Chapter 1
President Donaldson walked into the morning briefing with his head feeling as if it were going to explode. Walking to the head of the table, he sat down and took six aspirins from a bottle sitting there. His aide handed him a glass of water to wash down the pills. "Okay, Les, give me the bad news first," he said.
Lester Spinnogle sifted the papers in front of him and pulled one out. He stood up. At five foot three, he appeared to be a child, although he was thirty-seven years old. "Mr. President, we lost twenty-five men last night just outside of Winchester, West Virginia. They were ambushed by a large force supported by half a dozen tanks. We couldn't send in any helicopter gunships to support them because of the Stinger anti-aircraft missiles the Rebels have. Intelligence has no idea where such a large force came from. Tha--"
"God damn those hillbillies! Why are we having such a hard time rooting them out? We need the east-west railroad to get supplies into Indiana and Missouri. It takes too much time going to upstate New York, then across Canada to get there."
"I agree, Sir. Like you, I thought we were winning the war to take back the mountains of West Virginia and Kentucky. How could any of us know General Lawson would desert and go over to the enemy? Hell, we had them on the run. Another few months and we would have taken all of their strongholds. As it stands now, we've lost all the gains we've made. In some cases, they've even pushed us back."
"I know, I know. It galls me to know that between Todd and myself, we control this entire country, except for a corner of Washington and a few of the Southern Appalachian States. Why in the hell did the former government stash so many weapons in West Virginia? Those ignorant hillbillies didn't know how to use them until General Lawson showed 'em how. We need to secure either the northern or southern rail line, Les. That ruthless son of a bitch, Todd, is consolidating his hold on Missouri, Iowa and Oklahoma. If we don't get our men into that area fast, it won't be long before he's challenging us."
"I admit, he is stabilizing things out west, even if he doesn't have the weapons at his disposal we do. I wish we could get an agent inside his outfit. For the life of me, I can't figure out how he knows our men are agents. Day before yesterday, we received the head of the last man we sent out," Les said, consulting a piece of paper.
President Donaldson stood up and stretched. He looked down the table at a heavyset man in an Army uniform, who was at least a hundred pounds overweight. He had the characteristic red blotchy face of someone who drank too much. So much facial fat surrounded his slate grey eyes, he appeared to be squinting all the time. Even in the air-conditioned room, his shirt was plastered to his body with sweat. "General Piketon, you're in charge of the troops trying to dig out these hillbillies. Can you give me something which will allow us to capture one of the rail lines?"
"Mr. President, without planes to support our ground troops, all we'll do is lose more men. Give me a squadron of low-level bombers; I can secure the northern railway for you in two weeks. Otherwise, all we do is keep them contained," General Piketon answered.
President Donaldson stared at General Piketon so long, the general shifted nervously in his seat. "General, you will not get any more planes. Do I make myself clear! I'm not worried about the planes; we have plenty of them. What we don't have is pilots. We have thousands more planes than we do capable pilots. We need every able-bodied pilot manning our costal defenses.
"Who knows when that pipsqueak Samules, who calls himself President of the United States, will start something? Oh, how I wish he didn't have control of those missile subs. I would love to send you to Iceland, General, and have you kill him. We just missed the bitch he has for a vice president a few months ago. If our pilots had only waited ten more minutes, the British Air Corp wouldn't have been able to save her." The President had a full head of steam now and couldn't think of a better person to lash out at.
"General, you will take the railways away from those hillbillies and you will do it in the next two weeks. If we don't have control of the westbound trains two weeks from today, don't bother coming back to Washington. In fact, if we don't own the railways by then, it would be better if you just shot yourself. You wouldn't like what the people I turn you over to will do to you." Red-faced, the President panted, he was so mad.
General Piketon's face turned chalky white and he cringed in his seat. Sweat ran off his face in rivulets, staining his already soaked shirt. Several times he tried to say something but all that came out was a soft, mewling sound.
"Speak up, you fat bastard. Act like a man instead of a lump of quivering fat," President Donaldson said, towering over the terrified man.
"Ye-Yes, Mis-Mister President," General Piketon stuttered.
President Donaldson turned away in disgust and walked back to his seat. Placing his hands on the table, he leaned forward, staring intently at General Piketon. "Get your fat ass out of here and get me those railways!" he shouted.
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