This is a work of fiction. It is based wholly on the Alternate History World, known as “Dies the Fire,” written and copyrighted by S.M. Stirling in 2004. All characters in this fiction are, in fact, fictional, all errors and mistakes are mine.
[transcript: Maj. Minerva C. King 1st Duluth Pathfinders.]
You wouldn’t recognize them, these men and women who meet every year on the last Monday in May. They vary in ages, the youngest is less then 30, the oldest over 90. There is nothing special about them. They hold various jobs; important positions in the Commonwealth Government: teachers, farmers, craftspeople, ditch diggers, soldiers; the like.
But on this one day these ordinary people become more than the sum total of their parts.
They begin to arrive in the large field behind Trader-Ski’s Bar and Gill at 4:00 am, the time when the rest of the world is in it’s deepest sleep. Men and women wearing old berets of green or maroon felt, the “Smokey the Bear” hat, or camouflaged BDU caps. Some have silver wings on their chests, others a small unit crest. Slowly they begin to separate into small groups and you hear some laugh, some cry, the greetings of old friends, and the occasional soft curse. One hour before sunrise they are in position. Many in a precise military formation the rest standing in a loose but well ordered group behind them.
The colors are brought from their resting place inside the bar to the front of the formation and one by one each is uncased. The first is the flag of the Former United States Of America, frayed in spots and with some burn marks around the edges. Next is the flag of the United States Army, the battle streamers carefully arranged so that the one that bears the name Yorktown is prominently displayed. Then the flag of the 101st Airborne Division. Unlike the others this flag has only three steamers, the one bearing the name Saint Louis takes place of prominence. It is followed by the flag of the 5th Special Forces Group, like the flag of the 101st it has 3 streamers but the streamer with the name Quad Cities has the place of prominence here. The TRADOC flag is next, but this flag has only two streamers; the streamer bearing the name Minneapolis taking pride of place. The last is a flag unlike the others. It looks like a ragged bed sheet with a hand painted picture of a cartoon mouse-head with the words “God Damn Civilian cluster fuck!” emblazoned underneath. It’s one streamer simply states “We were there for it all.”
As the flag bearers proceed to their place at the front of their units an old man slowly marches forward. Centering himself on the assembly he comes to attention, then bellows out in a voice that defies his age.“First Provisional Corp, Atten-tion!” “Re-port!”
The old man then does a sharp about-face and saluting the sky, bellows out, “Commander, First Provisional Corp, Army of the United States, All Accounted For, Sir!”
As one they move out, singing their cadences, songs of fierce pride, great sorrow, desperate battles, friends, and loved ones lost. They march to a place just outside the old city limits, to the spot were their General died leading his command to safety. Here they will honor the dead, the famous like Peters and Scott, the common soldiers like Christianson and Robbly.
For on this day they are no longer teachers or farmers, craftspeople or ditch diggers, ordinary people with ordinary lives. On this day, they are once again the First Provisional Corp, United States Army. The men and women who are now called by many the New Ten Thousand. Who marched across half a country, and through the shadow of the vallley death in the hell of a world gone mad. And they fear no evil, for they were, and are without a doubt, the meanest bastards in the valley.
And these are their stories.
The Change.
To many the change is summed up best in the quote made by Col. Jeffrey R. Pavalka (see related articles on, Pavalka Jeffrey, Dog Soldiers, 1st Pathfinder Group, Fargo Serum Run, and The Ballad of Buster ) shortly before his death:
“Unlike the song, It was the end of the world as we knew it, but this time no one felt fine.”
I was never one of the movers and shakers, more like a fly on the wall, and that was mainly an accident. The night of the change I was riding my bike through the parking lot of Post headquarters on the way to PX for a beer, when it happened. Worst headache I ever had and a blinding light caused me to lose control of my bike and I crashed right into the curb and flew right over the handlebars; knocked the wind right out of me. So there I am lying flat on my back and the next thing I know the General himself is asking me if I am alright. See, back then the commanding General lived on Post and this General liked to walk over to Post headquarters every night about that time to check on things.
Now, look I didn’t know at the time it was the General. My glasses had come off, so that is why I snapped that smart-ass reply. “Well, I just landed on my ass and look like a fucking fool, but other than that, smart ass, I’m fine!”
But he was cool about it; just laughed and said,“That’s ‘I’m fine, SIR!’ soldier.” Then he asked me what happened and I told him. He got this funny look on his face said, “Me, too. Almost knocked me off my feet.”
I could tell he knew something was wrong right off the bat. Don’t know how he knew it; maybe it was the fact that all the cars had suddenly stopped running. There were always vehicles pulling in and out of the PX and and the fast food place next to it. Can’t remember if it was a Burger King or a Hardies. Never mind. There is always some activity around a Post HQ until around midnight. Not many crashes mainly because of all the foot traffic around HQ, so the speed limit was 15 miles an hour. [chuckles] I know, I know. To you that seems fast, but back then it was considered slow. And all the lights were out in the parking lot. But I think it was the quiet that let him know. See, back then the 101st Airborne was an elite unit and the Division Commanders came from the Special Operations field. The SF back then was like the Pathfinders are today, and the General was one of the best. Talk to a Dog Soldier sometime. They’ll tell you that when things get quiet the shit has hit the fan.
However he knew it, I could tell, just by looking at him that the General knew this was serious. He looked at me and said “Tell you what, son. Why don’t you come inside Post headquarters with me a rest up a little bit while I see what’s going on. If all the cars are like the ones here I might need you and your bicycle to do a little running for me.”
So I followed him inside. You think the Change was scary! You try being an 18-year-old private and being surrounded by a bunch of high brass. Now that’s scary! Made me wish I was a fly on the wall; never thought I would end up one watching history unfold. [slightly softer] And there were times I never thought I would live to talk about it.
And another thing, most people think for some reason the chaos started right away. Now maybe that happened in the big cities, I really don’t know because I wasn’t there, but on Post the chaos never started. The General saw to that, by God!
I’ll say this, that man really knew how to take charge. HQ was pretty well lit with chem lights. You have probably seen them at one of the family days at Fort Courage [soft chuckle, then snort] F troop! They mix two chemicals together and they make light. Well, back then we had these things called chem lights. You bent this tube and broke a glass vial inside and you got light for two hours.
