0300 Book 3 - 17. Chapter 17: Roll Up and Rebuild

Chapter 17: Roll Up and Rebuild

Wednesday, USF Charleston

“Comm? Secure link to Admiral Davis, please. Flash.” As soon as Jonathan said the link had been established, I reported the attack on Mt. Zion, including the estimates of civilian casualties. There were several seconds of silence as Admiral Davis digested the information.

His reply was terse. “Understood, Commodore. Davis out.”

Oh shit, I thought before a light signaled that a private, secure link had been activated to my position. I switched on my earpiece and opened the link. “Yes, sir.”

“Paul, that’s an impressive—and under the circumstances, essential—opening salvo. I understand how different it was from what you had planned to do.

“The most important question is, Are you okay--are the rest of your boys okay?”

That was not what I had expected, and it took me a couple of seconds to respond.

“Yes, sir; and thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Paul. Keep an eye on your boys, though, and let me know if you need . . . I don’t know what I can offer except moral support, but you’ve got that. Davis, out.”

“Marty?” I asked. “Were you able to get any information on Arcana people at any of the places their telegraph signals originated? If there’s a chance they’re doing anything else like this, we need to know about it.”

Marty pulled up a file showing points of origin of telegraph messages on the Inquisitors’ net. “Some,” he said, and clicked an entry to open a new window. “Here’s the location in Chicago.”

“Surrounded by buildings. Too hard to reach. Maybe later,” George said after a whispered consultation with Casey.

“I’ll skip Miami, then,” Marty said. “Here’s an isolated one. It’s at the uranium processing plant. It will be night there, soon. There are a dozen men—”

“Sorry to interrupt, Marty,” I said. “Danny? Casey? Andrew? Triple team. Get them. Intel? Brief the strike teams en route.”

The three boys and six others ran from the room. They were talking into their communicators before the door had closed behind them.

“What are you going to do, sir?” George asked. The sir was to let me know he was pissed because he hadn’t gotten to command one of the kidnap teams.

“I’m not going to do anything,” I said. “You are, Lieutenant Commander Stewart-Rogers. Work with John Patmos’s team, the Intel Team, the Reverends’ Team, and the Ops Team. Plan a second, parallel rollup campaign. Chicago, Miami, and Omaha are probably most important. The Inquisition’s technology seems centered on those three cities. But they’re too big for initial strikes. Select your strike team chiefs. Start rolling up Inquisitors end-points on the telegraph network. And wring out of them every bit of information they have. If you find reason to advance the schedule on the larger cities, let me know.

“Oh, and you’re out of uniform. Correct that, please.”

George’s eyes lit up. I knew I had been forgiven. On the other hand, I’d created a different problem.

He and Danny been promoted to Lieutenant just a few days ago. His responsibilities would nearly mirror those of Artie and Cory, but I didn’t think I could promote George to a higher grade, just now. I needed to talk to Danny as soon as he returned from the kidnap mission.

I was concerned about how Danny would react to George being promoted ahead of Danny. I needn’t have been. The metas couldn’t keep anything secret, and Danny knew about George’s promotion before he returned from the kidnap mission. And I could feel his pride in his brother. I needed to learn to trust these kids, more.

Thursday: Las Vegas Reverends’ Council

“What do we know?” the senior demanded. “I want facts!”

An Army major spoke. “Sir, at 1515 yesterday afternoon, the headquarters of the Inquisition at Mt. Zion was melted by fire from the sky. That is a fact, corroborated by an Army detachment at Pueblo, 40 miles south of that location. The commander reported seeing a lance of fire in the north. Others who were closer reported that the fire came from the sky east of the mountain. The reports disagree on the exact duration, but it is clear that the fire lasted at least several seconds, perhaps as long as a minute, perhaps longer.

“The Pueblo detachment commander coopted a locomotive and several box cars and ordered the engineer to take him and some soldiers to Mt. Zion.

