White Wasteland Jeff Kirkham (book series for 12 year olds TXT) 📖

currently doing that very thing in this neighborhood with men from the LDS stake. Training irregular, indigenous forces is our area of military expertise. We’re Green Berets and that’s what we do for a living.”

“We had no trouble defending ourselves,” Vanderlink argued.

Jeff addressed the big cop directly, “Mister Vanderlink? That’s your name, right? May I ask: in which branch did you serve? When did you deploy and with whom?”

“I spent five years in SWAT, and I have lots of experience. I served in Desert Storm…”

“Gentlemen.” President Thayer made a calming motion with his hands. “We can have this conversation when the time is right. Currently, we’re just trying to get the church members and neighbors through the famine. We’re not raising an army… Which brings me to another question for you, Master Sergeant Kirkham… First off, is it Master Sergeant or Brother Kirkham?” the prophet asked with a smile.

“I grew up LDS, but I haven’t practiced in twenty years. You can call me whatever you prefer. Or just Jeff.”

“Very good. Brother Kirkham,” the president said. “Have you heard of an army forming in Utah County calling themselves the Army of Helaman?”

Jeff sat forward in his chair, suddenly concerned for Evan and his men on patrol in south Salt Lake. “No sir. I have a recon element nearing the Utah County border in the next couple days. Is there a threat?”

“I’m not sure,” President Thayer replied. “We heard a radio call for LDS men to arm themselves and gather at Brigham Young University in Provo to conduct some kind of military action against Salt Lake City. The group is led by Elder Rex Burnham. I haven’t been able to reach Elder Burnham by radio.”

Jeff sat back heavy on the sofa, thinking through the implications. Evan’s team was not equipped to engage a large, organized force. He needed to warn them. Evan would fight to the death to maintain control of the Ferret.

“President, I can instruct my reconnaissance patrol to investigate the existence of such an army and radio back—but only as far as the county line. They’re not prepared to infiltrate possible enemy territory. Figuring out the adversary’s true intentions; that’ll be more difficult. You’re welcome to use our communications array and our comms operator to make contact with your church counterpart in Provo. Maybe our ham radio system is more powerful than yours.”

“I will take you up on the offer. I can walk up to Brother Ross’ home this afternoon. Would that be all right?”

Jeff tried to imagine a Mormon prophet walking a mile and a half up a steep hill to make a radio call, and he almost chuckled. “I’ll come pick you up.”

The Mormon leader read his mind. “You don’t think I’m up to the hike? I’ll have you know I hike these mountains twice a week.” He smiled. “I’ll be up there at two p.m., if that’s okay with you.”

“Certainly, sir.” Jeff stood and shook hands with both men.

“Thank you and sorry again for the disturbance in the neighborhood. It won’t happen again,” President Thayer apologized. “In your professional opinion, how long would it take an army to form in Utah County and march against Salt Lake City?”

“President Thayer, if they’re already manning roadblocks at Point of the Mountain—the pass into Utah Valley—that means they’ve already begun the process of forming up. I think they could mount an attack in under two weeks. The snow in the pass might slow them down. I’d have to get eyes-on to know.”

Vanderlink said nothing, staring ahead with glossy eyes, avoiding both men. Jeff knew jealous rage when he saw it.

President Thayer walked Jeff and Vanderlink to the door and gave them each a light clap on the back that contrasted with the worried look on his face. “Very nice meeting you, Brother Kirkham. We’ll see you at four p.m.. As always, thank you Brother Vanderlink.” President Thayer sent them out into the late morning fog.

As soon as the door clacked shut, Vanderlink pushed Jeff’s shoulder around to face him, but the push yielded barely a nudge against Jeff’s two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. Jeff had been ready for harsh words, but it surprised him that the cop would lay hands on him. His first instinct had been to sweep the hand away and chop Vanderlink in the throat. Jeff’s hand straightened and hardened at his side.

Old habits die hard, Jeff smiled. Mentally preparing to kill or incapacitate every person he met was an artifact of a past life; a decade with government entities, whose names he still couldn’t mention, even after the collapse of the U.S. government.

Vanderlink acted like he ignored the ineffectual push, but a split-second’s doubt flashed across his face. He probably wasn’t used to his considerable size failing to move another man. The cop gathered his ire and waded in with fury, this time verbally.

“Those MRAPs are under MY command. I’ll place them where I WANT. He may be the President of the Church, but he’s not the mayor. I command those assets and that’s never going to change.”

Jeff wiped the spit-mist off his face before answering. “Whatever, bro. So long as those men and those MRAPs show up at the Orchardview and Brandywine barricades in the next fifteen minutes, you can be the Prince of Persia for all I care. Just have them in position in fifteen mics.” Jeff turned and walked away, not bothering to watch his back.

Jeff had endless respect for police officers, especially SWAT guys. They did real work, in Jeff’s mind. Vanderlink had obviously put his hands on men before, and Jeff respected that.

But this guy was going to be a problem; Jeff’s problem. Not a diplomacy problem. This wasn’t politics. This was a military command issue. He’d eventually have to face Vanderlink warrior to warrior, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

As he walked back toward his OHV, Jeff returned in his mind to the conversation with the Mormon prophet. He felt certain that he’d made a powerful friend—probably