Chapter Twenty-Four

Hanson

 

It was there on every news station, every screen. Hundreds, thousands of people. They gathered in Times Square, in parks, along Main Street, in front of their farms, everywhere and anywhere. And they stood, facing east, all impassive. All silent. Cameras panned around them in Idaho, in Florida, in Maine, in Oregon. And by the end of the afternoon, in London, in Berlin, in Tokyo, in Taipei. Face after face, staring silently into nothingness. No movement, no sound, just the heavy weight of silence.

And as Hanson walked through the center of Sacramento, it was right there in front of him, all around him. Like walking through a square full of mannequins. The effect was spooky almost, to be surrounded by silent people. Just because California had seceded didn't mean that her people weren't going to let their views be known. They stood together with everyone else, and Hanson was creeped out by the whole thing.

The same seemed to be true for the military and law enforcement, since not one protest had yet been disbanded. From everything he saw on the news channels, it looked to Hanson as though the military was as freaked out as he was, and he couldn't blame them. Police were seen standing by looking confused. They had their water cannons, their tear gas, their riot shields. But they had no one to use them on. There was no shouting, no violence, just mannequins, silent and still.

Hanson was glad to get back to the car.

“Camp two,” he said to Granger as he buckled up.

“Creepy, isn't it?” said Granger, starting up the engine.

“You said it,” said Hanson. “And you know what the worst thing is? Their patience. Like they could stand there all day and all night and just wait. It's like something from a fifties horror film, like they're frozen in time or something. Ashlee certainly knows how to make an impact.”

“Was that ever in doubt?” Granger said with a chuckle. “How'd it go with Merriweather?”

“Signed off on everything we needed,” said Hanson. “And munitions and armaments are being unloaded as we speak. I'm going to get a couple of companies from camp two to go through some demos and trainings, to show that these big guns are real. I don't want anyone thinking they're dummies. Should be quite the show, I'm hoping.”

“I'll look forward to it,” said Granger. “But it's not all for show, is it?”

Hanson knew Granger didn't know everything. Not that he didn't trust the man—he'd trust him with his life, but there simply hadn't been time to fill him in. And besides, the fewer people involved, the better.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there's something else going on here, and I don't know what it is. But if whatever it is doesn't work, if this silent revolution thing doesn't bring action, or whatever else you're planning, then these guns are going to be firing for real. Because if they weren't, why have real guns in the first place? You've got hundreds of millions of dollars of equipment. It's there to be used. And you're hoping that it won't be necessary.”

“I've never hoped for anything as much in my life,” said Hanson. “But you're right. If things head south, then it's my job to get things back on track by force if necessary.”

“A civil war? A revolution?”

“Not just that. This will be the worst land war ever seen,” said Hanson, and the thought had been preying on his mind. “We both know that the other side has nukes, so I'm not too worried about that. But in terms of destruction and pure firepower, do you have any idea how far technology has progressed since the last time we had a war involving this many people and the United States? We're talking millions dead here. Not hundreds of thousands, but literally millions. And all those lives are in my hands right now. All of them.”

“And it's a responsibility that you don't like.”

Hanson laughed bitterly. “It's one that I hate.”

“The strange thing about responsibilities,” said Granger, “is that they so rarely belong with the ones who want to have them. You might say it's those who least want to have them who are the most likely to use good judgment with them. Imagine Hammersmith in your position right now; what would he do? Right now he's a tyrant, sure, but he's still somewhat beholden to Congress, to military hierarchy. You, on the other hand, are more or less a free agent. If you choose to press that button, to get things started, then you could. But you don't. See what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do. Doesn't make it easier, though.”

“I don't think anything can do that,” said Granger. “But there's a lot to be said for understanding. Most military men don't get that, one of the biggest problems I had in JAG. Blindly following orders is all very well, and very necessary at times. But understanding the underlying reasons behind what you're doing—that's what makes you a soldier and not just a weapons robot.”

Hanson laughed for real this time.

 

***

 

Rocket launchers, missile launchers, huge anti-aircraft guns . . . the men were like kids in a candy store. The massive amounts of weaponry available to them made some almost giddy with delight. Boys and their toys, thought Hanson. But the setup and trials had gone brilliantly. The men were well trained and well able to use the equipment they'd been given. He just hoped the cameras in the sky and the radars and the spies had taken in all that they were doing. He wanted word out that they were spoiling for a fight and ready to win one too.