“When they reached Mt. Zion at 1900 hours, the glow of melted rock was bright enough for the engineer to see that the rails ended—they too had melted—near the yard limit. That’s about 1,000 yards south of the village outside Mt. Zion. They observed a crater approximately a mile in diameter and 500 feet deep. It might have been deeper except that was partly filled with rock that appeared to have melted from the mountain. Of the entrance to the mountain, there was no sign. Of the village, there was no sign.

“The train depot and therefore the telegraph office were destroyed. The train was sent back to Pueblo, and a report made from there,” the major concluded.

“Why the hell can’t the rest of you report like that,” the senior asked. The question was rhetorical; no one dared answer.

“I assume the telegraph message went to everyone?” the senior asked the major.

The major knew what the senior meant. “Yes, sir; the Scudder was informed as were the councils in Chicago and Miami. It’s likely that survivors of the Inquisition know, as well.”

That last was not something the senior wanted to contemplate.

USF Charleston: Intelligence Team Briefing

“Now we know what the Scudder wants his people to believe,” Marty said at the end of Thursday evening’s televisor message. “But what does he believe?”

“He’s never said, and there’s been nothing on his telegraph to suggest he knows that we’re doing all these things with advanced technology, and from space. Does he not suspect that? Is he playing a game with us?” Cory asked.

“Let’s see it again,” Cam said. “There was something . . .”

Marty started the recording.

“ . . . As the Lord God judged the excesses of the Inquisition and smote them in his wrath, in His Holy Name I declare any survivors of the Inquisition to be anathema, to be cursed in the name of the Lord. By the Authority of Peter I call for their death . . .”

Cam gestured, and Marty stopped the recording. “That’s what I wanted to hear. We were right that there was tension between the Arcana and the Scudder. Now, the Scudder is getting his revenge.

Friday

Chicago

“Your headquarters has been destroyed. You are a junior officer and ordained only as a deacon. You are under my authority, now.” The Senior of Chicago addressed a captain in the uniform of the Inquisition who had responded to the senior’s summons.

“On the other hand,” the senior continued, “you are a conduit to the team of Jewish scientists you keep in their ghetto, like sheep in a pen. They are a valuable resource.”

The captain’s eyes widened at the senior’s admission.

“I see that you understand, Captain. You and I are complementary. You have lost many of your people and all of your senior leadership, but you control the scientists. I have many people, but also many questions. I offer a partnership on equal terms.”

Until I get what I need, the senior thought.

“Yes, Your Grace,” the captain said, using the senior’s formal title. Until I get what I need.

Miami

“The Scudder has announced that G*d smote the Inquisition. He has declared any surviving members to be anathema and without any authority. The Army commander and the Senior of Miami will not keep this quiet for long. My wife has clothing for you.”

The man chuckled. “Including a yarmulke. I suggest that you remain in the ghetto for the time being. We will not betray you.”

Lt. Riggs nodded. “Thank you Rabbi. This is unexpected.”

“Lt. Riggs, I am not being entirely unselfish. We did as you asked, and located the transmitters. They are stationary, some 22,000 miles in the sky above the Earth. Two days ago, fire from the sky destroyed Mt. Zion. We find it strange that these people who have been so careful to conceal themselves have now struck with an incredible power that cannot be concealed.

“A new order is about to be born, and I wish to protect my people and make sure they are alive to see it. I hope that you will return our trust at the right time.

“Will you join us for our Shabbat supper?”

* * * * *

The four Jewish scientists we kidnapped from the uranium processing plant were already sick from radiation poisoning. We immediately instituted chelation therapy, but it was too late. The men were surprised that we would try to save their lives. Perhaps that was why they were so cooperative. Perhaps it was because we agreed to accept letters to their families in Chicago, and promised to attempt delivery.

