“Yes,” replied the soldier in the front seat of the jeep.

“Good, we might need them again for the next attack,” Perry said, looking into the first vehicle. It had more than two hundred holes on its right-hand side, and there was drying blood all over the leather seats of the old Ford. It had been cleaned of bodies, as well as anything small. The rear, enclosed bed of the truck was still full of equipment, and the first sergeant pulled away a canvas cover to reveal food, water, and what Carlos was looking for—two satellite phones, brand new and still in their cases, a backup satellite receiver dish, and a two-way communications box on the front arm of the dish.

The small dish was connected to a tripod and was lying on top of three large marine deep-cycle batteries, a small military field generator, a laptop computer, and a couple of red gas cans. There were also several cases of ammunition, all being protected by quarter-inch thick heavy steel; a coffin-like box—three feet wide, two feet high and six feet long. The frame had been placed in the middle of the bed and they had stored the food and water around it as added protection.

All the food and water containers were completely ruined and their contents had drained out or lay in piles from the damage, but the communications gear had been protected. Not one round got through the steel. The second truck was also an old long-bed Ford with a roof extension and had the same set up, again with the same communications equipment protected.

“I wonder why these two trucks have more gear than the others,” Preston wondered.

“I assume that these guys were two groups from separate areas and had backup communications between themselves as well as with headquarters,” suggested Sergeant Perry. “It would be nice to get more of this stuff. Can we ask the rest to come and visit? I’m sure they have more guys out there—maybe thousands of them!”

They returned to the hospital tent to find the doctor working hard on a wounded American soldier. “I need to get him back to Seymour Johnson quickly,” he said to the first sergeant. “He is losing blood. I need to amputate his arm. Unfortunately the other two men were DOAs.”

“Sergeant Perry, get some men to carry the bodies and the wounded aboard the FedEx Cargomaster,” suggested Preston. “There will be room for you, Doc, and a nurse and we can be at Seymour in 15 minutes. I’ll go and get her started and I’ll swing her by the front of the tent.”

It was ten that morning when Preston returned from Seymour Johnson with a fresh medical crew. As he came in he saw that the bulldozer had forced a route through the blackened enemy vehicles. Preston went over to check out the road damage, and he agreed to Sergeant Perry’s suggestion that the bulldozer should dig a large hole about two hundred yards into the forest on the other side of the road and place the bags of the 40 Chinese bodies in it. The last one had died on the operating table at Seymour Johnson due to loss of blood. The bulldozer moved out into the forest just in time for a late breakfast prepared by the ladies. Nobody was really hungry.

After breakfast, Preston called a meeting. Martie had already told him that the general had been briefed on the attack and wanted to congratulate the team when he returned. Will Smart had stayed in the hangar with two soldiers to protect the civilians as a last resort and was still not feeling well from the “drug overdose” he kept complaining about, so he went back to bed.

Carlos stated that he and Lee would be busy for the rest of day, and asked Martie and Maggie to help them disassemble the radios once the meeting was over. Asked to give a report of the events, a tired First Sergeant Perry told everybody about the success of thwarting their first enemy attack. He got a standing ovation from the group, was thanked profusely by everyone and told, once the meeting was finished, to get himself and his troops some rest.

“Well done, guys. We have succeeded in winning our first attack against the enemy,” said Preston. “I watched everything from the fire tower and thanks to First Sergeant Perry and his men, the other guys never had a chance. It was better organized than a ballet. You were fantastic and I’m happy to be working with you guys. Ok, Carlos, we need to meet and figure out what is the best way to reply once they communicate with us. My thoughts are that I would like Lee to respond, saying that the attack went well. He should say that we were a base of ex-military pilots and put up a good fight. Lee tells them that their commander, or the guy they usually communicated with, was killed. Lee, you could put a cloth over your mouth and pretend that you are that young man. What was his name?”

“Bo Lee Tang,” replied Lee. “I could say that my commander is dead and we need a new commander for the group. I could ask for future orders,” he suggested.

“Carlos, you and Lee work out a perfect act and prepare for communications. Say that several of the men are wounded and ask what you should do with them. Tell them that you have killed twenty-odd pilots and damaged a dozen or so small and large aircraft—all old propeller machines. Tell them there was lots of fire. They might have seen our explosions out there on their satellite feed. I think the fire was big enough, especially the two explosions, to verify your story. You guys head out and I will continue with the rest of today’s plans.”

“Will you be around today?” Carlos asked Preston.

“Yes, in and out. I want to bring in the Southwest group; they are expected at mid-day, now that the road is cleared. Pam, you will fly a 172 into RDU, I’ll fly in the Cargomaster, and Barbara can fly in Lady Dandy. We also need to take in fresh troops for the guard post and bring a couple of them back for rest.”

Preston looked around at the tired but satisfied faces. “Once we get the Southwest group back here, I want Seymour Johnson to house the passengers and anybody else who is not a pilot. Only working pilots and crew will stay here. Other than that, we need to know what Carlos and Lee can find out and then, guys, we must start work on a food-delivery plan.”

Chapter 6

‘Z’ Day 4 – It’s Time to Hit Back

The fast moving arctic blast was a big one, freezing everything in its path as far south as Washington, D.C. The icy wind blew at over 40 miles an hour and snow fell thick and fast. The northern cities were already ghost towns. Tall buildings and single houses were cold and dark places. Many people had retreated to basements to escape the bitter cold wind-chilled temperatures.

There were now millions of frozen people throughout Canada and North America. People were dying by the thousands every hour, and the chance of survival was now only halfway decent for the very few who had enough power, heat, and food to keep them alive. For one long day, this fast-moving storm battered the northern areas. Cities that had been home to millions of people now had only pockets of cold and hungry people here and there. The storm came and went, leaving piles of windswept snow behind it.

The southern states were a little easier to stay alive in, but even most of Texas had temperatures in the teens and people there were even less prepared for cold weather. The death toll was nearly as high as further north. In the warmer areas by the coasts, like Florida, gangs of starving people shot each other for food and warm shelter. Many gangs would form one day, just to be knocked off by a bigger gang the next. Any food stockpiles were now exhausted in many well-populated cities. Supermarkets and stores were empty and were not much more than blackened ruins by the end of the first week.

Food looted from neighborhood stores in other areas would normally last many thousands of people several weeks, but having the food meant that anybody who saw you steal the food was keen to take it away from you. Large gangs of 30 to 40 men roamed in stolen vehicles, running into houses, killing the families inside, and running out with any spoils they found.