Don Pendleton - Civil War II (5 page)

Elliot turned to him with a slight sneering tone and inquired, "Well, aren't you going to join in on this, Joe?"

"Hell, man, I'm joined," Johnson replied. "You two go on. I'm listening."

"Joe never liked to talk politics," Hatfield observed, smiling. "He just wants to be turned loose. Right, Joe?"

Johnson nodded curtly. "You can jaw about this all day long, and you'll just end up going along with Abe Williams anyway. So why talk it to death? I thought everything was settled."

"We never completely agreed with Abe in the political area," Elliot said impatiently. "Now we're just trying to explore the possibilities. Thafs all. And it wouldn't hurt for you to add your thinking to this. Even if you were a baby when all this started. Your thinking wouldn't hurt none."

"It seems pretty clear cut to me," Johnson said, sighing. "United we stand, divided we fall. Isn't it that simple?

Whitey is the enemy. Not Abe Williams. If he says take and hold, then we take and hold. Isn't it that ample?"

"Abe doesn't understand the southern psyche," the intelligence man put in. "Now we
know
we can't just take and hold. Not down here. Not in Mississippi, Joe. You don't remember that much, that's the trouble. We either take and kill, or we take and get killed. It's as simple as that."

"Speaking from the military standpoint, I say thafs a lot of townshit," the younger man commented. "If the battle order holds up, and things go the way we figure them to, then whitey's going to be helpless. He can't move against us."

Hatfield was glumly shaking his head in an emphatic rebuttal. "You don't know some of these people down here, Joe. You been protected from them all your life. That's why we towned up, to get away from them. You don't know. You just don't know how hard they hate."

"We got some hate working for us too," Johnson shot back. "And we got more than that. We got outrage. Outrage. Now there's a strong weapon."

"I take it, then, that you're in favor of bowing to Abe Williams," Eliot said.

"It's not a matter of bowing," Johnson replied uncomfortably. "It's just common sense. Somebody has to call the shots for this thing. Abe's calling them. I say let 'im call them."

"I say I wish we'd had time to settle this matter," Elliot flashed back.

"Well we don't have the time," Hatfield told him. "So it looks like we better just go along. And play the thing by ear. We'll go along to whatever extent the situation allows. Then ... if things start getting rough ,.. then we do it our way."

"You see that as our only recourse?" the Mayor asked.

Hatfield nodded, a faint smile playing upon Ms face. "That's the way Atlanta sees it. They're going to play it as cool as possible. But if things start getting too mean, Georgia's going to think General Sherman came back."

Eliott said, "Well, I guess we should . . . uh, I hope

everybody appreciates the unique situation we have here in the south. There's a lot of old, painful memories down here, on both sides. We got a lot of boyg in our militias who grew up without mommas and daddies, or without nuts, or without brothers and sisters—because of those wild men out there. And a lot of them are still out there."

Hatfield shrugged and said, "I told Norman Ritter he could count on my operatives to play it straight." He chuckled. "Course, he don't know about that list we got, but I guess we can make some disposition of those bastards when the time is right."

"You're speaking of the triple-k," the young soldier spoke up.

"Yeah. You wouldn't know much about that. Not first hand. But a lot of us do. A lot of us." He shivered. "That last big outbreak in '81 is gonna be remembered by a lot of us."

"We have unique problems here in the south," the Mayor repeated. He grunted and scratched his white-domed head. "I guess nobody ever has really understood that."

"I understand it," the troop commander said. "They terrorized us off the land, now we're going to terrorize our way back onto it. It's as simple as that."

"So, the south is gonna rise again, isn't it," Hatfield said, grinning.

"Yeah," Elliot growled. "It's going to rise about two feet. In blood."

CHAPTER 5

"Abe Williams ain't no Black Messiah!"