The eight members of the Inquisition were less sick, and chelation saved four of them for questioning. Whether they were grateful or not, they were uncooperative, even when we replayed for them the video of the destruction of Mt. Zion, and the Scudder’s announcement of their new status. One tried to commit suicide rather than face questioning. It really didn’t make any difference; our telepaths dug deeply into their minds before the men joined our captured Reverends in a prison at an old military post: Fort Riley, Kansas. With summer on the way, it would become one of the most inhospitable places on our world.

George was still the best physicist we had, so he led the briefing about what we’d learned from the scientists and the Inquisitors.

“The good news is that they know of no atomic program other than the one at Mt. Zion.

“The bad news is that they were still refining uranium, and had another 20 pounds, which we’ve removed. The facility is dirty . . . contaminated with radioactive material in various stages of refinement. We need to box the whole thing up and . . . I don’t know . . . ship it to an asteroid or something. But that would require a serious, visible presence.”

“Commander Tyson?” I addressed the Seabee liaison to my staff. “Sounds like a problem for you. Are you willing to tackle it?”

The commander knew that despite our attack on Mt. Zion, we were trying not to reveal ourselves or our capabilities and further. He answered instantly.

“‘Can do,’ sir.”

I had no doubt that he and the Seabees could.

* * * * *

George and Artie both wanted to lead the first “rollup” mission. I felt the tension, and thought for a moment to appoint a Marine to command the first mission, whether the target was to be the Reverends or the Inquisition. That, however, would have angered both boys. I was faced with a dilemma: get one of my sons and brothers angry with me, or get two of them angry with me.

The acrimony between George and Artie was so strong it began interfering with the team dynamics—and my sleep. It was 0300 ship’s time the day after we’d slagged Mt. Zion when I summoned George and Artie to my ready room. I had coffee on my desk, but—pointedly and deliberately—did not offer any to them.

“You know why you are here. You know, or should know, that you’re hurting not just each other but all of your brothers. You also know that I will never punish you, and—if you’ll think clearly—you know that I seldom give you direct orders and have never issued an ultimatum to either of you.

“However, the three of us will not leave this room until this is settled by the two of you. If you cannot do that amicably, I will do my job as commander, and appoint someone else.”

I did not add that I would probably strip them both of some duties and privileges—a time out like the supervisors at the orphanage had used.

“Daddy—” George began.

“Commodore,” I interrupted.

Both George and Artie’s faces turned white. I don’t think they realized how serious I was until then.

“Commodore—” George choked and couldn’t say whatever it was he had planned.

Artie took advantage of the momentary silence. “Commodore, Lieutenant Stewart-Rogers is more qualified as a combat team leader than I am. You may think since it is my world we are liberating, that I should have the lead, but that is illogical. Besides, there will be many opportunities for combat command, and I hope you’ll keep me in mind when—”

“No!” George found his voice and interrupted Artie. “Commodore, symbolism and perceptions have never been more critical than in this campaign. The psyops operations have proven that.

“The symbolism of survivors of the First Battle for Las Vegas returning to their world is a lot more important than . . . than me getting’ a stiffy ’cause I’m in command of—”

“George?” I interrupted, although my voice was soft.

What George had said, and my reply, which was accompanied by a push of love for both boys, broke the tension.

“Well, I do,” George said. “But I don’t let it distract me!” he asserted.

“And with the catheter and cup under your skin suit, it doesn’t distract anyone else, either,” Artie said, and then started laughing.

I grinned. What Artie said wasn’t strictly correct. George, unlike my six-year-old roommate, Dmitri, really did need a large cup. George wasn’t quite sure of the imagery that popped into my mind, but assumed it was about him, and blushed furiously, which only made Artie laugh harder.

Several minutes passed before I thought I could speak without losing my composure.

“What’s the resolution?” I said.

Artie looked at George, who nodded. There was a flash of thought between them.

“George is right,” Artie said. “If you will let me, I would like to command the unit that will liberate the first town.”