First thing he did was walk up to the duty officer and ask for a report. Of course the duty office didn’t have much to tell. Mostly that the lights were out and that she had sent somebody down the basements to check the circuit breaker and tried to call the power plant but the phones were out.
The General said to her, “Thank you, you’re doing a good job. Stay calm. I’ll take a handful of those lights.” Next he walked over the communication center. He spoke to the NCO on duty and asked how coms were. The Sergeant on duty told him that everything was down. The General said “Okay, see what you can do to reestablish communications and let me know as soon as they come back up.”
I followed him as he headed to his office. The division Sergeant Major was there finishing up his work for the day along with the General’s senior aide; a young captain by the name of Thomas. The General look at his aides said “Tommy I think we better call the staff together - right now. With the phones down and everything else out, we’ll probably have to send somebody out to gather them up. Give this young man here the home addresses for the G1, G2, G3, G4 and the rest of the staff.” Then he looked at me. “Son, I want you to go to their homes. Give them my compliments and tell them to report to Post headquarters, ASAP. Then swing by the headquarters of each of the regiments and separate commands. Talk with the senior officer in charge there. Let them know that I’ve called a staff meeting and that we are working on the problem. I strongly suggest they call their staffs together and begin doing the same. Also for them to send a liaison to this headquarters as soon as possible. With the phones down were going to depend a lot on runners so tell him to send somebody with a bicycle, as soon as possible.”
The General thought for a moment, then looked at the Sergeant Major, “Jack what am I missing?”
The Sergeant Major said, “That’s a lot of ground to cover and I don’t think the kid is that familiar with the Post housing area. We better send some one with him, and cut down on the number of stops he has to make.” The General nodded his head and said, “Good idea. Tommie, I noticed that you rode that fancy new bike of yours in today. Go with, what’s your name, son?”
“Jack, see who is here and who has bikes, then send them out in teams of two. If they are officers and can’t be spared, tell them to give their bikes to someone who can. Remember Major Regimental commands first, individual battalions second. Should be able to knock this out in a hour or two -- so plan on a full staff meeting at,” he looked at his watch (it was a Rolex so it still worked,) 22 hundred. If the staff is unavailable, their deputies will do.”
The General then looked at the Sgt. Maj. “Anything else I forgot?”
The Sgt. Maj. replied, “They’d better swing by 5th Group headquarters, it’s on our way back. Who knows what those crazy SOCOM guys will do in a situation like this!
“We had better watch our wallets and bikes as those crazy bastards will steal them at a time like this if they think they need them. Ask them to send a senior liaison. It might be a good idea to swing by some of the DOD offices and speak with the senior civilian employee there, also.”
The General said, “Good!” then, “Okay Sgt. Maj. Make it happen.” Then he looked at me and said, “OK, Matt. You understand your orders.”
“Good. After you and Captain Thomas finish report back here and get with the Sgt. Maj. He will give you the home address for every one who lives on Post and a map of the housing areas. Go to their houses and let the families know that they will be coming home late, and most important not to worry. Then swing by my house. Let my wife know that I’ll be late getting home and not to worry. Oh! and tell her I would appreciate it if she fixed you something to eat, you’ll probably be hungry after all that riding around.”
The Sgt. Maj. cleared his throat. “Ah, General, maybe it would be a better idea if he asked my wife to fix him something to eat. Sitting down to eat a meal prepared by the Post commander’s wife could be a little intimidating for a young soldier like this.”
The General smiled and said “Nonsense, no offense intended, Sgt. Maj. But my wife is a much better cook than yours is.”
The Sgt. Maj. looked him dead in the eye and said, “Sir, that is only because the General, Sir, can not truly appreciate fine Cajun cooking, being from New England and all.”
The General smiled and looked at me and said, “Well, your choice. If you’d rather have some Cajun cooking that will burn the soles off your feet as the Sergeant Major suggests, fine! Of course, if I were a young soldier, I would definitely not risk the wrath of my commanding officer by offending him by insulting his wife’s cooking.”
Both the General and the Sgt. Maj. laughed. Then the Sergeant Major said, “Come with me; I’ll get the list of addresses.”
Now, I was a pretty stupid buck private back then, and seeing the Sergeant Major and the General joke around like that in such a serious situation kind of freaked me out. What I didn’t know was that that was one of the first of many command lessons I learned from both the General and the Sergeant Major. That when the situation is at its worst a good leader not only has to remain calm cool and collected, he has to look the part too. Because if you’re scared and freaking out the troops will know it and they’ll start freaking out to. That little piece of friendly banter between a senior NCO and a senior officer went a long way in calming my nerves and allowed me to do my job. I remembered that lesson right before the battle of Minneapolis; I was officially part of the senior staff then, and used it when everything went the hell in a hand basket.
But that’s another story for another time.
Anyway I spent most of that night going to various officer’:s homes and command headquarters, running messages. And I did stop by the General’s house and his wife did fix me a meal. A really great lady she was, sad we lost her a few years ago. I must have did a good job, because the General kept me on as his runner.
And that’s how I became a fly on the wall of history.
[First interview with Linda Louise Pavalka, Dependent wife, original member of: This God-damn Cluster Fuck You Are Saddled With! 1st Provisional Corp. Conducted at Trader-Ski’s Bar and Grill Commonwealth of Duluth]
Interviewer’s note: All of my interviews with Linda Louise Pavalka, took place at Trader-Ski’s Bar and Grill at her insistence. She explained that the place had so much history, and if you were going to remember and honor the dead it should be at a place that their spirits would find comfortable.
At our first meeting she thanked me for coming, introduced me to her student “Maggie;” Lady Margaret Akers of Japanese Hollow Barony in the Grass Valley of Montival.
She said she had brought Maggie for two reasons. One was to expand her education. Trader-Ski’s was not the type of place a young lady from an Associate’s household of the PPA would normally be found; but even if she did not become an artist it would help her as a lady running a great house to know something about how the people working for her played. The second was that she had done some checking and found out that I had been studying away from home for over five years and thought it might be nice for me to hear the latest gossip from home after we were finished.
What I understand now, but did not then, was that this is basic field craft, Pathfinder style; she was treating this as a veteran of the long march she was. When facing an potential enemy of unknown intent - always do so on a field of your own choosing, under conditions of your own choosing, and do something to place them slightly off their game. It is never a good idea to underestimate the woman who was consular to Colonel Debbie, good friend of Rainbow Honeysuckle Moonbeam Solomon, and married to Col. Jeffrey R. Pavalka. Any woman who can stand toe to toe with those individuals along with all her other accomplishments is no one’s fool.
