One Late Night at Kadena AB, Japan ...

A very cool aircraft, the B-47.
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Bombers, something you'd think that I, a retired airman, would know a lot about. Well ...

In my 24 years on active duty, I spent the first eight working on the F-4C/D Phantom, when I wasn't in some sort of training. Training was six weeks basic (as the Air Force doesn't attack hills, beaches, or anything other than a bar with cheap drinks, that was deemed sufficient), training to work on the Weapon Control Systems on the Phantom took nearly seven months.

And when I got to Okinawa I soon learned that I didn't know Jack. A couple of very good Staff Sergeants taught me the ropes, I was probably useful on the flightline after about six months at Kadena.

So yeah, I was a fighter guy, okay, fighter-bomber guy, the Air Force doesn't really have Attack wings, though we do have one of the finest attack aircraft ever built, the A-10 Warthog (officially the Thunderbolt II, but no one calls it that).

I was part of Strategic Air Command for four years at Offutt, SAC Headquarters. But I worked on the software the Air Force used to schedule training routes and Military Operating Areas (MOAs). I did get to see the occasional bomber, we had a lot of different aircraft coming and going at Offutt, everything from the Junkers Ju-52 to the Lockheed SR-71.

The Ju-52 was privately owned, Martin Caidin I believe, and she was parked across from my office one fine morning, all decked out in full, authentic WWII colors (swastika and all). Mind you, this was back before we hid things from the faint and delicate wienies of the world. It's history bruh, get over yourself.

Anyhoo, had a B-52 land just over my head as I was driving down Fort Crook Road. Impressive sight indeed, those eight engines made a lot of noise and a lot of smoke (on take-off).

Saw a B-1 (affectionately known as the Bone, ya know B-one) do touch and goes on the field. Guy flew the beast like it was a fighter plane. Beautiful aircraft.

Saw the B-2 after I retired, back before the idiots in government bankrupted the nation and started printing money hand over fist to give to Ukraine. It flew down the parade route where I live now in Little Rhody on Independence Day. Damn thing was scary-looking and ominous as hell. Flew low she did, got kind of excited I did. Most impressive.

So there I was ...

So bombers, I've seen 'em. One lonely night on Okinawa, we heard tell that a flight of B-52s were coming in from Guam on typhoon evac. We thought, "Hey, wouldn't it be neat to track them on our radar?"

Where we were situated was the radar calibration dock overlooking the runway. We could legally radiate from there (that's my claim, not sure how "legal" it was, but we were young ...).

Anyhoo, we went to Operate (see below) and commenced to picking up one, two, then three aircraft out a ways to the south.

The OPR inside the red circle, that stands for "Operate,"
the radar transmits while in that mode.
This is in the back seat, BTW.
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So we thought that was pretty awesome, we're actually picking up B-52s on our AN/APQ-109A radar set, Someone, might have been me, might have been someone else, thought "Hey, let's lock on to one of those beasts!"

Okay, scanning is pulse radar, pulse goes out, bounces off object, pulse comes back. Tracking is a little different, I couldn't tell you exactly how it works, that was a very long time ago, but the B-52's systems can tell very quickly if the B-52 is being tracked.

B-52s do not, I repeat, do not like being tracked by fighter aircraft radar. I can venture a guess as to why. But that night on Okinawa, our little fighter radar antenna went from a graceful sweep of the skies, to pointing like a hunting dog at the incoming B-52s, to slamming against every stop on the radar mount. I mean, it was shaking the damned plane it was slamming so hard!

We quickly shut the radar down (back to STBY - Standby) so we weren't radiating anymore, and the antenna ceased its insane dance.

Those of us there, I think there were three of us, quietly agreed that we would not speak of this to anyone else. We were young, we were green, most of our NCOs were Vietnam vets and would no doubt look at us as if we were insane for trying to track a B-52.