“Make it so. George? You will assemble and command the backup team, which will be primary on the next mission, which will be against the Inquisition. My hope is that we’ll have at least ten teams in operation by the beginning of the second week, and will add ten each week until we reach the planned fifty.

“It will take some time to integrate boys now at Camp Santa Ana and members of The Brotherhood of the Army of California into these teams,” I added. “But don’t forget them.

“Thank you both, my sons and brothers. I love you.”

Tobor manipulated the duty list so that both George and Artie were assigned as my First Tier guard that night, which meant that they both kept their weapons next to our bed. And there’s something very, very special about makeup sex.

* * * * *

“Jonathan? Flag Team meeting at 1400 hours, no exceptions. We’ll use the conference room.”

Jonathan acknowledged, and began making calls.

The Flag Team consisted of metas; Artie and one of his boys, both telepaths; Cory and his boyfriend/deputy, also telepaths; and Tobor, who monitored our meetings. Not all of the Flag Team knew about Tobor, but I thought it was time they all did.

“Guys?” I got the attention of the thirty-five boys and one computer.

“You know that ‘no battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy.’

“We had a plan to roll-up and rebuild the towns and villages dominated by the Reverends, and then to smother their larger cities: Las Vegas, Chicago, Albany, Miami, and a few others.

“That plan is still in place, even though we’ve announced our presence by destroying the Inquisition’s headquarters very spectacularly. One challenge is to make that work for us rather than against us.

“Another challenge is that we now know that the Inquisition may be more powerful than we thought. We now have a parallel plan to roll up the Inquisition. If at any time during that process, we find another surprise, such as atomic piles and bombs, we’ll have to adjust and replan.

“All of you have incredible responsibilities, especially for boys your age.”

Isaac, at eight, was the youngest. Artie and Kevin, at 18 and 17 respectively, the oldest; I was only a few years older than they.

“You’re going to be spread out, separated, much more than we have been since we began ingathering metas, telepaths—boys from three worlds.

“We know that our telepathy can not always reach from the Reverends World to our world. Some of us are not yet powerful enough. We know that it doesn’t reach Cory’s world, which is apparently farther away, even though it’s next-door through the rift. Dr. Adams has yet to explain that one.”

That got a laugh. As the group settled, I sent a carefully screened message.

Tobor? Would you join us? The main briefing screen came on, and Tobor, in the robin’s egg blue jumpsuit of a Senior Cadet, appeared. He had turned down promotion when I was made Commodore, and had promoted all the others, and then again just a few days ago when everyone had been promoted (at Admiral Davis’s strong suggestion). Tobor still maintained the appearance of a twelve-year-old boy.

A private message flashed between Tobor and Will. The ones who didn’t know the “sentient” Tobor looked puzzled, but said nothing.

“Some of you already know the kid on the screen. And all of you have talked to him. His name is Tobor, and he’s the Fleet Mainframe. In addition to being the voice you hear when you talk to him, he’s sentient, and telepathic, and he will keep us all connected through a combination of electronics and telepathy.

“No way!” Cory said.

“Yes, way,” Tobor said, and added telepathically, Hi, Commodore Cory, sir.

“Well f me,” Cory said. A private message flashed from Tobor to Cory and back, and both broke out in giggles.

I didn’t ask. I didn’t dare ask.

* * * * *

The Inquisition’s installations presented unique problems. Most of them were located centrally and on busy rail lines. That was likely so they could be dispatched quickly. Telegraph lines for all four telegraph systems usually ran along those mainline tracks. And the Inquisition members—about 20 per location—were always armed. And, given the Scudder’s announcement, they were going to be on the defensive.

And, they had slaves.

That’s how Cam described the people who tilled fields and appeared on imagery to be servants. This assessment was confirmed by those we captured at the uranium plant.

Rolling up the Inquisition was going to be a far different challenge than rolling up the Reverends’ towns.

