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that he could be notified immediately of emergencies in real time. Excuse me, sir. This must be another
bad crisis. He listened for a moment and hurriedly hung up when he saw the irritated look on the
president's face. Apparently he had violated protocol by taking a call in the Oval Office.
"That was our embassy in Brazil. Their army just took it over."
"What! Damn it, that's an act of war! General Newman roared. Edgar, damn you, why weren't we
warned?"
Tomlin shrank from the General's wrath. He didn't have a clue. Almost all of his field agents were busy in
the Middle East or Africa, trying to keep abreast of problems there. I don't know General, but I'll find
out."
President Marshall got to his feet. Gentlemen, Marlene. It's late. Let's break this up and reconvene in the
morning. General, keep me abreast of any decisions you make about our armed forces."
It was a dismissal.
The vice president was thinking furiously as she hurried back to her own office. It sounded to her as if the
president and his Chairman of the Joint Chiefs were in collusion, making decisions and taking actions that
in calmer times would only have occurred with congressional consultation and approval. She reviewed
the articles of martial law as she understood them. Most people might think it gave the president unlimited
powers, and it did to a certain extent but only within the country's own borders. It had nothing to do
with the rest of the world. When Santes arrived at her office, she began looking over her own intelligence
reports to see if they were in agreement with the presidential briefing.
* * * *
General Newman hadn't mentioned what was going on in Atlanta during the briefing. He hoped to get the
situation under control again now that the army brigade, less one battalion, had parachuted into the
suburbs and the Marine battalion was rolling down the interstate in that direction as rapidly as possible.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
By nine o'clock in the morning Doug began receiving both casualties and stragglers from the company of
soldiers guarding the approaches to the CDC complex. Seeing the exhausted white faces above the
collars of their army fatigues, streaked with dirt and rivulets of sweat, along with the blood and agonized
sounds of pain, revived flashes of memory from combat he had seen in the past. He shook off the images
and tried to help as best he could.
He sent the casualties into the ward where patients with the Harcourt virus were receiving experimental
treatment. Those not too seriously hurt were bandaged and thrown back into the fight with his own men.
He allowed no objections. Usually all it took was mention of the fate they would suffer should the
complex be overrun and that there was no place to retreat to.
The able bodied soldiers were hustled to the barricades, thrown up as far from the complex as possible.
He hoped they could stop the onslaught before the mob invaded the CDC buildings, but he was
beginning to suspect they weren't dealing with a disorganized mob, as first thought. The soldiers reported
the attacks on their positions bore a resemblance to standard infantry tactics rather than attempts to
overcome them with sheer numbers and madness. He reported that observation to Gene, who was
making rounds of all the posts, using his presence to encourage the troops to hold fast.
All morning the gunfire had been growing in volume, becoming louder as it got closer. An hour ago, the
single transport chopper attempting to bring in reinforcements to the company of soldiers went down in
flames from a direct hit by a missile. He watched the whole thing, seeing his rising hope of relief vanish
quickly as the streaking trail of the shoulder fired missile tracked directly into the chopper. From what he
saw, there couldn't possible have been any survivors.
"Goddamn bastards! Buddy Hawkins, the former Marine, exclaimed from where he was checking the
light machine gun bunker. So much for the army getting us some help."
"Maybe not, Doug said. He left Buddy and went to check on the next barricade. But no other
helicopters appeared overhead and the last he heard, the airport was still in the hands of the rampaging
blacks. No communication was being received from there, boding ill for the airport staff. As he went
about his rounds, he had a fleeting thought that it was too bad the CDC complex was so close to several
of the largest black communities; had it been situated on the other side of the city he thought they might
have gotten more help from the white citizens. He quickly dismissed the wishful thinking; it did no good at
all.
Back at his combat headquarters, set up just outside the front entrance of the science building, he put a
finger over his ear to help him hear what Amelia was saying on his phone.
"Doug, we're taking fire in the administrative building! Can't you do something? Her voice was strained
with fright and worry.
"Which direction is it coming from? Doug's own voice, calm up until now, almost broke over his own
worry. He hadn't heard from June. So far as he knew she was still with Amelia.
"We're on the west side of the Administrative building. All the windows are shot out on this floor. Doug! I
can see soldiers! They're running back this way!"
"Stay down and hang on! I'll send some troops. Are the staff down on the first floor?"
"Yes! I can hear them shooting from here!"
"How about the spotter I put up there?"
"He's dead. I sent someone up to check on him and they said he took a bullet in the head while he was
trying to see what was happening."
Doug gritted his teeth and asked the next question. How long ago did that happen?"
"A half hour ago. Doug! The soldiers aren't stopping! They're running right on past!"
"You and June stay down, Amelia. I'll try to get you some help. Damn it all, Amelia should have
reported it when the spotter was first killed. For the last half hour he had been assuming they were safe
from attackers coming from that direction. There was no use blaming her, though. She wasn't military.
And where was Gene? He should have been back by now.
"June isn't here. She went down to join the others defending the entrances."
His heart bounded around inside his chest at that, but there was nothing he could do except wish he
hadn't been quite so precipitous about taking her to the firing range that one time. What he had been
hearing was mostly rifle fire. What in hell did she think a popgun of a revolver could do against assault
rifles? He knew he was raging at himself instead of her, but something had to be done quickly and the
admin building was far removed from his position. He thumbed his phone, wanting to talk to Teresa and
see if she had any troops left in reserve, and whether she had seen Gene. He got no answer and cursed,
then tried the platoon leader who should be next nearest to the administrative building. He felt a sense of
relief when someone answered this time, but only for a moment.
"Branklin, Post three,"
"Roy, Doug here. We're in trouble at the admin building. Can you send some troops to help them?"
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