The day after: An apocalyptic morning (72 page)

              "I'm switching over to the hailing channel for a minute," Bracken radioed to Stu. "Stand by for movement orders."

              "Standing by," Stu replied.

              Bracken dialed in the switch on his short-range radio to channel five, which was dedicated for communications between approaching friendly troops and the guards. He keyed up. "Auburn perimeter, the is third platoon, reporting in from Interstate and Bell."

              "Ten-four, third platoon," came a voice back. "I see you out there. Who am I talking to?"

              Of course corporal Hansen, who was in charge of the eastern perimeter force, knew exactly who he was talking to, but procedure was procedure. He had to establish that it was his own troops approaching and that they were not under duress of any kind. Failure to do so would have earned Hansen three days in solitary confinement for a first offense, banishment for a second. "This is Lieutenant Bracken here. All members of the platoon are present and accounted for. No prisoners or supplies."

              "Understood, Lieutenant," Hansen replied. "What is the password you were given upon departure?"

              "Hydroshock," Bracken replied.

              It took a moment for Hansen to look that up in his codebook but finally he confirmed it. He gave third platoon the go-ahead to come in. Bracken thanked him and then switched back to his tactical frequency. He gave Stu the order to move in and a moment later all forty men started walking down the blacktop.

              They came to the main line of defense ten minutes later. The Interstate passed between two rolling hills before descending into the town. Atop of each of the hills were sandbagged emplacements where two-man teams of guards armed with rifles and automatic weapons kept watch on those approaching. The rifles had come from either personal stocks or from the town's gun and bait shop. The automatic weapons had been taken from the Placer County Sheriff's Department building (more than one of the militia members had once been with the PCSD). At the narrowest point of the road itself, the way was hampered by an extensive maze of sandbags and barbed wire. Stu's squad entered the maze and worked their way through it in less than three minutes, the rest of the platoon following. It was relatively easy to walk through the maze and get to the other side as long as nobody was shooting at you from the hillside above. Had the platoon been hostile however, not a single man would have made it through alive.

              Once on the other side of the maze they continued down the Interstate. The town of Auburn had once been much bigger, both in geographic size and population. Like so many other mountain or foothill communities, the bulk of the male population had been down in the valley when the comet had struck and the bulk of the town itself had been either washed away or flooded. A little bit of the downtown district had survived but virtually everything north of the Interstate, which included the ritzy Auburn Gully area, had been buried for all time. What survived had been the lower rent district on the south side of the freeway, which consisted mostly of smaller houses, a few apartment complexes, and several strip malls.

              As they entered the town itself teams of women could be seen moving here and there, performing their daily chores. In Auburn the women, who outnumbered men by approximately four to one, did all of the day to day chores such as wood gathering, food gathering, and, of course, laundry, childcare, and cooking. This left the men free to handle such duties as guard detail, weapons maintenance, and militia operations. This division of labor was not just a Micker of the townspeople following traditional gender roles, it was a law, handed down by Colonel Barnes himself, and it was strictly enforced. In the new world that followed this one women would know their place and would be kept in it.

              Third platoon marched to Auburn High School, which stood on a small hill overlooking the canyon, and assembled on the soggy soccer field, all of them standing at rigid attention. Bracken put them at ease and then gave a short speech lauding the success of their mission. He then ordered them into the gym for weapons cleaning and storage. This took the better part of an hour to accomplish. Once all of the ammunition was accounted for, all of the rifles and pistols stripped, cleaned, reassembled, and placed in locked storage, Bracken dismissed them, telling them to get themselves cleaned up.

              Most went with enthusiasm, anxious to wash the mud off of their bodies and find their women. Being out in the field for three weeks without any females made one extremely horny. And many of the men had negotiated trades of one wife for another while they were gone and were anxious to try out their new acquisitions. Such trading of women had evolved in the town over the past two months and was now the most popular subject of conversation, at least among the men. Colonel Barnes, who had initially been somewhat reluctant to allow such a thing, had finally seen the wisdom of it and given the go-ahead. Since then, some women had been traded four or five times, being passed from one male to another like a baseball card. For their part the women were learning to live with it. After all, what else could they do? Where else could they go? It was the Auburn way or starvation.

              Bracken took another hour to clean himself up and change into fresh clothing (as well as assure his four wives that he had not traded any of them on this trip). One he was presentable he donned his rain jacket and ventured outside, making the short walk back to the high school. Two armed guards stood outside of the administration office, the interior of which blazed with electric light that was provided by the diesel generator at the back of the building. The guards, a private and a corporal, both straightened up and gave him a sharp salute.

              "Good afternoon, lieutenant," the corporal barked with crisp military courtesy.

              "At ease," Bracken said after returning the salute. "I'm here to see Colonel Barnes for mission debrief."

              "Yes, sir," the corporal replied. "I'll pass your request along, sir." With that, he picked up a portable radio and keyed it, talking to Sergeant Lovell, who was Barnes' assistant. A few minutes later, Bracken was given permission to enter the building and go to the main office.

              "Thank you, corporal," Bracken said, snapping off one more salute in return to the two that were offered him. He then mounted the steps and went inside.