Alpine, Texas

Alpine, Texas was the first Reverends’ town to be selected for rollup. It met our key criteria: it was on the end of a railroad line and the end of a telegraph line. Further, its Army garrison was small. The nearest military installation on our world was Fort Davis, but that did not exist in the Reverends’ world.

The silver and lead mines at Alpine had long been depleted; it was no longer a mining town, so we didn’t have to worry about ore shipments being missed. The people of the town shipped beef to Las Vegas, Lynchburg, and Chicago, but so far, only once a year, in the fall. We figured that the town wouldn’t be “missed” for months.

Alpine was about sixty miles by rail from what would have been my hometown of Valentine; however, there was no Valentine in the Reverends’ world. A few piles of collapsed and weathered boards might once have been a settlement but there was nothing else—not even a railroad siding.

By now, we had moved the entire task force onto the Reverends’ side of the rift. At 0300 Alpine solar time, seven shuttles with 210 people rendezvoused near the Charleston. The forces that filled seven more shuttles—Marines, U-Cal Army, Seabees, and metas—George’s backup team, sat on the flight deck of the Honolulu. An eighth shuttle followed the first seven on the strike team. That shuttle bristled with sensors that would report directly to my Flag Bridge and to the bridges of all the ships in the Task Force. In addition, Artie and all of his squad leaders wore cameras and microphones that reported to us through the relay shuttle. We expected that the first operation would likely teach us many lessons. We were determined to capture all of them.

Admiral Davis watched from the Flag Bridge of the Enterprise. However, the Enterprise didn’t fly the Admiral’s flag, and he likely thought we didn’t know he was there. He couldn’t keep it from the GWGs, but since he wanted to keep his presence a secret, we played along with him—but sent Terry on a temporary duty assignment to the Enterprise. Tobor relayed to me Admiral Davis’s surprise and delight at seeing his adopted son. I was pretty sure the admiral knew he’d been busted.

Artie’s people landed in a planned sequence. Marines and soldiers from California and U-Long surrounded the Army barracks. Another team surrounded the Sheriff’s station, while a handful of soldiers including two of Corey’s people with phasers and augmented with two metas stormed the Reverend’s home. The sound of the door of the Reverends’ home being broken down, relayed through team comms, was the signal for the other teams to act.

Explosions that did no damage except perhaps to some of the soldiers and deputies’ eardrums announced our presence.

Artie spoke into his communicator, and tannoys on shuttles hovering over the town carried his voice.

“We are the California Liberation Army, and we call for the surrender of all Army and Sheriffs’ people in Alpine. If you do not surrender, you will be destroyed. Come out of your buildings with your hands empty and raised over your heads, and then lie flat on your stomachs.

“People of Alpine, do not be afraid. We are here to free you from the tyranny of the Army and the Sheriffs. We will not harm you.”

Artie did not say “the tyranny of the Reverends.” That was deliberate. We could not be sure how loyal to the Reverends might be people who had been brainwashed their entire lives.

Artie’s message was recorded by a comm operator, and then replayed, interspersed with Copeland’s Fanfare for the Common Man. Symbolism, as George had said, was important. It was unlikely that anyone in Alpine understood this particular symbol, however some of the symbolism was for the people of our world. Video recordings of the action would be carried on Fleetnet, offered to the commercial channels, and sent to U-Long.

A few of the soldiers and deputies held weapons as they stumbled from their buildings, but none got off more than one round before being taken down. A few shots came from windows of the barracks, and were answered with tear gas. Within twenty minutes, all of the soldiers and deputies had been secured and their wounded given first aid.

Meanwhile, Seabees seized the televisor station and power plant, shut down the telegraph, and began erecting a solar satellite ground station to be connected to the local grid. Artie and a cadre of California soldiers marched down the only street, while loud speakers called for people to come out of their houses to meet them.

No one did.

“Paul?” It was Artie on a private channel.

“They’re afraid, Artie. What can you do to make them not afraid?”

Artie thought for only a moment. He called to his men, “Take seats, in the street, breakfast is on the way.”

