Fortress America

"I pledge allegience to the Flag of the United States of America,
and to the Republic for which it stands, One Nation, under God,
Indivisible, with Liberty, and Justice, for all."

                              Preface
     October 7th, 1993.  The United States of America, were no
longer United.  The Government in Washington, D.C., faltering under
a devastated economy and deficit, was no match for the opposition
parties.  Represenatives from all states in the union rushed into
the Congress, each with their own set of demands.  The session of
the 276th Congress, became the last.  Congress, unable to comply
with anyones desires or demands was helpless against the groups of
Senators and Representatives who got togther and began individual
separaist movements.  Anarchy began to take the upper hand on the
Floor, and then...disaster.  Senator Paul Simon of Illinois, (who
later became the first President of the Mid-Western Hegemony) stood
and announced the official withdrawl of: Illinois, Wisconsin,
Indiana, and Michigan.
     Others followed suit, the Western Alliance, the Southern
Confederation, Texas, the Lone Star Republic, and alas the North
remained alone.  President Clinton, furious that the United States
had collasped under his rulership, ordered Military Units to
reclaim the U.S..  The Sixth Fleet under Admiral Chesterton, sided
with the South, and returned to their homeport of Virginia Beach,
Virginia.  The Pacific Rim Fleets went under the Western Alliances
alliegence.  The Mid West got several grounps of Submarines and a
lot of Cargo haulers, and the North recieved A majority of Fleets
and other various ships.  Sadly, the Lone Star Republic did not get
ahold of any of the main battle groups, but it did get some of the
Oil Tankers, and Platforms.
     Within ten hours of the seperation of the United States, war
erupted in the West.  Several crack S.E.A.L. Teams raided key
military points controlled by Northern Sympathizers, and military
units.  NORAD was the prime target.  Unable to breach the primary
defences, the S.E.A.L. Team used Chemical Weapons to neutralize the
resistence inside, then used explosives to open the doors.  With
NORAD compromised the Western Alliance, then shut down all Nuclear
Weapons East of the Mississippi River, giving themselves utter
control of all Nuclear Firepower in the Northern Hemisphere.  The
North retaliated by carpet bombing St.Louis and Kansas City with
High Altitude B-1 Bombers.  The Southern Confederation all but
sealed itself off from the outside world, the Mid-Western Hegemony,
upset that its air space had been violated by both sides launched
a Major Offensive into both the North and the West.  They in turn,
responded.
     Within Twenty Four hours, total war reigned down upon the last
remmants of the United States of America.  A limited Nuclear strike
was initiated by the West, obliterating Springfield, Illinois and
Washington, D.C., but all other countries of the world and the N.U.
Government looked down upon them and forced them to stop.  Fighting
a Civil War conventionally was one thing, fighting Nuclear, that
was a whole new ball game.
                                                                 1.

