March 1, 2047: Chattanooga, Tennessee
Wilson sat at his desk, looking at the intelligence reports, which were worrying for several reasons. First, as he'd feared, the GDI had largely dismissed the NAC's warnings until the recent battle in North Carolina had revealed a large Nod presence there. At least the sudden incursion had caused them to sit up and take notice, and to start actually paying attention to what his colleagues were telling them.
Second, the battle itself had presented him with several concerns. To begin with, that there had been a conventional Nod presence there at all indicated that the Brotherhood was considerably stronger in the southern United States than his intelligence reports had indicated. When added to the fact that he'd heard about it first from GDI, it was probable that General Bates, who was in charge of the Carolinas and Georgia, might have an agenda of his own. He really hoped he didn't, as the man commanded nearly a third of Wilson's divisions, although he at least didn't have access to the naval forces based in Wilmington, or the heavy armor.
He frowned, then. The mechanized division was based in Fort Knox, and something was itching at him. Should he announce a snap exercise? See how long it would take them to prepare to move, say, to Nashville or here in Chattanooga?
That would be an excellent idea, as he thought about it. For that matter, he should get the airborne involved in that as well. Maybe the motorized divisions? No, they'd just had a mobilization exercise two months ago. Someone might get suspicious.
He nodded. A snap mechanized/airborne mobilization would be just the thing. In fact, he should arrange that now before he forgot about it.
He started dialing on the secure line. Some things had to be done over the phone, not via computers, and he waited for the woman on the other end to pick up the phone.
"General Hamtramck," the commander of Kentucky and Tennessee answered.
"General Wilson," he replied. "Snap exercise for the mechanized division"
"Where?"
"Route march to Chattanooga. I want your lead elements moving there in forty-eight hours, everyone on the move in seventy-two. Combat loads."
"Can do, sir," Hamtramck replied, dutifully but obviously unhappily, a position Wilson fully understood.
"Don't worry," he added. "You won't be the only one getting rousted out of garrison."
March 3, 2047: Chattanooga, Tennessee
Wilson leaned back in his chair and, under different circumstances, would have smiled. Hamtramck was a good officer, and she was almost going to be on time with getting the division moving. In fact, she might even have everyone on the move before this time tomorrow, which would be impressive.
In fact, he was going to tell her that when her division got to Chattanooga. Right now, however, she was driving her subordinates mercilessly and inspiring them to new heights of efficiency. For that matter, Hillroad's airborne troops were almost ready to go themselves.
Which was good, because things had gotten decidedly worse since the day before yesterday. One of Reynolds' agents had crawled across the border, dying less than an hour after he was found by some of the border guards, but not before turning over a data drive full of information that, the moment anyone looked at it, had explained why he'd gone to such lengths to deliver it.
They'd been wrong about Aztlan. They didn't have three infantry divisions, they had three infantry corps, and their leadership wasn't nearly as corruption-riddled as they'd thought. In fact, Nod ran the country—and, at the very least, ran Yucatan as well. That they'd been so very wrong about Aztlan indicated that they might be wrong about the rest of South America as well, which did not bode well for Torrijos in Panama. At least he was tightening up security around the Canal.
However, that little revelation, combined with his concern about Bates, made him wonder whether or not he needed to relieve the man—or at least transfer him somewhere where he wasn't in command of any combat units.
That was probably the solution least likely to raise any eyebrows, and he decided to do that. The last thing they needed if the balloon went up was for him not to trust one of his subordinates…
Crump. Crump. Crump.
What on earth? He thought, just as his aide-de-camp burst through the door. "Sir, GDI reports that the Philadelphia has been destroyed! Nearly the entire council was aboard!"
Wilson went white. It was the Brotherhood, it had to be. Which meant those explosions outside had almost certainly been the start of an attack meant to do the same thing to Southeast Command that they'd done to GDI. He wondered if the other commanders were experiencing the same thing—or, worse, weren't, because they were working for Nod.
The phone rang, and he picked it up.
"Sir, the headquarters is under attack," the security battalion commander said.
"Tell me something I don't know, Major," he replied as he turned to look out the window and saw the signs of battle begin to appear as tracers cut lines across buildings, fires began to break out, and vehicles exploded and men fired and fell.
"It's Bates' men, sir. They must have infiltrated into the city last night, and they're running us over. We can hold for an hour, tops."
"Chances of evacuation?"
"Unknown, sir, but they've got antiair set up—the choppers got blown out of the sky, first thing."
Wilson cursed. They might have time to everything they needed to do. Maybe.
"Buy me as much time as you can, Major. Code TRANSFER."
"Yes sir. Understood."
He cut the connection, and the phone rang immediately, so he hit the button to answer.
"Sir," Hillroad said, clearly strained but not panicking, "My boys and girls can be there in less than an hour. We can take them apart, sir!"
Wilson considered it, but shook his head. "Negative, Hillroad. Do not attempt a rescue mission, that is a direct order. They've got antiair set up, and Hamtramck's going to need you."
"I—yes, sir," Hillroad grated, and Wilson nodded in sympathy.
