Tears of Abraham

CHAPTER TWO Irreconcilable Differences

MALMSTROM AIR FORCE BASE, MONTANA

Henry sat up in his rack, the familiar sound of packing, clinking, and rustling in the barracks. He opened the footlocker at the base of the bed and took out a fresh uniform. His fatigues bore no insignia of rank, unit, or even branch. Nothing had come over the comm, but something was happening. The men were preparing for a fight. He’d find out soon enough.

He strapped a holster to his right thigh along with a Beretta 9mm pistol with extended magazine. His Tac V assault vest contained additional magazines for the nine mil, and also longer mags for the Heckler & Koch MP7/10A4 submachine gun. His black Nomex coveralls were lightweight yet resistant to wind, water, and cold. He bloused them into his assault boots.

His head was clear and he moved with focus and practiced efficiency. Gadget bags on his vest contained flashlights, lighters, maps, a med kit, suppressors for his sidearm, and the submachine gun. He also had advanced optics for the HK. He carried flash bangs and three frags in pouches on his left hip. He hadn’t heard anything over the comm, but the tension in the barracks buzzed and throbbed.

His rucksack contained a lightweight tent, duct tape, emergency SATCOM, gloves, MREs, a full water bladder, and more magazines.

Despite the amount of gear he carried, it was still less than what he’d grown accustomed to as a Ranger. It came to slightly over sixty pounds, much of it in the extra magazines.

“Whoa, Sleeping Beauty, nice of you to join the living,” Carlos said, lacing up his boots. Carlos was the largest man in the unit, a towering black man with thickly corded muscles at his neck, shoulders, chest, and, it seemed, eyelids. Muscle layered upon muscle. Henry was smaller, leaner, at only six feet tall and less than two hundred pounds. The men in the unit tended to be of middle height and weight. The really big guys couldn’t usually handle the endless humping and running the training entailed. Carlos could, though.

“What’s happening?”

“Dunno. Base is swarming with activity. Nothing on the comm. Can’t reach Big Dog.” Big Dog, or Alpha Dog, was what the men called Colonel Bragg. It was mostly a term of endearment. Mostly.

“What’s got everybody so spooked?” The Wolves never kitted up at a military installation unless they were about to go on an operation, and they never went on an op without hours of briefings beforehand and usually at least a week of mission-specific training and rehearsal. “It’s all over the net,” Carlos said, looking up at Henry from his boots. “There’s gonna be war for sure now. The entire southern block of senators and representatives just walked out of emergency meetings in Congress. A lot of the western states are with them.”

“Good God,” Henry said. He’d really thought Congress would figure this out, despite all the rhetoric plaguing the country.

“Exactly. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a western state. Montana doesn’t care much for Washington these days.”

“But on base?”

“Hey, soldiers are from everywhere. If the base commander is sympathetic to the separatists, well, that ain’t good, now is it?”

Henry thought about what that might mean. Carlos spelled it out for him.

“They might be rounding people up; trying to make us choose sides. You’re a good ole boy from Georgia, so you might be all right. They might not take kindly to me, being from New York. Then again, being that none of us are even in the army or air force, we may have a problem. They’ll figure out we work for DC.”

“I thought we all did.”

“You know what I mean.”

Henry walked to the bank of windows and looked out at the base. There wasn’t much to see. The buildings were low and gray, and snow covered the ground. His breath fogged the window, and he stepped back, noting the pair of helicopters sweeping overhead.

Secession had been discussed openly for more than a decade, at first only by politicians on the fringes of sanity. Henry, along with the rest of the country, assumed clear heads would prevail. But as the middle class shrank, the idea of secession began to seem possible, if still insane. The schism within the Republican Party left the party vulnerable and floundering. Democrats had been in control of the White House for almost twenty years. The influx of immigrants into the country, combined with a lack of clear purpose from Republicans, enabled the Democrats to maintain control of the executive branch, and the country was mired in mudslinging and angry discourse while few laws of use were passed.