Since all of us involved in this project were encouraged to use the writing style we felt best suited each interview I have chosen a first person narrative for this interview and several others. It is my feeling as a historian that in these cases it gives a clearer picture then simply recording what was said word for word.
After greetings and pleasantries were exchanged I asked, “Aren’t you a little worried? This place has a bit of a reputation. Is it safe for two unescorted ladies?”
She gave me a very knowing smile, “Now, if Maggie were here looking for a little fun, not a good time, just some fun and maybe a wee bit of adventure, it would be a little different.” She then turned to her student,“Oh don’t blush so, girl! You are a nice young woman from a good family, I know your customs back home are different, but I did speak with your father about this. We both agreed that making friends with a few nice young men and women, and even some dating if you would like, will hardly hurt you. In life it is very important to broaden your horizons, and make friends. You never know when it will come in handy.”
Turing back to me, “Thing are different from what both of you are used to in the West, but I can assure you that if Maggie said No! every one of them would respect her and stop. We raised them to know better.”
“In many ways these boys and girls become our children; children that sometimes we have to send to their deaths, but our children none the less.”
“I brought along quite a few of my sketches from those days, hoping to give you a better idea about those times. But,” and here a bit of exasperation crept into her voice, “I did not bring them all.”
I asked my first question, “Where were you and what were you doing the night of the Change?”
“Well, Jeff had just returned from a six month deployment, so we were,” she paused and then smiled, “working very hard at getting re-acquainted. We really didn’t know anything happened. I don’t even remember the bright flash and pain that much. Don’t look so surprised! My husband and I had not seen each other in a very long time, and... Noooo, never mind, if you can’t understand that,” she said with a soft chuckle, “I am most certainly not going to draw you a picture!”
“It wasn’t until after midnight when a runner from Group Headquarters came pounding on our door that we knew something was wrong. He told Jeff that he was needed at Group HQ ASAP. Well, Jeff really wasn’t in the mood to hear that; neither was I. So he told the runner to just tell the Major he couldn’t be found.”
“Again! Such a surprised look! I know that we have a reputation for putting duty to the Commonwealth first, but those were different times. Just as dangerous, but more innocent in many ways. My husband had been out of the country for six months and wanted to spend some time with his wife.”
“The runner looked at Jeff with stunned disbelief, and said ‘Sarge, have you been paying attention to what’s been going on for the last couple of hours?’”
“Jeff looked at him and said ‘No I have not been paying attention to what’s been going on the last couple of hours. I’ve been busy! And I would like to get busy again! So why don’t you get on that little bicycle you rode up here on, take your ass back to headquarters, and tell the captain that if he needs to see me, he can see me in the God-damn morning!’”
“The runner just looked at him and said, ‘Sarge, try and turn on your lights.’ See the house was pretty well lit, candles everywhere, so we really did not notice any thing.”
“I think it was at that moment that everything clicked and Jeff realize something serious was going on. A runner on a bike? Why not use the phone? Or even send the duty driver in a Hummer? No lights! I know this is hard for you kids born after the Change, but we had light any time we wanted it. It was like getting water from a tap, you just flipped a switch, turned a handle. Why was the Major bothering us on Jeff’s his first night home? But the big one, the one that really set Jeff’’s teeth on edge, and caused him to, as I like to say, enter his ’Steely Eyed Sergeant Mode’ was the fact that it was just too quiet.”
“I had a pretty good idea, too. To be married to a man like Jeffrey R. Pavalka, no woman (or now, men) can stay married to anyone who’s in special operations without developing a certain feeling for what their job is like, and how they think. It was the quiet; it was just too quiet. I looked at Jeff and I said ‘Honey, I think maybe it would be a good idea if you headed on over to headquarters and see what the Captain wants.’”
“He looked at me and said, ‘You sure?’ And I said, ‘Yes, this could be serious, and if it is I know you’ll want to be over there. If it’s not you can come home, and we’ll take up where we left off; we still have to christen the kitchen.’”
Just then there was a loud commotion in the bar. I knew from the sound it was a typical tavern brawl about to start. I was thinking perhaps Linda was wrong about this place and reached down for my staff in case I had to defend the ladies. Again, if I knew then what I know now, I would not have bothered.”
I watched as Linda very calmly stood up and faced the two combatants. The first was an embassy puke, well, Guard. From his livery he looked to be a very young associate who had just gotten his spurs. Tall and lean, he had drawn a long sword and was threatening another man who was almost his exact opposite. Shorter and somewhat stockier, he had a strange looking knife in each hand and his stance was something I had never seen before. He was turned sideways like a fencer but instead of holding his arms out, he held his blades close to the hip and pointed directly at his opponent. A young bar maid stood behind him; crying.
That line caused everybody to glare. Calling any veteran of the 1st Provisional Corp a trout was dangerous at the best of times; calling Linda Pavalka one, especially in a tavern filled with Dog Soldiers was suicidal!
Linda’s voice took on a hard edge but she did not raise it above the level of polite conservation, and said, “Stand down, soldiers.” With a slightly harder edge when they did not immediately obey, “I said, Stand Down! I will handle this.”
Then she looked at the young man guarding the bar maid, and said softly, “Solider, please stand down and take care of the nice young lady, there. She looks shaken and probably could use a drink and some comfort.”
“Ah, mama, ah... Yes, Mama!” He then sheathed his knives and said to the barmaid, “Miss Jackie, why don’t you come with me and I will get you a brandy. It’s gonna be ok, I promise, Ok?”
“That’s right, little boy, do as your Mommy says; go and hide! I’ll just hunt you down later and teach you not to interfere when I’ve got my eyes and hands on a girl!”
Linda gave the guard a very cold look, “Young man you have made three very bad mistakes. The first was using a sword against a man armed with ballistic knifes, especially when you are not wearing armor. The second was calling the wife of the commander of First Group an old trout. While I am willing to forgive many a slight, Dog Soldiers can get very offended over things like that. Third, calling any Dog Solider a boy is just stupid! But what is even stupider is saying that you will hunt one of them down later. Even the Dúnedain show them proper deference when it comes to their skills, and if you wish to die, young man, there are easier and cleaner ways.”
