Operation SERF

Part 10

By Chris Sullins (February XII, 2009)

John and his team loaded their four wheelers onto civilian pick-up trucks and left the Cumberland Gap area by heading north on highway I-75. Travel had been smooth at first, but they were already low on gasoline before they ended their search for Mond in the last corner of Kentucky. John had learned from his previous phone reports that every civilian gas station near any of the highways had run dry a few days before. During the earlier parts of the search, John had been able to officially commandeer fuel from various county government and law enforcement resources from around the state. However after they stopped at two state police checkpoints along I-75 and were politely refused assistance, John found those usual sources had also completely evaporated.

All the fuel in the four-wheelers had been siphoned into the trucks, but there would not be enough for every truck to travel all the way back to the Fort Knox area. John figured the truck with the least fuel would only make it a few miles west on I-64 once their small convoy got to the Lexington area. During the ride he had left a few phone messages for Scott asking about fuel re-supply in that area, but had not heard back. John figured he would have to start ditching trucks and four wheelers and combine all the men in trucks with the remaining fuel.

At a National Guard checkpoint on I-75 near Athens where all northbound traffic was being routed off the highway, an officer advised John that travel to the I-75 and I-64 juncture was no longer a straight shot. He reported that just south of where I-75 met I-64, both directions of the highway had been “blown” where it crossed over a state route. And although the team was not going east on I-64, it had also been completely cut in a similar manner a few miles east before it merged with I-75.

The officer also said that the combined I-71/75 highway and the Alexandria Pike were both no longer viable for travel “somewhere south of Cincinnati.” He had heard rumors of similar breaks “north of Morgantown, West Virginia near the state line with Pennsylvania and other places all up and down the Appalachian Mountain range where too many people were trying to go west or south out of DC.” After John had asked if this was known to be “purposely directed or outside sabotage” the officer looked at him strangely and replied “it’s the terrorists –who else do you think it is?”

John was relieved when Scott called and said two Blackhawk helicopters were already on the way to pick up his team, their prisoners, and all the equipment they could carry. Scott said to leave behind the trucks and four-wheelers and “forget about them.” After the call John told the National Guard officer all the near-empty vehicles were “on loan to the state of Kentucky until further notice” and thanked him “for all the kind assistance his state had offered.”

During the flight on the military helicopters, John initially thought Scott had made a good case to the military and they were now all together on the same page. This assumption changed for John after they approached Fort Knox, flew over the base’s airfield and veered north toward the Ohio River. As they flew over a large earthwork fortification leftover from the Civil War, John saw the long heavy barrels of modern howitzers and other entrenched pieces of military equipment which were aimed north across the river. He also noticed each position was circled by sandbags and fully manned by soldiers.

As they flew low and northeast another thousand yards the larger Ohio River and a fractional tributary were easily seen from John’s side of the helicopter. John momentarily glimpsed two men in a canoe just exiting the small river and crossing a jagged line where the lighter waters mixed and changed color in the larger darker waterway. One of the men stopped paddling, looked back, and waved toward them.

Both helicopters veered to the west and gained some altitude while skirting the Ohio River on the side opposite to John for another four miles. Where the river began to bend to the south, John could see on the Kentucky side that another hill was beginning to take shape as a fortified position. There was a sudden commotion inside the helicopter as one of the men on the right side briefly jerked and struggled against the safety restraints which held him tightly in place in the seat. He stopped and looked calm again as he said something to the man sitting between himself and John.

Between the noise of the helicopter’s engine and the ear plugs they were wearing, John couldn’t understand what the fuss had been about. John turned both of his palms upward and mouthed a single “What?” The man pointed to a small hole in the plexi-glass of the side door facing the riverside and then to another small hole in the ceiling of the cabin area above John’s head. He then pointed a thumb back toward the Indiana side of the river.

“Missed me, b-tch!” the man yelled at the top of his lungs and smiled.

The helicopters sharply turned counter clockwise, looped behind the second hill they had flown over and retraced their paths back toward the first hill. John could see the same canoe carrying the two men was a little further out into the Ohio River. The helicopters went over the smaller tributary, over small woods, and straight toward what appeared to be a small airstrip. As they descended to land, John saw some bleachers and realized it was a drag car racing track.