Liberals pointed fingers at conservatives, claiming the Republicans were obstructionist, favored the wealthy, and were motivated by religious zeal. Conservatives howled that the ivory tower liberals were socialists bent upon destroying the country, stripping individuals and states of rights. In Henry’s opinion, both sides made some valid points. The ban on handguns, an executive order that went into effect on December 1, two weeks ago, seemed to be the final straw.

Much of the country felt that the federal government no longer existed to serve the will of the people and viewed the continued intrusions of the government into their lives with hatred. The media on both sides elevated the rhetoric, pandering to paranoia, infl passions, creating the illusion of a world of black and white.

The divisions within the country were not reduced to geography; the racial divides between Anglos and everyone else were a great part of the unrest. In much of the nation, white people were now in the minority, and they didn’t care for that. The growing disparity of wealth was a part of it, too, and the richest segments of society continued to pull away from the rest, retreating into gated enclaves with private security and cameras.

Militia groups popped up in every part of the country; most of them were vocal but nonviolent and consisted of doomsday preppers and gun-rights folks. They were loyal citizens who loved America, and were stressed and worried about the future of the country. But as time passed, a few groups began to take action. White Pride organizations saw their membership rolls swell. There were bombings and sniper sprees and assassinations. The federal government responded by increasing domestic surveillance and tightening restrictions on firearms. By 2016, more than 30,000 unmanned drones proliferated over US airspace. Now, in the last month of 2024, the number had tripled. Big Brother was indeed watching.

Henry had no problem taking down a terrorist cell bent upon destruction. He’d seen the stockpiles of ammunition, the heavy machine guns, mustard gas, dirty bombs, and even some biological weapons like anthrax in the hands of extremist groups. He believed he was saving lives.

Until the last op in the hills to the north, children had never been harmed. He believed in the preservation of the Union, but now he was questioning his role. The unit was unconstitutional, and while he’d justified it in his mind in the past, he was increasingly uncomfortable. He knew he was not alone in his thinking.

The comm implanted in his head came to life. “

Big Dog en route. Prepare to extract.”

There was a kind of clicking sound in his head Henry had never heard before.

“ICS no longer secure.” That explained the sound. An un-hackable system had been hacked.

Henry shouldered his ruck and weapon.

Somewhere outside, the sound of gunfire echoed from buildings. At first, just a few rounds. Then it became more urgent, the rolling chaos of a full-blown firefight.

Henry helped overturn bunks to make some cover. The Wolves were skittish, communicating with hand signals. Some of the men took up positions near the rows of windows, back far enough so they would be harder to see, but placed so that they could cover the snow-covered grounds outside.

Henry took position just inside the doorway, off to the side, his submachine gun slung over his neck with a strap.

The firefight subsided outside the barracks and there was the sound of shouting and the rumble of helicopters and the scream of jets. The idea of American troops firing on one another was unthinkable. Shattering.

Sergeant Major Alex Martinez, from his position near one of the windows said, “Two birds inbound. They’re ours.”

Henry recognized the distinct sound of the stealth helicopters. He leaned around the door frame. The rotor wash from the birds blew snow into the air as they touched down. He could not see any other soldiers outside.

“Move out!” Sergeant Major Martinez ordered.

Henry jogged toward the LZ and then halted, crouched on one knee, weapon at ready, providing cover for his fellow operators. The men who had been on his heels out the door did the same.

Less than a mile away, something exploded. Maybe a bomb, perhaps an ordinance dump. The Wolves bounded forward and climbed into the waiting helicopters.

An armored personnel carrier lumbered around one of the nearby buildings off to Henry’s right flank close enough that he could see the gunner on top. A gunner behind a .50-cal, the long barrel swiveling.

Henry was out in the open courtyard, no cover to hide behind. The helicopters were on the ground and vulnerable. The APC had them dead to rights.

Henry ran, that naked feeling in him, the sense of being a target, being hunted and waiting for hot metal to cut him in half. The APC never opened up. Henry jumped into the nearest Blackhawk, strong hands pulling him onto the flight deck as the bird lifted. He turned once he was fully aboard, looking over the door gunner’s shoulder as the base swept past below. Smoke roiled over the airstrips in the distance, oily and dark, and some of the buildings on the base were burning.