We also made damned sure that we hadn't damaged the radar by giving it a very thorough check (which is what we were there for in the first place). Yup, no harm, no foul.

Scary stuff!

But cool, very cool.

Coasting

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So, is Uprising all done? Is the story ending without us finding out how things went in California? Does Nakagawa win the referendum? What happens to all of the various characters who came and went throughout the story, which began back on the 25th of April this year. (The Ambush)

Well, to be honest, I don't know. Maybe it's over, maybe it's not. And that's me being indecisive, oh well, gomen nasai!

The story feels done, extending it beyond the short lived revolt in California feels artificial. So for now, let's call it done. (But not done done. If you know what I mean. Sequels are always possible. Right now I kinda want to get back to World War II. Book Three as it were.)

Anyhoo, while looking at photographs with which to open the post, I entered "exhausted soldier" as my search term. One of the photos which popped up is that one above.

I see the photo I automatically think 1940, France. But I don't remember rain being mentioned during that campaign. (Not saying it didn't rain, but the guy in the foreground looks wet and miserable, along with being a POW. He's sitting on the back of a Pzkw III (which model I don't know). The caption at the source (under the photo) was way off.

Because there's another photo of that scene above. Look at the next photo, same guy in the flat helmet, but turns out, he's a Kiwi (New Zealander). The original Bundesarchiv caption says so. It also says that the photo was taken in Greece, which makes sense.

So the year is 1941 and that Kiwi has been captured by the Germans. Imagine how he must feel, he's already thousands of miles from home and he faces the prospect of being in a German POW camp for the foreseeable future. (Which we now know means the next four years.) Given German success up to that point, one could easily foresee a very long stint as a POW.

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So those pictures made me itch to get back to writing about World War II. (Yes, yes, I need to get Almost a Lifetime published, I've really been dragging my feet on that. Real life and the paying job have prevented further work in that area. Without dropping a few other projects, I just don't have the time right now. Mea culpa.)

I just started reading Masters of the Air by Donald L. Miller and it's pretty good. I'm not that far into it yet but I'm already disliking the Bomber Mafia. (I've always been a fighter guy.) It's not that they want to bomb the shit out of everything that moves and that they think "the bomber will always get through" and killing civilians will make them quit ...

Well yes, it is precisely that.

What's the Bomber Mafia you ask? Early advocates of airpower like Giulio Douhet, Billy Mitchell, Hugh Trenchard, Carl Spaatz, and others. All were early military air pioneers, but they thought the bomber was the centerpiece of an Air Force. And it is, it's been said that fighter pilots make headlines, bomber pilots (crews actually) make history. They didn't foresee a need for fighter aircraft, at least that's my take.

As always the reality is much more complex. Balance is essential in most things, airpower is no different.

I wonder how they would have felt about drones, which are being used to great effect in the current Russia-Ukraine conflict.

As of today, I have 94 days until I retire. That's calendar days, work days account for about 54% of that. Time at the paying gig is winding down. (Maybe then I'll get my ass in gear and publish Almost a Lifetime.)

Ciao.

Mac and I

 One of the things the Army Command and Staff College taught me about being a shoeclerk (a USAF nickname for a Fighter Pilot stuck in a desk job) was to have the "Bottom Line Up Front" (AKA BLUF) on any staff paperwork.  That would allow the decision maker to know what the issue was and what the recommended action to take was, without having to spend a lot of time reading through reams of paper to find those issues.

So, here's the BLUF for this post.  Mrs J's PET Scan came back clean.  No residual cancer seen.  She'll have to repeat the scan a couple of times a year for the near term future, but... Good News!  Thank You, Lord!

Thank All Y'all for the prayers for her also,  VERY much appreciated.

