Exile Hunter by Preston Fleming Read Free Book Online Page B

said you’ve inspired him with new hope.”
    “Yes, Mr. Chase knows
Utah well and has promised to help us any way he can,” Linder
replied.
    “Actually, Chase is
his first name,” Roger Kendall interrupted. “But never mind.
Chase is a Yale man and all those Yale men have reversible names.
Chase Phipps, Phipps Chase. See, it works either way.”
    Linder laughed
uneasily. It was another near miss, even if Kendall seemed to shrug
it off. Philip Eaton’s lips formed a smile that his eyes did not
share.
    “So tell me why we
have reason to be hopeful these days,” Eaton continued, leaning
back in the sofa and crossing his legs while he awaited Linder’s
answer.
    “The greatest
surprise to most Americans outside the country is just how thinly
Unionist forces are spread when you go west of Denver,” Linder
replied, launching into one of his prepared sound bites. “Since the
Manchurian War, the garrisons are down to half the troops they had at
the end of Civil War II. And with so many West Coast cities
evacuated, what’s left of the population west of the Rockies are
rural folk and small-town people who never supported the Unionist
Party. Nowadays, except for military types, government employees, and
carpetbaggers, people inside the restricted zones are implacably
hostile to the regime.”
    “Though outwardly
subdued, I presume…” Roger Kendall inserted.
    “Well, sure, but the
Viet Cong seemed subdued, too, until the Tet Offensive,” Linder
rejoined. “Or the Iraqis before their insurgency. Today, in Utah,
Idaho, and northern Arizona, the backcountry belongs to us.”
    Linder found himself
sitting forward at the edge of his seat, his voice a shade too loud
and its pitch a half-octave too high.
    “You’re saying that
the Army is confined to their bases?” Kendall challenged.
    “Not quite yet,”
Linder replied, “but they stay off the main highways at night and
rarely venture into the backcountry except by chopper. They're
terrified of running afoul of our snipers and IEDs. I really don’t
think the Army or the DSS have any idea how many of our people we’ve
brought into the mountains for training over the past year. By the
time they do, it’ll be too late. Not that we’re looking for a
fight. But if they try to retake the countryside, Utah will be their
Afghanistan.”
    “What about Unionist
air power?” Kendall pressed. “Can’t they spot you from the air
and call in air strikes or drones?”
    “Since the Chinese
knocked out our military satellites, there hasn’t been nearly
enough overhead imagery capacity to go around. The same goes for
reconnaissance aircraft and drones,” Linder explained. “Sure, the
enemy sends out an occasional helicopter gunship or light attack
aircraft to give chase, but they have to find us first.”
    Though what he said was
accurate as far is it went, he omitted the key fact that the last
ragtag band of Mormon guerrillas hiding in the Wasatch Mountains had
been annihilated nearly a year earlier.
    “What about your own
plans for the future? Do you really think you’ll be able to kick
the Unionist Army out of Utah?” Kendall questioned.
    Philip Eaton leaned
forward and spoke before Linder could reply. Though his expression
was sympathetic, Linder suspected a trap and listened carefully.
    “Knowing very little
about your organization, I would suppose that your goal might be to
force a stalemate on the government the way the Mormons did in the
1870s,” Eaton mused. “Perhaps you intend to become to the
President-for-Life what Porter Rockwell was to James Buchanan?”
    Linder cocked his head
and folded his arms to buy time to respond. The historical reference
was unfamiliar to him and he feared that he might have already failed
an important test by not having a ready answer. But a wrong answer
could be fatal; he dared not guess at it.
    “Yeah, in a way,”
he deadpanned.
    At first Eaton’s
smile looked benevolent, but before long, Linder detected a tinge