The PPA embassy guard went grey and broke out in a cold sweat, (I could see it from my seat) and began muttering apologizes, as Linda walked up to him. She stood on tip-toes and put her face into the guard’s.
In a clear icy voice she said. “I am Linda Pavalka, and I realize that you were brought up in an environment different from this one. And because of the actions of that God Damn straight leg history professor and his wife you believe that any one who does not have a title is beneath you! Well, young man, this is The Commonwealth! And here you are not above anybody! Men like my husband and the General, those of us who made the long march, who gave so much to save the best of the Old United States and as many people as we could, made sure that That Would Never Happen Here!”
“You represent the worst of what should have been a noble dream, one held by a proud people! You are someone so fixated on status and your own self importance with the I want it and I want it now attitude. Because by God it is your right to have everything you want now! And any one who can not stand against you had better give you what you want pretty damn quick!
“It is only now, thanks to the actions of few great individuals in the past Wars, that this has changed. If that crazed self-centered history professor and his equally self-centered wife had been a millionth of the man and woman the General and Colonel Debbie were, not only would they have saved thousands more, but they would not have their offspring embarrassing them in public
“So stand down, or challenge me formally, I am sure someone here will loan me a B-Knife, for I loath your kind.”
She then turned her back on the guard and walked back to the table. Took a deep breath and said, “I am very sorry if I gave offense to you or your people. You have much to be proud of and admired for. But I’m an old woman who once belonged to a great nation that spanned a continent. Its’ culture influenced the globe and its’ men and women walked on the moon and sent messages to the stars. We have lost so much, so very, very much. It’s why, when I look at people like that guard I almost want to cry, and when they act like bullies; go a little crazy. My God, we lost so much!
“Your Lord Protector was in many respects a great man, and his wife a great woman. But to throw away the best to live out their fantasies! It still causes many of us great pain.”
She then smiled and looked at Maggie doing a rough sketch of the recent event. “Good! You never know what will be important, so get the raw emotion down on paper as soon as possible and don’t forget your notations for what you can’t get down right now. When you are done, give it to me. I’ll keep it for a week, and ask you to draw it again from memory. Then I’ll give it back to you. I want you to see how your full sketch will look after the passage of time has changed your memories. Perhaps our friend here would be willing to offer his opinion about it the next time we meet.”
She then turned to me a knowing smile, “As teachers we must never let any opportunity for a lesson pass us by.”
“Jeff jumped into the shower; the water was still working, and I laid out his one clean uniform. Typical solider gone six months and comes home with a rucksack full of dirty cloths and a hard-on. [This line shocked me at the time. But it is a very old saying going back to the early days of the United States Army Special Forces. The wives use wry humor to deal with their tough jobs.] He left and I sat down and tried to read a little bit, but I just couldn’t get into it. It was about an hour later and there was a soft knock on the door. I opened it and there was Shannon Johnson with a really scared look on her face.”
“I could tell she was scared, but I asked her what was wrong. That is the best way to handle things at a time like this, get them talking and then change the subject to something they have some control over ASAP. She said some one had just come and banged on the door and told Bobby — “‘report to headquarters,’ Why did they do that? The guys just got back off a six-month deployment! We’re supposed to have downtime for at least two weeks! Just what is the God-damn army doing? Just why did they have to drag him out of bed and back to headquarters in the middle of the night?’”
“Now, Shannon was a new wife and she was new to special forces. And you need to understand that we, (and since the change the husbands), those of us who are married to the men and women of special operations are just as much a part of special operations as they are. Oh sure, we don’t go on the missions, we don’t risk our lives now that the long march is over. But honestly, I think we do have a harder job, making sure they remember just what it is they are doing this for. Otherwise it would be too easy for them to forget, too easy for them to decide that they should be the ones in charge.”
“And that is our job. We were the caretakers, no, correction! We are the caretakers for the men and women who are willing to walk in the dark places where others will not go so they can bring light to the darkness. We are the ones who they think of when they stand on the bridge and look evil dead in the eye and say, ‘you shall not pass!’ And they need us as much as the Commonwealth needs them.”
“So I fixed some instant coffee; the stove was out but I had learned a few tricks from Jeff, and we talked for bit. I knew the other wives would start showing up in a bit, we would talk and support each other. We ended up doing that quite a lot over the next few months, it helped a lot.”
“Like many, we had no idea just how trying the next few weeks and months would be.”
[Transcript: Don Perkings, US Solider, original member 5th Special Forces Group & 1st Provisional Corp.]
Change night, I was in Trader Ski’s Bar, the original one at right across the main gate from Ft. Campbell, not the new one here. And because of that I was one of the first ones to figure out how serious the Change actually was. See, back then I was the NBC* NCO for 5th [Special Forces] Group. [*Nuclear Biological and Chemical. Similar duties and responsibilities as BioChem NCO in the Commonwealth armed forces, but with training in aspects of Nuclear warfare. Since the Change has made nuclear warfare impossible the NBC designator was change to BioChem for all Commonwealth forces.] Mostly we were focusing on chemical and biological warfare like we do now. Strange how the BioChem part has not really changed that much except for the delivery systems. And if some one had told me back then that I would have to worry about dead cattle being catapulted over the walls I would have laughed in their face. But I still knew a lot about nukes, and my first thought was “Shit! — Nuke! I’m dead.”
Then I heard Ski cursing and the poor guy sounded like he was going to cry. Now at first I thought he was hurt and I asked if he was OK. He said, “I’m fine. I just dropped the bottle of Glenlivet!” I hoped it wasn't his MS flaring up again. The man did like to push himself some and sometimes he went too far.
Now I like good booze as much as the next guy; now more then ever because it’s so hard to get, but the way he was carrying on you would think that it was the end of the world. [snort and laugh] Which it was but we didn’t know it at the time.
He just cried, “Don, this is from the 1959 Cellar Collection. It’s the type of scotch only God should own and even he would only bring it out on a special occasion!”
So I asked him, “Why do you have it out now?”
“Because unlike God, I’m not a snob.”
And when you come right down to it he wasn’t, even though he had every right to be.
See, it’s like this: Trader was a former Staff Sergeant who spend all of his time in the army assigned to Special Forces. He was not on the teams, and he was not fully qualified. Ski was always very, very specific about making sure that people knew he was only assigned to a special forces unit. That was very important to him. So much so that I asked him about it once when we had been drinking. He told me “I failed the Q. coarse, I made it through phase 1, I couldn’t make it through phase 2 and learn Morse code. It was no big deal, at the time I didn’t know I had MS and I decide that I simply had a problem learning Morse code. So the Army being the Army assigned me to 1st of the 1st on Okinawa. So I figured what the hell, I might not be Michelangelo but I’m good enough to mix the paint for the ceiling.”