This past couple of weeks, I got a chance to get familiar with the MOHS procedure for dealing with skin cancer.  Dr Mohs was a German physician in the 1930's who developed this procedure.  It involves scraping skin off the site, looking at it to see if it contained cancer cells.  If so, scrape off more. Repeat until the bastiges are all gone.  Worst part about it is the numbing shots.  And the stares in the supermarket.  I just mumble something about my wife and her steak knife. They tend to leave me alone at that point. Other than that, I'm past round three. While you're reading this, I'm seeing him for round 4 which I hope begins with "We don't see no stinking cancer, juvat, you're free to go!"  

Hey! A man can dream, can't he?

Now, on with the show!  I think I mentioned a while ago that I was unhappy with Microsoft's decision to make Windows 11 store all data in the cloud, and that I was changing platforms.  Well, I said it, I meant it.  My MacBook Pro arrived and is pretty much all set up with the usual suspect programs, albeit Apple's version thereof.  This posting is my first attempt at actually using the new computer.  We'll see if I make it through.  

So far, so good though.  

 First Attempt at embedding a video on a Mac.  That would be Leon' and MG playing hide and go seek in the kitchen.  If that doesn't get you chuckling, well....

In an attempt to keep myself busy, I've been working on a relatively easy project for Miss B, Little J and LJW's daughter, also one of my GrandDaughters.  Seems when a child is born in Texas, a certificate certifying that the Child is a "Native Texan" is produced.  It's kinda cool, so I thought I'd build a frame for it to be hung on her wall in Jolly Old England.  Just in case the Brit's get uppity about who's who  and what's what.

 

Bit of Walnut, some very careful angle cutting to make the corners come together, a bit of sanding and staining and Voila'.

Hey, it keeps me off the streets at night.

And...finally, as I was out in the workshop this morning (Sunday), working on her project, I heard a large metallic screeching sound.  Opened up the door to the shop (yes, it's still summer, the door was closed and the AC was running) and saw this.

 

Awww, nuts!  The gate was laying on the ground, the top hinge was broken off, the arm on the gate opener was broken off also and the gate itself was bent on the hinge side.  Guess I'll be discussing things with my "Gate Guy" today.  It's always somethin' ain't it?

So, lot's of things going on round here, but it helps keep me off the streets at night, so can't be all bad.

And, as promised the after action report on the new computer...Using the MacBook wasn't too bad, but getting photos inserted may take a little bit of figuring out.  (I did that from the PC.  Blogger doesn't seem to like HEIC formatted pictures which is the format that comes out of my iPhone when I hook it up to the Mac.and I haven't figured out how to import them to Blogger in HEIC format or transform them to JPG on the Mac.  Any hints from readers out there would be very appreciated.)

Other than that....

Peace Out, Y'all!

 

 

The Morning After

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The President's security team was on edge, they'd tried to convince him that walking around the Mall wasn't a great idea. There were still people who didn't like the idea of him being President.

"So what do I do, Bill? Sit in the White House all day, hide out at Camp David? I'm tired of this routine. Besides which, it's so cold today that I doubt there will be many people out there."

Bill Aspinall was walking with the President, he'd been right about one thing, the Mall was practically deserted. It also had to be close to ten degrees below zero as well. At least the wind wasn't blowing.

The sky was clear, a washed out blue which hurt the eyes it was so bright. Aspinall stopped when the President did. John Nakagawa was standing absolutely still, staring at the Washington Monument.

"Did you know Bill, that back in 2022, I think it was, there was a guy who threw paint all over one spot on the Monument? Wrote an obscene message as well, but I don't remember what it was. Red paint I think it was."

"Isn't it always red paint, Sir? Someone making a statement about one thing or another. I recall that out at Udvar-Hazy, at Dulles, they had to put a plexiglas shield to protect the nose of the Enola Gay after someone threw paint on the aircraft."

Right after saying that, Aspinall bit his lip, he had no idea how the President felt about that moment in time. After all, John Nakagawa was of Japanese descent. He held his breath.