A white school bus with no words listed on the side pulled up along the helicopters as the rotors continued spinning. John, his team, and the two prisoners disembarked and went straight toward the bus. As the bus door opened and John saw Scott in the driver’s seat, the olive drab helicopters lifted back off.

“All aboard,” yelled Scott and the men filed in and sat down.

John sat behind Scott. The prisoners were taken to the back of the bus. After everyone was seated, Scott closed the door and began driving. The men who smoked immediately lit their cigarettes.

“We took a round on the way in,” said John. “Why didn’t we just land inside Fort Knox?”

“Our relationship with the military is still a bit complicated right now,” said Scott. “No more questions right now or next time I’m picking you up with the short bus.”

* * *

“Mr. Mond,” said the man wearing a black sweater, blue jeans, and combat boots as he stepped forward and used both hands to steady the front of the canoe on the shore. “Welcome to Indiana.”

Both men in the canoe set their paddles down on the floor and put on backpacks. The young man sitting at the front of the canoe stood up and stepped off while Mond remained sitting at the back. Mond silently looked back across to the wooded hills on the side of the Ohio River they had just left and then got out of the canoe. Mond looked at the man who had greeted him and then to the young man who had traveled with him.

“If we kept a recorded history about such things,” said Mond,”this humble place would be named Mond’s Landing.”

“Maybe we should have you get back into the canoe so we can get a picture of you standing in it,” said the young man who had just stepped ashore before he became more sarcastic. “That way we could save the moment and then commission a German artist to paint your place into history.”

“Sirs,” said the man in the sweater,”this isn’t a safe spot for staging a photo shoot right now. My men just shot at the helicopters on the other side of the river. We need to keep moving.”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Mond to the man in the sweater. As they walked he looked over at the young man. “But, we do have a lot of the same elements here for an equally inspiring painting: a river crossing, revolutionary forces, modern-day Hessians, and a major reshaping of the status quo. Of course, some of those things are a bit blended and flipped on each side of the river right now. But for the surface image we’re just missing a flag and some tiny icebergs floating in the water for a proper photo op.”

“That’s funny,” said the young man. “You’re truly imagining ‘Washington Crossing the Delaware’ right now. Since you mentioned icebergs, I’m seriously wondering if it should be a picture of the Titanic sinking with us on a lifeboat.”

“Things are going fine,” said Mond. “We are truly ascending in the shape of things to come.”

“Better yet,” said the young man,”maybe the painting should show the two of us still on the sinking Titanic. Maybe you ascending the Grand Staircase on the inside because you don’t even know the ship is sinking.”

“Clever image,” said Mond. “But, how can you still be so negative about things, Junior?”

“Dad, please don’t call me that,” said the young man.

As they approached a car and the man in the sweater took his keys out of his pocket and jingled, Mond said to him “Let’s have my son drive so you and I can talk together and catch up.”

“Sure,” said the man and he tossed the keys to Junior.

Mond opened the back passenger door and pointed for the man to get in while his son went to the driver’s side. Mond slid into the back seat as well next to the man in the sweater. Junior started up the car and put it into gear.

“Where to?” Junior said.

“Straight ahead and don’t make any turns until I say so,” said the man.

They were no more than 50 yards down the road when there was a flash followed by a percussive explosion in the spot where the car had just been parked near the river.

“What the f-ck was that?” yelled Junior right before some soil and small pebbles rained down across the top of their moving car. “Was that a bomb?”

“Faster, Junior,” said Mond calmly before he looked at the man sitting next to him.

“They must have some mortars set up back across the river,” said the man before he winked at Mond. “They must’ve known you guys were coming. Maybe they have someone working on the inside.”

“They? Who are they?” said Junior as he put petal to the metal on the hybrid car, but it gave neither a return in immediate acceleration nor a boost in his sense of personal safety.

“The men in the helicopters,” said Mond. “They’ve been in pursuit the entire time.”

“The Army is after us now?” asked Junior.

“That wasn’t the Army,” said the man in the back seat as he covered a smile on his face with a hand. “I think those were, uh, those must’ve been the black helicopters.”

“Which faction is using those now? Which faction is it?” questioned Junior as he saw the Ohio River shrinking in his rearview mirror and looked ahead to see heavy forests on both sides of the road.