"Well, hell, I didn't say he was." Phil Smart, Mayor of Kansas City, stepped to the window and let his eyes follow the gently rolling terrain clear to the horizon. "But goddammit, give the man credit. When the rest of us were laying around moaning and licking our wounds, he's the guy got this Omega Project to turning.
He
set up the communications links, he made the contacts with the government niggers,
he
got the towns organized and pulling together toward the common goal. It's been his show from the very beginning. A bunch of whining Johnny-come-latelys aren't going to stand up now and start telling him how to run things."

The military commander, Warren Hutchings, rolled his eyes heavenward. "He still ain't no damn messiah! And I'm telling you a limited war never did work. Now I learned that in the mudholes of Vietnam. Where'd Abe learn his military stragegy? On what campus of what university in what protest demonstration? Huh?"

"He knows what he's doing," Smart muttered. "General Bogan is not exactly anybody's damn fool, you know. A man don't get to be boss of the whole damn armed—-" "I don't trust that son of a bitch either!" Hutchings said.

"He ought to know better. He fought in Vietnam, he fought in Laos, he fought in Thailand, he fought every damned limited war there ever was to fight. Once I'd like to hear about just
one
unlimited war he ever fought. I'm telling you, Phil, this plan is crazy. When an armed force seizes the initiative, then they've got to hang onto it. Hell, man, you don't break a charge in mid-stride!"

"Abraham Williams says Phase Two only, and Phase Two only it's going to be," the Mayor said doggedly. "Now are you going to lead the KC forces or aren't you?"

"I'm leading! I'm leading! But you mark my words, and you remember I said it three times, and I haven't even heard any cock crowing around here yet. Abe Williams ain't no Black Messiah!"

CHAPTER 6

The council of war was underway in the only Phase Three area of the nation. Present were Abraham Lincoln Williams, serving as unofficial Chief Executive of Black America, Army Chief of Combat and Commander of the Unified Town Militia; General Jackson T. Bogan, Tactical Air Command Chief; General Hawley Matthews, also representing the Military Airlift Command; Colonel Brownleaf, Troop Commander of the small army garrison at The Presidio in San Francisco and also special adjutant for the California State Guard; Norman Ritter, Intelligence Chief for the Omega Project; a Captain Toney, USN, Tactical Officer for the 12th Naval District; a Colonel Horace, Commanding Officer of the Special Reaction Group at Ford Grd; and a number of junior officers from the several services. Also present was Sam Danniger, a newly commissioned colonel in the black militia and in charge of the Oakland forces.

The meeting was being conducted in the special war room at Oakland's Warhole, and Abe Williams was presiding.

"Now listen, I want no goofs," he told the assembled brass. "When I say a
limited
Phase Three, that's exactly what I mean. How's our timetable, Jackson?"

"Looks good," the old soldier reported. "Colonel Horace sees no problem with the airlift By the way, I've got Bob Donaldson manning the war room at the Pentagon. He's a sharp boy, and he's going to be right on top of the show throughout the night. We have the dummy wargames board up and running, with the press and all invited to observe. So far no takers, the nation lost interest in wargames several crises ago. But just in case something slips and someone gets the idea that
a
lot of troops are moving about. . . well, we've got the cover."

"Fine," Williams said. "Let's run through our timing once lightly. Forgive me if I'm belaboring, but this entire operation hinges on split second timing, complete discipline, and absolute intimacy with the battle order. Colonel Horace—if you will."

Horace was a man in his mid-fifties with the rock-jawed hardness of the career combat soldier. He stepped up to the chart and tapped a thick finger on the marker at Ford Ord. "In line with the dummy wargames, we're lifting off twenty-two troop copters at 2200 hours, I will be in the lead vehicle with a special reaction team to be placed at the disposal of Mr. Ritter. The other carriers will be lifting five rifle companies, a special weapons company and command vehicles. These will be dispersed to the Presidio, to the state guard facility near Sacramento, and to various other points in Northern California, where they will be joined by motorized units from Parks and Davis. I will remain at the Presidio, where I will join Colonel Brownleaf at Command, and where Mr. Ritter will take charge of the demolition team." The Colonel spread his hand across the northern area of California. "All these assignments have been carefully selected to completely neutralize any reaction capability the whiteys might try to throw up. Each of the twenty-two choppers will be released in sufficient time to rendezvous here at Warhole for the 2330 hours liftoff."

