." There was a fresh wave of applause, and Reggie waited for it to end before continuing.

"I would like to talk about my pride in my fellow citizens, my hopes for our new nation, and my dreams of a bright future," said Reggie. He paused. "But first there is something else I must talk about. Some may say it is in bad form, but this is more than likely the last public address I will ever make, so I ask you all to bear with me and grant me some latitude." There was some uncomfortable shifting and nervous laughter.

"Let me first say that many of the things said about me, my family, and other men and women who sacrificed so much for the public good were not only lies"—Reggie paused to let the word sink in. He noticed that his nervousness was gone and he was angry. He would have to be careful—"but also hurtful, unfair, irresponsible, and demeaning to those who have done nothing but give you their best. This campaign has been shameful and is embarrassing. We as a people are better than this." Reggie heard grumbles and some words of anger, but saw Brazen's encouraging smile and continued on.

"We keep talking about getting the world back to the way it was, back to the good old times. Well, friends, I've got to break it to you...not everything about the old world was good, including our lack of general courtesy and civility toward each other." Reggie saw some looks of confusion, but the majority just looked uncomfortable.

"I know some will think my remarks quaint, but civility and courtesy are important. They are important because we cannot live together in a civilized society filled with light and decency and goodness without civility and common courtesy. These are the oil that allows the machinery of civilization to run, and before N-Day, these traits were starting to break down, even if we didn't want to admit it. Not everything about the old world was worthy of emulating. We lived in a world where any act of nobility, selflessness service, or personal sacrifice was so unnatural as to be incomprehensible. We can do better...we have to do better."

Reggie decided that he wasn't really speaking to the people he was looking at, but to all the listeners on radios gathered in clusters across their new country. He decided to speak to them. "We have a rare opportunity here to make a new nation, a new world...better than the old, but it will not be given to us. We must use the ingenuity, hard work, and cooperation that our forefathers did when they hacked a life out of the wilderness. Were they better than we are, stronger? Were they more able than we, more courageous? I dare say no! The difference is that they were ready and willing to do whatever it took to survive and build better lives for their children and their children's children. We must demonstrate that same spirit, and soon."

"The war with the WTR has ended, and a peace that I pray will last is secured. But the world is still a dangerous place, and we will be a target for generations to come. We cannot afford to go back to the ways of the old world, the corruption, the lies, the deceit, the manipulation, the baseness, the senseless anger, and the acts of violence! We want more, and we must have more if we are to survive." Reggie realized that he was nearly yelling and people were looking at him with shock. None of them had ever seen him like this.

Reggie took a deep breath. "Friends, we have to open our eyes. This nation we have made here out of the death and destruction is a good thing. Maybe even a unique thing, a light on a hill, but it is fragile still. This country is not a bunch of elected officials, or government structure, or bureaucracy...it is you and I, us, all of us working together toward something larger than ourselves, for the succeeding generations." Reggie suddenly felt spent and tired and run down. He had said what he had been holding in. He had said his piece. Well, almost.

"One more thing, friends and neighbors, and I will retire from you in every sense of the word." Reggie pulled out the piece of wrinkled paper Brazen had given him and unfolded it carefully. "I have a saying here given to me by a friend." Reggie smiled at Brazen who nodded back. "It was written many years ago by an American president who had seen and endured much adversity and had many unfair and hurtful things said about him. I feel it is apt now, and I would like to close with his words rather than any of my own." Reggie paused and looked out over the crowds before looking down at the quote and continuing.

"'It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.' President Theodore Roosevelt, 1910."

Reggie drew in a deep breath and looked over the crowd. It was enough; he could rest now. "Thank you all for giving me the opportunity to serve you. That service has been the most distinct and greatest honor of my life. Good evening to all of you, and God bless us all." Reggie turned and walked off the stage, and there was a moment of stunned silence before applause erupted like an oncoming wave.

Reggie first met his wife and gave her a hug and a kiss before they were both mobbed by people slapping his back, shaking his hand, and trying to talk to him. Reggie discovered that at that very moment he really did not care for any of it. He had no ill will toward them. Quite the contrary. But his soul craved peace and tranquility, like a starving man craved food. "Let's go home," he whispered in Janice's ear, and she smiled and kissed him again.

With the help of friends, they were able to extricate themselves from the crowd and make their way over to the horse and buggy. Reggie helped Janice in while someone held her crutches. He then climbed up, waving to everyone, and Reggie had a sudden flashback to their wedding day thirty-eight years ago. He recognized how strangely similar the two scenes were. Reggie couldn't think of a better or more-welcome memory to come to mind. He sat high on the seat with his wife beside him and looked out over the crowd cheering them. Reggie didn't know if he had done a good job, but he knew he had done his best, and it was enough. His work was done.

Reggie waved one final time, slapped the reins on the horse's rump, and rode toward home and the peace he felt they had earned. It was a wonderful ending and also a promising beginning.

Theirs was a new world, if not filled with hope, then at least a tiny spark, a glimmer of hope that just might be enough.
Epilogue

Ethan Schweitzer was dead tired, but proud of his accomplishments. He had been in constant motion since the death of General Sampson, and he finally thought things were secure enough for him to relax and get a full night's sleep for once. Ethan made a quick decision to stop work early this evening and eat a good meal before getting to bed early. It was already dark outside, but the electrical lights kept the night at bay.

He reached over and pushed a button, which rang a buzzer down the hall. A uniformed aide appeared several moments later. "Yes, Mister President," he said.