And he was a hell of a “paint mixer.” The man spent more time down range than most guys on the teams did.
So in 1992 when the MS was diagnosed he found himself out on a Medical Discharge. He had been pretty smart with his money so he took everything he had, and along with a loan from the bank, built what he liked to call a very cool place.
It was a village style mini mall right next to a huge military surplus store across from the main gate. And it was a very cool place! It had a nice Thai restaurant, a pizza place, sub place , a hobby store called the Halfling, that specialized in role playing games, a sporting goods store with an indoor shooting and archery range, indoor/outdoor paint ball arena, barber shop, beauty shop, video store, shoe repair shop, book store, music store and a pawn shop, and of course the bar. The place was designed to separate soldiers from their money as painlessly as possible. And did a good job of doing it, too.
The reason he had the scotch out was that he had just closed a deal. He saw me sitting at the bar when he went to get it and said “Don, come on over. We’re breaking out the good stuff and there are some people I want you to meet.”
So I joined him at a booth in the back. There were a man and a woman sitting there and with an evil grin, he introduced me to Rainbow Honeysuckle Moonbeam Solomon. [soft chuckle] She hated that name! Ski actually introduced her as Rain Solomon. He said to me “Rain, here is going to be opening a pagan shop in the new expansion. Linda [Linda Louise Pavalka] and the Padre [Rabbi Gonzalez] talked me into it renting her the place. So what could I do? If I said ‘no,’ Linda would turn me into a frog and I stopped wearing green a long time ago.”
Rain gave him a dirty look, and I thought for a moment she was going to walk out, so I told her it was an in-house joke. Linda was the unofficial Wicca Chaplain for the Post, and The Padre was actually Rabbi Gonzalez, the 5th Group Chaplain. She smiled then; seems she had been corresponding with the Rabbi, and he had warned her about our particular brand of humor. The Rabbi had contacted her about some of the problems he was having counseling wiccan soldiers. He just did not know enough about the faith to do what he felt was an adequate job, and had found Rain’s advice very helpful. When he found out that she had recently retired from her accounting job so she could pursue her dream of becoming full time clergy he recommended that she come here. Sooner or later, Jeff would be reassigned, and Linda leave with him. It would be nice to have someone with experience that he and the other chaplains could turn to.
The other person was Paul Scott. Trader introduced him. “He’s the guy who created all those games I used to give you and Jeff [Jeffrey R. Pavalka] a hard time about.” Said he had convinced Paul to come here with his design team and give a demo of their new game tomorrow night before heading down to Nashville for a convention. And all for the price of a first class ticket, free room and board, first purchase option on his second born, and a sip of the 59.
He had a happy smile on his face. The man could smell a profit at 500 meters. Said he was going to be rich, and asked me if I could imagine how much money he was going to make on selling modules autographed by the design team, and the man himself!
And that’s how I met Scott, and Solomon, and yes I am talking about The Scott, and The Solomon, two of the Magnificent Seven. At the time I really wasn’t too impressed; Scott looked like a typical Geek and Rain? She was just some woman in her 30’s; hopefully not a new age crazy; that would drive Linda nuts.
Man! Was I wrong! But then again, how was I to know that inside Scott was more then just a game designer? There was a tactical and strategic planer with an attention for detail and the ability to think outside the box that was downright scary. And talk about a memory for obscure facts! Some of those things he pulled out of his head really saved our asses several times. Or that Rain was a herbalist, as well as a healer and spiritual advisor who offered comfort and hope to people of any faith.
Also, and I didn’t know it at the time, but there were two more members of the Magnificent Seven in the bar, too. Wolfgang Marks, that crazy warrior engineer from Austria, and his equally crazy partner David Tracker. And Ernie Peters was very close by.
“Or,” [slightly horse voice] “that all too soon, on a bridge just outside of Davenport, they would all add another proud legacy to the history of Special Forces. [pounds table hard] And God Damn that goat-roping pig-fucking straight-leg SOB Boss Man of Iowa. [spits on floor] Damn him to hell and his entire line for what he and his people did!”
[Takes moment to compose himself, then softly] “If Rain were here she would really be upset with me cursing some one like that. Probably would have given me hell and reminded me about Richardson and the support we got from the East-Siders of Des Moines, and the Teamsters. But still, damn that man straight to hell!”
Anyway back to Change night.
He called over to the bartender and asked her to break out some chem lights since the back-up generator hadn’t kicked in, and the emergency lights were on the fritz. She started snapping them and tossing them to the people there. Pretty soon the place had enough light to see by, and Ski looked down at the broken bottle, bowed his head and said in a very solemn voice, “Only the good die young.”
I laughed and said, “It could have been worse. I thought it was a pulse, and tried to assume the position. You only lost a bottle of scotch. I, on the other hand, could have been embarrassed!” I was trying to lighten the mood and expected him to laugh, or at worst, take a swing at me. But he got a funny look on his face and said, “You see a flash, too?”
It was then that we both knew something serious was going on. He looked over at Paul and Rain and asked them what they had just experienced, and they told him basically what I had. Bright flash of light, bad headache, and Ski said, “Guys, you had better stay here for a bit, I need to check on something. Don, come with me.”
We headed outside and the first thing we noticed was there were no lights and I mean no lights anywhere. The bar had a huge lighted parking lot, and was right across the street from the main gate. That could have been explained by a power outage. But the Post had it’s own power plant so even if the lights were off here they should have been on in the Post. Then the cars — all the cars had stopped, too. It looked like there had been a few crashes, but nothing too bad. The light must have just turned green and the cars just starting to move when the change happened.
There was one minor fender bender in the parking lot over by the Pizza place. A van with a wheel chair lift had hit a parked car while puling in. The driver was Ernie Peters, and the solider who’s car he hit was pretty upset at first. It was his first brand new car, and he had just picked it up from the show room. But when he found out Ernie’s daughter was in the back, he immediately went to help. He was a medic from one of the teams, never got his name, but he wanted to make sure Robin was OK before they moved her. I asked if there was anything we could do to help and he said he could use some light, and asked us to grab his bag from the back seat. So we gave him a couple of chem lights, and his bag. He gave Robin a quick but thorough once-over and then we helped them lift her out of the van. The medic told Ernie that she looked fine; since he had been going so slow it was the same as if Robin had accidentally bumped into a wall with her chair.