Williams smiled and said, "Thank you, Colonel. Swift and concise, that's how I like it, and that's the way I want it to go tonight."

"It will, sir," Horace assured him.

The militia commander, Banniger, was the next man up. Quite young, but all business and obviously very sure of himself, he picked up the battle order precisely where the other man had left it. "Colonel Horace's choppers will begin arriving here at Waxhole at 2330 hours. Oakland Armor will be in embarkation order and we begin loading immediately. By 2330 all twenty-two choppere will be on the ground and receiving. At midnight on the dot and in consonance with command units out of Presidio, Able Company lifts off and proceeds directly to target. Succeeding departures are spaced at two-minute intervals, and the first wave will be clear of Warhol© by 0045 hours How much of this do you want, Mr. Williams?"

"Just take us through Able Company, Sam."

"Yes, sir. Able Company will arrive at the State Guard Central Motor Pool at the Southwest edge of San Francisco—-in the beach area—and land inside the compound. This area will be secured no later than 0030 hours, and there is to be no gunfire whatsoever. The stationkeeping force of whiteys will be quickly and quietly subdued. They will then immediately begin servicing the vehicles which the Department of the Army, has been systematically stacking there since 1997."

General Bogan chuckled and told Danniger, "Thank you, son, for that nice detour around the word 'stealing.' I just saw a communication last week from Governor Raleigh asking what in blazes did the State of California want with all these hundreds of war machines. I'll bet he won't be asking that tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir." lie young militiaman was not to be deterred from Ms report. Soberly he continued. "These minimally-mothballed transport and armored vehicles will be placed on the line with all speed, special priority going to 60 troop carriers, 42 weapons carriers, and four of the 87 jeeps. These specified veMcles must be serviced and on their way to the Warhole no later than 0200 hours. They will travel in traditional military convoy fashion, and they will proceed through the city of San Francisco and into Oakland via the prescribed route. Any civil authorities attempting to either aid oar interfere with this convoy will be
discreetly disposed of. The convoy must arrive at the Warhole no later than 0300 hours. Embarkation of the Oakland Rifles will then commence immediately. Meanwhile, the armor brigade will continue servicing the combat vehicles at San Francisco motor pool. This will include 32 of the M-60 tanks, and 57 of the lighter units, including also six armored scout cars for unit commands. All armor will be fully serviced and on the line at 0500 horns, at which time this armored column will depart for rendezvous with regular army elements from Presidio and Mission. Rendezvous point is at the head of Market Street, just below Twin Peaks."

"Very good, Colonel Danniger," Williams complimented the youth. "You keep it just that tight and we'll see a bright tomorrow. Colonel Brownleaf?"

The Presidio Commander stepped up to the chart and glared at the enlarged area of San Francisco for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued the recital. "We'll, uh, have our light armor moving down Lombard Street, and well have taken positions at Van Ness Avenue, at Geary, and in the Fisherman's Wharf area. Bayshore elements of the regulars will have entered the city via the Bayshore Freeway, and they'll be in position along lower Mission, lower Market, and along the Embarcadero." He glared at the intelligence chief. "Did I understand Mr. Ritter to say there will be over two hundred thousand tourists to contend with?"

Ritter jerked his head in a bounding nod and replied, "You did. That's a standard weekly count of whiteys flocking to their fabled city with the golden streets."

"I've seen them," Brownleaf said. "Well, so our timing will have to be perfect. We'll want to accomplish the deployment before the city awakens. They're going to find their sightseeing suddenly greatly enhanced by the dawn's early light. But we'll have road blocks at all critical points, just to assure non-interference from the early risers."

"So far, so good," Williams commented. "This moves us through Phase One,
seize the means,
and Phase Two,
seize
the
city.
Before we go into Phase Three, let's hear from Navy and Air Force.