     9:04a.m.
     Time always seemed to go so slow in 2nd hour Earth Science. 
Zack looked at the clock again. 9:05a.m..  How boring!  The teacher
sat there and explained to the students what was going on in the
remmants of the Untied States, how the war would effect him, and
his children, and mabye even his grand-children.
     Outside the town was nearly deserted, people had gone to visit
relatives or left the country entirely.  Zack looked at the clock
again, 9:07a.m..  His Girlfriend was gone, her parents had packed
up and headed for Canada.  Sighing he put his head down to rest on
the desk.
     9:10a.m..  The Tornado alarm began to scream.  "O.K. Everyone,
may I have your attention.  The Tornado alarm is signaling us to
go into the hallways and wait until the sky is clear again," The
Teacher began.  "After the bombing, we will return to normal
classrooms."
     Zack shuffeled out into the hallway along with the rest of the
class, where they all kneeled, head first, towards the lockers. 
The Siren stopped a moment later, and all was quiet, save for a few
murmurs of prayers, blessings, and goodbyes.  At first there was
a slight humming noise about the hall, as if things were vibrating,
until he realized that it was because of High-Altitude Bombers that
things were buzzing.  He began to listen for the sound of
whistling, to let him know he was about to die.  Then he heard the
explosions.
     Almost beyond earshot he could hear the mammoth eruptions of
bomb detonations, and their roars of power.  Far away, Zack
thought, mabye Bolingbrook Oil Fields, or Argonne National
Labratories.  After a moment of wonder, the all clear was given,
and students were shuffled back into the classrooms.  Zack looked
at the time again, 9:15a.m..
     Everyone but the teachers and faculity went back into the
rooms, the elders went into the small gym to discuss the problems
and would be back in a moment or 2.  Everyone was doodling or
drawing on paper, and desks.  No one was paying attention when
gunfire erupted from some unknown location.  Screams could be heard
down the hall, but those were likely from some Froshman Girls who
never heard them before, or the opposite, heard them too much.
     The classroom announcement speakers came to life.  "May I have
your attention everyone...May I have your attention everyone.  Will
all students please report to the Large Gym, I repeat, ALL students
report to the Large Gym.  Thank you."  Zack looked at the speaker
funny, that wasn't a teachers voice, it was a students.  Shrugging
off the puzzlement, Zack walked out of the classroom and down the
hall towards the Large Gym.
     Over Three Thousand Two hundred Students crowded into the Gym,
but there was more than enough room for them.  They began to sit
as they had learned to, Seniors and Juniors on one side, Sophmores
and Froshmen on the other.  Zack sat with the Froshmen.  He friends
Marc Jovic and Phil Bowem sat next to him.  In the center of the
Gym, he noticed the Homecoming King, Chris Howard standing, with
the Varsity Football team guarding him.
     Some of the other "Higher classed people", (more popular),
were standing down on the floor as well.  Chris held a mircophone
in his hand and had a smile on his lips.  The students who were
sitting on the bleachers were throwing paper at one another,
talking up a storm, or shoving other students around.  It was
almost as if nothing had even happened.
     "Testing...."  The Microphone let out a screech of protest but
quickly silented.  "May I have your attention?"  Chris looked at
all the students, what a group, he told himself.
     The Students didn't look like they were intrested in listening
to him.
     "May I have your attention."
     "Hey Fuck you!"  The voice came from the bleachers.  Chris
looked for the person who shouted that insult.  "C'mon down and
I'll kick your Ass."  Chris replied, seeing if the unknown offender
had the balls to show his face.  From the ranks of the Burnouts,
a group of Teenagers who liked Rock 'n' Roll, Cars, and Cigarettes,
came a rather tall lanky fellow.  His hair was down past his
shoulders and covered most of his face.  His clothes looked like
they were bought at half-price, and he had a cigarette in his
mouth.
     "You got a problem?"  Chris asked the other Teenager as he
kick students out of his way.
     "Yeah, Fucker, I got a problem!"  He shouted, as he reached
the floor and started towards the man with the microphone.  The
Football team moved to block his way, but Chris shook his head, he
would handle this himself.
     "What'cha gonna do 'bout it, bitch."  Chris covered the
microphone, and looked at the burnout who was almost to where he
was standing.
     "Fuck you, bitch, I'll beat your ass.  Fuckin' prick!"  The
burnout almost ran towards him, but something made him stop in his
tracks.  It wasn't because of any charismatic charm, or even the
Football team, it was a small glint of metal chris had in his hand. 
As that glint became a larger object, he almost broke and panicked. 
Chris had a gun.
     "Oh yeah, fucker.  Right.  Shoot me, chicken shit.  In front
of all these people, your a pussy."  The burnouts words came out
as his mind tried not to panic.  The man was holding a .44 Magnum,
with laser sight.
     Bang!
     The Burnouts face vanished in a fine red mist that showered
onto the Gym floor.  His lifeless body, wasn't even aware that it
lost something, and was still standing for a good twenty seconds,
before it fell to the ground with a wet smacking sound.  Students
screamed, at once half of the people in the Gym, stood and almost
made a break for the door.
     "QUIET!" Chris roared into the Microphone.  "Everyone shut
up!"
     The students stopped and looked at him.  For the first time,
all attention was on Chris Howard, the Homecoming King.  "Thats
better."  he said to the students.
     Within two minutes the students were all back in their seats,
and all quiet, except for a few in the little burnout section who
grieved for the loss of one of their own.
     "I know you all know who I am.  My name is Chris Howard.  I
am a Senior here, and because all the Staff and Faculity is no
longer here, I am announcing my leadership to you all."
