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Authors: Nicholas Ryan
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General was appointed to lead ‘Operation Conquest’, the second phase. Can you tell me why? Did you fall out of favor with Washington?”
General Horsham cut across the question brusquely, waving his big hand in the air like he was swatting away my words.
“Horseshit,” he said, his voice like gravel. I sensed it was a question he had been asked privately more than once, and that it was an issue that irritated him.
“Son, the military isn’t full of the same ego-driven characters that populate Capital Hill,” he said. His voice leveled out, losing some of its sting. He glanced around him and his eyes fastened on the 49ers helmet. I saw a glint come back into the big man’s eyes. The General smiled thinly.
“I was picked to run ‘Operation Containment’ because I have a reputation for playing good defense,” he said, slipping into a football analogy. “My job was to hold the line, and I did that. “But a good team is also made up of a strong offense, and special teams. When we transitioned into ‘Operation Conquest’ and ‘Operation Compress’, the President called on men who had reputations for their offense. Make sense?”
It did. I nodded.
“And when we finally discovered the whole zombie war was initiated by an Iranian terrorist plot, well… the President decided it was time for the special teams to take the field. One man can’t run every play – each task required the leadership of the best man for each individual job.”
“Have you ever actually met ‘the architect’, Richard Danvers?”
“No,” the man’s voice snapped like a whip.
I changed tack again. Interviewing the man was like walking through a thorn bush.
“Was there ever a time during those first few weeks when you were pulling together America’s military resources behind the Danvers Defense Line that you were worried?”
General Raymond Horsham stared at me, and for long seconds he said nothing. The room was deathly silent, and I began to wonder if it was a question he was simply unwilling to answer. Then, slowly, the set features of his face seemed to crumble just a little and I got a brief, haunting glimpse of the man behind the soldier.
“Every night,” he said, his voice lowered to little more than a whisper, but somehow was made more powerful. “Every single night I worried that the infected would spread north and press against the line before we were prepared.”
“Because…?”
“Because we weren’t ready,” he confessed. “We would have been overrun. The scenario haunted me right up until the first major conflict when the undead horde crashed against the line south of Asheville, North Carolina. It was the first time the defense had been tested.”
“The Battle of Four Seasons, right?”
Horsham smiled, a drawing back of the lips that was without warmth or humor. “Hendersonville,” he said. “They called it the city of four seasons. That’s where the name came from,” he shrugged.
“That engagement was the first organized conflict of the zombie war. It must have given you some confidence.”
The General shook his head. “I always had confidence in the men under my command,” he said. “American soldiers are the best trained in the world, and remember, we were fighting on home soil. They were committed and dedicated… and brave. What troubled me was that I was leading them into war when we were under prepared. I didn’t know how broad the front would be. I didn’t know whether we could hurl the undead back. I didn’t know if the tactics would work because we’d never fought such a primitive and unique enemy before.”
I seized on the General’s last comment because it was one aspect that had troubled the military in the frantic weeks leading up to those opening battles. I cocked my head to the side and looked quizzically at Horsham.
“You know, that confuses a lot of people,” I said.
“What?”
“That comment you just made about the enemy being so primitive,” I went on.
General Horsham cut across the question brusquely, waving his big hand in the air like he was swatting away my words.
“Horseshit,” he said, his voice like gravel. I sensed it was a question he had been asked privately more than once, and that it was an issue that irritated him.
“Son, the military isn’t full of the same ego-driven characters that populate Capital Hill,” he said. His voice leveled out, losing some of its sting. He glanced around him and his eyes fastened on the 49ers helmet. I saw a glint come back into the big man’s eyes. The General smiled thinly.
“I was picked to run ‘Operation Containment’ because I have a reputation for playing good defense,” he said, slipping into a football analogy. “My job was to hold the line, and I did that. “But a good team is also made up of a strong offense, and special teams. When we transitioned into ‘Operation Conquest’ and ‘Operation Compress’, the President called on men who had reputations for their offense. Make sense?”
It did. I nodded.
“And when we finally discovered the whole zombie war was initiated by an Iranian terrorist plot, well… the President decided it was time for the special teams to take the field. One man can’t run every play – each task required the leadership of the best man for each individual job.”
“Have you ever actually met ‘the architect’, Richard Danvers?”
“No,” the man’s voice snapped like a whip.
I changed tack again. Interviewing the man was like walking through a thorn bush.
“Was there ever a time during those first few weeks when you were pulling together America’s military resources behind the Danvers Defense Line that you were worried?”
General Raymond Horsham stared at me, and for long seconds he said nothing. The room was deathly silent, and I began to wonder if it was a question he was simply unwilling to answer. Then, slowly, the set features of his face seemed to crumble just a little and I got a brief, haunting glimpse of the man behind the soldier.
“Every night,” he said, his voice lowered to little more than a whisper, but somehow was made more powerful. “Every single night I worried that the infected would spread north and press against the line before we were prepared.”
“Because…?”
“Because we weren’t ready,” he confessed. “We would have been overrun. The scenario haunted me right up until the first major conflict when the undead horde crashed against the line south of Asheville, North Carolina. It was the first time the defense had been tested.”
“The Battle of Four Seasons, right?”
Horsham smiled, a drawing back of the lips that was without warmth or humor. “Hendersonville,” he said. “They called it the city of four seasons. That’s where the name came from,” he shrugged.
“That engagement was the first organized conflict of the zombie war. It must have given you some confidence.”
The General shook his head. “I always had confidence in the men under my command,” he said. “American soldiers are the best trained in the world, and remember, we were fighting on home soil. They were committed and dedicated… and brave. What troubled me was that I was leading them into war when we were under prepared. I didn’t know how broad the front would be. I didn’t know whether we could hurl the undead back. I didn’t know if the tactics would work because we’d never fought such a primitive and unique enemy before.”
I seized on the General’s last comment because it was one aspect that had troubled the military in the frantic weeks leading up to those opening battles. I cocked my head to the side and looked quizzically at Horsham.
“You know, that confuses a lot of people,” I said.
“What?”
“That comment you just made about the enemy being so primitive,” I went on.
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