“They won’t stop until you and I are dead –or we kill them first,” said Mond. “That will be the only way we can find peace and security.”

“Bastards!” yelled Junior.

While Junior looked directly ahead on the road, Mond looked at the eyes of the man sitting next to him, winked, and silently mouthed ‘Thank you.’

* * *

“This is chicken little calling mother hen,” said the Army spotter into the radio handset as he looked through a spotting scope at the small dust cloud which was settling on the road on the other side of the river where the car had just left. “Did you just send a round to the other side of the river?”

“Well?” asked the Army sniper next to the spotter as he used his rifle scope to watch the car disappear past a distant tree-line.

“It was not ours,” answered the spotter as he continued to observe the area through the spotting scope.

“I didn’t think so,” said the sniper as he lifted his cheek from the rifle stock and looked across the river with both eyes wide open. “I swear I heard the launch from the other side of the river. Didn’t you hear it?”

“My ear’s been f-cked up for ten years,” said the spotter who was in his early 40s. “I couldn’t even hear the machinegun fire you said you heard earlier. Maybe you got PTSD or something and you’re just hearing sh-t that isn’t even there.”

“I haven’t deployed anywhere yet to get PTSD,” said the far younger sniper and then a few seconds later “Wait. There it is again. And again –but it was like a double-tap pop after a single pop.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said the spotter,” but I still can’t hear a f-cking thing.”

Three separate explosions erupted among the manned positions on the hilltop three hundred yards behind the sniper team’s camouflaged position.

“Sh-t,” said the spotter. “Yeah, I heard that. Did you see where they came from? Look up in the air for the fins next time you hear those kind of pops.”

“No idea” said the sniper as he put his cheek down on the rifle and scanned for activity around the homes, out in fields and among the tree lines across the river. “Fins? What are you talking about?”

“The mortar fins,” said the spotter as he started to look at the distant hills with the spotting scope. “You can see them in the air as they’re coming back down. Might give us a trajectory back. I bet we got multiple crews somewhere on the hills across the river.”

“I see guys leaving one of the houses from the row on the opposite riverbank,” said the sniper as he looked through his scope. “Not far from where that car just left.”

“How many guys?” asked the spotter. “Any weapons?”

“Four guys,” said the sniper. “Going to the parked black suburban where the driveway meets the road. No weapons, but two guys have guitar cases.”

“You gotta be f-cking kidding,” said the spotter as he looked at the men and the guitar cases. “They’ve just boxed their sh-t up like Al Capone. Take a shot on the last one carrying a case before he gets in.”

“We’d have to call that in first,” said the sniper.

“F-ck that,” said the spotter, “those guys will be glassing us tomorrow. We just got hit. Now take the shot –take it fast!”

The sniper fired his rifle and sent a single round nearly a thousand yards away toward the target.

“You hit him in the f-cking heel,” said the spotter. “Did you do that sh-t on purpose or did you miss?”

The sniper was silent as they both continued to use their optics to observe the reaction of the men on the other bank. As one man helped the wounded man up, the other man who had been carrying a guitar case, dropped it to the ground, opened it and removed a scoped rifle. The third man who had already entered the driver’s side came out and was holding a submachine gun which had apparently been inside the vehicle.

“I need to range you,” said the spotter,” now did you do that sh-t on purpose or…”

The sniper sent out a second shot and the man with the scoped rifle on the other bank fell backward. A third shot dropped the man who was also holding a weapon but who had turned back to the open driver door. The fourth man left the wounded man and rolled over to the other side of the vehicle where he couldn’t be seen from the Kentucky side of the river.

“There you go,” said the spotter after about a minute with no movement around the truck after the wounded man began playing dead and the other had yet to budge from his hiding spot. “They weren’t at band practice after all, huh?”

“Sh-t,” said the sniper as he looked up from his scope and glanced into the air. “More pops but I still can’t see any fins.”

The spotter continued to quietly watch the area of the black suburban as the sniper lifted his head a bit more from his rifle and looked to his right.

“There are impacts on the other hill overlooking West Point,” said the sniper as he kept looking to his right.