     Zack and his friends exchanged looks and almost burst out
laughing.  Leader?  Oh Please.
     "We are all facing a crisis.  Everything has changed.  Some
of my friends have just gotten back from the Venture shopping mall. 
They told me its being looted as we speak.  Now I don't wanna stand
here and tell you everythings going to be alright.  'cause it
ain't.  Not unless we make it alright.  I have figured out a way
that will make things a lot easier for all of us, but we must work
togther.  The Teachers aren't here anymore, they all left.  The
Faculity ain't here either, they're all chicken shits.  We are the
only ones here now.  And now this building is ours.  As I speak,
I have a few people looking for sheet metal, bricks, mortar,
anything so we can board up the entire first floor.  We can all
convert the classrooms to house us, put bunk beds and cots in 'em." 
  Chris drew in a deep breath, he knew that they were all thinking
about the idea, and most of them liked it.  "We can convert our
cars in the parking lot into armored vehicles, and such.  We are
going to need work forces to make things for us.  We'll need the
Nerds..err..Computer Geeks..err..the people who are good with
computers to rig up security systems.  We'll need the Burnouts to
fix up the cars, and manufacture weapons from the Shop Department."
     "Why do we gotta fix the fuckin' cars?"  Came a voice from the
ranks of the burnouts.
     Chris looked over there and honestly smiled, "Because none of
the rest of us have done that before.  Do I look like I took
Metalworks 3 or Davea Automotive?  I took English 4 Honors, and
Football.  I couldn't fix a tire, but I can survive getting tackled
by 20 men."
     The voice was silent, apparently, he had gotten the message. 
That message could be taken a couple of ways.  A smart person could
decypher that as being told they were needed, or an even smarter
person could interpet that as that is the only thing they were good
for in the new order.
     "Anyone who took Home Economics, can help by sewing us more
clothes, blankets, and make the dinners we'll all have.  People on
the Speech team, Acting Guild, Thesbians.  You people can help with
the morale situation, by making shows, plays and shit for the rest
of us to watch.  Its what you people like to do, right?  Drafters,
Designers, you guys can supervise what were trying to do right now,
which is Seal up the first floor.  And anyone else, who can or
wants to help can be apart of the fighting units were going to
create.  In order to keep what we make here, were going to need to
learn how to defend it, and ourselves.  We all need to work togther
to make this happen."  Chris took a deep breath and let out a sigh
or relief.  He was not expecting what he got, a round of applause. 
He bowed low, and then walked over to the Football team, where he
talked to them for a few minutes, then he hopped back over to the
microphone.  "I want a Represenative of each of your "groups" to
come down here so we can figure out what to do.  A more structured
form of governing we'll make later."
     Zack and his friends stood up, with the rest of the people and
they shuffled out the door, with Chris telling them to go to certin
places, Jocks, and anyone who was in sports to goto the Small Gym. 
Actors/Thesbians, etc...to goto the Auditorium.  Drafters to the
Drafting wing, Burnouts to the Shoppe.  Suprisingly none of the
bunrouts would budge, until Chris gave them the o.k. on letting
them smoke where they damn well pleased.
     In a matter of hours they were ready to work.  Chris had sent
over 100 people out to local area stores to get suppiles, hammers,
guns, etc...  Zack and Marc sat at the far side of their classroom. 
They had been waiting for their Represenative to return, patiently. 
  "Do you think this will work," Marc asked Zack as he doodled on
the desk.
     "I dunnno.  It might.  He did have an intresting idea, and as
long as we've got everyone working towards a common goal, I think
it might."  Zack looked out the window, and watched as 5 people put
a huge metal sheet over one of the Library windows.  Suddenly,
Chris and the Represenative walked into the room, and everyone
quieted down.
     "We need 5 volunteers for Recon Duty.  Also, if there are any
people in here that know how to work the Radio in the Station, we
need to know," Chris said without looking at the Rep..
     Zack stood up and looked at the two in charge.  "I will go on
Recon duty."
     Chris smiled and nodded his head approvingly, and the other
person wrote something down on his clipboard.  With a nod of
approval Chris left and the Represenative spoke; "I want all of you
to know that as of this day, Chris Howard is the Leader of this
establishment.  I want it to be known that there are new rules in
effect.  First off I want it clear that if I catch anyone fighting
openly with one another, or if I hear about it, I will eject you
into the outside.  Second," -he paused to catch his breath-" if two
people have a problem, they can settle it in the ring.  The Small
Gym is now for disputes and settlements.  If people have a problem
they can take it here.  Third, currency will be issued to anyone
who is working for the New Student Government.  There are rumors
abound that some people are going to convert the Counclers office
area into a market establishment.  I like that.  Currency will be
distributed in the form of coinage.  The people who work in the 
Shop will be making these coins.  Also, anyone who has volunteered
for service will no longer be under my command, but they must
report to the Large Gym at 11:30a.m., no tardies please."
     Zack raised his hand.  "How long before they seal up the first
floor?"
     The Rep. smiled and answered loud so the others could hear,
"The First floor wil be finished as soon as we get more people to
help out in the cause.  Right now we are getting situated and we
need all the help we can get."
     After a few minutes of chatting amongst themselves, the
students stopped to listen to the Represenative issue who was to
go where, those who were not listed, had the option to join the
"Defence Force", all others would be used as manual labor.  Zack
looked up at the clock.  11:29a.m., time to go to the Gym.

