Forgotten Forbidden America | Book 7 | Highway To Hell, page 13
part #7 of Forgotten Forbidden America Series
Coming in and shutting the door behind Bolton, “Sir, do about what?” Marshall asked.
“I know you’re trying to track down what that idiot had and I’m sorry for bothering you, but what are we going to do?!” Gifford cried out.
Holding up both hands, “Sir, I do apologize, do… about… what?”
“The cases of radiation exposure here!” Gifford screamed.
Shaking his head, “Sir, it’s not enough to get concerned about yet, that’s why I’m tracking down what was used at the camp. I suspected that’s what powered the ovens, but haven’t got a clue about how much material the Sin Eaters could’ve gotten,” Marshall explained and saw utter shock on Gifford’s face.
“Not enough to be concerned about?” Gifford mumbled because that’s all he’d heard. “How many until we can fucking panic?!”
“Sir, a thousand cases of exposure doesn’t warrant this,” Marshall told him.
“What!? How about sixty-nine thousand?!” Gifford screamed, and the door opened and Hearst walked in.
Trying to remain calm because Gifford was the president, “Sixty-nine thousand, of what?” Marshall asked.
“Radiation exposures!” Gifford bellowed, and Marshall’s face went white.
“No. As of right now, we are at eighty-six thousand, seven hundred, and thirty-two exposures,” Hearst announced, handing a stack of papers to the president. “Nine hundred and four dead.”
“Here?!” Marshall cried out and Gifford nodded numbly, not even looking at the pages Hearst handed him. “I just got word of twelve hundred yesterday and was going to interview them today.”
Hearst turned to Gifford. “He got word of the first ones from three days ago,” Hearst said. “If Marshall hasn’t gotten wind of it, our blackout is working.”
“Three days ago?” Marshall gasped and Gifford bobbed his head once. Spinning around to Bolton, “Get the teams here now! I want every trigger puller under my command in D.C. in two hours. Send another platoon here and I’ll direct insertion for the others,” Marshall commanded and Bolton was already on the phone.
Turning back to the president, “Sir, I’m not telling you what you need to do, but I strongly advise you to stay inside the White House. You have over a thousand troops, six hundred guards, and my troops that are assigned here,” Marshall told him and started moving quickly for the door.
“What’s going on, Colonel?” Hearst shouted.
Stopping at the door and glancing back, “The Sin Eaters are here,” Marshall said as Bolton hung up the phone and bolted out the door after his boss. Before the door closed Hearst heard a ‘Thump’, and whipped his head toward the noise to see Gifford passed out on the floor.
***
Walking into a high school gym in Clarksdale, Mississippi, Isaac glanced at all the marines who had been called in off the line. He was currently assigned to the third marine division after being pulled from the tenth MEU, commissioned as a captain, and was given a company of marines to lead. In all reality, Isaac was surprised he hadn’t been pulled to lead sooner. Unlike the feds, officers in the Republic ate, slept, led, and died with their troops. Because of this, experience was in short supply.
Colonel Dobson, who Reaper had met, used to be the master sergeant of the tenth MEU when the second civil war had started. By the time the tenth had reached St. Louis, Dobson had risen to colonel and was doing an excellent job. It did make Isaac sad seeing his old unit, the tenth MEU, pulling out to load up and assist the marines in Cuba, but the marines and the Republic needed him here and here is where he stayed.
Unconsciously, Isaac reached down and rubbed the gold leaf of major that had just been pinned on him. Reporting to his commander, Isaac handed over the papers he had been given and until the day he died Isaac would swear, the general over the third division had looked relieved that Isaac was getting off the line. After reading the memo and request from Isaac, the general had taken over.
Marines could volunteer, but only those who were selected could become a volunteer. The general would only let marines who had served MSG (Marine Security Guard) program to get chosen for the option to volunteer. It was only marines who had completed MSG who were allowed to serve at embassies around the globe. Like the general had pointed out to Isaac, they know how to fight and be ambassadors. Not many marines were even selected for the training, and still fewer passed. Isaac was glad he had done his time in the MSG before transferring back to the fleet.
