When he spoke with no dialect, sounding like a pure southern Californian surfer guy, Joe nearly lost his balance.
Mary Lou whispered, “It’s Staff Sergeant Eddie Edmunds. Isn’t it brilliant? Bruce here recognized him right away.” She nodded to another man.
“Was his gym teacher all through elementary school,” Bruce said.
“How the heck do they not know?” Joe asked.
“I speak the language fluently,” Edmunds replied. “My dialect is sometimes off, so I keep what I say short and sweet. They don’t know. Everyone thinks I came from another unit. There are so many of these guys. It was easy to do.”
“Are there any more United States soldiers doing double agent duty?” Joe asked.
“Several, yes,” Edmunds said.
Joe looked down to the table. “This isn’t a pierogi club?”
“Oh, we make pierogi,” Mary Lou said. “It’s our feint. Edmunds covers, we find out everything from him. We produce pierogi, but we’re something more. This is a pocket of resistance.”
“Each pocket, in each town that has a takeover is meeting like this,” Bruce said softly. “It will be a coordinated plan, each town doing their part. Right now, Swall and this valley have about three thousand soldiers. Each set up in groups, battalions, so when you look at it, it’s not many, making it easy to do.”
“Not many making what easy to do?” Joe asked.
Bruce hesitated before answering, “To take out.”
Trying to speak quietly, Joe in shock squeaked out, “What? You mean…” His eye shifted and he paused when he saw a man working with dough. “Hey, wait a second… you work for me.”
The man nodded. “I do. My name is Josh.”
“What the hell is up with your guys? You act like zombies.”
“We have to. Each of us has a family member at a detention camp and they are holding that over our heads,” Josh answered.
“There is a sequence of events,” Mary Lou said. “All coordinated to let them know we mean business. If this works, we can take this country back. But everyone has to do their part, Joe. Everyone. You want your country back you have to do what it takes. And you are more vital than you think.”
“No.” Joe shook his head.
“Yes,” Mary Lou said. “They are storing your tomatoes, at the end of the week, those crates of tomatoes are going…”
Joe covered his ears and shook his head. “No. You hear me.” He whispered harshly. “No. I will not be a part.”
“What happened?” Mary Lou asked. “When you lost that weight did you lose your balls? Everyone said it. Fat Joe is gone. Yeah, he is. The Joe Garbino I knew stood up for what was right. He wasn’t scared, he fought. Fat Joe wouldn’t sit idly by doing what he was told. He probably would have been shot like Greg. But that Joe is gone.”
Joe grumbled. “He is not gone and my balls are just fine, thank you.”
“The only way we can do this is if everyone does their part.”
“There are so many of them.”
“But there are even more Americans,” Mary Lou said. “Think about it, Joe. Think about it. In the meantime, stick around, it will look suspicious if you leave. And…” She handed him the apron. “Make some pierogis.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Fourteen Days Post Bombs
Caldwell, OH
“I’ll be there,” Cal said. “I’m part of it.”
Cal walked a good distance, it was better that way.
“Caldwell, Ohio has only five roads that go into it,” Troy told him. “Each one is sealed, blocked off.”
Walking along Highway 77, Cal had seen the Caldwell sign earlier and knew he was close. He just didn’t know what would happen.
“They will ask you a lot of questions. Get in the state of mind you want to go home and will do whatever it takes,” Troy said. “Across the highway is a correctional institute. Rumor has it they killed all inmates and are using the property now as holding. We don’t know. Whatever the case, we want those people especially.”
“You want criminals to fight for you?”
“We want people.”
Before Cal even arrived at Caldwell, he saw the road block. Cars were lined up leading to it. All of them were empty and abandoned. At the end of the line of cars was a fence and he could make out several large military vehicles.
“Our inside man is not in a position of trust, he will reach out to you, he will give you the means to communicate.”
“How will I know him?”
“He’ll come to you. You know what we need.”
Cal couldn’t believe he’d agreed to do it, but what else did he have to do? Louise would have wanted him to and probably would have scolded him if he refused.
His instructions swirled in his mind, he was given so much direction and so little time.
He was tired. He was far from a hundred percent and hoped to rest but knew that was impossible. He heard it about the same time he saw it.
Weapons being engaged, and words shouted out to him in a language he didn’t understand.
Cal had arrived at the check point and did the only thing he could. He raised his arms in surrender.
“I just want to go home, can you guys help me get home and out of this Godforsaken place?” Cal tried to convey to the soldiers but was treated like a wanted fugitive.
He was roughly pulled aside, his items taken and searched. He was patted down for weapons, but they did take interest when they discovered his passport.
They returned his backpack and walked him through the security fence. A block into the walk on the right was a gas station, one of those convenience store types. There was a gas tanker there and it looked as if they were taking the gas.
Cal took in everything, just as asked. The entrance off of Highway 77 was barely guarded, he guessed that was because of the sea of cars parked across all six lanes of the road.
Soldiers mulled around, and there didn’t appear to be any civilians. Clearly, that area was for military only.
After passing the gas station, Cal was brought into a large box-style tent. Inside, decorated military personnel spoke to each other and gathered around a large table. They paid no mind to his presence. The soldier that escorted Cal inside held up his hand to Cal, signaling for him to stay put.
Cal stopped walking and watched the soldier walk over to one of the leaders. He presented the leader with Cal’s passport, then the gentleman nodded and walked toward Cal.
He held out his hand to a table and chairs and Cal sat.
Cal wasn’t familiar with Chinese army rank but could guess by the stack of upside down Vs on the patch on his arm, the man was a sergeant.
The sergeant spoke slowly and with pronounced and slightly broken English.
“You are in America. Why?”
“Vacation,” Cal replied. “I want to go home.”
“I see. Home. London?” he asked.
“Yes. Is that possible? Is there a way for you to help me get home? I’ll do what I need to do until then.”
“I will make some calls,” he said, lifting the passport. “I will need to hold on to this.”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Mister… Calhoun, is it?”
Cal nodded.
“It could be some time. You would be willing to work the camp as an ambassador? We need English-speaking workers.”
“Yes, I will.”
“You do not look healthy.”
Cal shook his head. “I have been sick. Radiation.”
“We will see about getting you a job and bed, until then let us get you medical treatment. Follow me.” He walked by Cal and out of the tent. Cal followed.