Pedestals of Ash (17 page)

As the m
ajor’s tank pulled out of line and began passing the lead vehicles of the convoy, he was tempted to radio back to HQ in Dallas and ask if he had missed a tra
nsmission or other orders. The c
aptain in charge of the refueling convoy hadn’t mention
ed
anything
,
and after his status report
,
there had been no communications. His radio was working just fine – at least on his command frequencies. 

It took hi
m
only about
eight
minutes to travel the three miles and meet up with his lead scout. There, parked in the
eastbound
lane of I-20, was a Bradley
,
nose to nose with a Stryker. The Stryker had a white flag pinned atop of one of its tall antenna. Standing on the ground
,
next to the two fighting machines was a group of soldiers, one of them a tall, thin man who Owens immediately identified as a senior officer.

The m
ajor dismounted from his tank and approached the group of men. The insignias immediately confirmed his observati
on that the taller man was the c
olonel, and he walked directly up and smartly saluted the senior officer.

The salute was returned
,
and then the c
olonel stuck out his hand
.
“Major, my name is Colonel Marcus, commander of the 4
th
Brigade Combat Team, 10
th
Mountain D
ivision.”

Owens responded with, “Sir, Major Owens, commanding Ironhorse Brigade, 1
st
Calvary Division. How can I help you
, C
olonel?”

The c
olonel looked around at the small group of gat
hered men and then back at th
e major. “Walk with me please, M
ajor.” As the tw
o officers casually wandered
a distance
sufficiently out of earshot, the c
olonel began:

“Major, I don’t know how much you know about what is going on in the country right now, so I’ll start from the beginning. A new government has formed. This is in addition to the old one still trying to maintain control. I’ll be blunt
, M
ajor
.
I’m with the new government
,
and you, evidently, are still with the old.”

The look of confusion on the m
ajor’s fac
e made his response
redundant
.
“Sir, I’m not quite sure I understand. A new government? An old government?
My orders fr
om General Lynch
are simple…
to secure the region around Shreveport, sir.”

Colonel Marcus smiled and folded his arms across his chest. His voic
e
was steady, “So I understand, M
ajor. I have orders to secure the same region. It seems both sides decided this little stretch of real
estate is
critical. I’ll come right out with it – we both can’t be here. My orders a
re to deny you this area.” The c
olonel paused for a few moments and then continued, “And I will follow my orders.”

Major Owens was an officer in the United States Army and in command of one of the most potent fighting forces on the planet. He had never even conceived of being denied anything and
was beginning to dislike this c
olonel’s attitude
. His contempt bled through
as he looked
around and pointed back at the c
olonel’s Stryker, saying, “No offense
,
sir, but I hope you brought a little more than
that
with you.”

The c
olonel smiled again, and a careful observer would have noticed his eyes became just a touch friendlier. He liked this young officer and
appreciated his aggressiveness.
The c
olonel also understood this was a method to buy time in order to digest what had to be a shocking bit of news. “Major, I have sufficient force to hold this area. I won’t go into any more detail than that. I know General Lynch. We served together in the 101
st
some years ago. I suggest you radio and apprise him of the situation. I’ll be happy to wait right here, but before you go, I want to make it perfectly clear. I will fight to hold this area. I will fight anyone who tries to take it from me. Think about that for a minute before you talk to the good general. Think about what that means.”

The c
olonel’s last words were like a slap in the face to Major Owens. While he had been standing straight with his shoulders squared, those words caused him to become even more rigid. Without thinking or proper military protocol, the words “civil war” escaped from his mouth.

The m
ajor spun on his heels and started walking back to his tan
k when the c
olonel’s voice called out, “Major, one more thing – you and the
Cav
would be welcome to join us if you are willing to swear allegiance to the Independents. I would be honored to sit and brief you on that option if you are willing. I didn’t make my decision without good reason, and neither did my men.”

The major paused at the c
olonel’s last statement, but continued back to his tank without comment. In truth, he didn’t want to chance the senior officer seeing the fear and bewilderment he was feeling. He ignored the small group of men standing around the two large green battle machines and strode with purpose directly to his tank. As he started to gracefully climb aboa
rd, he yelled out, “Ironhorse -
Mount up!”

