The Blockade Read online

  And that the men beneath him might, on his orders, charge headlong into a dangerous situation as a result.

  What couldn’t be denied was that many or most military officers shared some or most of General Mannix’s personal traits, though no one could think of anyone else who shared more of them.

  He was a hard case indeed.

  They parked in a field on the west side of the bunker, in an area which had been cleared of snow.

  Hannah was instantly confused.

  “Where are we? Where’s the bunker? Why are we parking here?””

  Wright laughed.

  “That’s right. I forgot this is your first time here.”

  “First time where? We’re out in the middle of a field. Where’s the bunker? Where’s the parking lot?”

  “Look to your right, Hannah? See that line of pipes protruding from the snow every twenty feet?”

  They were hard to see, as they were painted white and blended in with everything else she could see.

  “Yes. Barely.”

  “Those are ventilation pipes. Half of them provide fresh air for the bunker. The other half expels stale air. Huge fans blow the fresh air down the length of the bunker and force the old air out.”

  She forgot the bunker was supposed to be hidden from view. That’s why it was built beneath the ground.

  “Well, how do we get in?”

  “See that path in the snow that heads toward the bunker and disappears? It leads to the north side of the structure, where there are a set of steps leading down to the entrance.”

  “Well, where’s the parking lot?”

  “There is none. Remember, this is a highly restricted part of the base. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone poking around out here. So there was no need for a parking lot.

  “The idea was for the Joint Chiefs of Staff and their staffs and families to live underground until the thaw, working on their reconstitution plans and undisturbed until it was time to come out and rebuild the military.

  “At least that was the plan until…”

  She finished the sentence for him.

  “Go ahead. You can say it. Until I came along and opened my big mouth and told the colonels the bunker was out here.”

  “Nobody’s blaming you, Hannah. Even General Mannix doesn’t blame you. I know because I asked him who he thought was most to blame for the incident.”

  “And…?”

  “He laid it squarely on the colonels’ doorstep. He said any O-6 worth his salt…”

  “Hold on. What’s an ‘O-6’?”

  “Sorry. Military pay grade for a bird colonel.

  “Anyway, he said any O-6 worth his salt does his homework and knows exactly what he’s getting into. He doesn’t go off half-cocked. And that keeps him from avoiding misunderstandings and incidents like the one which happened that night.”

  He got out of the car and walked around to open Hannah’s door.

  “Take my arm and hold on tight. The shoes you brought weren’t made to walk on ice. It wouldn’t do anybody any good for you to go down again.

  “Next time you might wind up in the hospital yourself. Al might be all ready to get discharged and go home, and might have to wait for you to finish your own recovery.”

  “Hey, David, that reminds me. Not to change the subject completely, but this whole ‘going home’ thing… how long do you expect this blockade to last?”

  She was referring to the efforts of a small group of civilian activists who took it upon themselves to block the gates of the sprawling military base to show support for Colonel Medley.

  And possibly to save his life as well, for word had gotten around that General Mannix hadn’t ruled out the death penalty if the colonel was convicted of mutinous behavior and treason.

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Wright said. “I haven’t been to the gates in a couple of days, but someone told me they’re all blocked now. Now I understand they’re busy putting in a second row of cars in case we try to move the first row out of the way.

  “I’ll tell you what… after we finish here, if you’re not so furious with Mannix that you’re spitting nails, we’ll drive by the gates and see what they look like.”

  -7-

  The pair walked carefully down a footpath pounded into the snow pack.

  The ventilation pipes peeking through the pack at regular straight-line intervals was the only indication the buried structure was even there.

  If the pipes hadn’t given away the bunker’s secret it would have been easy to convince oneself they were merely walking across a very large snow-covered meadow.

  Then the beaten path turned a corner and Hannah was able to see a set of steps going down into an indention in the earth. Steps which led to a bare concrete wall: the north end of the bunker.

  Centered on the wall was a single walk-through door with a lone sentry standing guard.

  Typically airmen on guard duty stand post with an M-16 rifle, the military equivalent of the very popular AR-15.

  This man carried no rifle, but rather a holstered 9mm handgun.

  He was in a parade rest position, which is considerably more comfortable to a man standing in the same spot for long periods of time than the position of attention.

  He stood still as an oak tree, his feet shoulder-width apart and his flattened hands cupped behind his back.

  As soon as the captain led Hannah around the corner and into his view, the young man snapped crisply to attention.

  As his visitors drew close he snapped a sharp salute and greeted the captain.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  He held his salute until Captain Wright returned it, then dropped his right hand to his side.

  “Good morning,” Wright responded. “Captain Wright and Ms. Snyder to see General Mannix.”

  “Yes, sir. I believe they’ve been expecting you. Are you carrying any weapons?”

  Wright leaned over to Hannah and whispered in her ear, “You’re not packing, are you?”

