If one had seen the Shelton City Hall from the air it would be easy to mistake it for a sports stadium. Night had fallen but every available outside spot, flood and vapor light was fully illuminated turning the area into an island of light. Men were on alert and the excitement of activity crackled through the air.
Lehman addressed an assemblage of nearly thirty men in a motor-pool area. The mixture of Troopers and Contractors revealed men with purpose. These were men who had been in the heat of battle and were hardened by its flame. From the expressions on their face, their posture and even equipment the aura of impending combat oozed from their very pores.
“Gentleman,” said Lehman loud enough for all assembled to hear. “Tonight we have the opportunity to crush the growing resistance movement. Tonight we have the chance to stop this infection on the countryside. Tonight you men will be the tip of Senator Donovan’s spear.”
As he paced before his men Lehman allowed himself to express excitement, or at least as much as he was able of generating.
“You’ve been given your mission and orders. I trust you will all perform your assigned tasks to the best of your abilities. If you do, I assure you we will be able to extinguish this festering rot in our area.”
In the background trucks moved into position and prepared to haul the men on their mission. Gears ground and engines rumbled. Even from across the compound they threatened to drown out Lehman.
“Your field commanders will go over last minute details. I realize this is a rushed operation and proper planning wasn’t completed. But the opportunity presented to us this afternoon requires speed for us to capitalize. I have faith that your skill will compensate for the operational challenges.”
Lehman continued, “Enough of my blabbering. Do what is expected of you tonight”.
With that Lehman turned and walked off.
One of the field commanders took the cue. “Alright men! He bellowed. Review your assignments and get your shit straight. We roll in six zero minutes!”
From a stairway across from the motor pool Glenn Hubbard took in the spectacle that unfolded before him. He knew where the men were going and what they were about to do.
More importantly, he knew what he was about to do.
****
About thirty minutes after Lehman ended his pep-talk to the Troopers, Clarissa Donner was cleaning dinner plates from the table.
“That was a great dinner sweetheart. Thanks” said Greg to his Daughter. Her ability to run a business, manage a farm and whip up some mean fried chicken always amazed him. Over the running water in the sink she replied back, “No problem Dad. I’m glad when we can share a dinner, just the two of us”.
The delicious smell of fried chicken hung in the dimly lit room as Greg maneuvered himself over to his easy chair. He longed for the days when he moved without pain. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Clarissa busied herself with cleaning up from dinner and other chores related to homemaking. With the exception of the countries turmoil it was an idyllic scene.
Knocking at the front door interrupted the calm scene. Other than startling the Donner’s the knock presented little cause for alarm. People looking for work would often knock on the farmhouse door to plead their case.
None of this prevented Greg from gripping the revolver he had stashed between the cushions of his easy chair. It never hurt to be prepared for unforeseen circumstances.
Looking back at her father, Clarissa Donner slowly opened the door.
“Can I help you?” she asked of the young man.
“Miss, I sure hope it’s the other way round”
Seeing the look of confusion on her face the man continued, “I know this will all sound crazy but we don’t have much time. If you’ll give me five minutes you’ll know everything I’m saying is true”.
Clarissa made a snap judgment and opened the door to allow the man to enter. Years of experience hiring people gave her an eye for sincerity. She prayed she was making the right choice.
****
Another day of fighting ground down the defending forces as they clung desperately to their enclaves, fighting positions and rubble on the south bank of the Ohio. The Battle of Cincinnati was becoming an epic struggle.
Crutchfield’s forces continued to pour across the river on the western bridge, make the twenty-mile dash to the scene of the fighting and join the fray. Their opposite numbers were doing the same from the East. They faced the disadvantage of making the same trip on foot however. Still the terrain and situation favored the defenders. In addition to filtering in men and munitions, the President unleashed some of his airpower to harass Crutchfield’s forces. This served to further slow their progress.
The use of his airpower also served to cut off Crutchfield’s forces in Lexington. Several supply planes had been shot down as they made the scud run into the enclave. Further, the men moving across Kentucky to the fight in Cincinnati served to cut off any Crutchfield forces from moving down Interstate I64 from Ashland to reinforce the men in Lexington. Like men sixty years before them they were cut off and had no choice other than to dig in and await their brothers arrival.
In an effort to mask their true intentions, the President also launched attacks on Harrisburg Pennsylvania. Should they prove successful troops could march on Pittsburgh and head north to cut Crutchfield’s territories in half. Alternativley, they could head North East towards Allentown. Either way, the attacks occupied Crutchfield’s military leadership and kept them hopping.
Meanwhile, while the battle raged in Cincinnati, the President was moving significant military forces into the Richmond Kentucky area while Crutchfield remained unawares. His attention was focused on Cincinnati and elsewhere. The trap was being set.
****
Miller pushed the farm truck hard as he took the back roads and farm tracks on the way back to ClarMar farms. The old truck groaned and shook as Miller drove faster than he dared.
This would be a bad time to bust a tire or break an axle.
The information provided to him by Alec Lehman’s investigations man painted a dire picture. Julie Dawson, the amateur spy who gave her life for Miller’s cause, resisted the torture. She took the physical abuse handed out but in the end it only took two words for all that Miller and DeMetrie had worked for to be placed in jeopardy.
“ClarMar Farms” finally escaped her bloody and swollen lips after several hours of torture and humiliation.
He had learned long ago to turn himself off to the pain he felt. There would be time later to think about how he caused the death of this young woman.
Miller had tried to call to warn Clarissa but the phone lines were down. Phone service had been spotty lately and tonight fate conspired against Miller. He cursed the luck as he dashed hurriedly back to the truck.
“Guess I’ll do the Paul Revere tonight,” he said as the turned over the engine.
So he found himself driving as fast as he dared, eyes straining in the night to pick out features. Hands gripping the wheel tightly.
It was a race against time and he knew it.
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