              Colonel Gregory Barnes was fifty-three years old and had been both the founder and the leader of the pre-comet Placer County Militia Group, an organization that been very high on the FBI's "keep-an-eye-on" list. A West Point graduate from the Class of 1969, Barnes had cut his teeth leading platoons into battle in the dying days of the Vietnam War. Following this he had been first a company commander and then a battalion commander in the 7th Light Infantry Division. Though his tactical thinking and his leadership ability had been top-notch throughout his military career, his political savvy had not. He had stagnated at the rank of Major, finally forced to retire in 1992 in the wake of the Persian Gulf War and the resulting downsizing of the military. Using his military pension he had opened Auburn Bait and Guns in his hometown, taking on the role of small-town businessman.

              A staunch supporter of Second Amendment rights, Barnes had slowly turned from the blind patriot he had been his whole life to an anti-government militia organizer. His views were fueled both by the year by year crackdowns on the weapons he sold and by the strong-arm tactics employed by federal forces at such places as Ruby Ridge and Waco. He became convinced that a revolution would soon occur in his country - a forcible return to the traditional values that made the country great - and that the feds, in an attempt to derail this revolution, were conspiring to deprive all Americans of their right to bear arms. The PCMG, founded in 1996, had been his response to this, and there had been no shortage of volunteers to join in such a town as Auburn. And now, though the revolution had never materialized, its evolution interrupted by the chunk of ice from space, its ideals were needed more than ever. America would have to be rebuilt and this time, Barnes vowed, it would be done right.

              Maintaining control of the town after the impact and the disaster that followed, had not been difficult. He and his militia members had already been the second-best armed group of people in town, the first being the Placer County Sheriff's department. While the various members of the sheriff's department had been out trying to deal with the catastrophe or return to their houses to check on their loved ones, he and his men (many of whom had been "between jobs" on the day in question) had simply assembled and seized the building, capturing all of its weapon stores without firing a shot. Following the seizure eight of the fifteen deputies that had worked there on that day had joined his ranks voluntarily. The rest had been shot and tossed into the canyon to keep them from organizing a competing group. The townspeople of Auburn, most of whom were women, unemployed men, or small business owners, had fallen right into line after that. What choice did they have? Barnes and his group offered safety and stability; they offered food and shelter. The only alternatives were death or the unknown fate that awaited those outside the town.

              Barnes was a harsh disciplinarian but he liked to think that he was fair. Everyone, men and women alike, were expected to pull their weight for the food they consumed. There would be no welfare in his new society. And, though women were not allowed to work at male oriented jobs and though men were allowed to trade them back and forth, it was against the town's law to rape or to beat a woman without just cause. What could be fairer than that? Everyone had his or her role in society and as long as they played by the rules, everyone got along and was treated well. Those who did not play by the rules - those who were lazy, who were rebellious, who complained about his laws - were dealt with harshly, in a manner that would serve as an example to others. It was the only way to keep order in this new reality.

              Barnes' office was on the top floor of the administration office, where the heat provided by the propane-fired system was greatest. When Bracken entered he was sitting behind his oak desk going over some inventory figures on a computer terminal.

              "Lieutenant Bracken reporting for mission debrief," Bracken said, giving a salute.

              Barnes returned the salute almost absently, without even standing up. "Have a seat, Lieutenant," he said.

              Bracken took the chair in front of the desk, setting down a digital camera he had used to snap shots of Garden Hill and a folder full of maps that he had made. The debriefing began. Barnes listened carefully, not asking many questions, as his subordinate described his mission in chronological order, sometimes using his maps or photos of the area that he put into the computer. He nodded from time to time but his face did not change expression at all, not even when the battle with the group of hunters was described. Only when Bracken was finished did he show any interest at all.

              "So you think that there are how many people in Garden Hill?" he wanted to know.

              "We couldn't get an accurate count of course," Bracken replied. "But maybe two hundred adults, mostly women. I don't believe that there are more than thirty men there, even before the attack killed some of them."

              "And the women are attractive?"

              "From what we could tell by looking through the binoculars."

              Barnes nodded thoughtfully. "More breeding and trading stock," he said. "We can always use that around here. What about food stocks?"

              "Impossible to tell. It looks like they have all of it stored in the community center. They always gathered in there to eat and we never saw anyone carrying food over there from elsewhere."

              "But they sent out no hunting parties, no gathering crews?"

              "Not a single time," Bracken said. "The only time anyone left the walled portion of the town at all was when they manned the defenses near the bridge."

              "They must have a full cupboard indeed," Barnes said. "It sounds like Garden Hill will be a worthwhile target for our attentions. You think a company of troops will be needed to take it?"

              "I think so," Bracken said. "As I told you, their defensive positions are a joke. If not for a little bit of good luck, those untrained barbarians that attacked them would have taken the town themselves."

              "But you also say that their commander, this man our convict friends are acquainted with, was able to rally the people into a formidable defense?"

              "I'm only assuming that it was him that did it," Bracken said. "We have confirmation that he was there but I don't know who is leading them. In answer to your question however, they were able to put up a well-executed defense of their community center. It was obviously coordinated and the groups were put in exactly the perfect places considering the terrain they had to work with."

              "And how does this factor into your estimation of force needed?"

              "That is why I want a complete company to make the attack," Bracken said. "Good defensive execution or not, I don't believe they'll be able to stand up to 160 armed men. Of course, ideally, I will be able to make contact with them and convince them to surrender to us like we did the convicts at Foresthill and the people at Beacher's Grove."