In less than a minute, the helicopter was over wilderness, white and green and eternal, and the chaos of the base was behind them. The pilot flew nap of the earth, skimming the treetops and hugging the terrain. Henry held on to a strap mounted to the ceiling as the bird banked and dipped and his stomach lurched.

After half an hour, the pilot seemed to relax, and the flight became less white-knuckled. Sergeant Major Martinez grinned at him.

“You all right, Wilkins? Ya look a little green around the gills.”

“Good to go, sir,” Henry said. “What the hell is going on?”

“Dunno,” Martinez said. “You know as much as I do. Big Dog is in the other bird. I guess he’ll fill us in.”

Carlos leaned over and smacked Henry on the back of the head. “That was close.”

“Where are we heading to?”

“I don’t know. Calgary, maybe. We’re flying north. Calgary then maybe Seattle or San Fran,” Martinez said.

Henry wished he had a tablet, but personal electronic devices were not permitted during operations. He had no way to access the net without using his ICS, which was out of the question. He needed to know what was happening in the rest of the country. He was cut off from the rest of the world.

A civil war in America. It didn’t seem real. Talk is one thing. But bases going up in smoke? If that was happening here in Montana, then what did the rest of the country look like? Soldiers were killing each other. The cities would be burning as the conflict spilled out onto Main Street, from suburbia to downtown urban areas.

Suzanne and Taylor were in grave danger. Henry wondered what was transpiring at the naval air station in Key West. If Florida went with Texas and the rest of the South and West, what would Florida be like? From West Palm Beach south all the way to Key West, it’s like a different state. Sweet Jesus. South Florida wouldn’t want to leave the Union. I’ve got to get home to my wife and child. Her old man might be able to protect her, but then again, if there is open war, the base might look like Malmstrom or worse.

Henry had been in combat more times than he could count. He was calm and steady under fire. He was not a man given to panic. Yet thinking about Suzanne and Taylor alone in Key West, he felt a deep cold fear in him. There would be food shortages, water shortages, and potentially general breakdown of society. He needed to get home, and there were thousands of miles separating him from his family.

KEY WEST, FLORIDA

Suzanne surfaced at the stern and removed the regulator from her mouth, breathing the warm ocean air and blinking against the bright sunlight. As she slipped out of her BC she saw Bart, his hands on the stern, peering down at her. He was sun bronzed and blond, and sometimes when they walked around town people assumed he and Suzanne were brother and sister. Bart’s wife, Mary, appeared at his shoulder. She looked worried.

“You gotta stop doing that,” Bart said.

“What?” Suzanne handed Bart the long speargun.

“Leaving your dive buddy, then chasing fish to the bottom of the damn ocean. You have to be about out of air.”

“Well, I’m safe and sound,” Suzanne said. Bart gripped her tank along with her BC and hauled it into the boat. She removed her weight belt and pushed her mask onto the top of her head.

“He was about to go in after you,” Mary said.

“Okay, jeeze,” Suzanne said. Bart offered his hand but she ignored it and pulled herself onto the dive platform, removed her fi<…>

“It’s dangerous, is all I’m saying,” Bart said. Mary produced a towel while Suzanne stripped out of her wetsuit.

Suzanne dried off and put on sweatpants and a fleece over her bikini. She shivered, feeling a sense of accomplishment and tingling with life. After a dive, especially a deep one where she cut it close, she always felt that way. Something about the proximity to danger made her feel the most alive. She recognized this about herself and found it to be somewhat incongruous with the way she generally lived. She was essentially careful and conservative in the way she conducted herself. She always wore a seat belt, she did not like to drink heavily, and she didn’t do drugs, jump out of airplanes, or engage in risky sexual behavior. But put me down at a hundred twenty feet with a great hammerhead circling around, and I’m in heaven.

She munched on some sushi they’d picked up that morning, ate some cut oranges, and washed it down with bottled water while Bart busied himself with the anchor. They were about ten miles offshore, and the sky was clear and blue. The Blue Mistress III rose and fell with the gentle waves and there was the burble of the bilge pump. She sat on the cooler behind the cockpit and stretched her legs out, facing the stern. Mary plunked down next to her.

