The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) (8 page)

Elko, Nevada

Pablo sipped his steaming hot espresso and studied the most recent diagram of Cheyenne. His conquest of the United States ended there. Everything after that would be simply a cleanup of ragtag elements and civilian resistance groups. When he took Cheyenne and wiped out the remaining elements of the United States government, he could officially tell the world that he alone had conquered the once great superpower. With this declaration he’d be able to etch in history the beginnings of a new world power—the Pan-American Empire.

He marveled at his own ingenuity. If someone else had put forth this plan, he might have scoffed at them. Along the way, he had lined up the players and the logistics, all the while keeping the United States distracted with an endless parade of small attacks. He remembered the days that followed September 11, 2001, and questioned why those who had orchestrated that attack hadn’t gone further. They had missed out on an opportunity to bring the United States to its knees economically with small attack after attack. Terrorism was an effective way to create chaos, and he knew it could be used as foreplay to an attack that would utterly destroy the country and pave the way for his conquest.

He laughed at how the Russians were so stupid to think they could sell him nuclear weapons without thinking that they wouldn’t be tracked back to them or the North Koreans whom he had worked with to design the super-EMPs. Those very EMPs that they had designed would eventually bring down their regime. The price of domination was one worth paying.

He was close to accomplishing what had taken him almost three years to plan. Just 669 miles until it was over. He knew this was just the first of many phases in building the Pan-American Empire, but it would be the most critical. Once the United States fell, he would then turn his attention toward taking down the Mexican government. The EMP’s effects, while devastating for the United States, hadn’t impacted the southern half of Mexico to include Mexico City. The detonation of the EMP over Kansas meant its effective radius was limited to mostly the United States, Canada, and northern Mexico.

Thoughts of the Mexican government reminded him of his parents, uncomfortably so. He hadn’t spoken to them in months and he knew that if he even tried to call, they wouldn’t speak to him. That disappointed him, as well as motivated him to be bigger and greater. If anything, he knew his father would eventually respect him for what he had been able to accomplish. Hearing his father chastise him for what he was planning that day outside of Tijuana was laughable to him, considering his father had murdered his way to the top of his cartel. It was his mother who he feared would never speak to him again, and that knowledge did pull at him. Before he executed his plan, he had tried to talk to her, but she was the ever-loyal wife to his father. His parents were now living, protected by his forces, in Mexico. Pablo left them in luxurious accommodations minus the ability to contact the outside world—he couldn’t risk it. If he could usurp his father, what would prevent his father from returning the favor?

Pablo glanced at his watch and saw that he was late to a meeting with his commanders. He put down his cup of espresso, wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, and left the house that was serving as his quarters during the occupation of Elko.

During the short drive to his temporary military headquarters, he took the time to look at his handiwork. Every street was littered with garbage, abandoned cars, and an occasional body. Periodically a series of gunshots could be heard echoing in the sky. His men were now going to every home they suspected of having resistance fighters. His command element kept the records they had found in Sacramento of active and former military as well as gun registrants and gun permit applications from the sheriff’s records. In order for his Villistas to operate unopposed, one of the first laws passed was a total gun ban. No one, for any reason, was allowed to own or possess firearms. If you were found to possess a firearm, you were killed on sight, no questions asked.

After passing through two checkpoints, he arrived at the old city hall. Walking into the briefing room, he was surprised to see one of his junior officers in a heated argument with General Alejandro. Both men were red-faced and yelling at each other, the other dozen men in the room looking on in amazement at the intense exchange.

“What is going on here?” Pablo boomed.

Hearing his voice, both men stopped and snapped to attention. The remaining men followed by standing quickly.

“At ease! General Alejandro, what is going on here?” Pablo asked.

None of the men in the room sat down; they stood erect and silent.

“At ease!” Pablo yelled again. “Sit down!”

The officers obediently listened and sat down in their chairs, except General Alejandro.

“Sir, forgive me for what you just walked into. Colonel Ramos and I were—”

“Not acting like officers, that’s what. Now, what could be so disagreeable between you two?”