"Tonight I would like beef ravioli in a white cream sauce. Also, a glass of Chianti," said Ethan after some deliberation.

"Very good, Mister President," said the man. "Would you like anything while it is being prepared, perhaps some fresh bread with butter?"

"No, that is all," said Ethan dismissively.

The aide walked backwards out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him. They were all scared of him now, and that was just the way Ethan wanted it. They had reason to be scared. He would not hesitate to destroy any of them if they got in his way or threatened his vision of his future. Most men would probably justify their ambition and actions by saying it was best for the people or the country or society. Not Ethan. He knew his ambitions and his current position were about him. He was not embarrassed by this knowledge.

Everything was shaping up nicely. The tribute paid to the JP had been difficult to stomach, but it was worth it to get the electricity back on and secure peace. Besides, he felt confident that they would get the territory back they had lost and reverse roles with the JP. It may not happen immediately, but it would happen. Ethan already had plans in the works, and he almost always got what he wanted given time.

He was very pleased with the way the JP elections had gone. Not only was General Anderson out of power, but now that sanctimonious Reggie Philips was gone from the picture as well. Paul Campbell was not initially happy about running for the office, or campaigning in the manner that Ethan directed, but what choice did he have? Ethan had Campbell's only son.

Finding his son had really been a matter of chance. The boy was on the way home from the University of Memphis on N-Day. He was just far enough north of the city so he didn't die instantly, but he did sustain a near lethal dose of radiation. The boy made his way north through the chaos to a refugee camp before falling unconscious. Ethan's man at the camp later scanned the boy's driver's license and sent it to the intelligence analysts who checked the name against their database. Ethan ordered the boy to be saved. He thought it might be useful to have such leverage over someone in the JP, and he had been right. Paul Campbell did what he was told to do, and he would continue to do so as long as Ethan held his son.

Ethan's biggest challenge was not to become impatient. He could make the new JP President do whatever he wanted, but for him to do too much might raise suspicion. No, he would be patient and bide his time. The right moment would come, he had no doubt, possibly when those crazy Missouri Alliance boys decided to push eastward. Ethan sent out diplomatic messages to them, which were received haughtily, but the purpose of the messages was accomplished. They were now aware of the JP and coveted her resources. When they attacked the JP, Ethan could come in to help the JP and finally seize everything to combine the two countries. The power would then be all his.

There came a light knock on the door after which the aide entered followed by two chefs. The first set the steaming plate of food down in front of Ethan along with silverware, and they laid a cloth napkin across his lap before stepping back. The other man moved forward to show Ethan the bottle of wine. After a quick glance, he nodded, and the man opened the bottle. He poured a small amount in a crystal glass which Ethan tasted. Not great, but it would do, he told himself. Everyone must sacrifice, after all. He nodded, and the man poured a full glass, set the bottle down, and stepped back. They watched Ethan expectantly as he tried the ravioli. It was perfect, and he nodded to the three men who withdrew in obvious relief, closing the door behind them.

He wasn't sure exactly what he would do to these men if his meal was messed up, but their own imaginations certainly had conceived torturous ends. Fear inspired some men to greatness, thought Ethan as he took another bite of the wonderful pasta.

Fear and control, those were the keys to everything now. Ethan understood that and planned to make the most of those tools. It was all his now and he wanted to keep it. Not only that, but he would take everything else he could.

Patience though, he told himself. Timing was critical to maximizing opportunities.

Thinking about the future got Ethan's heart racing, and he decided that he would not go to bed early after all. He simply had too much to plan for and too much to do. It was a new world and Ethan planned to be king of it.

He smiled as he sipped his wine.

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Author's Note and Acknowledgements

Thank you for reading Glimmer of Hope, the first book in the Land of Tomorrow series. Please take the time to leave a review so that other potential readers will know if this book is for them or not.

Also, please consider signing up for my reader's newsletter at Ryan King Newsletter, you can unsubscribe at any time. For signing up you will immediately receive a free book in addition to the latest information on new releases and free giveaways.

This story came to me during the great winter storm of 2010 when my family and I were trapped under six feet of snow on Fort Meade, Maryland where I was stationed at the time. My mind wandered during the times without electricity, and I started imagining that we were all alone. This led me to thinking what my family and I would do in a real emergency, which of course led to getting home. From that point, the book largely wrote itself. There were times I couldn't write fast enough to keep pace with the story in my head, and often, I couldn't go to sleep at night due to my mind dwelling on the great adventure I had discovered. The first draft was written in a rush between February and May of 2010 during free moments late at night or on weekends. The final version took much longer.

This novel went through numerous re-writes and revisions in order to improve the story and the final product. In order for this to happen, I needed the help and input of friends who willingly took time to read my manuscript and provide input and support. My wife Kristin read the first draft and encouraged my writing efforts when I thought it was a little ridiculous and pretentious. My in-laws Sherman and Diane Chaudoin also provided helpful proofreading and wise insight. Dear friends and early readers Adam Dottle, Stan Szafran, David Conrad, Luke Jones, and my mother Betty Hill all did nearly as much for the story as I did myself. Fellow author David VanDyke made a final review and gave me the courage to cut and slash as much as I could stand and hopefully make a better book. For all the people above, I am grateful and humbled by their support, love, and friendship. Thank you.

The story of Nathan and this brave new world is not over. It continues with the second book in this series Children of Wrath, which I hope you get the chance to enjoy soon. Please enjoy the following except from the book.

Until then, stay strong friends.