“Have you heard back from him?” Mary said.

“No.”

“It’s been what? Three weeks?”

“Yeah.” You’re messing with my calm, woman. Leave me be.

“Have you told Taylor yet?”

“No. Not yet. I will when I need to. She’s too young to understand, anyway.” Yeah, I’m dreading that talk. Mother-of-the-year material, that’s me.

“You know if you need to talk, I’m here for you.” Mary squeezed Suzanne’s shoulder. “Sometimes you kind of keep things bottled up. But you’ve got friends.”

“I know, Mary.” Suzanne sighed. “I know. And I appreciate the invite today. I needed it.”

“Well, I’m not going to pry,” Mary said. “I’m just… worried, I guess, and want to let you know me and Bart are here for whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“Hello, ladies,” Bart said with an atrocious fake English accent from behind the steering wheel. “Are we ready to make way?” The engine rumbled and the boat began to move forward.

A sharp tearing sound split the sky, faint at first but growing to a crescendo. Sonic booms shook Suzanne’s insides and made the boat vibrate. Specs on the horizon resolved into more than twenty fighter jets flying just above the deck, hurtling south at supersonic speed.

“Holy shit!” Bart said from behind.

Suzanne stood and shielded her eyes against the sun with her hand, watching the jets. They were in two separate formations, one low and one slightly higher. She was accustomed to aircraft performing training exercises, but she’d never seen that many fighters in the air at once. Not even close.

The planes flew by at blinding speed, less than a mile away.

“Hang on!” Bart hollered. The boat leaped forward and the bow dipped and slammed between the troths, and then they were beyond the reef and up on a plane and the ride was not quite so bumpy.

Suzanne did not know what the jets meant. Maybe nothing. Then again, she’d watched enough of the news lately to be afraid. Her father had said a few ominous things about stockpiling water and food. She hadn’t seen much of him for the last few months, but he wasn’t one to be alarmist. He was, after all, an admiral in the United States Navy, and not prone to exaggeration.

A few miles away, Suzanne could see other pleasure craft beginning to run back to harbors in the kind of mass exodus that preceded a severe ocean storm. She heard Bart on his radio, but could not hear what he was saying over the roar of the engines and the slapping of the hull. Cool water splashed her face and she tasted the salt. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, and in spite of herself, she grinned, looking at the rooster tail and the foaming wake.

She faced Mary, who looked terrified, hanging on with both hands to the front of the cooler. Her long curly hair was plastered to the sides of her face and her eyes were scrunched almost shut. Mary’s pendulous breasts jumped and jiggled and her heavy arms quivered.

The boat abruptly slowed, causing Suzanne and Mary to lurch.

“Sorry,” Bart said, leaving the wheel and stepping around to face them.

“What’s happening? Did you find out anything?” Mary asked.

“It’s started. War.”

“You mean—”

“I mean war. Civil war. I’m gonna haul ass back to port. When we get there, we need to head for the base. Suzanne, you can get us all on to the base, right?”

“I don’t know. Probably. It depends on what’s going on, I guess. I don’t even know if Dad is in Key West right now.”

“Well, we should try that first,” Bart said. His face was pinched, tense. Suzanne had never seen him look like that. Not the relaxed beach-bum charter captain just now. The Army Ranger in him coming out.

“Taylor is at your place, right?” Bart said.

“Yeah. With Ginnie.”

“We’ll go there first, get Taylor, and head for the base in your car. Do you know the code for Henry’s weapons safe?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, then. Hold onto your butts.”

Bart stepped up to the console and put the boat into gear and the twin Mercury 250s roared.

Suzanne thought about Henry and wondered where he was just then and what he was doing. She prayed he was safe, and she felt a longing for his arms around her, the steadfast reassurance of his touch. Guilt descended upon her like a coat filled with lead. Irreconcilable differences. I attested to that. God forgive me, and keep my husband safe.