The President turned to look at Aspinall, "Really Bill, you're worried about offending me? I'm an American damn it. Truman did the right thing with Hiroshima and Nagasaki, do you know how many would have died had he not done that? An invasion would have cost the lives of tens of thousands of Americans, I have no doubt. It would have cost the Japanese millions of lives. There's a good chance that Japan would have been completely destroyed. Huh, my wife wouldn't be here, that's for sure."

"I wasn't thinking, boss. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, do you think I'm any different from Truman? At least he bombed an enemy combatant, I sicced the United States military on an American state. I feel like shit about that, but it had to be done. Had to. Full stop."

Aspinall held his tongue as the President sighed and turned to walk back to the car. A small crowd had gathered nearby, no more than twenty people. They had recognized the President. Before Nakagawa got in the car, he heard a shout. He turned.

"God Bless you, Mr. President! Good luck in November!"

The small group began to applaud, Nakagawa waved to them, then bowed slightly. Entering the car he turned to Aspinall and said, "See, I told you the fresh air would do me good."

Major General Cameron was sitting in an office on Mather Field reading a message which had come in not two minutes before.

He grunted and handed the paper to MSGT McKellar, "Read that, Don. Has DC lost their minds? Or are they smarter than we give them credit for?"

McKellar read the message, then set it down on the desk. "It's the smart move, Sir. The state is in chaos, the governor is dead, the lieutenant governor is nowhere to be found, and we've got the state legislature locked up awaiting trial I guess."

"But appoint me as the military governor? Place the state under martial law? Is that wise?"

"Who else, Sir? You're the man on the spot. San Francisco and L.A. are virtually under siege, the Navy is blockading the state, martial law is a fact, whether anyone declares it or not."

Cameron looked up as Benny Wilcox and Rob Kasparovich came into the office.

"I thought you two had left already?"

Wilcox spoke, "Midnight flight, General. C-17 to ...," he turned to look at Kasparovich, "Where are we going?"

Kasparovich grinned, "JBAB, Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling. No doubt the boss wants us in the office first thing in the morning."

"Yes, JBAB. We just wanted to stop by and say our farewells. Good luck trying to get California back up and running." Wilcox held his hand out.

Cameron stood and shook Wilcox's hand, then Kasparovich's, "Thanks for helping out, it's not often that the government shows up and does something useful."

"Ouch." Wilcox said with a grin.

"Master Sergeant." Wilcox nodded to McKellar, who held out his hand.

"Gentlemen, you're welcome on my team any day. Thanks for the assist. Now get your asses out of the General's office, we've got work to do."

"Roger that. Good luck with this mess."

"We're going to need it, I'm sure."

Sly Whispers

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As McKellar left his neighborhood he noticed how quiet the streets seemed, hardly any traffic, no pedestrians, he didn't notice any police either. He supposed that with military helicopters over the city and with Navy jets shooting up Mather Field, rational people were staying at home.

General Cameron was in the back with Wilcox. Kasparovich was up front with McKellar, riding shotgun with McKellar's M4 ready to rock and roll. Cameron had been on the phone since leaving the house, from what little he overheard, the General was getting reports from around the state. It struck McKellar, perhaps only Winsome knew of the General's resignation, based on that Cameron might still be the Adjutant General.

"Heads up, Rob. Those guys up ahead, gangbangers from the looks of it.

The Humvee rolled to a stop some 75 yards from an impromptu roadblock. McKellar put his field glasses on them, yup, local hoods.

"How good a shot are you?" McKellar asked.

"Qualified marksmen in the Corps and with the Agency." Kasparovich answered.

"Sergeant McKellar, what's the problem?" General Cameron asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

"Gangbangers, blocking the road."

"What's your plan?"

"Have Rob drop a couple of them, send a message."

"Hold that thought." The General dialed a number on his phone.

"Whiskey Four-Two copies. Inbound in five mikes."

Chief Warrant Officer 2 Hercules Bardot grinned as he brought his AH-64 Apache around in response to the call from his ground controller.