Colonel Ramos stood and said, “Emperor, I apologize . . .”

“Shut up, I wasn’t talking to you!” Pablo snapped.

Colonel Ramos sat down quickly.

“Emperor, the Colonel and I disagree on how we, the army, should proceed. He thinks we should use our ace in the hole, to excuse the American vernacular.”

Pablo smiled and answered, “I like that turn of phrase, I have to admit. So, Colonel Ramos, you think we should just eliminate the remnants of the American government with our
ace in the hole
, then what?”

Ramos looked at Pablo nervously. He and everyone else were well aware of Pablo’s ruthless behavior. “Emperor, with each city or town we take, we lose men and valuable equipment. The replacements aren’t compatible. What I’m saying is that if we continue all the way to Cheyenne, we won’t have the army we have now. We have to know that the American government won’t roll over, so we must prepare for a fierce fight.”

“Exactly, a fierce fight is what we need!” Pablo exclaimed.

“Emperor, all due respect, by using—”

“No, we will crush the Americans. I want to look President Conner in the eyes as I take his life. I want him to know he has been defeated. Any other way is cowardly,” Pablo declared.

“But, sir, was dropping the atomic bombs on Hiroshima cowardly? That won the war. Was using the EMPs to bring them to their knees cowardly?” Ramos challenged.

The room grew eerily quiet at Ramos’s bold statements.

Pablo didn’t answer Ramos; he smiled for a moment then stood up. He walked around the desk and stopped behind Ramos’s chair. “Colonel Ramos, I appreciate your candid thoughts. I realize my overall strategy may not be what you would do, but I’m in charge here. I do want my officers to openly discuss tactics and strategy, but the use of what you call our ‘ace in the hole’ has been decided. The device is there, a team is there, and if we have to, I will use it. If it looks like we cannot defeat the Americans on the ground, only then will I deploy the weapon.”

The blood had drained from Ramos’s face as he looked over his shoulder at Pablo. His anxiety was running high. He knew at any moment Pablo could deal a deadly blow to him.

“There will be no more talk about this. Do I make myself clear, Colonel Ramos?” Pablo asked Ramos directly.

Ramos gulped and answered, “Yes, Emperor.”

“Good. And this goes for the rest of you. Once we have closed debate, it’s closed. Today, we need to discuss the deployment of our Villistas and timeframes,” Pablo said sternly.

“Emperor, I’d also like to propose we discuss our next major objective,” Alejandro said.

“Yes, let’s talk about Salt Lake City,” Pablo said, grinning.

Cheyenne, Wyoming

It had been a long day for Conner; he had always thought it amazing that you could get so physically tired from sitting and talking. One thing he took for granted when he worked in Washington, D.C., was how many resources each congressman or senator had—pages, aides, and staff by the dozens. Not until now did he appreciate the political leaders of the early days, the men who actually wrote the legislation themselves. In the last decades before the lights went out, you couldn’t get a politician to even read the legislation they were voting on. So much of politics had become gamesmanship. Leadership and statesmanship had died many years before.

The work he did now was the toughest he had ever done. With his eyes burning and his body aching, he called it a night. He reached up and turned off the light, reflecting on how odd it was that he had already gone back to taking the convenience of electricity for granted. Before the EMP attack, there had been red flags about the lack of security surrounding the power grid, but many ignored it. He himself had attempted to pass the Shield Law, a piece of legislation that would have improved and protected the power grid, but too many special interests got in the way and scuttled the bill. If only they could have known then the horror of what would happen, they might have done something.

He grabbed his jacket and was heading out when his phone rang. If someone was calling him at this hour, it must be important. He rushed to the phone and picked it up. “Conner here.”

“Mr. President, General Baxter. I hate to disturb you but I know how you want information as soon as it happens.”

Conner felt like someone had placed a three-hundred-pound weight on his shoulders as he sat down in his chair and braced himself for the important information.

“Go ahead.”