“Get on your rifle so I change my observation,” said the spotter. “This has got to be coming from the hills across the river to our right. Maybe where the hills squeeze the road right up next to the river.”

“I can’t believe this,” said the sniper. “I can’t believe someone is actually attacking Fort Knox.”

“I guess Goldfinger finally made his move,” said the spotter.

* * *

“I’ll do it now,” said Junior from where he sat in the heavy padded leather chair against the limestone wall. “Give me the injection.”

“A day ago you said I was trying to poison you,” said Mond without looking away from the laptop computer set inside the oak roll-top desk which was 90 degrees to Junior. “You said I was trying to tie up a loose end.”

“Well, maybe you are,” said Junior. “Maybe we’re the Goebbels in Hitler’s bunker.”

“This is not poison,” said Mond as he looked to the right at his son. “It’s not going to be a murder-suicide. Just the opposite since this is the best way to keep you alive in the coming months.”

“What’s coming,” said Junior. “What have you done? What have we done?”

“Tell me what you think has happened. What is going to happen,” said Mond as he prepared the syringe and ampoule. “Because I know you already have an idea. You’re just denying yourself full knowledge. And by doing so, you hinder your full self-awareness.”

“Those lists were real,” said Junior. “The ones the Governor wanted.”

“Yes, but even those won’t matter a year from now,” said Mond as he tapped the upright needle and shot a tiny stream of fluid into the air.

“Those people were detained and killed weren’t they?” said Junior as his father approached

“Yes, and immediately on the spot in most cases,” said Mond as he pulled up one short sleeve of Junior’s white undershirt. “The Committee had lists, too. We sent lists to both those factions.”

“So we played the prostitute for both sides?” asked Junior without a flinch as Mond put the needle into his arm.

“Sides,” commented Mond as he pressed the solution in. “There’s only one real side and we’re on it. You’re confused about who’s playing the prostitutes.”

“So we’re the pimps,” said Junior as Mond removed the needle.

“I had my reservations about sending you to a public university and now I’ve seen them confirmed,” said Mond as he put a small cotton ball on Junior’s skin. “And before you get any deeper into ghetto analogies you should realize that by doing so you remain at the street level and completely miss our true position above it. Far above the useful idiots you’ve been referencing.”

“That’s funny,” said Junior as he held down on the cotton ball with his own hand, “because you make it sound like we’re in the penthouse when once again we’re sitting underground in another forgotten secret bunker just outside of redneck-ville.”

“To use your ghetto analogy while attempting to more clearly quantify things for you,” said Mond,” it’s the chumps who are sitting in penthouses right now. The Governor, the Chairman, his bimbos…”

“Substitute b-tches,” interrupted Junior.

“They’re the ones who are the chumps,” said Mond. “I don’t think you can fathom yet how bad things are going to get over the next decade for anyone not already in a bunker or in the middle of the literal nowhere. And many of them aren’t going to survive either.”

“You’re saying it’s going to get far worse than this?” asked Junior. “Because it certainly looked like it was all going downhill before it became even worse over the last two weeks.”

“You have no idea,” said Mond.

“Are you going to get Biblical with me now?” said Junior.

“If I believed in such things,” replied Mond. “To an outsider it will begin to look apocalyptic. It will seem to them that the four horsemen have left their stable. Although I don’t believe in it, I think the symbolism of the harvest and the winepress used by those ancient scribes is an appropriate description for the events about to take place in human history.”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this,” said Junior as his speech slurred a bit. “We helped start a civil war not the beginning of the end of the world.”

“You’re going to want to lie back now,” said Mond. “The shot is going to make you sleep for a few hours.”

“You liar, you did poison me,” said Junior as he struggled mentally to make himself lean forward but his arms and legs did little more than twitch.

“There is a sedative mixed in,” said Mond. “We all took it back at the other bunker before we took a mandatory break to sleep. Everyone except you, of course. Otherwise, the conscious mind would perceive hallucinogenic side effects. There can also be immediate cramping, fever, heart palpitations, among other unpleasant physical feelings. Combined with the hallucinations, it can drive even the most stoic people into an extreme panic. They might even think they’re going to die within minutes.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” asked Junior as he felt his tongue become limp and his eyes began to close despite his best effort to remain awake.

“I can assure you,” said Mond,”that you will go to sleep and wake up. Now close your eyes, my son.”