"Heads up, Willis, we're inbound to a gangbanger roadblock on the road to Mather, El Dorado Freeway, eastbound lanes."

Staff Sergeant Willis Jefferson, sitting in the front cockpit, called back, "Gangbanger roadblock? What do they want us to do?"

"Light 'em up, discourage them from interrupting traffic."

"We're cleared weapons hot?" Jefferson tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. He hated gangbangers, two of his cousins back in the old neighborhood had been killed in drive-bys.

"Roger that."

"Don, I recall you had a thumper in this vehicle back in the day." Cameron said.

"Still do, Sir, it's behind Wilcox's seat. Grenades are in that ammo can in the back."

"Grenades?" Wilcox was really wondering what he'd gotten himself in to.

"Ah, that's what I want!" the General exclaimed as he found a smoke grenade.

Cautiously he stepped out of the Humvee, he couldn't be seen from the roadblock. He loaded a yellow smoke round. "Cover me, Kasparovich."

McKellar said, "Drop that c**ksucker next to the red Ford."

Kasparovich nodded and stepped onto the pavement, staying behind the door of the Humvee until everyone was ready. He saw the guy McKellar had called out, whispered, "sucks to be you, buddy" then stepped around the door, got his sight picture and squeezed off a single round.

As the target crumpled to the street, he heard the distinctive "cough" of the M79 grenade launcher from the General's side of the vehicle. As the gangbangers milled around, still puzzled as to what had happened to their guy, Kasparovich heard Cameron's phone squawk, "I see yellow smoke."

Cameron spoke, "Copy that, yellow smoke."

"Heads down boys, Hellfire inbound."

Seconds later the roadblock disappeared in a searing flash.

The rest of the trip to Mather was uneventful. Cameron was indeed still regarded as the Adjutant General and had been in contact with the Nevada Army National Guard, it was their helicopters that were over the city. He'd also issued orders to every unit in the state to stand down and cooperate with the Federal units on alert throughout California.

After they'd passed through the gate and made contact with the on-scene commander, Cameron and McKellar changed into their "battle rattle."

"Seems you guys were prepared for anything," Wilcox noted.

McKellar had also scrounged uniforms for Kasparovich and Wilcox, they looked out of place in their suit pants and hoodies. Now they fit in better, at least the Guardsmen had stopped giving them evil looks.

"So Mac, what's the situation right now?"

Colonel Mackenzie Bain, originally from Aberdeen, Scotland, commander of the Nevada Guard units in Sacramento answered in his faint Scottish burr.

"Well, Sir, the main body of bandits was in yon hangar, rather than send my lads in on foot, I mortared the bastards. Them that came oot into the open, armed, we shot. Those who surrendered, we've got that lot over at the motor pool, the only place with an intact chain link fence, wasn't many o' them."

"What about the local tenant units?" Cameron asked.

"Och, those lads and lassies kept their heads down, smart lot that bunch."

"VA Hospital?"

"Untouched General, that's about a klick and a half from where all the action was. I sent a platoon over to secure it, my lads say the hospital is fine. One place that isn't fine though, and that's the Capitol building."

"What happened there?" Cameron asked.

"Bad things, General darling, really bad things."

Most of the conservative politicians, as few as they were, had not reported when the House and Senate had convened per Governor Winsome's orders. Most of those assembled were true fanatics, they were determined to have California go it's own way. Many felt betrayed when their Chinese "friends" had severed contact with the secessionists.

"I swear, that new bitch they've got in charge wants to turn back the clock. Damned counter-revolutionary."

The speaker had been a rather scruffy looking, overweight, representative from San Francisco. He was wearing an old beret, fatigue pants. and a filthy fatigue jacket over a stained Che Guevara t-shirt.

"Jesus Manny, we don't know the situation over there. Premier Liu hasn't consolidated her power yet. Gotta take care of the home front first, then assist the worldwide movement. You know that."