Then he said he was going to go out and see if any one else had been hurt. Told Ernie not to worry about the car; just leave the insurance info under the windshield wiper. He said, “Take it easy, sweetheart,” to Robin; grabbed his bag and was gone.
Ski told Ernie, “You might want to take your family over to the Thai Place. The seats are more comfortable and you might be here for a while. Tell Martha, the hostess, that the Trader said to make sure you were taken care of.”
What more can I say? He was that kind of guy.
I think it was after that that we both really noticed the quiet; it was just too quiet. I know this is hard for you kids born after the change to understand but there was always noise, background noise; cars, trucks, music — always something. And anyone who had ever been in combat knows that when things are that quiet the shit is about to hit the fan. Remember I was an NBC NCO. It was then that I started thinking that this was more then an EMP!
Ski led me out back, behind the mall and into a medium size warehouse; it was his personal work shop. He built it there because the area was zoned light industrial work and he really pushed the envelope on that one. He unlocked the door and opened it. I had no idea how that flash would affect his MS and was cursing myself for not asking that “Doc” to take a quick look at Ski before he headed out to the highway. So I decided to stay a little closer than he probably liked. I remembered how easy it was for an attack to affect his ballance and he did not have his cane with him. The lights did not come on, so he grabbed a flashlight off the wall, cursed when it wouldn’t work; then grabbed a big long chem stick; broke it open so we could have some light. We walked over to a 55 gallon barrel that was filled with water and had a blasting cap inside it. The cap was hooked up by wires to an outside antenna. Any pulse big enough to cause this much damage should have set the cap off.
The cap was there and the floor was dry. Ski scratched his head, reached up and carefully removed the blasting cap wires from their connection to the antenna and then twisted them together. The he walked over to a work bench set up for electrical work and opened a very large box underneath it grabbed a small detonating device, took the wires from the blasting cap and carefully attached them to the two studs on the detonator. He called out “Fire in the hole!” and squeezed the charging handle. Now, that should’ve set off that blasting cap, but it didn’t.
He said to me, “I rigged up this this little thing back when the rumors started going around that the Russians might have lost some nukes. Lots of smart terrorists out there! I figured there was no way they could do a EMP; but I just thought, ’what the hell! better safe then sorry.’”
An electromagnetic pulse big enough to knock out all the his equipment would send a big enough surge of power down the antenna into that blasting cap. It would have popped!
The cap could have been bad, but I didn’t think so. Even if it was, the little charge light on the detonator should should’ve lit up, when I started squeezing it.
I looked at him and he looked at me, and I think that’s when we both realized that we weren’t hearing sounds coming from the shooting range. That place was well insulated, but even so you could always hear a very slight background noise of guns being fired. So we walked over to the range and looked inside. There were some people standing around trying to fire weapons that no longer worked. Idiots!!! Couldn’t see the target but still trying to fire!
I looked at Ski and said “I need to get back to Post and over to Group Headquarters and see what the fuck is going on.” He nodded his head slowly, and said, “Yeah, I think that’s a really good idea. I’ll see what I can figure out here, but I think it would be smart if we started planning for the worst. I know you’re really don’t think that much of these game designing guys, but if this is even 1/10 as fucked up as I’m beginning to think it might be, we are in one world of hurt! And some of these guys design games around things like this looks like.”
Trader said, “I’ll see if I can harness some of these people; maybe convince them that, hey! just for grins and giggles, while we are waiting for the lights to come back on and since the beer will get warm any way, we pretend that the entire world is just gone to hell right now and that the Army has asked us to come up with options. Maybe bring in some of the guys playing over at the Halfling, promise a $100.00 gift certificate or something for whoever comes up with the best ideas.”
“Remember what I said about these guys being good at what they do? If things are really bad, I may need you to get me in to see the Colonel. Not many people know just how detailed a simulation game these guys can do using nothing but paper and pencil.”
So I walked back to Post; maybe about a mile, maybe a mile and a half to Fifth Group Headquarters and checked in with the staff duty officer. That’s when I found out that everybody experienced the same thing — the flash of light the sudden head pain. I gave him a quick brief on what I had found out at Trader Ski’s, told him I was going to break out some war stock equipment to do some tests and see what I could find out. He asked me if I though it was really necessary, some of that stuff was really expensive and once you broke the seal on the package you could not use it again. I just shook my head and walked away, but I can’t say I really blame the guy. At the time all he knew was that this was a simple power outage, and wrapping your head around what I had seen at Trader Ski’s was a bit too much to expect from someone who had not seen it.
I spent the rest of that night with my team running tests. We had some really good equipment back there, all cased harden to survive a EMP pulse. The problem was it didn’t work. While I was doing that the Group staff met and called me to give a report. The group commander told me to come with him to Post HQ; he was going to talk with the General, and wanted me to brief their NBC people and pass on what we knew. I could see in the old man’s eyes that he was thinking the same thing I was.
Oh shit, we are so fucking fucked!
And that’s how I spent change night.
***
[Transcript: From the journal of Command Sergeant Major Jack “Ralphie Boy” Norton, Division Sergeant Major 101st Airborne Division, Corp. Sergeant Major 1st Provisional Corp. Used by permission from the Norton Family]
Wednesday the 18th of March, 1998
Oh shit, we are fucked, Nothing is fucking working!!!! Nothing Nothing Nothing!!!!! How the fuck are we suppose to function! How the fuck are we going to get out of this FUBAR!!!!! If things do not change back we are so fucked!
Ok, solider, you have had your snivel time, now shut up, suck it up, and drive the fuck on!
Now comes the hard part, figuring out how bad we are fucked and what can we do about it. Still not sure what happened last night, I was finishing up some work and getting ready to head home. Flash of light, head felt like it was going to explode. Then the lights went out. Nothing working right ever since.
The General showed up a few minuets later; he had some kid with him. Well, Nick had a habit of picking up strays. Poor guy, I thought he was going to shit his pants when he came into the office. Can’t blame him. Nick can even intimidate me at times and we go back to El Salvador and the PI*.