He went through the plans with the camp commander, satisfied that there were a good assortment of tests to run through the next day; that should make satisfying viewing for whoever was watching. And the day was almost over when he got back into the car.

“Sacramento?” Granger asked.

He thought about it. Thought about going back to the kids and Kish, and Min-Seo too, who were patiently waiting for news. But they were safe, and the drive was long enough. And he wanted to check in with the border troops, so he shook his head and told Granger to head for the patrol that they'd left the day before.

The car drew up in a flash of orange light as the first grenades began to fall. Hanson's first priority was to get out of the vehicle, dragging Granger with him. The bombardment continued as, at a crouch, he ran toward the command tent. He pulled gear from the storage, putting it on as he neared the central command.

“Incoming.”

A bang.

“Incoming.”

A bang. Closer.

“What's this? What's going on?”

“A full-scale assault, sir,” said a man he vaguely recognized. “Looks like they thought they'd get in before we were done setting up our toys. Men have been deployed; everyone's at action stations. But we're about to take a hammering.”

The floor trembled as yet another missile made the camp rock. Hanson fought to stay on his feet. Dust filled the air, almost choking him. But the men around him were still and calm and focused. Radar screens blipped; whispered orders and instructions continued. He felt like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane.

“Return full fire,” he said.

Screw being nice. This was a full assault, and his orders said he had every right to defend his territory. The less deaths the better, but he didn't have the luxury of moving slowly. He needed to protect the men in this camp, the men outside shooting, arming, aiming.

An immense explosion made his ears ring, and he shook his head, trying to get his hearing back, before being thrown to the ground as the next missile followed closely on the heels of the first.

 

***

 

It was a long night. The sky lit up with tracers and explosions, the air smelling of fire and cordite and cooking human skin. Three times Hanson thought they had been overrun. Three times his men fought off the invasion. And as the next day dawned, the air quieted, and the damage could be checked.

Men came back to camp, bloody and dirty and tired. Craters, still smoking, littered the surrounding desert. A hospital tent had been prepared, next to a smaller tent he knew to be the morgue. And he knew it would be full. A heavy sickness settled in his stomach. They couldn't do this for another night. Not even with the weapons they'd received. He knew from com calls that the US forces had focused all their energies on this one crossing. The whole might of what was left of the US army, navy, air force, and marines was battering at their door. Another night and they'd be lost.

“Com, sir!”

A young soldier, a streak of blood across his cheek, hurried up, passing the sat phone over and saluting before rushing away again.

“Hanson.”

“Tough night,” said Merriweather.

“An understatement.”

He had no time for politics, no time for the awkward commiserations and explanations. He didn't want to talk to the governor now. He wanted to be with people who understood, wanted to be with other military men.

“What has happened there has not gone unnoticed,” Merriweather said.

“Glad to hear it,” said Hanson, curtly.

“This morning I received two calls, both of which affect you.”

“Which are?” He was getting tired of this, longed to hang up, and only didn't because it was Merriweather.

“The sovereign governments of Canada and Mexico are offering us their assistance.”

There was silence. Silence as the news settled in. Silence as Hanson slowly realized that his men would not die tonight. Silence as he realized he was being validated. He was doing the right thing, fighting for the right side, his decisions approved of by not only his family and friends but by whole governments who could not sit aside and watch the United States destroy herself.

“Thank you.”

“Don't thank me; I had nothing to do with it,” said Merriweather. “And I'm told you've been in the heat of the action all night. Get home, Kel. I'll see you in my office this afternoon, and we'll go over the ramifications of this. The Canadian prime minister has already informed Hammersmith of his decision, and we're expecting an announcement from the Mexican president any time now.”

The phone clicked and hung up.

Hanson found Granger in the hospital tent. There was a heart-stopping moment when he thought the man dead. Granger's death would be one he felt personally responsible for, one he would never forgive himself for, so he only breathed again when he saw the body stir.

“Sorry, sir,” said Granger. “I was catching some sleep. I've been volunteering in here all night. Ready to leave?”

They walked toward the car, stones and sand crunching under their feet, their eyes dry and gritty from lack of sleep. Granger had pulled out the keys and was idly fiddling with them, clicking the lock and unlock button again and again. The noise grated on Hanson's ears. He was turning to say something, to stop him, when it happened.

The explosion was a bright flash of heat that blinded him. He felt the first wash of the shockwave, and then nothingness.