Failure was watching your son become a respected leader, and knowing he’d gotten none of those qualities from you.
The worst part was that nobody seemed to blame Ed for his failures. As if they didn’t expect any better from him. As if they knew that when the time came to count on someone, they could count him out.
And now here he was, watching as another mealy-mouthed bureaucrat tried to destroy his town. Only if there was one thing Ed knew, it was that those who didn’t learn from history were doomed to repeat it. He didn’t really shoot all that well, didn’t have the courage to join others in the fight, but he could do this. He could potentially put himself in harm’s way trying to talk to someone who might be able to stop this madness.
He knew all about failure, but he couldn’t afford to fail here. Brave, skilled, and well equipped as his town’s defenders were, there were some things they couldn’t handle.
The group’s fears about not having enough fuel to reach the refugee camp outside of Manti proved unfounded, largely thanks to Lucas’s knowledge of the backroads branching off from Skyline Drive that took them by the quickest route, right down through Manti canyon behind the city itself. Every town along either side of the Manti-La Sal mountains seemed to have a canyon and road like that, which had definitely helped the military get around behind the lines during the fight against the blockheads.
Of course, all those roads had been demolished to prevent the enemy from having easy access to the mountains. In this case the military had cleared the way again to facilitate the mass exodus of refugees down into Sanpete County, and for that same reason the refugee camp around the burned out hulk of Manti began almost as soon as the canyon ended.
That camp was like nothing Ed had ever seen before. Admittedly, his only other experiences were the refugees who’d ended up outside Aspen Hill trying to get in, and Rogers’s camp just west of new Aspen Hill where all their current problems were coming from.
He’d heard Matt, April, and Terry describe the Antelope Island camp in all its soul-crushing glory, and even little Aaron had described it as only a six year old can. “It was really really big! There was a big fence and we couldn’t go close to it or soldiers would yell at us. It smelled bad. Mommy had to hold my hand whenever we went to eat or go potty because there were lots of people everywhere. People shouted real loud when I was trying to sleep.”
His grandson’s assessment was about on the money for this place, too. The population of a fair sized city lived here, not tucked away in several-storey apartment buildings but sprawled along dirt lanes in ragged tents or, far more rarely, crude structures made from whatever building materials could be found. The dust kicked up by so many feet made a constant haze over the area, and the smell of the nearest latrine or refuse pit hit them before they’d gotten within a hundred feet of the perimeter, carried on a stray breeze.
There were no guards, he noticed. The closest thing he saw was a patrol heading out past their mule, as well as a few teams of soldiers, probably MPs, making their way between rows of tents keeping the peace.
Their side-by-side wasn’t the only vehicle around, but it definitely drew more than its fair share of attention. Since it wasn’t obviously military, and none of them were in uniform, they stood out in the crowd. A lot of that attention was focused on Carrie, whose eyepatch didn’t do much to hide the scars that marred an otherwise very lovely face. The young woman was obviously uncomfortable and self-conscious at the stares, but she did her best to put up a stoic front as Lucas drove them through the camp towards the military section, closest to the burned ruins of the county seat.
It was a stark contrast to the refugee camp, well organized and laid out along newly laid gravel or pre-existing paved roads, which ran between straight rows of tents and a few permanent structures, either repurposed shipping containers or large buildings made of sheet metal. It was surrounded by a simple chain-link fence topped by a roll of concertina wire, with light but sturdy gates for every road. Measures obviously meant to discourage trespassing and potential theft.
They finally encountered guards at the gate they made for, and Ed was doubly glad they still had fuel for the mule at that point; in a vehicle the guards were a lot more receptive than if they’d just walked up to the gate. After a few questions they were allowed to drive through, and a corporal was sent to report their presence and see how the higher-ups wanted to handle their visit.
Of course, two soldiers were assigned to watch them in the meantime, and he had a feeling leaving their seats in the side-by-side would provoke a less than friendly response. Still, anything that boosted their image when it came time to plead Aspen Hill’s case could only be a good thing.
From what Chauncey and the veterans had told them during the brief time they’d had while preparing to leave, Colonel Grimes was in charge of the camp and nominally in charge of the entire military remaining in this area, although he had frequent contact with Generals Lassiter and Erikson about coordination and major issues. He was definitely the person to go to about resolving the town’s problem with Rogers, if he could be persuaded to intervene.
Then again, it would probably be hard to get a meeting with a man dealing with the logistics of hundreds of thousands of refugees and thousands of troops, as well as guarding the borders of the limited but expanding territory the US held around the Rocky Mountains.
At least their position was fairly simple and straightforward. When various noncoms and junior officers came around to ask the purpose of their visit, Lucas could explain in just a few words that their town was having a serious dispute with the coordinator of the nearby refugee camp, and they needed someone to intervene and arbitrate.
It was the sort of urgent but low priority situation that guaranteed they’d eventually get somewhere, if they were patient. So it was a pleasant surprise when after only an hour or so a lieutenant who identified himself as Colonel Grimes’s aide invited the Aspen Hill delegation to come with him.
The junior officer led them to a newly constructed building, plain but relatively large and well made, that served as the military headquarters. It was a beehive of activity as senior officers and their staff coordinated the management and defense of the entire area and hundreds of thousands of people.
They were led through a few main rooms full of logistics personnel and into a waiting room outside an office, where the aide had them wait a few minutes before a word from the far door had him ushering them on through.
The office beyond was small and spare, full of bookshelves nearly overflowing with hastily but neatly filed documents. Aside from a stowed away cot in one corner and a few framed pictures on the desk stacked high with pending reports, the most personal items in the room were the colonel’s combat gear stowed near the desk where it could be quickly retrieved, and an assortment of crowd control, personal defense, and standard combat weapons ready for use.
Grimes himself fit his office well. His uniform was surprisingly clean under the circumstances, and he was clean-shaven with his silver hair trimmed short. He was one of the tallest people in a room full of tall men, with the solid build of someone who didn’t spend all his time behind a desk. Even without the rank insignia on his uniform he would command attention, and Ed noticed Carrie start to salute as a conditioned response and then freeze and sheepishly lower her hand.