Junior’s head tipped back against the top pad of the chair. Mond walked over and readjusted him onto one side of the chair so he wouldn’t slip out onto the floor. Mond put a matching leather covered footstool under Junior’s heels. He picked up a blanket from under a lamp table and covered Junior from shoulders to feet.

Mond sat back down and clicked a program on his laptop. He typed a few numbers, pressed enter, and a pleasant female voice said the word “Connecting” through the laptop’s small speakers. There was a few seconds of silence followed by a single chirp tone.

“What do you want, Mond?” came Scott’s voice from the speaker.

“First, I’d like to thank you for your assistance…” began Mond.

“We’re still enemies,” Scott cut in. “Don’t think I’m confused about an exchange based on mutual necessity. You’re fair game again if your information is ever false and my other enemies get an advantage as a result. I’ll put the bullet in you myself if that happens.”

“I have something else of fair exchange I’d like to propose…” started Mond.

“Cut the bullsh-t,” interrupted Scott again. “We’re not renegotiating. You sucking air above or below ground is your end of the deal. You’ve got nothing else to bargain with.”

“I’ve got some red vials and I’m prepared to use them. I want immediate transport off this continent for my son and I,” said Mond which was followed by a few seconds of silence. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you,” said Scott. “So what. You only have half of it. You’d be killing yourselves.”

“Scott,” said Mond, “do you really think I would be calling you if I only had half of what I needed to make this work?”

After a few more seconds Scott said “The parts are in separate hands right now. The stocks are all accounted for. I’m the green holder. I always have been. My people will be completely protected.”

“Scott,” said Mond. “Now who’s bullsh-tting who? You know I’m prepared to use it on the collaterals and I’ve already told you I’m protected in advance as well.”

“Sure, if you’ve got both,” said Scott. “But, if you’ve got both, you’re going to use it anyway. So you know what?”

“What?” said Mond.

“F-ck you anyway, that’s what,” said Scott. “If you want to pull the Samson Option, you do it now. What the hell, it will take care of my other problems. We’ll see who crawls out from under the fallen pillars afterwards.”

“Scott, I know that’s not your way,” said Mond. “I’m actually willing to let the clock tick another decade on the issue. But, this is not going to work for the half century more that you and the others want. All the projections don’t support that. But, at least I’ve always been honest in that I believe a carefully controlled massive population reduction over a shorter time period would be the most beneficial for the remnant left to live on the planet.”

“I’ve already given you my answer and I’m not repeating myself,” said Scott. “You’ll be trapped here with us when it all begins.”

“So be it,” said Mond.

There was a double chirp sound indicating Scott had terminated the connection on his end. This was followed by the female voice saying the word “Disconnected”. Mond looked over at his son and then looked back at his screen and opened up another application. Mond made a single click and closed the laptop before pushing his chair back from the desk. He sat quietly and stared at the limestone wall.

End of Part 10

Previous Parts:

http://www.oftwominds.com/opSERF/op-serf-p9.html

http://www.oftwominds.com/opSERF/OP-serf.html

Special notes from Chris Sullins:

If you’ve enjoyed reading this story, please consider making a donation to the oftwominds.com website. Charles Hugh Smith has graciously provided space for it on his website for your reading enjoyment. Although it’s from a genre outside the commentary and other essays which usually appear on OTM, I thank Mr. Smith in presenting this to a far wider audience than I would have been able to do on my own. He has done this in the spirit of the First Amendment and in the fine tradition of experienced writers supporting new writers. I give similar thanks to those people who’ve also linked from their websites and/or emailed friends and family.

This “strategic action thriller” has been hastily constructed one part at a time and appears as my schedule permits it. There are bound to be some errors. I have every intention of completing this as a free full online novel. If there is sufficient interest, then the story you see here will be BOOK ONE and there will be another. I may post a public email address in the future for comments, critiques, scathing reviews, mark-ups, praise, thanks or indifference from the online community.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons or events in the past, present, or future is probably either out of sheer coincidence or due to the cyclical nature of history. The writer existing at this point in the timeline has no conscious awareness of any pending events which in later hindsight may seem have been due to currently unknown acts of retroactive causality emanating from future points.

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