The gym was packed as the general motioned Isaac to a platform so he could address those assembled. “Marines,” he called out and the chatter stopped. Many were wondering what the hell they had volunteered for because ‘volunteer’ was bad in all branches but still, marines, soldiers, and sailors did it because they were needed.
“Many of you know me and yes, I’ve been promoted again,” Isaac grinned and many chuckled. “I’m Major Isaac Yassa,” he stated proudly and those who didn’t know him gave a startle. They had heard a marine among them was the son of acting President Yassa, but didn’t really believe it. “I am the son of acting President Yassa and I’ve come to ask for volunteers. She is my mother and my president, so she outranks me in every way possible,” he chuckled and that made everyone laugh.
“I reported to her as I was ordered and as my mother, she asked if I would return home and protect the family we have left in Missouri. At that point, acting President Yassa informed me I was talking to my mother and not the president. I answered that they are one in the same because she wouldn’t order me to leave the line no matter what. The president doesn’t want to order any troop off the line, even if it’s to protect herself or family. I’ve lost one brother in Texas who was a marine. My oldest brother is running a carrier battle group. All of our wives, kids, even my wife and kids are in Missouri. Make no mistake, they are all under threat of the feds who would love to kill them all just to hurt the Republic. Even with that risk, our president won’t order troops to protect them. Currently, they are being guarded by a small detachment of U.S. Army soldiers, but the president won’t let the captain assign more than five troops to guard the family. She’s relying on the family and militia to guard themselves. The soldiers there are assigned to protect the governor who is just as bad, if not worse, than my mom. They want the soldiers guarding the area so the feds can’t hurt the refit centers that are building us weapons of war.”
Isaac paused, seeing disagreement on many faces. “I’m all for the militia and can’t count how many times we’ve been helped by militia units all the way from Arizona to here. But,” Isaac snapped. “Militia are part-time fighters and have other duties, like working regular jobs to keep us supplied at the front. The First Family needs full-time fighters who’ve been in the shit,” he told the assembly and everyone nodded.
“But I still didn’t volunteer for my mother, the president, but informed her I would take off my uniform to head home if she ordered it,” Isaac told the group and got several angry glares from the crowd. He wasn’t going to volunteer for his mom and president?
“Why, you ask?” he asked raising his voice. “When I was in Dallas, with my own eyes, I saw our acting President, my mother had assigned the one company of soldiers and one company of Texas Rangers that are assigned to guard the president, to stand guard over President Fern at the hospital. She told me, he needed them more. The soldiers and Texas Rangers guarding my mother? They pulled themselves off the line and from communities to guard their president. So, I told my president, I would volunteer but only if I could get some marines to volunteer with me,” Isaac told the group, and excitement rippled through the crowd.
“What I’m about to tell you is classified,” Isaac said. “The feds have tried attacks on President Fern twice. One was shot down when it tried to cross behind the lines, and the other was stopped on the ground by Sin Eaters. We can’t take the chance we’ll get lucky like that again. Everyone here needs to understand, if you volunteer and the feds manage to get an airborne assault in, it will be very unlikely we’ll survive an assault of that magnitude. But, we will be able to hold them off until the QRF (quick reaction force) arrives and extracts the president.”
The blatant hatred for the feds on the faces in front of Isaac made him proud to be a marine. “So, I made a deal with my mother, that the president she is, agreed to. I would volunteer to protect her and the family if she allowed me to ask for volunteers from my fellow marines to assist me,” Isaac told them, then grinned. “As my mother, she liked it but as president, she didn’t but did agree to let me serve in this capacity. That is what each of you have been asked to volunteer for. I want one platoon assigned in Missouri that will rotate from a company of marines in Dallas to guard the president.”
Moving over to a board that had the design of the command, Isaac was about to start explaining their jobs when one gunnery sergeant stood up at attention. “Sir,” he called out and Isaac nodded, giving him permission to continue. “I’ve signed the papers to volunteer. Can’t we just go and you can tell us our jobs on the way? Be damned if I want to tell my fellow marines I volunteered for a presidential detail and the president got hit while we were getting our briefing. I’m not telling any officer his job, but can’t we do this ‘on the job’?” he nearly begged, and the other two hundred plus in the room murmured agreement.