Man knows how to take charge and get things done. Call together the staff, let the commanders know that we are working on the problems, let the families know that their husbands and wives are ok but have a lot of work to do so don’t panic. Sent a message to his wife to get with the senior officer’s wive’s group and keep everyone calm, told me to have mine do the same for the senior NCO wives.
Always thinking that man is, nothing ever escapes him. Walked out of the office to head for the staff meeting and told me to see that Stevens is assigned to the HQ; said after the kid been privy to so much throne room gossip in the last 12 hours that we had better make him an official part of the palace guard. Told me the kid seemed smart so to list him as an aide-de-camp. I told him that was an office slot and orderly or driver would be correct.
Man snorted and said, “That is the modern usage. I’m going real old school here. Back in the good old days before radios an aide-de-camp was an extra set of eyes and ears who could run messages. So, now you know, list him as an aide-de-camp.” Told me to find him a few good buglers, too!
Staff is getting ready to start. Will try and write more later.
***
Part 2
Movement Orders.
From: General Order Number One, issued 20 March, 1998
To the men and women of the 101st Airborne Division, 5th Special Forces Group (Airborne), 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (ABN), 716th Military Police Battalion, U.S. Army Medical Activity, TN Valley District, Veterinary Command , U.S. Army Dental Activity. U.S. Air Force 19th Air Support Operation Squadron and U 621 Mobility Operations Group. The 3rd Region, U.S. Army Criminal Investigation Division Command; C Company, 1st BN, 58th Aviation Regiment (CORPS); 61st Engineer Detachment; 95th Maintenance Company (TMDE); the U.S. Army 2nd Judicial Circuit Detachment; and the 902nd Military Intelligence Group.
Greetings,
Due to the nature of the present emergency and current inability of this command to contact any higher Headquarters, or make contact with the National Command Authority, myself and the other major unit commanders garrisoned at Ft. Campbell believe that we must operate as if a state of open hostilities exists between the United States of America and a power or powers of unknown origin, and abilities.
It is the sworn duty of every Soldier, Sailor, Airman, and Marine to support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America. With this in mind and with the concurrence of the other major commanders I have issued orders for all units to immediately begin to prepare for redeployment from Fort Campbell to a more suitable location. Since the nature and duration of this emergency is currently unknown, I have also issued orders, under my authority as Post commander, that arrangements be made for the dependants and family members to accompany us.
When the 101st was formed in August 1942 the first Division commander, Maj. Gen. William C. Lee, promised his new recruits that although the new division had no history, it would soon have a “rendezvous with destiny.” Today, fifty six years later, we have a proud history, a legacy where names like Normandy and Bastogne shine, and the term “Nuts” has it’s own special meaning.
Today, destiny has once again called, and once again asked it’s age old question: “How Far?” And once again we shall answer, in a loud and thunderous voice, “All the way! All the way and then some and then some more!”
So I charge every one of you who will be on this long march, from the youngest babe in the arms of it’s mother to the oldest member — to keep faith in yourself, your fellow soldiers, your unit, and your God. For once again, Destiny has called, and once again we answer, as we always have and always will:
“All the way and then some and then some more!”
Nicolas S. Burke
Major General United States Army
Commanding.
***
[Transcript: Matt Stevens, US Solider, original member 1st Provisional Corp.]
So I became an Aide-de-camp, that’s a fancy term for a glorified runner. And boy, did I run. I learned more about Ft. Campbell in those three days before the meeting to decide whether to stay or go than guys who had been there over 20 years.
My days were pretty much the same for the first four days after the change. I ended up moving into the headquarters building; it made things a lot easier. I’d get up around four; collect the night’s dispatches and ride my bike over the General’s Quarters.
The General would already be up having breakfast, I would give him the dispatches and his wife, Col. Debbie would insist I sit down and have something to eat. I would always politely refuse, at least at first, but that woman was very insistent. Now, at the time I didn’t understand why. I thought she was just being friendly; she was, after all, a very gracious lady. Col. Debbie was a true lady, as kind and courteous to a young private as she would have been to the president of the United States.
You see, what I didn’t know, was that Deborah Diane Burke was not only the General’s wife, she had also been, until fairly recently Lieut. Col. Burke, United States Air Force. You see, the Colonel and the General had actually gone to the United States Air Force Academy together. See, back then the United States of America had four main military academies; the United States Military Academy at West Point; the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland; the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs; and the US Coast Guard Academy in New London, Connecticut.
Now most everybody believed that if you went to one of the service academies you automatically ended up in that branch of service, but that wasn’t the case. You could go West Point and take your commission and the Air Force. But in this case the General had actually gone to Colorado Springs, he had wanted to be a fighter pilot, but he failed his flight physical right before graduation. I guess his eyesight just wasn’t quite good enough to be a fighter pilot. I learned later that he barely failed, but back then becoming a fighter pilot was as hard as becoming a Pathfinder. Plenty of qualified people to choose from for not enough slots.
So the General spoke with the Army liaison and received a commission as a second lieutenant in the United States Army. He and Col. Debbie lost track of each other until they met again at the 20th class reunion. Col. Debbie was just in the process of retiring; she had gone into the intelligence field and her specialty was debriefing fighter pilots after their missions. She had this unique talent for putting people at their ease and getting information from them. Well, one thing led to another and they eventually married.
And Col. Debbie wasn’t just a simple housewife while she was married to the General! She did a lot of freelance work for several law enforcement agencies. She was one hell of an interrogator and from personal experience I can tell you she could get you to spill your guts without even knowing it.
So every morning while the General pretended to read his reports his wife was interrogating me on what was going on: things I’d seen, getting a handle on what type of feeling I was getting as I moved throughout the Post.
After breakfast it was always the same. The General would look at me say, “Get enough to eat?” and I would say. “Yes, Sir.” Then he would say, “Good, got a really busy day, lots of work to do - short time to do it in. So get back to Post headquarters. Talk to the Sergeant Major and see what he needs you to do.”
So I would ride my bike over to the Post headquarters and give the Sergeant Major my morning briefing. This is something that is very hard for a lot of people to understand, the fact that I would talk to the Sergeant Major about the General. Most people would considered this to be a sign of disloyalty, and nothing could be further from the truth.