As he shimmied his way into the turre
t, he looked up to see the c
olonel standing beside his Stryker and started to salute out of habit. He paused, unsure if he still had to do so
, or even wanted to do so. The co
lonel made up his mind for him as the senior officer threw a crisp right hand and
held it. The m
ajor returned the salute
,
and then both men proceeded to issue orders to the men under their command
s
.

Major Owens keyed his radio and ordered his driver to return to their lead units a few miles behind them. As the tank began to spin around, he noticed a full infantry squad rise up from the surrounding for
est and hustle back toward the c
olonel’s Stryker.
The man had deployed security for the meeting. He is clearly serious.

Ten minutes later, Major Owens reached for the volume knob on his radio just a wee bit too late as General Lynch’s voiced boomed in his ear, “HE SAID WHAT? ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME
,
MAJOR?” Owens didn’t
immediately
respond
,
and in a few seconds, his CO continued, “What a damn mess. Give me your coordinates. I’ll be on a bird in five minutes. I want to talk to Colonel Marcus personally. He is clearly out of his fucking mind.”

Private First Class Raymond Pilowski was scared. The 4/10 was his first unit after finishing Advanced Individual Training (AIT), and he had received orders to report to Fort Polk only two days before the collapse had begun. His squad leader was suffering badly from a stomach virus and was making what seemed like the 20
th
trip into the bushes due to cramps.

The squad was deployed in a forward position less than a kilomet
er away from the location
the first powwow had occurred. They had received a very specific briefing before moving to this position
,
and that “pep talk” had made it absolutely clear that they should all expect to die today. If that hadn’t been bad enough, less than 20 minutes ago
,
an M1A2 tank had pulled up to a position not more than 300 meters in front of them. The tank wasn’t one of the 4/10s
’
. Private Pilowski knew the capabilities of that beast, and he
envisioned himself while carrying his M4 carbine as a modern day David facing Goliath.
 

Before this last mad dash to relieve himself, the sergeant had looked around and pointed at Pilowski, mo
tioning him to man the shoulder-
fired Stinger anti-aircraf
t missile he was
holding.
Private Pilowski had never held a real Stinger. He had received
20
minutes of training on the weap
on during AIT, but that was
an inactive mockup, not the real thing. He hoped the sergeant wouldn’t take too long.

The distant sound of a helicopter’s blades
,
chopping through the air
,
filled Pilowski’s ears and diverted his attention back toward the tank in front of him. About the only thing that frightened the private more than the tank was an attack helicopter. If the Abrams tank was an infantryman’s bad dream, the Apache gunship was his
blood-curdling
nightmare.

Major Owens wanted to meet his commander away from the main column of troops. This entire situation was unprecedented
,
and he really didn’t know what to expect. After his con
versation with General Lynch
ended, he had ordered his driver to proceed a kilometer north o
f I-20 to the spot
his map indicated to be
a sm
all regional airport
. The m
ajor figured the small facility would
provide plenty of room for the g
eneral’
s
bird to land
,
and the two m
en could meet in relative privacy
there.

Owen
s was leery
,
knowing that a potenti
al hostile force was close by. When his tank
approached the cluster of hanga
rs and buildings, he
ordered a halt in a wooded area
,
bordering the facility.
They would wait here until the g
eneral arrived. Owens had no clue that he was parked so close to one of the 4/10’s forward observation posts
,
and that his tank was causing Private Pilowski such concern. The command net radio sounded in his ear, in
forming him that the general’s Blackhawk
was five minutes out.

The m
ajor waited a few minutes
,
and then
ordered the accompanying
Humvee
to move onto the tarmac and pop s
moke. The sound of the
Blackhawk could now be heard over the tank
’
s idling turbine motor. Before it came into view,
“popping
white smoke
,”
was announced over the
radio
,
and Owens watched the small ca
nister arch away from the
Humvee
and bounce across the pavement. This was standard procedure as
it lessened any chance for mis
identification and also gave the pi
lot some indication of the wind
speed and direction in the landing zone. Almost immediately
,
a
n artificial
cloud of
billowing white
began covering the area, a few wisps rising skyward. A short time later, a single helicopter appeared over the tree
line
,
heading directly toward the airport.