Free Joint Task Force #1: Liberia by David E. Meadows Page B

before the briefing started, sir, and I haven’t had a chance to discuss it with . . .”
    Dick put his coffee cup down. “Go ahead, Mary.”
    “A ham operator with Lieutenant General Daniel Thomaston told the American Embassy in Monrovia before the embassy was overrun that the Liberian-American city of Kingsville was still safe and had not seen any action. American refugees from elsewhere in Liberia have started arriving in Kingsville. It seems to be the central congregating point for American refugees. Another thing the embassy passed on was that they had lost contact with the American expatriate enclaves in the northern suburbs of Monrovia. They expect the worst for those in and around the capital.”
    “That’s something,” Leo added. “As long as we have contact with General Thomaston, we can keep track of how they are doing.”
    “It’s not too good. The signal has not been regained from Kingsville. We suspect this is due to sunspots. We should regain contact as we close the coast. In the meantime, the good news is that Kingsville is safe and the surviving Americans are heading there. The bad news is Thomaston expects the rebels to advance on Kingsville. We will be unable to follow those events closely because our communications are suffering severely. Our weather-guessers report the sunspot storms, not expected to reach maximum intensity until later this month, have instead already commenced.”
    “Satellites?” Holman asked.
    Davidson shook her head. “Sorry, Admiral, they are all committed to the war in Indonesia. In addition, I haven’t seen any press stories to indicate the news agencies have anyone in Liberia in position to report events. This is one time in this information age we may be going into a crisis with little or no knowledge.”

CHAPTER 3
    LIEUTENANT GENERAL DANIEL THOMASTON, U.S. ARMY RETIRED , stood with his legs spread on the wraparound porch of the town’s community center, his hands grasped behind his back. He looked over the American town that he had helped build. It wasn’t big, but it was their little piece of home on the continent where his and the others’ ancestors had originated. Daniel walked to the edge of the porch and braced a foot on the banister. From there, he could see the entire town. The jungle to the south marked the end of this slice of civilization. He glanced behind him. The screened door gave him a direct view through the center of the community center out the rear door. About a hundred yards of grassy terrain separated this building from the edge of the ancient Liberian rain forest that rose like a gigantic dark wall. He crossed his arms across the top of his raised knee. Everything they had worked for and built could be swept away by the rebels heading this way.
    He brushed an insect off his right arm. He personally had selected the site for this town. It was a good location. One where sweeping waves of towering bushes and grasses ran up against jungle and rain forest bordering to the south and west. The main road, running through the center of the town, waspaved. Unfortunately, a half mile out it turned to dirt. They had bulldozed the road, scraping away lush topsoil to expose sandy loam beneath that turned into sinking, sucking mud during their first rainy season. Since then, gravel and drainage plans had improved the utility of the road, but when the early summer rains arrived, the small American enclave became an isolated outpost.
    Unfortunately, the rainy season had been over for nearly two months. They had the afternoon rains, but that didn’t count on a continent where daily temperatures most times exceeded one hundred degrees. Thomaston knew from experience with the African rains that one moment you were soaked with sweat, then the rain hit, flushing the body salt away, soaking you to the skin. Five minutes after it stopped, you would be as dry as if you had put on fresh clothes. Five minutes later, sweat-soaked again. He picked up the plastic