State Senator Gladys Thorpe from Compton knew her dialectic, or thought she did. She was prepared to go all the way, she envisioned California as a socialist paradise and was ready to die for that.

At least she was until an Abrams tank parked itself across 10th Street on the Capitol Mall. Someone shouted that there were more tanks following that one.

"I see at least six Bradleys out there!" a man shouted from the front of the building.

State Senator Thorpe was headed for the rear entrance when she heard someone on a loudspeaker yelling for the politicians to come out and surrender. She heard gunshots then, she ran harder. A loud explosion followed and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Cameron, McKellar, Wilcox, and Kasparovich were in a Blackhawk, about to land, when they saw a number of people stumbling out of the smoking capitol building, hands in the air, many waving a white article of clothing as a sign of surrender.

By the time they'd made their way from the Blackhawk to the front of the building, the Guardsmen had most of the state legislators kneeling on the concrete, hands zip tied behind their backs. Not a few were bloodied, either from being knocked down by an angry Guardsmen or from flying glass.

Off to one side were a number of bodies, covered in tarps and blankets. Cameron counted at least ten. One of the Guardsmen told him that an Abrams had put a high explosive round into the building when a number of people inside had opened fire on the tank's supporting infantry. Two Guardsmen had been wounded, one was killed.

A major in combat gear came over to the group, "You must be Cameron."

"That's Major General Cameron, Sir." McKellar barked at the Nevada Guardsman.

"Until I can figure out who's a traitor and who ain't, anyone wearing that f**king patch is the enemy."

Source

Cameron and McKellar were both wearing that patch, neither made a move to take them off.

Benny Wilcox stepped forward, holding out his DHS credentials and a sheet of paper, "You need to read that paper, Major."

The soldier took the letter, grumbled something about "Feds," but read the letter. Turning to his radio operator, he said, "Get on the horn to headquarters, we've got a guy from Homeland with a letter from President Nakagawa directing that we're to cooperate with the man with the letter."

The radioman walked away, he was in conversation with someone for a bit, then he returned. "That letter is legit, Sir."

"Well then, I guess the war's over. Apologies General, I ..."

"Don't sweat it, Major, can't be too careful these days."

"Guess not, begging your pardon, Sir, I need to get these people into custody."

"Your boss has a spot at Mather where he's got those rebels that seized the base under guard."

"Roger that."

Turning, the Major started bellowing orders, he decided that he'd march these bastards to Mather, he didn't care if they liked it or not.

As Cameron and his party returned to "their" Blackhawk, McKellar heard the Major yelling, "Anybody runs, shoot 'em. Goddamn it but I hope they all make a break for it. F**king traitors, all of 'em. Let's get this circus moving, Sarn't Major!"

As the Blackhawk lifted off, Cameron saw the long, sad-looking line of the wannabe Politburo types lined up, surrounded by U.S. infantrymen. Yeah, he hoped some of them tried to run as well. Bastards made his state hated across the rest of the U.S.

They were indeed, traitors.

A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself.

- Marcus Tullius Cicero

Sacramento Burns

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Kasparovich held out his free hand, "Just reaching for my ID, Sarge ..."

McKellar's aim went from Wilcox to Kasparovich, "Thumb and forefinger, slowly, I  swear if you so much as sneeze I will ventilate your head."

Wilcox started to speak, then he realized that Cameron was just down the short hall leading to the living room, his M1911 pointed at him. Wilcox elected to remain silent.

"See we're Feds, just like I said." Kasparovich was holding his DHS ID open so that McKellar could see it.

Before McKellar could say anything, two UH-60 Blackhawks roared down the street at very low altitude. The two Feds looked up, neither soldier did. After the helicopters had passed, Cameron said, "Sergeant McKellar, why don't we invite these two in? No need to put on a show for the neighbors."

"You heard the man," McKellar said, "slow and easy, come on in."