     The Halls were bustling with people scrambling to their places
of importance.  Each person now had a purpose, and each person now
had a goal.  To make Downers Grove South High School a power to be
rekoned with.  Zack watched as people ran down the halls, with
papers, for recycling, or equipment to set up a lab somewhere, or
even make a report.  It made him feel almost at home.  He began to
think about what must be going on outside the building.  While he
had been watching the outside through the window, he noticed there
had not been a single car that had driven by.
     Zack reached the Main Gym, looking through the doors he
noticed almost a thousand others standing in perfect formational
rows.  For an instant he thought he was in the military.
     "YOU!"
     Zack looked at the man who was pointing at him.  Nodding, the
man beckoned Zack into the Gym.  "Welcome, Private Froshmen Zack
Pelka.  Welcome to the New Order."  He looked at all the others,
expecting people to laugh at him because he was a Froshman, but
none did.
     "All of you are here for a reason.  That reason is because you
don't have to do manual labor, you don't need to do that.  You are
above that.  You have a higher purpose.  That purpose Ladies and
Gentleman is to become an Elite Fighting Force, to defend this
establishment against transgressors, those who would rob us of our
riches.  Those who would steal from what we made."  The man, a
Senior, lit a cigarette and stood before all of them, he was
dressed in Military Fatigues.  "You are no longer children.  I
don't care if your 13 or 18, you are all adults now.  All of you
are now in charge of defending this school to the death.  Your
sacrifices will not be in vain.  You people are going to learn how
to defend yourselves and others.  And we will teach you."
     Zack looked around at the others, all stood in order.  Men and
Women.  It was appearant that Chris did not care who was defending
the building, as long as there was someone.
     "PELKA!"
     Shaking off the daydream quickly, he looked straight ahead,
into the eyes of his superior.  "Yessir?"
     "This is not for your enjoyment!  Down and give me 100
pushups, now!"
     "I can't do that many," Zack pleaded.
     Smiling, the man walked towards the back of the rows and began
hollering at another student.  For an moment, Zack thought he would
get away without having to do that many pushups.  Then the "Drill
Instructer" returned, with another.
     Six foot Six and three hundred pounds of Senior named Gearld
Archer.  "This is Corperal Archer.  He is going to take you outside
and watch you do one hundred and fifty pushups.  If you don't, he
is going to kick your ass 'till you can."
     Zack didn't even get to whimper a protest, the large Senior
grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off to the outside hallway
to do pushups.  Afterwards, there were no more interuptions from
anyone.
     The session at the gym lasted for almost ten hours.  The
students, exhausted and out of breath were let go for the day to
rest and recooperate in order to meet at 4:00a.m.
     Much had changed in those few hours.  The doorway exiting to
the outside by the gym was no longer there.  A large black thing
was blocking them in.  It looked as if dirt, rocks, and earth were
pushed up to the door.  People were still running around
frantically, but at a more reasonable pace.  The lights were all
on, and the announcer on the speaker system was informing everyone
that "Group C" was the next group allowed to go to dinner.  Zack
wondered what group he was in.  Then he kicked himself for
remembering that because he was an "Enlisted Man" he could eat
whenever he pleased.  Smirking, he admitted to himself that rank
did indeed have its privledges.
     "Alright, you all remember what Platoon your in correct?"  The
Drill Instructer said as he lead out the people into the hallway. 
"Your quarters are all on the Second and First floors.  Civilians
get Third Floor because they are not the ones who will be called
to fight first, assuming we are invaded.  Alpha Platoon will get
room 110, Bravo Platoon 115,"  The Platoons were all listed, Zacks
platoon, Omnicron, was located in room 215, in the history wing,
overlooking the Main entrance.  Each of them was issued an M-16
Automatic, something an earlier raiding party had uncovered in the
Local Police Department, now abandoned.
     Room 215 was utterly converted.  There were no desks, no
books.  Just beds.  A name on each one, told who got what.  A
warterbed, not yet filled was for the commander of each platoon. 
the rest were bunk beds, lining the walls and in the middle of the
room in prefect order.
     "Who and how the hell did these get in here," asked one
student.  "Looks like the raiding parties have been a lot more
successful than we thought.  Remember we were in that gym the
entire day."
     The others shook their heads and began to hop onto their beds. 
They were very soft, and inviting.  Zack looked at his "Commanding
Officer", a fellow named Ron Carosuo.
     "Excuse me, sir."
     Ron lifted his head off of his pillow and looked at Zack, 
"What can I do for you, Private?"
     Staring at the empty waterbed Zack chuckled and looked at his
C.O..  "I think we should set an example to the other platoons, and
get two of our platoon and have them stationed outside the door as
guards.  That way, we will look more formal and we will wake up a
lot quicker should there be any problems."
     Ron looked at Zack and smiled.  he liked that idea.  Too bad
it would have to wait.  "Not tonight, they are all tired, and need
rest.  That is, unless you want to go stand guard, Private."
     Zack went back to his bunk, slapped the bayonet into place,
and saluted his C.O., then proceeded to walk into the hallway and
placed guard in front of the doorway to their room.
     3:59a.m.
     All the lights were off.  All was quiet in the hallways,
except the people who were on the 12:00 to 12:00 shift.  None of
the other platoons had figured out why Zack was standing at
attention at the door of his Room.  Then it happened.
     The Tornado alarm roared to life.  The effected rooms were
alive in seconds, entire platoons jumping to attention and racing
out the doors into the hallways.  Dressed in sneakers, underwear,
robes, the Platoons all stood at attention in the hallway.  The
Drill Instructer looked at them.  "90 Seconds," He paused for
effect.  "It took you lice 90 seconds to get out of those rooms. 
The next time this happens, I want you out of there in 30 seconds,
do I make myself clear?"
     Everyone stood straight, their eyes darting about, lookin at
the D.I..  "Since when did you get this fucking idea, that we was
all yours to do whatever you wanted with?"
     All eyes turned to a member of the Rho Platoon, a burnout who
wanted to join the New Order.  The D.I. looked at him and started
towards him, his grace casual.  "You think you can do better,
punk?"
     The burnout looked at him puzzled, "You and I have been