Turning to the general and getting a nod, Isaac turned to his troops. “Get your gear and load up! We’re heading to Dallas. I’ll talk to officers en route and they can pass down the information,” Isaac told them as a master gunnery sergeant called the group to attention. “We have a president to protect, let’s go!” Isaac shouted, and the room took off to grab gear and load up. Six hours later, the leader of the free world was once again being guarded by marines.
***
Stepping out of the officer’s mess hall kitchen, Ethel moved among the tables patting officers on the shoulder, talking to their families that were assigned to eat here with them, and just playing the part she had to play for the plan. Never could she have imagined the evil that the feds truly represented until she’d arrived at Camelot. There was no freedom of any kind. Even those at the top were monitored, but didn’t have the unannounced inspections of their living quarters to check for contraband.
All children had ten hours of ‘indoctrination’ every day, because it damn sure wasn’t school. Any kid over the age of seven who didn’t conform was given duty at the sewage plant. Not many kids were given a second day of punishment and just did what they were told.
Moving through the hall until she reached the main doors, Ethel stepped outside giving a sigh of relief because she wanted to cut throats and not pat shoulders, smiling at those who fought for the feds. The main surveillance center was located near the front gate and at any time, could trace an individual’s movement. Ground radar scanned over half of Camelot now and tagged everyone.
The main goal had been achieved when Ethel had left her house one night to take treats to the munition factory. Acting like her buggy had run out of electricity, Ethel had stopped by the cell tower. After practicing with Wizard and talking with Oracle, Ethel had hooked up the link that would give Oracle access to the closed system of Camelot.
Hooking it up, Ethel wasn’t even worried about dying if she were discovered. The only fear she felt was not accomplishing what she was sent to do. By the time the guards showed up and drove her to the munition plant, Oracle had penetrated the closed system but had to work slowly so as to not set off alarms.
By the time antennas were put up to monitor the area around Ethel’s house, no Sin Eater that was in Camelot could be tracked. Like the residents of Camelot, the dozen Sin Eaters inside and around Ethel’s house all had ID chips. When their badges and chips were scanned, the computer read ‘null’. Ground radar picked them up but wouldn’t tag them because nothing was there according to the chip each Sin Eater had. If the badges had read ‘zero’, the system would know something was there, but ‘null’ was nothing.
Every night, half of the Sin Eaters moved about the city and west end where the factories were, placing charges. In this the feds helped, and Ethel was sure they would find this out later. There were no natural gas lines and despite the huge oil farms and storage tanks at the end of Camelot near the mainland, none were laid to Camelot. Instead, there were thousands of propane tanks, and these were being set up to one day destroy this gilded prison.
What really tickled Ethel was the fact Sin Eaters were bringing in over a ton of food a day, so she could keep up the persona of Ethel. Some of the food was delivered by drivers that delivered supplies and transported goods out of Camelot. Two things all of the drivers had in common, none were valuable enough to live inside Camelot and all were angels. The Sin Eaters not moving around and planting explosives were at the house at night, making treats for Ethel to pass out. One would always have on her ID, so the antenna outside relayed Ethel always seemed to be awake and working, trying her best for the feds.
Getting in her electric buggy, Ethel gave a wave to Sergeant Eason. From the monitoring center, it always looked like Ethel laid down for a few hours after serving supper and then got up to work the rest of the night making treats for the good people of Camelot.
Even seeing a group of kids playing near the road, Ethel fought the desire to run off the road and hit a few. She knew the kids didn’t know better, but all of them spat out hatred for the Republic and those fighting for freedom. On more than one attack she had been on, Ethel had seen young federal kids trying to use a gun to kill Sin Eaters. The fact none knew how to operate one was the only reason more Sin Eaters weren’t dead. All Sin Eaters, when they first put on the mask, had trouble consuming the sin of what the federal kids really were, warriors-in-training against freedom.