“Daddy? How fast . . .?”

The ship’s mess already had food prepared for the ship’s company. Loading breakfast onto the alert shuttle and getting it to Alpine with 20-G takeoff and landing took very little time. Mess stewards rolled carts of food through the street. The smell of buckwheat pancakes, bacon, sausage, and fried potatoes with peppers and onions permeated the town.

The townspeople got over their fear right quickly, and joined the soldiers for breakfast. The soldiers were happy not to have to break out their field rations, so everyone won.

“I will never forgive them,” Danny whispered to me. Danny had voiced what we were all thinking.

We were watching emaciated children drinking what was probably their first glass of milk and eating a meal that would fill their tummies for perhaps the first time in their lives. The mess stewards were smart enough not to allow them to eat too much at first, and promised more food, later.

To this point, the diet of the common people had consisted mostly of bread and potatoes: the two things that had been responsible for starvation in France and Ireland when the wheat and potato crops had failed because of weather or attack by viruses.

The people’s diet caused other problems, too. Problems that weren’t talked about in the usual textbooks and histories. More than one bridge officer, including some of the adults, broke into tears as we learned what those problems were.

“This little girl has rickets. Not from lack of sunshine to create Vitamin D, but from lack of precursors in her food. It looks like that’s been true for years.”

“This man has scurvy. Adult teeth either never developed, or were malformed and have fallen out. That is true of most of the adults and, so far, of all of the children.”

“Brain development is almost certainly well below normal for their ages. Not enough fat in the diet. Some of the youngest children can be helped; the older children and the adults, it never will happen. They’ve gone too long, this way.”

“This boy has an untreated infection. It’s metastasized. We can cure it with intravenous antibiotics, but it’ll have to be on the Hope or the Walter Reid. At least their bugs haven’t evolved resistance to antibiotics; we can treat a lot of this with sulfa drugs.”

The Reverend’s catamite had pissed himself when the rescue team broke down the door and stormed into the bedroom. Alberto wrapped a blanket and his arms around the boy, and projected reassurance.

“Bad men made me do things that I didn’t want to do, too,” Alberto said. “But I was rescued. Now, I’m helping rescue you.”

The boy recovered enough from his fear to spit on the Reverend as he was dragged, naked, from the bed and across the floor. The strike team ignored the Reverend’s screams as splinters penetrated his ass. The telepaths had already judged him.

The Reverend was brought to the Charleston to be held for trial. We did take the splinters out, but only to keep him from dying of infection before we were ready for his trial.

We had already decided that we’d not allow soldiers or deputies to assume authority in liberated towns. We hoped we’d find Reverends like Reverend Grady, who had a loving relationship with his beloved boy-servant, or the Reverend from Moapa, who had refused to have a catamite. We were not, however, optimistic that we would. Our hardest task was going to be finding someone among the people to speak for them and someone to speak to them—someone to be in charge until they could form a town government.

After breakfast, and as the medical corpsmen worked, Artie spoke to the people. His voice came from loudspeakers set up in the street rather than from shuttles, which we’d pulled away and landed on the outskirts of the town.

“You have seen us on the televisor. More than a year ago, you saw us being rescued by people who flew shuttles like the ones that brought us to Alpine. You saw me on the televisor tell you about the funeral for our brothers. My name is Artie Stewart, and my father and brothers, more than 22,000 of them, are sworn to free you from the slavery of the Reverends Army and the Sheriffs.

“We must also free people from hundreds of other towns and villages, so it’s going to be up to you to help us help you.

“The first thing you must do is select someone, one of you and not a soldier or deputy, to speak for you.”

“The Reverend?” Someone suggested. His voice quavered and could barely be heard.

“Your Reverend has been taken to a place where he will be held until he can be judged. He cannot speak for you. It must be one of you.”

The adults were as listless as the children, and for the most part looked at one another, or the ground. We were all surprised when an old woman stood up.