friends for years, we were in the same Math classes n' everything. 
Where'd ya learn this shit from?"
     "Whether or not we are or were friends is in the past.  I am
trying to get you people ready to defend this great new nation of
ours.  And that means you shit-for-brains."  The D.I. looked up at
his old frined, knowing that he hated him for making him look a
fool.
     "Fuck you.  This ain't fun anymore, I want out.  I ain't
takin' orders from no fuckup like that."  The burnout looked around
and shook his head.  "You can intimidate these chumps, but you
ain't doin' it to me.  I'm outta here."
     "Sergent, if that man takes step out of rank," The D.I.
pointed, waving his finger. "then shoot him, is that clear?"
     The teenager snapped to attention and turned off the saftey. 
The burnout, didn't care, he grabbed his gun and began to walk to
the door.  A loud piercing bang echoed through the hallway, and the
burnout went down on one knee.  "Fuck you." The voice was barely
audible, rasps of pain could be heard louder.
     "Sergent, you may fire at will."
     A succession of shots rang out, three in all.  Small whisps
of smoke puffed from the wounds.  The burnout crawled a few feet
and died, his face revealing one of shock.  The other platoons,
whether they felt anything or not, they did not show.
     "Anymore of you Chuckleheads want to try and desert outta my
Army, you just go ahead and try.  I have strict orders from the
King."  the Drill Instructer looked at them intently.  "And lets
you and me get something straight.  Just because I am 17, doesn't
mean your any better then me.  So if you think that I can't run you
people through hell and back, I'll skip the runnin' part and just
send you to hell instead.  Dismissed."  he paused, waiting for
everyone to break rank.  "And I want everyone in there uniforms
down in the Large Gym, in 5 minutes."
     Everyone saluted as he walked over to the corpse, and looked
at it, getting two unfortunate private to help him with the duty
of hurling him off the roof.
     For the next Twelve hours, the platoons did exercises, lifted
weights, shot their weapons, practiced hand-to-hand, and did more
exercises.  By 4:00 in the evening, the troops were exhausted.  
  "Alright, you guys got until 6:00a.m. before first assignment are
handed out.  The Bizzare is now open, and might I say its
intresting.  But before you go there, you'll need some cash.  Line
up for payroll."
     The New Order military recruits lined up in their ranks and
waited from their names to be called, then it was, party time.
     "Sanderson!"  "Here, Sir!"
     "Morissitte!"  "Here!"
     "Pelka!"  Zack to a step forward and walked forward to recieve
pay.  About twenty minutes went buy before they were done handing
out a small bag of coins.  The coins were an intresting lot, they
had the seal of the school on one side, and a grotesque imitation
of the King of South High on the other.  Each one of the Ten said
it was worth one credit.
     "Lets go see what we can buy with this!" The platoon
Commanding Officer said, rushing off towards the Bizzare.
     The Bizzare.  The Councilers Offices were no longer in place. 
From each door, sprung some type of business.  In one door someone
was bartering Miller Genuine Draft, in another, Guns.  All in all
there was over four hundred people in this one little area of the
school.  Zack managed to wiggle into the Bizzare, its lights almost
inchanting, there was someone playing a violin in the corner, there
were others smoking marajuana.  The room was filled with shouts and
hollers, typical of an open market.  At one point, Zack, swore he
heard a duck quacking.
     Quickly moving through the market, he came across a small
almost unattended booth, entering into what used to be the
bathroom.  But this student charged, even for that.
     "Would you like to buy a map," the student asked, looking at
the brand new uniform that Zack had been given today.  Its black
on black mystified most, and terrified others.  He looked like he
was on the SWAT team.
     "Maps?  What kind of maps," Zack asked, poking into the barrel
which housed them all.
     "Why maps of our kingdom, Sire."  The kid replyed.
     Sir?  Zack thought, he knew that the other teenagers in the
school respected the kids who enlisted, but sir?  Zack shifted his
weight and looked more sternly at the peddler.
     "How much are you asking for a map of the school?"
     The Peddler looked to either side of himself before talking,
"I am asking 6 coinage, mighty sire."
     Zack almost burst out laughing, "mighty sire indeed!".  This
was almost too weird, had so much changed in one day that these
people practically cowered in his presence?  They had guns, shit,
some of them had better guns than he had.  So why were they scared
of him?
     "Six!  For six I could almost get a Beer!  don't waste my time
with your inane drabble," Zack looked at the peddler, who was
visibly shaken.
     "I beg forgivness, Lord, but I have two other students to take
care of."
     A belly full of laughter erupted from Zack, this kid talked
like he was from the Dark Ages.  It was almost worth paying the 6
coins to him.  "No deal, make it four coinage, then we'll talk."
     The peddler looked at him in shock, "Four coins?  What am I
to do with that pittance?  Five coinage, and we'll talk."
     "Five?  Deal," Zack tossed him half the bag, and the peddler
looked into his barrel.  Without any hesitation, he pulled out a
folded map of the entire school, it revealed air ducts,
crawlspaces, and much much more.  Zack threw the peddler a smile
and he walked out of the Bizzare, with his new weapon against
boredom.
     BAM!
     Zack fell to the ground rubbing his nose, his map falling
gently to his side.  Looking up, he watched what he thought was the
most beautiful girl, falling to the ground.
     "Oh!  I am sorry!" he cried as he helped her up.  "Are you
alright?  Are you hurt?"
     She smiled pleasently at him, and brushed off her skirt.  "No
bones broken....Private Pelka."
     He blushed at the constant use of his last name, then looked
back at her.  Her long, inviting brown hair, full lips, and
mezmerizing eyes, just calling his name.  He was in love.  She
looked at him intently for a moment, then patted him on the
shoulder and entered the Bizzare.  Zack turned only to see everyone
kneel and bow!
     Shaking the thoughts reeling through his mind, he picked up
his map and proceeded down the corridor to the staris, when again
he bumbed into something.  A large fellow, wearing a football
helmet, and shoulder pads looked at him through the visor.
     "I know it was an accident, but don't ever touch her again. 
She belongs to the King, and the King don't like anyone touching
whats his.  Now beat it."
     Zack looked at this mass of teenager.  There was no way all
of that could be natural, he thought for a moment, but another roar
from the hulk made him snap out of his thought process and run for
the stairs.