Coming to a stop sign, Ethel stopped as dump trucks rolled past. The residential area of Camelot was being expanded to house more residents. It was already eight square miles and each unit spanned thirty acres, standing ten stories tall. It was Oracle who had supplied the answer Ethel wondered about. Why weren’t the feds building in concrete? Like Oracle had told her, concrete takes time to set and requires more labor to prepare the building site. Lumber was much cheaper and could go up much faster. Even though they were feds, Ethel felt sad for the ones who lived on the top floor in the ‘commons’ or basic apartments.
Like the early nineteenth century, the higher up you lived in the commons, the lower rank you were. Wives and families of privates occupied many of those closet-sized rooms. Each day, they had to walk up and down the ten flights of stairs multiple times. Ethel had been inside many of the common complexes getting the layouts. Waiting in line for the elevator, one could walk up to the tenth and back down in the time it took just to get on the elevator during the morning or evening rushes.
All families of lower-ranked personnel in Camelot had assigned jobs and you damn well better report for them on time or you wouldn’t be in Camelot much longer. That’s why those on the top floors never took the elevator, they couldn’t wait on it.
When a complex was finished, busses would arrive with dependents of the feds to fill the small living areas. From the talk she’d overheard from the officers, by the end of the year the population would be six million. The fact those six million would be housed in only ten square miles amazed Ethel. The feds were warehousing their people, and their people didn’t mind in the least. They were being provided for but in reality, they weren’t. If they didn’t work and do as they were told, they didn’t get to live in Camelot. Those outside Camelot, if they didn’t do as they were told and work, they were sent to a camp and got beaten to work.
Leaving the built-up area of Camelot, Ethel started relaxing as the cold wind blew against the windshield. There was a heater inside the enclosed golf cart, but Siren wouldn’t let Ethel turn it on as she drove the ten miles to her secluded house. Parking, Ethel got out and grinned when Mantis opened the door for her. “Death sent a message and I’m warning you before you read it, Siren, he’s pissed,” Mantis told her.
Like the other Sin Eaters, Mantis was just wearing a balaclava face mask. They were using Camelot’s surveillance system and would know if anyone got close. Everyone figured if someone managed to get close somehow and spotted Sin Eaters in the hard masks, it might make someone suspicious. People wearing balaclavas in the cold air weren’t given a second glance.
Taking the balaclava Mantis was holding out to her, Siren put it on. “Let me guess, it’s about Heaven?” Siren groaned and Mantis nodded.
“Yes, you’re supposed to have started the walkthrough a week ago,” Mantis reminded her.
“I hate those sacks of shit behind those locked gates!” Siren snarled. “Just because someone left them money, they think they’re better than everyone around them.”
“Siren, I know McMahon has asked Ethel to visit Heaven at least twice,” Mantis said, following Siren into the kitchen where other Sin Eaters were preparing mixes for tomorrow’s treats.
“Ethel’s a pussy and I hate the bitch,” Siren snapped and all the Sin Eaters turned to her.
“Siren,” Ghost said. “This is a sin and must be consumed. You think I like making fucking muffins, brownies, cookies, pies, or cakes for these fuck wads? I’m a member of the Opera, baby, and should be slinking about bringing death, but I volunteered to come here with you.”
Realizing Ghost was right, “Did you ask again?” Siren sighed.
“Only because you wanted me to,” Ghost popped off. “Death said none of the captains have been read into this attack yet and if I asked again, I was getting taken out of the Opera.”
Hearing that threat, Siren realized just how pissed off Death was. “We won’t ask again,” Siren told him.
“Oh, I know I’m not,” Ghost informed her.
Those moving out during the night were following plans as they wired up explosives, but none had been set anywhere near the housing units. Siren just couldn’t understand why because those fuckers were big and would take some serious time to wire up. Every explosive they had set was hidden very well and unless you were looking, one would never find them. In those housing units it would take tons and yet, they still weren’t on the schedule to wire up. They were Sin Eaters and would follow orders, but Siren knew their mission time was getting close to ending. What she worried about was Reaper just didn’t understand how big each housing unit was. Then, when he did send the order to start wiring them Sin Eaters would have to rush, and rushing your work was always bad.