"Kill Bates for me," he said, cut the connection before Hillroad could answer, and got on the line to Hamtramck.
"Sir—"
"No time, General. Code TRANSFER. I repeat, TRANSFER. Get your computers ready, we're downloading everything from here." For a moment, he blessed his predecessor's foresight in seeing to it that every command center had enough space for all of the files. "Do not attempt a rescue, there would be no point to it. Also, I am transferring command authority for the Southeastern Defense Zone to you under Code SUCCESSOR."
"Sir?"
"I'm not making it out of here alive, Beth," Wilson said wearily. "Don't waste lives trying to get to me."
"Understood, sir," Hamtramck replied, then yelled "Get the computers ready to receive a data dump!" to someone in the room with her. Ten seconds later, he heard something unintelligible, then "We're ready, sir."
"Good. You will begin receiving your data in within five minutes. Good luck, General."
"You too, sir," she said thickly, and he cut the connection.
"Start setting up barricades," he said to the aide. "They'll be coming for here and the server room. Fortunately, it won't take long to perform my part of the operation. But hold the server room as long as you can."
"Yes, sir," he replied, and quickly left the room.
Wilson sat down at his desk and began to enter a series of commands into his computer that he'd hoped he'd never have to enter—the ones that would transfer the data files held here to Fort Knox, erase the hard drives here that held them, and then, as each drive was emptied, slag them.
He finally hit the enter key, and smiled as he saw the progress bar come up and begin to advance. Less than half a percent, and he was sure that they wouldn't get all the files out, but the high-priority ones were first in line to be sent out.
Now he needed to inform everyone who needed to know about the command transfer—and hopefully none of the others had been suborned by Nod.
Forty-five minutes later, Wilson was still sitting behind his desk, his finger on the enter key as the sounds of combat crept closer and closer to his position. There were loyal soldiers coming in to relieve the headquarters, but they wouldn't make it in time to save anyone still there.
The commanders in Mississippi/Alabama and Florida hadn't been turncoats. However, it had turned out that Nod support in those areas had been stronger than expected, and most of the ground troops in those areas had either turned or been overrun. They were fighting for their lives, now, and he wasn't sure if either would make it.
Wilmington was still loyal, and the infantry division in North Carolina, which Bates apparently hadn't managed to turn, was moving to defend it, but the naval base in Mobile was a total loss. At least the airfields had managed to hold long enough to get the fighters fueled and evacuated to secure locations in Tennessee and Kentucky.
The other commanders were at least in a better situation than he was. Reynolds' command had similar problems to his, but the attack on his headquarters had had a nasty rash of bad luck that led to them being stuck out in the open by the time his aircraft were ready, which meant they had been blown apart. Krueger's command was in better shape than either, and Harrison was nearly intact.
He hadn't received any communications from GDI, though. He hoped McNeil was still alive and fighting—they'd need men like him, in the days ahead.
He looked down at the computer screen. 95% complete.
He heard the sound of bullets crashing into the ceiling of the hallway outside through the door.
It wouldn't be too much longer, he thought, and pulled out his pistol and put it on the desk.
He looked down at the computer screen again. 96% complete.
Two grenades went off in the hallway, and his men's guns fell silent.
He knew there would still be some loyal troopers still left alive. They wouldn't have all clustered around the stairs.
The sound of multiple weapons firing on full auto came through the door, and he smiled grimly as the attackers found out that their opponents were, in fact, much smarter than they'd thought.
Not that it would matter much for him or the soldiers with him, but it was comforting, in a sort of obscure way.
He wondered how many of the other generals were still alive. He hoped Hunyadi was, especially—the old soldier was the best of them all.
The firing slowly petered out, and he heard the clomping of boots approaching the door.
Time was about to run out, apparently.
He stood, taking up the pistol in his right hand and moving his left to where it was over the enter key.
The door began to open, and he shifted to aim at the crack, still keeping his left hand in position.
Maybe it was 97% complete.
Then the door slammed open, and four soldiers stood there, rifles at the ready.
"Drop your weapon, General!" one of them said. "It's over!"
Wilson didn't bother to say anything. Instead, he pulled the trigger twice, and the man who'd spoken crumpled to the floor.
His compatriots must have been expecting him to wuss out, because he had time to kill another before he sensed that the other two were about to fire.
He hit the enter key.
And the computer executed the final command he had given it and sent the signal to the detonation charge hidden under the server room in case of just such an eventuality.
The resultant explosion consumed him, the survivors of the defense and attack forces, and the equipment that Bates and his Nod masters could have used to wreak havoc with the NAU's communications systems. Furthermore, it also obscured the fact that the defenders of the Chattanooga headquarters had held long enough for a nearly complete file transfer, which would cause a long series of nasty shocks to Nod and boons to GDI in the weeks ahead. It was also shamelessly exploited for propaganda purposes, and used to counterbalance the fall of the White House.
As a result of all of these effects, Wilson's stand, while not decisive in and of itself, was one of the more significant factors in the Nod's failure to overwhelm GDI and its allies in the early days of the war.
Honor to the brave.