     5:05p.m. Regional Communication Site (Radio Studio)

     "Echo Echo Foxtrot, I say again what are your coordinates,"
the deejay asked, enjoying his importance.
     A static blast came out of the reciever and then a hail of
voices, followed by something that sounded like gunfire. 
"Homebase, this is Double Echo Foxtrot, we are engaged with
multiple bogies at this time, I say again multiple bogies at this
time," the voice was smooth while the fighting still could be
heard.  "Are coordinates are West 75, and South Lemont.  4 Corners,
repeat, 4 Corners."
     The deejay didn't even need to look at the map to know where
this platoon was.  "What is the enemy?"
     "The Enemy-"<crackle>"-appears to be a scout-"<crackle>"-ing
party, they're w-wearing U.S. military-"<crackle, fizz>"-combat
gear.  I think its the real military."  A hail of static poured
from the reciever.
     The Deejay flipped the interal speaker system online. 
"Attention all personel, Code Red, repeat Code Red."
     The "Hot Phone" rang seconds after the announcement, it was
the King.  "Yes sir, our forces are engaged with unknown enemy at
this time.  Yes....No, sir.....understood....Very Good." <click>
     "Echo Echo Foxtrot, do you copy," the Deejay asked, hoping for
an answer.
     "Homebase, we hear you.  Go ahead."
     "What is the enemy ballistic capability," the radio man looked
at the map and put a small red "X" by the location of the fighting. 
Sadly, he admitted, he would be putting a lot more "X's" on that
board, before he was done.
     "The Bogie's have about 20 or so infantry, they got a morter,
and some kinda large vehicle behind the old Venture store."
     "Tell me about the vehicle, Echo."
     "Large, not a Tank, but some kinda troop carrier I think. 
Wait, is coming this way!"
     The deejay had not even noticed that King Chris and his
entourage of guards had entered, he was writing it all down, looked
over his shoulder and handed it to the King.  Afterall he'd know
what to do.
     "Echo, can you identify what it is," the Deejay asked again.
     There was static from the radio.  An unusual silence fell upon
the group of people in the radio room.  Without warning, the
reciever blared to life.
     "Holy shit, Homebase, that thing may not be a tank, but its
got a pair of gatling guns mounted on the top, and they're manned. 
I repeat they are manned."
     "Echo, how're you doing?"
     "Homebase, we have a Code 1: Nova70, a Chevy75, and we lost
the FireFord78.  There are only 15 of us left, we lost 5."
     Chris looked at the Deejay and the map, "Code 1?  What is a
Code Chevy75?"
     The Deejay looked at him and smiled, "It means, sir, that they
lost the Ford Firebird, but they still have the 70 Nova and the
Chevy 75.  Those cars you wanted modified, sir, they went with this
raiding group."
     Chris looked thoughtfully at the map and them smiled, "Good
work, tell him to return to base, and take care to avoid that
moster with guns.  Imperial Order."
     The Radio Jockey had no problem with that.  He quickly put on
the headset and began to give the instructions, not bothering to
watch his regal execllency leave.