Sitting in McKellar's living room, Wilcox was beginning to question his decision to talk to these men directly. His orders hadn't been very specific, not much more than "Find out what the hell is going on with the California Guard." Now he thought maybe this was a bit too direct.

Cameron holstered his weapon, knowing full well that McKellar would shoot both of these Feds in less time than it took for his first expended shell to hit the floor. From the looks on their faces, the Feds knew that as well.

"So gentlemen, what brings you to California from Langley?"

Kasparovich said, "What makes you think we're ..."

Wilcox interrupted him, "That's right General, we're with the Agency, the DHS creds are to preserve our dignity, if you will. The Director of Ops sent us out here a month ago when rumors began to pop up about California seceding."

"Winsome sent me the OPLAN for that last week." Cameron offered. "I thought it was an insane plan. Winsome had an inflated sense of what our Guard units could do. Not to mention that since the troubles began, a lot of our Guardsmen don't bother to report in for drill. Most of our people are prior service, a lot of Yemen vets, they don't think much of our Governor. Neither do I. I wasn't sure of what I was going to do, I decided that resigning was my only course of action."

Before anyone could speak, the General's phone chimed.

"I need to take this."

The California Highway Patrol had set up roadblocks all around the Governor's private office complex. The Governor had ordered this done as a precautionary measure. He had issued a bulletin earlier that day advising California residents to remain calm in the event of a "Federal invasion" as the Governor's spokesperson had called it.

Word spread quickly that the Navy had sortied a number of its ships out of San Diego. Federal installations had been shut down, their gates closed with heavily armed troops guarding the perimeters. Many people were questioning who was doing the invading.

"Sir?" Winsome's aide was standing in the doorway to the office.

"What now, David?" Winsome's phone had been ringing all morning and into the afternoon, every media outlet in the state, and not a few, outside of the state, were asking what was going on.

"The mayors of L.A. and San Francisco have called, the Navy has ships patrolling off the coast. They're saying that they're not letting anything in or out of port."

"What? What do you mean?"

"No ships are coming in, no ships are going out."

"Are you telling me that the United States Navy is blockading the state of California?" the Governor was out of his chair, pacing across the office. His voice was getting louder with each word.

"Yes Sir. Uh, and another thing ..."

"What?"

"The FAA has grounded all flights coming into and going out of California."

"What are the airlines doing about that?"

"They're screaming to their representatives in DC. But they're been told that if they do get airborne and leave the state, the aircraft will be seized at their destination."

"Aren't the passengers up in arms ..."

"Rental car and bus companies are doing a booming business. Folks are hopping a bus or renting a car and heading across the line to Nevada. The airport in Las Vegas is as busy as O'Hare these days."

"Is this legal?" Winsome whined.

David Hopkins just looked at his boss, shook his head, then said, "Governor, the Feds hold all the cards. Nakagawa's a tough bastard, did you think he was like his predecessor?"

Winsome looked up at his aide, "Don't get cocky with me, you little twerp."

Hopkins pulled out a small revolver, Winsome shook his head, 'You don't have the balls, you simpering ..."

Winsome jumped when Hopkins fired the pistol, he felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen. He looked down, blood was staining his khaki slacks and the fabric of his office chair. Pressing his hands against the wound, he groaned, man, that hurt.

Hopkins wondered why the Governor just sat there staring at him, in the movies, the guy who got shot always immediately died, he shook his head. Maybe the pistol is too small. So he fired again.

And again.

And again.

When the CHP troopers burst into the office, David Hopkins was still pulling the trigger, but the pistol was empty. As two troopers wrested the gun from him, one other went to the Governor.

"Check his pulse!" a sergeant yelled out as he came into the office.

Trooper Juan Jimenez looked back at his sergeant in amazement, couldn't he tell from the hole in the Governor's forehead that there would be no pulse?

Cameron put his phone away, he looked ashen. He looked at the other men in the room.