In many ways an army is like a family; it has a mother and a father. The Commander is the father, the old man, the one you look to for leadership, and to make the right call. The Senior Sergeant is the mother, but if you want to live to a ripe old age, never call one that. They are the ones that pat you on the head or kick you right in the ass when you really need it. The job of the Sergeant Major was to ensure that his General was functioning at peak efficiency, and the only way to do that is to know the General’s mood and unfortunately, many aspects of the General’s personal life.
The Sergeant Major explain all that to me when he told me that I would now officially be part of the staff. He said, “since you have now been privy to the throne room gossip we’re making you part of the palace guard.” He also told me in very graphic detail just what he would personally do to me if I ever under any circumstances betrayed any of the throne room secrets.
[Soft chuckle] You know, I still expect that old bastard to come through the door and begin to beat the hell out of me for talking to you about this. Well, not really. I think enough time has gone by that the Sergeant Major would approve of this.
So that is how on Friday, 20 March 1998 I ended up sitting inside and being part of the meeting that changed history.
The General called a meeting of the entire division staff, the commanding officers of the separate independent commands on Post, the senior Department of Defense civilians, the head of the officer’s wives club, and the head of the NCO wive’s club, and a few civilians that I had seen coming into Post HQ from time to time.
One of them was the guy who owned the Strip Mall across from the main gate, the other was a guy who, at the time, thought of as that chubby old fart that had spend several hours in a meeting with the General and the 5th Group commander yesterday. We actually had to hold this meeting in the banquet room of the officer’s club, it was the only place large enough to hold that many people and their staffs.
I’d spent most of that morning making final arrangements, helping the various staff set up their presentations and basically just running around being as helpful as possible. By 1250 everyone who was to be there was there and at 1300 sharp the general entered the room. I started to leave, when the General said, “Stevens, with the computers out we have to do this the old fashion way, so we will need you to help with the maps and such. Take a seat over there, and while I know this will be boring try to stay awake. He looked at the rest of the assembly and said that goes for the rest of you, too.”
Well, that drew the expected laugh and everyone got down to business.
First to speak was the chief of staff who gave a brief overview of what had happened over the last few days. Next the division G-2 and the S-2 of 5th Group gave a very short intelligence briefing.
It consisted of: what we don’t know:
Who or what caused this.
When or if they were going to attack again.
Where they were located, and how or even why they did it.
That as a Air Assault Division we had been, in effect, neutralized.
All that we really knew was that nothing worked the way it should, and the effect was covering an area as far north as Saint Louis, and as far south as Nashville. And from the intelligence gathered by the teams from 5th Group it appeared to be covering a much larger area.
The Division Nuclear Biological and Chemical warfare officer gave her briefing. It was basically a rehash of what the G-2 had said, that this was definitely not a EMP attack and definitely something of unknown origin.
What the Division G-4 had to say was even worse. Most people forget the fact that an Army hardly ever fights, but it needs to eat every day! The Post had used up most of it’s current food supplies, and in a few days would be forced to break out the MRE’s. Water was becoming a problem. The 326th had done an admirable job of rigging up temporary pumps; but that was only a temporary measure. Unless the Post was re-supplied and re-supplied soon we would run out of food in 90 days, and worse yet, water would become a major problem in less then two weeks.
The head of the Post hospital had an even grimmer report. It came down to this, you can not pack several thousand people together with out proper sanitation and not have an epidemic break out. Right now the infectious disease section was keeping things under control but just barely. Best estimate before a serious outbreak of typhoid fever, cholera, dysentery two weeks, probably plague soon after. And there was nothing that could be done about it. Worse yet it had already started happening in Nashville and Saint Louis!
The last to speak was the guy I thought was just some chubby old fart. [face takes on a slight embarrassed look] Look how was I to know that that chubby old fart was going to become one of the heroes of the Magnificent Seven?
I don’t remember all he said, but it boiled down to this. He was a game designer, and a very good one. In order for his game systems to be marketable they must be believable by geeks. And there is nothing that a group of geeks like to do more then sit around and tear something apart and find the flaws. They will argue for days and spend hours on research just to prove some obscure fact.
So for example a game based on a world were Napoleon had an atomic bomb at Waterloo, just would not fly. These systems had to be more subtle, say something along the lines of Major Patrick Ferguson surviving the battle of King’s mountain. But whatever event the game is based on, everything must be as close to what could be done in the real world as possible. In fact if he were trying to design a game about the recent events it would not sell! The premise is just too fantastic for suspension of disbelief for most people. It might make a fair science fiction novel, but that is about it.
Immediately after the change Trader Ski asked him and a group of gamers from the Halfling to come up with a game scenario based on what had just happened, but to operate under the assumption that it was permanent. Something for grins and giggles to kill time until the power came back on. Scott then went on to reminded everyone that these people might be geeks, but they were smart geeks, and that everything they came up with had an eerier similarity to what the staff had come up with so far.
The General then stood up and asked Scott to allow him to speak before he went on. He then asked if there was anyone in this room who did not think we were in a very bad and dangerous situation? After a brief pause to see if any one would speak up he then said, “Any one here think this situation is likely to change any time soon?” Again no response.
No one spoke, so he looked at Scott and said, “please continue,” and sat down.
Scott then told every one in the room that he and his team had played out every possible situation they could think of, talked about everything from probabilities, to farming. He even mentioned they brought in loaded dice to skewer the odds totally in their favor. Their conclusion: if we stayed, we died. Our only chance was to evacuate the Post and move to a better location.
The General stood again and said, “Ladies and gentleman, while the final decision will be mine and mine alone, I would like to hear from each and every one of you present. In order to keep the junior members present here from being influenced by the senior members I will start with the lowest ranking member present and go on to the highest ranking member present. Private Stevens, stay or go?”
I’ll tell you honestly, I almost wet my pants! I stood up, looked at the General and said, “Go, Sir!” I then sat down and watched as each and every one present stood up, was asked the same question and gave the same answer.
The General then smiled and said, “Good! I would have hated to have to force any of you along at gun point.” And the Sergeant Major said, and I swear he sounded like that character in the old cartoon Go Go Gophers, “Ah... Begging the General’s pardon, sir, but guns no longer work.” And the General replied, “Then, by God, if guns no longer work, we’ll just have to use swords!”
You would have thought it was the funniest joke in the world the way every one laughed. But it broke the tension.
The General then said, “OK, people once again, destiny has called on the Airborne. We have a Division to save, and George Patton ain’t coming to relieve us this time! So let’s get busy!”
And lord, did we get busy.
***