     5:30p.m.
     Zack stood at attention outside his door.  Now that Marc Jovic
had enlisted, and would be in his platoon, he rested a bit easier. 
The other Platoons had no followed suit, and were placing guards
at the doors in shifts of three.  Everyone knew that most platoons
would be heading out tommorrow, and that only a skeleton crew would
remain.
     Sighing, Zack thought back to his encounter with the "Kings
property", what a joke, he thought, people can't be considered
property.  Not ever.
     
     4:45a.m.
     The halls of South were quiet at this time, no couriers
running around, or Military staff chattering about their exploits
of the town around them.  Just total tranquility, Zack began to
think that Death might be something like this, were it not for the
pain that usually came before it.  He had heard about the Delta
Platoon running into an armored vehicle last night, and of the loss
of 13 people.  Thirteen, he thought, I wonder what they were
thinking about before they bought it.
     Tornado alarms blurted out at the startled platoons, all of
whom jumped to thier feet.  Zack, half awake, didn't even realize
they were sounding off, until the doors of his homeroom opened.
     "Lets go Zack," his C.O., Ron, said without a hint of
depression in his voice.  "Lots of things to do today."
     With a nod Zack shuffled along behind him.
     The 20 Teenagers walked down towadrs the entrance to the
school, each equipped with a weapon, backpack, flashlight, and
survival knife.  The larger students carried the larger weapons,
while students like Zack ended up with the standard issue or
something small and powerful.
     Each one of the people in the platoon, stood at attention and
began to put on thier combat helmets.  Somewhere they had found a
stockpile of army issue kevlar helmets, and now they were being put
to use.
     "Morning men," came a jokeful cheery voice.  From a doorway
came the King of South High, and his entourage of Football
Bodyguards.  "I shall be accompanying you this fine day.  I hope
none of you mind."
     The teenagers looked at one another, each saying nothing, but
Zack could almost see the reactions of their faces.  They didn't
like him going with.
     "You are giving this platoon a true honor, sire."  The C.O.
said, waving at the people by the doors.  There was a hiss and loud
screeching noise from the doors.  Somehow some of the kids managed
to get a pair of bank vault doors, and hook them up into the front
of the school.  Over two feet thick, they could withstand a direct
cannon shot, or even gatling guns.
     "Fall out!"  The C.O. Bellowed.  At once the platoon began to
march, with the King and Football team right behind.  The sky was
still black, with little innocent stars twinkling like tiny eyes
winking at everyone from above.  Off North West, the City of
chicago was aglow, but not from lights.  Everyone, including the
King shifted uneasily, as they began to march north, towards Point
K.
     On the map, Ponit K. was the old Downers Grove Library, and
general area, including train tracks.  Zack motioned to the others,
and switched off the saftey on his gun.  Quietly he shivered, not
because of the tempature, but because he knew, he might very well
kill someone this day.  In the distance, they could hear sporatic
gunfire, knowing that they were, in fact, at war.
     6:10a.m.
     The platoons reached the destiniation.  An eerie glow seemed
to awash the eastern sky.  There would be daybreak soon.  The King
walked towards the library and peered inseide the tinted glass. 
"No one in there," he proclaimed, pointing towards the door.  "Open
it and go in, once you have surmised the enitre establishment,
inform me, and the rest of us will follow."
     Ron pointed his gun and sprayed the doors with automatic fire. 
Like one hundred firecrackers, the guns hammer pounded the back of
each bullit, until there were no more.  The glass surrounding the
doors, hung, shattered, almost like the memories of the kids who
watched.  Zack and another went to the doors, and kicked the
remaining glass away, pointing their guns inside, ready to
obliterate the smallest movement.
     Zack put his hand on the otherside of the door and turned the
lock, with a reassuring "Click".  Sweat beaded his head, his heart
was racing, he could practically hear it beating in his ears.  For
an instant, he wondered about going mad.  The door opened.  No
boobytraps.  Sighing, Zack walked in.  A small snap, made him
almost jump out of his pants, the other door vaporized in a redish
fireball, along with the student who opened it.  A deafning roar
and then a thunderclap followed.  Zack was hurled through the
corridor, and through the large glass picture window.
     Shouts came screaming into his ears, as the others ran about
to secure the place, Zack awoke to seeing several of his platoon
buddies looking at him.  Picking himself up, he could feel all the
shardes of glass falling off his back.  Luckily for him, he
thought, he was wearing a protective vest.  his hands were peppered
with tiny fragments, but they were easily taken care of.  The
doorway were the other student had tried to open the door was
completly gone, as well as a large hunk of the ground, and
surrounding brickwork.  Then it hit him.  A massive headache,
pounded into his skull.  Without the adrennlin flowing through his
system, he felt weak, and the pain stomped down on his head like
someones boot.  He could almost hear the flow of blood going
through his brain.
     Another student walked over to him, and handed him a
cigarette.  "here, take a few drags of this, it will stop the
pounding."
     Zack looked at the other kid with a funny expression.  He
admitted to himself, that he'd have to have been in a lot of pain
to have it be visibly noticable.
     "Dammit!  I want every inch of this place checked, and I want
it done now!  Do I make myself clear?"  The King's voice rang
through the room.  Zack listened and almost found himself laughing
at him.  For some strange reason, a lot of things seemed awfully
funny at this moment.  He took another drag.
     "Pelka, you alright?"
     Zack looked over his shoulder to see the King looking at him,
his face was covered with soot.  "Jus' fine s-sir, howz 'bout
yershelf?"
     The King looked at him strangely, and the other student
holding Zack up, whispered something in his ear.  Instead of
flushing, the King actually began to laugh.
     "Very good idea, private, make sure that you tell the few
doctors back at base to prescrible, uhh, marajuana to anyone with
a slight case of shell shock," The King, turned around, make a few
hand gestures, and left, leaving the entire platoon laughing.
     Zack walked ahead of everyone else, still high on the
"Cigarettes" effects.  For some reason, Zack could see everything. 
he walked up the stairs to the second level.  After a through
search, Zack returned to the rest of the platoon, with his
information.  "Nuttin' upstairs, sir."
     Zack was about to add another silly comment, when everyone
suddenly stood still.  A motor.
     The platoon rushed outside, as they listened intently, each
one of them hoping to hear it go away into the distance.
     The sound grew steadily louder.
     "Alright listen up, I want five people by that church over
there, I want two people into the Walgreens, you Ten stay here, and
the rest of us will head fifty meters up the road towards the train
tracks to find out what it is."  The C.O. and the King exchanged
looks of respect for the plan and everyone moved with a purpose. 
  The sound gradually got louder, it seemed to indicate more than
one vehicle.  Slow, and moving with purpose.  Zack shifted
uncomfortably.  The King on one side, and some Football fella on
the other.  Suddenly there was an audible gasp from the ranks of
the Football bodyguards.  One of them had some I.R. nitegoggles,
and had seen what was coming.
     "Tanks!" someone shouted.
     From behind the rows of apartments, and trees, came a loud
thundering boom.  Something whistled through the air and landed in
the church.  The stained glass windows flashed brilliantly, then
a loud ear shattering explosion, followed by the shattering of
glass.
     Everyone ducked as the shell hit the church, the King looked
behind him and bellowed at the top of his voice, "RETURN FIRE!"
     Zack looked at him akwardly.  Return fire?  He almost laughed
at him, what good were conventional bullits against three quarter
inch titanium plates?
     An eruption of gunfire could now be heard.  Three Tanks
emerged from the Apartment area, all carrying the Flag of America. 
The tanks were slow moving, and each seemed to be pacing the other, 
as if they were waiting for something.  "Corpral, get that fat guy
with the rocket launcher up here," the C.O. yelled.  It was hard
to be heard, with so many guns going off.
     The Tanks stopped, as if they were trying to figure were all
the bullits were coming from.  One of the tanks, turned its turret
to let the man on the top use the 40mm machine gun.  Zack fired a
clip at the tank, and watched as the bullits hopelessly bounced
off the impenitrable armor.
     The crews by the church were being annihilated by the Tank
crews cannons.  Each shell blew hunks out of the walls of the
church.
     Then Zack saw it.  A Huge, lumbering machine gun leveling off
towards himself, and the King.  Almost without thinking, Zack
grabbed the startled King a whipped him across the ground.  Before
Chris could utter or shout insults, the deafning roar of the gun
went off.  Searing pain shot up Zacks leg, so intense his brain
could barely register it.  Zack's immediete thoughts were that his
leg had been blown off, and to stop the bleeding, but looking down
at his leg, he noticed he had only taken three solid shots right
up above his kneecap.  The King looked at Zack as he stood there,
unable to almost comprehend that he was standing in the middle of
a firefight.  A football uniformed soldier ran over to Zack, and
tackled him, just as several tracers whizzed throught the air that
Zacks head had occupied momentairly before.
     And then it hit him.
     Zack let out a wail of pain as the brain finally registered
what had happened to him.  The tearing sensation of his flesh, made
him grab at air in search of something to hold onto. 
Unconscienceness would have been a blessing, but everytime a bullet
whizzed past him, his eyes shot open.  He could feel his life
ebbing from his leg.  Then he heard the voices.
     ...Zack!  Zack!  Hang on, man!  'Bus is on the way, come on,
stay with us....  ..Shit!..  ..He might have taken it in the
artery...
     ...Shut up, Stoopid!  If it had hit his artery, he'd been dead
minutes ago.  ...Just lost a lot of muscle. ...He'll be lucky to
walk again...  ...Fuck!  Someone stop that bleeding..  More gun
shots erupted from the tank nest.  ...GODAMMIT you Assholes, get
some heavy firepower up here!..  ...I'm hit, Medic!..
     The voices, the cries of terror, the unknown, sent chills deep
into Zacks soul.  He heard the gunshots echo in the back of his
mind.  As the "Medic" (a friend he'd known in his Chemistry class)
stuffed a bottle of Jack Daniels down his throat, he felt the pain
slowly drain from him, the fighting seemed so distant now.  He felt
so tired.  The last voices in his head were of his platoon sergent,
and the King.
     "Yup, thats right, Sarge, he's a Goddamn hero.  A hero."  Zack
slowly left the world and entered a deep dreary slumber.