  She said, “No, should I be?”

  “No. You definitely shouldn’t be. If you give me your word, though, it’ll save you from being patted down and wanded.”

  “Then you have my word,” she said, wondering what was meant by “wanded” and not particularly wanting to find out.

  “No,” Wright told the sentry. “We’re unarmed.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  The sentry performed a flawless left face movement and marched to a cipher box on the wall.

  With his back to the visitors he typed in a three digit code.

  947.

  It meant, in essence, “open the door.”

  Each morning at 0001 hours, or one minute after midnight, the swing shift handed the reins to the third shift, or mid (for midnight) shift.

  The mid shift would work until 0800 hours, then would hand control back to the day shift.

  At that very same time: 0001 hours, a slip of paper would be handed to the sentry standing guard outside.

  On the paper would be two three digit numbers to replace similar numbers passed off the night before. He was to commit the numbers to memory and would then hand the paper back. It would be shredded and from that point on there would be no written record of the codes anywhere.

  It was but one of several security measures meant to prevent unlawful infiltration of the bunker.

  For a twenty four hour period, 947 was the code which allowed entry into the bunker. Sometimes referred to as the “all clear” code, it meant the sentry needed to gain entry for any one of several reasons. The code applied in case he needed to be relieved for shift change, to use the bathroom, or to allow visitors into the bunker, as was the case here.

  By entering the all clear code he was personally attesting that the visitors were expected, were who they appeared to be, and posed no obvious threat to the bunker or to anyone inside of it. Under other circumstances the sentry might have demanded to see ID cards to verify the visitors’ identities.
/>   In this case, though, he didn’t because he knew Captain Wright personally. The captain had been there several times before to discuss legal matters with the general or his staff.

  When Captain Wright personally vouched for Hannah she was passed as well.

  As we said, the all-clear code, 947, was one of two codes issued at just past midnight.

  The other code, 654, was the duress code.

  It was seldom used, but was very important.

  If the sentry had gone to the cipher box and keyed in the number 654, all hell would have broken loose.

  From deep within the bowels of the bunker armed men would come running to reinforce security at the entrance and ensure no one would enter, even if the sentry himself had to be sacrificed to whatever threat he’d just encountered.

  All the vents would be closed to prevent poison gas or other chemicals from being dropped into them. It was a measure that had been added after the colonels used such a tactic during the original breach.

  At the same time an air scrubber installed just a month before would be turned on to recycle the oxygen. It was the same type used in a nuclear submarine which allowed it to stay submerged for months at a time.

  A call would have gone out to the 82nd Security Forces Squadron, the base police force. The 82 SFS would have responded to the bunker in whatever force was needed to identify the threat and to neutralize it.

  If the sentry had keyed in the number 654 people would, in all likelihood, have died. Others would be wounded. Still others would have been captured and thrown into the same brig where Colonel Morris Medley now resided.

  That all would have happened if Captain Wright and Hannah Snyder weren’t friendlies.

  But it didn’t happen today. The visitors wouldn’t be shot or captured.

  They’d be greeted warmly as official visitors.

  Another sentry, this time on the inside of the bunker, opened the door while a third stood at the ready, weapon ready to fire.

  An armed escort, an Irishman named McReedy Ives, smiled and introduced himself to the visitors. He said, “Follow me, please. The general is waiting.”

  -8-

  While Hannah and Captain Wright were preparing to plead her case to an obstinate Air Force general, Marty was getting ready to embark on a mission of his own.

  From Mayor Al’s hospital window he’d been watching the action at the main gate of the base for three days.

  This was the first time he’d seen it open.

  From a military standpoint, it made great sense in closing the gate.

  Military Drive, the six-lane thoroughfare immediately outside the gate, was impassable.

  Civilian activists brought cars in and abandoned them, bumper to bumper, in the two easternmost lanes, effectively blocking vehicles and people from coming and going.

  It was a standoff which promised to last for weeks or months. Or at least until General Mannix yielded to their wishes and set Colonel Medley free.

  Or he was convicted of his charges and executed.

  The base commander had taken precautions as soon as rumors started to stir about the coming blockade.

  Essential personnel, meaning those people the base could not live without, were brought onto the base and told to stay there until further notice.

  Family members and those determined to be nonessential were instructed to stay away from the base.

  That fixed one problem, but it created many others.

  It ensured that the blockade, as long as it lasted, would not have its most desired effect: it would not, as organizers had hoped, bring the base to its knees and prevent its operation.

  The military, it turns out, is used to looking ahead and fixing problems before they become problems.

  The base would continue to operate, just as it always had.

  Bringing most of the personnel onto the base before the gates were closed ensured continuity. By bringing truckload after truckload of stored rations from other military bases in the area they assured that on-base dining halls would remain open and still serve meals.

