Dust of Kansas: Calm Act Genesis, #2

By Ginger Booth

The Calm Act is born in the dust of Kansas.

Fort Leavenworth Kansas is home to the elite US Army Command School. Major Emmett MacLaren and his roommates look forward to a placid year pursuing master's degrees in advanced military planning.

But all is not well in Kansas. A Dust Bowl is brewing to rival the worst hard times of the twentieth century Depression. Rivers and aquifers are running dry. Race riots and refugees fill the news. 

And Command School is doing something strange this year with its curriculum. Its officer scholars will focus on war-gaming a single scenario, in utter secrecy - the collapse of the United States due to climate change.

Emmett and his roommates are tasked with vetting the Calm Act, a plan to meet the climate change crisis with nation-wide martial law - and worse.

Dust of Kansas is a prequel novelette in the Calm Act (End Game) series. It features military characters from End Game and its sequel, Project Reunion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ginger Booth
• Release date: Jan 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386953944

Book preview

1

Interesting fact: Fort Leavenworth Kansas was home to the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, which offered a number of master’s degree programs in military science. The majority of students were mid-career Army officers—ranks Major, Lieutenant Colonel, and Colonel—with a smattering of inter-agency, international, and inter-service students. Fort Leavenworth lies on the Missouri River, about 30 miles north of Kansas City.

Emma MacLaren, recovering army wife, looked around the kitchen judiciously. All the newly stocked white cabinets were closed, cooking utensils at the ready. She nodded approval of a job well done. Well, that’s the last of your crap stowed away. Welcome home, Emmett. And welcome to the Midwest, Cam, John. She smiled warmly at her son’s new roommates.

Thank you, Momma, crooned Major Emmett MacLaren, giving her a peck on the cheek. See guys? Told you I had a pro army wife. There was no mistaking the resemblance between mother and son, from the twangy Ozark accents, to bushy brown hair, craggy tanned features, and wiry buffed strength. Though at 53, Emma looked too young to have a 34-year-old son.

Uh-huh, Emma said, mock-scowling at her only child. "But not your wife, Emmett. Men can learn to do this crap on their own. And don’t forget to mind the chickens out back."

We have chickens? Major Cam Cameron asked, surprised. Blond, handsome, earnest, fastidiously dressed and erect of posture, Cam was only a couple years younger than Emmett, but looked wholly too young for his new oak leaves.

Six, Emmett confirmed. Should be enough eggs for the three of us. I’ll introduce you later. So what else do we need, Momma?

Supermarket for supplies and food. Basic furniture for Cam and John—beds, dressers, desks, desk chairs, lamps, Emma replied, considering. Emmett only has linens for full-size beds, she cautioned the other two. You’ll need sheets if you want a queen or king-size bed. And whatever else you want. You’ve got two kids, right, John? Maybe a second daybed. She stopped, considering. You could buy new if you want, but… Seen the Okie camp down by the river yet?

Last year, agreed Emmett, subdued.

Last year, Emmett alone of the new roommates had been here at Command School at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. He’d taken ILE, Intermediate Level Education, required of Army Majors seeking battalion-level command or staff positions. Cam was here for that now. Emmett and John would attend SAMS this year, the School of Advanced Military Studies, a post-ILE master’s degree program focused on planning complex inter-service operations.

Emma nodded, lips pursed. You should see the camp again. Let’s go shopping down by the river.

Coast Guard Captain John Niedermeyer was bald and virile and a good dozen years older than Cam. He frowned. We were warned that was a dangerous area. Race riots?

Uh-huh. Lotta that going around, replied Emma. Good thing you got a county sheriff along to protect you then, huh?

Her son smiled crookedly, as the other two officers looked abashed. Momma retired as an Army wife a few decades back.

PX first for shopping, declared Emma, and hustled the sheepish scholars out the door. On the way out, she hung a plaque on their door—BOQ, for Bachelor Officer’s Quarters.

The point of going to the PX first was soon apparent—Emma had them stock up on meat, fruit, vegetables, and canned goods not for their fridge, but for barter. They hit the ATM there for several hundred in cash apiece, as well.

Last year, there wasn’t a tenth of this, Emmett murmured, as they jostled their way into the vast migrant camp. That’s not safe, camping on the river bottom.

There was no road. This was once good farmland by the side of the broad Missouri River, partway between Leavenworth and Kansas City. The green fields were long dead, the trees leafless, the Missouri shrunken, its mud flats cracked and bare under the blazing summer sun. Trucks, campers, SUVs, cars and tents stretched as far as they could see down the river bank, and out onto the bare river bottom. The stench attested to open-air latrines and no wash water. The wind was still today, carrying less dust aloft than usual. Still, the air was alive with dust motes sparkling gold, the cloudless sky a haze of yellow.

Can’t stop ’em, Emma returned, glancing at the river bottom. "State police had the bridge barricaded on route 92. Stopped me before I came