     October 15th, 1997  2:47p.m.

     Zack awoke to the feeling of pain in his leg, or what was left
of it.  A "Nurse" sat next to his cot, reading a book on Medical
knowledge.
     "Wha-What happened," Zack said, lolling his head, trying to
shake off the cloudiness in his head.  "Where am I?"
     The nurse looked at him, and pressed a button, signaling
people elsewhere.  Within five minutes, a group of people entered
the room.  Chris was among them.
     "Glad to see your finally joining the land of the living." 
One of the men said.
     "Feeling alright," Chris asked, sincerly looking worried.  "I
thought you'd never come out of your coma."
     "Did we win," Zack tilted his head, so he could see the others
more clearly.  "Did we get rid of those tanks?"
     "No, not yet.  We had to pull back.  They dusted half of our
guys.  And if it wern't for you, I wouldn't be here either."
     Zack smiled.  His thoughts swirling through his head.
     "So what-", Zack sleared his throat, "what do you want?"
     Chris looked at him and smiled.  Without any hesitation, he
motioned to one of the guards in the back of the room to come
forward.  He was carrying a small box.  Smiling, Chris put the box
at the side of Zacks bed.  "Here you go, Lieutenant."
     Zack shifted in the hospital cot, and looked at the Box.  It
was plainly a dark brown briefcase, (probably stolen from a leather
designer shop, Zack guessed) it was polished and refined, something
he could envision people on Wall Street carrying.  On top of the
box was a small medal, and Lieutenants bars.
     "I don't deserve these," Zack said, still trying to shake the
lightheadedness off.  "I was just doing my job."
     "You did it so well, that we are giving you these."  Chris
took a final look at Zack and nodded his head in approval.  "One
other thing," He added stopping at the door, "When your up and
about, report to me directly.  I have a special assignment for
you."
     Zack nodded, and rolled over, carefull as not to move his
right leg too much.

     October 21st, 1997 3:45p.m.

     The flare above the treetops vanished.  It was the third in
a row along the northern border.  A small platoon of Marines had
been spotted only 5 hours earlier, and an entire battalion had been
farther behind.  The platoon was only a scouting party, but that
was bad enough.
     Zack moved up to the trench that had been dug a week earlier,
his leg (held up on metal rivits and brace), squeaked lightly,
indicating they needed to be oiled again.  His platoon had been put
on the front lines, in an attempt to remove the invaders.  Another
flash.  Another flare.
     
     To be continued............................................

     Watch for Part 2 of FORTRESS AMERICA: Return of the Panzers.

                         Another fine Text from:
                              The Committee
                                 >T<>C<
                            The Masquerade BBS
                               708-963-4551
                                   WHQ