“If none of ’em got the gumption, I’ll speak for Alpine.

“My name is Granny Clarence, and I’m the midwife. And I’m eighty years old, and I remember what it was like in the before times—before the Reverends’ iron grip, before the Army came to leech off us what little food we had, before the Sheriffs came to steal our children into slavery.

“And I told you we would be saved, and not by the Reverend or by the Scudder, and not by Jesus.” She spat into the dirt at her feet. “Yep, I told you, all right.

“Now get off your butts and stand up like you was people and not slaves!”

She put some life into the crowd. People began to stand, to move around, to approach Artie’s people and speak to them. Children tugged at the soldiers’ uniform trousers, and asked if there would be more food. Prepared for this, the soldiers distributed a few hard candies and promised more food, soon.

A man asked one of the squad leaders, “My boy? The Sheriffs took him. Can you find him?”

Danny linked directly to the squad leader. “Get the boy’s name, as good a description as you can, especially age, and find out how long ago this happened. Promise nothing except that we’ll try.”

“Danny?” I asked after this contact had been completed.

He grinned. “We’ve already got a database and search algorithms set up. We’ll take names and descriptions; we’ll do a census at Sheriffs ranches, the _____ Palace Casino and places like that.

“Uh, we’ve already got info on the catamites we’ve rescued.”

And I’m so very proud of you, I sent. Actually, I knew about the plan, but my knowing about it was a secret that Tobor and I shared because making it a surprise to me had made Danny so happy.

What to do with the Army had been one of our most difficult questions. It was one of the former catamites, integrated into Team Reverends, who provided the inspiration for the answer.

“They move us away from our home so that we have no one to turn to except the Reverend who had adopted us. Most of the soldiers come from their own town. Maybe we should do the same thing to them: move them somewhere else where there is no one to help them.

Brilliant, I thought. “Bobby? You and your team have the best psychologists in Fleet. Would you work this problem?”

Bobby’s people agreed that putting the soldiers—most of whom were as uneducated as the common people—into an unfamiliar and potentially hostile environment, one controlled by people who had been under the thumb of the Army—would work.

Of course, we had to have more than one town rolled up before we could test this, but the success in Alpine gave me enough confidence to give George the order to execute the first strike on the Inquisition, and to give Cory the go-ahead for the team to be commanded by his boyfriend and Number Two, Lt. Alan Carter. Avery, who used to be the Flag quartermaster, but was now a combat team commander, received his orders to prepare for the fourth mission.

Artie’s team remained in Alpine, sewing up that town, digging new outhouses, and helping Seabees re-string wire for the electric grid and installing breaker boxes in each home. It would be a while before we could bring in electric lighting, and even longer before we could install refrigerators, stoves, and other modern appliances. But the homes would be ready.

Others began a census. Experts in agriculture and animal husbandry visited. After four days, most of the work was done. The Seabees erected a pre-fabricated barracks and a one-room schoolhouse. Artie’s people were relieved by a Marine detachment, two teachers, two agronomists, and two Seabees, and returned to the Charleston.

Swamps of Florida

George’s first target was the town of Swift Creek, Florida. It was near the intersection of major north-south and east-west rail lines, but was connected to the junction only by a spur. Analysis of telegraph messages on the Inquisitors’ net suggested it had only a small detachment of Inquisitors. Imint revealed an Army barracks and Sheriff’s station. This was more like a Reverends’ town than the typical Inquisitors’ enclave. Further, it was in the southern reaches of the Reverend’s USA. We wanted to focus there primarily because of the need for people in the rolled-up towns to begin to grow more food.

We knew we were still learning, but George’s mission was so much unlike Alpine that we were caught unaware.

Our arrival and demand for surrender was met only with a few armed men from the Sheriffs’ station and a few others from what we’d identified as the Army barracks. They were easily put down.