“It’s not critical, but Major Schmidt and a few of his officers just had a melee in Pat’s place.”

“What?”

“Yes, the place is a mess.”

“Why would they do that?”

“A fight broke out, and let’s just say that the coffee shop took the brunt of it.”

“Goddamn it! How’s Pat, is he okay?”

“He’s fine, a few abrasions and a bloody nose . . .”

“Bloody nose?”

“He kinda got in the middle of it on the side of Major Schmidt.”

“Are they still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No one leaves, no one. I’ll be right there.”

 • • • 

Conner rushed to Pat’s Coffee Shop as quickly as his protective team could take him there. The sun had set and the streets within the green zone were lit under the yellowish glow of the large floodlights. As they pulled up to the store front, a large group of onlookers hovered on the other side of yellow police tape.

His protective team was typically comprised of two to three armored Humvees, but because of the altercation, he had additional support vehicles. The mass of people deterred them from parking up front; his vehicle was escorted to the alleyway behind the shop. The support vehicles fanned out and armed men came bursting out. They took up positions about twenty feet away in an arc of protection. Conner’s vehicle pulled into the center; he exited and walked into the rear entrance of Pat’s shop.

The damage from the brawl was evident the second he walked into the main part of the café. All the tables were overturned, chairs were scattered around, and the floors were wet with coffee, alcohol, and blood. The fight had been fierce, from the amount of destruction he saw. He looked for Pat, but only saw a sea of uniforms. Men and women from the Cheyenne police, department, Air Force, army, and EMS all stood around doing whatever their duties required of them.

“Mr. President,” a voice shouted from across the room.

Conner looked and saw General Baxter.

Baxter approached him and said, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t intend for you to come down here. We have this handled.”

“Stop apologizing. Pat is a friend of mine and if men of mine were in a fight I want to know why.”

“It started out as an argument,” Baxter stated.

“As these things normally do.”

“It appears there were some supporters from the Republic of Lakotah here tonight handing out flyers,” Baxter said as he handed Conner a few pieces of paper.

Conner flipped through the sheets of paper. The first thing he noticed was the burgundy flag
with the words
Republic of Lakotah
drawn below it. Under that, a short paragraph discussed how now was the time for “the Lakotah people and whoever valued liberty” to have a nation of their own. Following that were dates, places, and names of people who were giving speeches in support of this separatist movement.

“Where’s Pat?”

“He’s giving a statement out front,” Baxter said, pointing toward the front door.

Conner folded the papers and put them in his pocket, making his way for the door. Just out front, he saw Pat standing and talking to a police officer, a bloody rag to his nose.

Pat glanced over and saw Conner; he shrugged his shoulders. His typical grin graced his bruised and swollen face. He finished giving the officer his statement and went to join Conner.

“What the hell happened here?” Conner asked.

“A slight disagreement,” Pat said with a laugh.

“You all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll live. Although I can’t say I believed that when the fight was raging.”

“I’ll get a team of people over here immediately to clean it up and bring your place back up to speed.”

“Thanks, I’ll actually take you up on that.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well, all was going great tonight. A few of your men, a Major Schmidt and others, were in here enjoying some drinks. They were being loud, just fun-loving stuff, then a small group, I counted five men that I’d never seen, came in. They sat down next to the major and were talking about their hatred for the United States and something called the Republic of Lakotah. I swear they were deliberately trying to egg on Major Schmidt and the others. Next thing I know, the major is yelling at one of the men and a second later, he hits him. All hell broke loose after that.”

“Major Schmidt hit the man first?”

“Oh, yeah, but that guy was being a complete asshole.”

“How did you get popped in the nose?”

“At first I was attempting to separate them, but those guys were not nice guys. I took sides and of course was on the good side.”

“You sure you’re all right?”

“God yes, I feel fine. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but it was kind of fun. Reminded me of a fight you saw from the Wild West. You know, the ones where tables are being turned over, chairs flying around, men getting hit back and forth. It was a damn good fight.”