"That was a contact of mine in the Governor's office. Winsome is dead. Shot by an aide apparently."

"Sir, the business at hand?" McKellar tried to push things along. He was a little nervous sitting in his own living room holding two Feds at gunpoint.

"So, the President sent you?" General Cameron had trouble believing that. He had trouble believing anything at the moment.

Wilcox shrugged, "Well, not directly, he ordered our agency to determine the threat level out here. Once we thought that it was manageable with the Federal forces already in place, our boss, the DO, Ephraim Johansen, ordered us to contact you. He had a hunch you might still be loyal."

"Johansen, Ephraim Johansen is the Director of Operations at the CIA? Jesus, I always assumed he'd get gunned down in some Third World shithole or shanked in a Federal prison." Don McKellar scoffed.

Everyone turned to look at him, Cameron spoke first, "You know Ephraim Johansen? How do you know him?"

"Afghanistan, clandestine op there in 2023. While that clown we had for a President was vacationing at the beach, we went in to try and destabilize those bastards." McKellar explained.

"Did you?" Kasparovich asked that, he'd done some time in that benighted country.

"They mostly destabilized themselves, without an external enemy they went back to fighting each other. Like they always do."

"But all that equipment we left behind ..." Wilcox said.

"Most of it was inoperable after a few years, we made sure of that."

"How?" Cameron asked, though he had a good idea.

"Kill one or two foreign 'advisors' and after that, no one is real keen to go there. Other than the incompetents trying to climb the political ladder back home."

"Foreign advisors?" Kasparovich had often wondered about that.

"Chinese, Kazakhs, the odd Iranian here and there, and then the Russians. Some of those f**kers wanted payback for what happened to their daddies back in the day."

Wilcox noticed that McKellar hadn't really lowered his weapons, if need be, he and Kasparovich could be shot down at will. He was about to ask a question when the unmistakable roar of an F/A-18N went by overhead, very low. Followed by an explosion not too far away.

"What the Hell?" Cameron said, he'd caught a glimpse of the aircraft as it had gone by, from the tail code, he guessed USS John F. Kennedy (CVN 79).

"We're only 90 miles from the ocean off San Francisco, we have a carrier battle group off the coast. We're blockading California." Wilcox was impatient to get moving.

"Guys, are we going to sit here all day and shoot the shit? We need to get the hell outta Dodge." Kasparovich chimed in.

"Yeah, but not in that 'look at us we're Feds' Suburban out there. We can take my ride. It's parked out back, in the alley." McKellar had made a decision, he'd holstered his weapon and headed to get his keys.

"Lose the ties and the f**king suit coats. I've got a couple of sweatshirts you can wear." McKellar went into his bedroom and grabbed those items. He also took the time to head back down to the basement where he grabbed his M4 carbine and his Mossberg 590S Compact shotgun. Wilcox and Kasparovich, looking a little less like Feds now, helped him load a gym bag with ammunition for those weapons.

While they were loading the car, two more Super Hornets roared over.

"What's near here?" Wilcox asked McKellar. Cameron answered.

"Mather Field, used to be an Air Force Base, there's an Intel squadron there now, the 149th. But a bunch of hard heads occupied the place three days ago. They've managed to procure a number of armored personnel carriers. They've sworn to defend the state from the U.S. government."

Kasparovich shook his head, "I'm guessing they're dying for their state right now."

From their position they could see large columns of black smoke boiling into the air, not that far away.

"Mather?" Kasparovich nodded at the smoke.

Cameron nodded, he knew the CO of the 149th, a good kid. "What's left of it."

"Come on people, move your asses!" McKellar shouted from the driver's seat of an old surplus Humvee.

Cameron nodded then looked at the two Feds, "You heard the man, let's get out of this place. Things might get hotter than that." He pointed towards Mather, it seemed the Navy was determined to wipe it off the map. Another pair of Super Hornets was over the base, the roar of their 20mm cannons was audible, even at this distance.