What we didn’t count on was that the Inquisitors were not in barracks, but were quartered in civilian homes. Some of them rushed into the streets with their weapons. Since our forces were at the barracks, we weren’t prepared for this, and a running street battle ensued before they were taken out. Some of the Inquisitors barricaded themselves in the houses and fired on our forces. We could not return fire without endangering civilians.

George elected to force the armed men out with tear gas. Isaac, the youngest of the GWGs, and George’s deputy on this mission, quickly called for more medical corpsmen to treat the civilians who were exposed to tear gas. Two of Avery’s shuttles from the backup team launched immediately.

A few of the Inquisitors tried to use children or women as shields while escaping. It was a situation for which we were not well prepared. Now, it was George’s turn to make hard decisions. He ordered marksmen to take out those Inquisitors. None of our bullets hit a woman or a child, but two of the men killed the children they were holding hostage. Those men were dead from multiple bullets as well as phaser fire before their bodies hit the ground.

I knew that George would not leave his team until the town was secure, and ready to be turned over to the occupying forces. I also knew that he must have been affected by the deaths of the children. Could I go to him? My heart said I must; but my brain said I couldn’t. “Carter’s Commandoes” were poised to invade a town on the south Georgia coast the next day. “Hamlin’s Harriers” would strike an Inquisitors post in south Texas the day after. Other teams, who were even now working on their nicknames, would follow. Artie was still in Alpine. I could not leave the Charleston. I called Danny, and met him in my Ready Room.

“Hi, Daddy. You’re worried about George, aren’t you?” Since we were alone, he came to me for a hug.

“A little, Danny. As soon as the adrenaline wears off—”

“You mean when his stiffy goes down,” Danny interrupted, and then giggled.

“Does everybody know about that?” I asked.

“Actually, Daddy, you were the last to know.”

I grabbed him, sat down, and put him over my knee. “And you’re the first to get paddled for keeping secrets from your Daddy,” I said. By then, we were both giggling so hard, we nearly fell from the chair.

“Would you go to George?” I asked when we had recovered. “Would you give him the comfort that I cannot?”

Danny nodded. “Yes, Daddy. Thank you. If you want, I’ll bring you into our link?”

“Yes, please, but I don’t want George to think—”

“He won’t think anything except that you love him,” Danny said.

* * * * *

Artie and George’s missions taught us a great deal, and we revised our plans to accommodate that. There still were casualties, but they were all on the Reverends’ side. Our people’s force-field reinforced skin suits provided all the protection necessary.

On the other hand, we could not completely eliminate civilian deaths among the Reverends’ people. Soldiers and deputies continued to ignore our ultimatums. The death toll rose.

* * * * *

As fast as we took over a town or village in the Reverends’ territory, we began rebuilding. Solar power ground stations were the first step and usually were installed on the day we invaded. Rewiring the local grid usually took several weeks. Depending on the climate and season, truck gardens—vegetables and legumes mostly—were planted with the aid of small, hydrogen-powered tractors.

Soldiers from the Reverends’ Army were split into small squads, moved to new towns, and put to work. It was made clear that they would work or starve. Most of them adjusted easily to their new life as farmers, carpenters, brick masons, electricians, and plumbers as we began rebuilding un-insulated, tin-roofed, frame houses—and install a pure water supply and a sewer plant.

The “Arbor Day” people of our world and Cory’s sent thousands of fruit tree saplings. We were determined that within two years, each town and village would be 90% self-sufficient in food. The first year, however, we provided a lot of food from Cory’s world and ours. I chuckled when I remembered Artie telling Admiral Davis that Artie wouldn’t need a G-8 because Admiral Davis would write all the checks. I’m sure someone on my staff was keeping track of the cost of this operation, but I never asked and Admiral Davis never complained.

Chapter End Notes: “Can do” is the unofficial motto of the Seabees; the official motto, translated from the Latin, is “we build; we fight.”

The towns and cities, as well as the Arbor Day people mentioned herein are in another reality from those you know, and are not necessarily at all like the ones in your reality.