  The sprawling base was its own little city, with its own water plant and waste treatment facility, as well as its own power plant to generate electricity. It had its own fuel storage facility with enough POL (petroleum, oil and lubes) to last for over two years.

  Blockading the base was an inconvenience, sure.

  But it wasn’t a crippling action; not by any means.

  The problems it did create were not unlike the ones military people endure when they deploy to a war zone.

  And since the military is quite practiced at fighting wars, those are issues military members are quite good at dealing with.

  Wilford Hall Medical Center, the huge military hospital (and Mayor Al’s temporary home) on the northwest corner of the base, has a primary mission of making injured or sick military members well and whole again.

  It has a worldwide reputation, along with Walter Reed Medical Center in the District of Columbia, as a lifesaving trauma center. Both hospitals are famous for bringing wartime casualties back from the brink. They reattach body parts blown off by improvised explosive devices, help heal spinal injuries and teach people to walk again, perform plastic surgeries to make soldiers with facial injuries handsome again, and repair the damage done by bullet or shrapnel wounds.

  They save countless lives year after year.

  But here’s something most people don’t know: they also serve the local civilian community.

  In San Antonio Wilford Hall Medical Center is a Class 1 trauma center. They’ll treat the gunshot wound of a robbery victim or a gang banger with the same zeal they treat a United States soldier wounded in battle.

  Civilians in San Antonio have come to rely on the heroes at Wilford Hall just as much as that wounded soldier.

  Knowing that, the JB Lackland commanding officer, Colonel Winston Andrews, took action as soon as the rumors of a coming blockade started flying.

  He spoke to the hospital staff and determined which doctors and specialists could be spared in the event of a full-blown blockade which lasted a year or more.

  When the first cars started rolling in to block the main gate, a fair number of doctors and medical staff went out another gate and took up temporary residence in St. Andrew General Hospital not far from the Alamo.

  Until the blockade ended St. Andrew would take Wilford Hall’s place as the primary trauma center for the civilian populace.

  Inside the fence, Wilford Hall would continue to serve the needs of military members and their families. Even with a good portion of their medical professionals downtown, they’d still be able to keep up with the workload, since all the combatants in all the wars in the world had taken a hiatus because of the freeze.

  So, then, we have a situation where the base has become isolated from the rest of San Antonio because of a double ring of abandoned cars completely surrounding it.

  In some cases military members were separated from their loved ones.

  But military members are used to being deployed.

  All in all, this was much better than being sent into a war zone.

  At least they weren’t getting shot at or killed by roadside bombs.

  To reduce his manpower needs, Colonel Andrews ordered all seven of the gates closed.

  Large chain link gates were pulled shut and padlocked.

  The four man crew which normally manned each gate was pulled off of gate duty and used for other duties around the base.

  It made sense, since it was impossible for any traffic to come through the blockaded gate anyway.

  Now the Main Gate happened to be open, and Marty took special note, watching from Mayor Al’s hospital window.

  For he’d been watching the gate for days now, waiting for an opportunity to escape.

  -9-

  Marty explained to Al and Debbie as he put on his parka and slipped on his boots.

  “I need to go on a special mission for Mary Hightower.”

  The
name was unfamiliar to Debbie, who lived in the mine and hadn’t met most of Eden’s citizens.

  “Who is Mary Hightower?” she asked.

  Mayor Al answered for Marty.

  “Mary is Eden’s town librarian. Or at least she was when the second freeze started. But why in the world would you be going on a mission for her?”

  Marty paused for a moment before answering. He didn’t want to betray Mary’s trust by sharing her request with others. But then again, he didn’t think she wanted it kept secret.

  So he elaborated.

  “The day before the freeze hit her brother left Eden in search of some of their lost relatives. In this case, some cousins who lived here in San Antonio. He pulled out of Eden in an old pickup truck and said he wanted to do some sightseeing in San Antonio.

  “He said he was probably the only native born Texan who’d never been to the Alamo. He grew up in north Texas, you see, and just never got around to making the journey.

  “He said that it’s practically a sin for any Texan to admit he’d never seen the Alamo. That it’s practically a requirement, in the same way Muslims all strive to visit Mecca at some point in their lives.

  “Anyway, she was worried that the old pickup truck he was driving might not make it. So to ease her concerns they made a deal.

  “He was supposed to show up the next day at their cousins’ house, and the first thing he was going to do was find the nearest ham radio so he could call her and tell her he’d arrived safely.

  “That next day was the day the skies went dark again and the freeze happened.

  “And he never called her. So ever since she’s been worried that his old pickup gave up between Eden and San Antonio and that he died of exposure once the freeze happened.

  “Of course what she’s hoping is that he arrived safely and just wasn’t able to find a ham radio before he got snowed in at his cousin’s house.

  “She said the wondering has been driving her crazy.

  “When she heard we were taking Al to Wilford Hall she took me aside and asked if I could find out what happened to her brother.”