by G. R. Carter
GangStars was the name, he remembered. Like a play on “all stars,” the trooper told him. The best of what was left of the organized crime still remaining in the city.
All the SWAT commander’s attention was focused toward the front door, where the desperate masses surged back and forth, looking for a window to smash or a door to open. Already he clearly saw GangStars almost at the top of the ladder, with military style weapons slung over their shoulders. The lead Humvee clearly didn’t see what was happening, and was caught up watching the desperate battle going on in front on him.
Stillman signaled his driver to stop, stepping out of the still-moving vehicle and grabbing his personal M–16 from the harness inside. He shouldered the weapon and began firing towards the GangStars’ ladder in three-round bursts. Another waste of smart, ruthless men. That got the attention of one of the SWAT members on the roof, who quickly pointed the threat out to his commander. The two of them both swung their weapons in that direction, cutting down the lead GangStar and making the rest head back down the ladder at full speed. All the GangStars still standing now began firing in his direction. They were inaccurate but plentiful enough to have a decent chance of hitting someone.
In the mission brief, Stillman had given specific directions to the Humvee heavy gunners to only engage immediate threats or targets that he specifically pointed out. He felt the stares of the gunners now, as they wondered if they should cut the GangStars down. Instead, he directed them to open fire on the hundreds of civilians still trying to throw anything on hand through building windows, or even trying to climb up the trees that still stood alongside the building.
Feeling slightly nauseous at the carnage his guns were causing, he reminded himself that these people would probably be dead in a few weeks anyway; better their deaths serve the greater purpose of Reconstruction. Almost instantly, the crowds melted away, running through the streets to get away from the roar of the guns. Many more were probably hurt or killed in the stampede. Within minutes, all that was left were the thrashing windrows of the dead and dying.
He glanced over at the side of the building, seeing that the GangStars disappeared in the chaos also. That was okay, he could get a message to them. He was just glad no more had been killed; they too would serve a purpose for New America soon.
Surprised by the sudden calm of the streets, he reached back into his Humvee, reaching for his bullhorn.
It was time to make that offer again.
*****
Stillman felt like he was dreaming, gazing down at the two bodies lying in front of him. His ears were ringing from the incredibly loud report of a still smoking weapon gripped in the hand of the man who killed both the chief of police and the mayor.
His mind regained its sharpness as he looked over at the SWAT team commander standing beside him, staring at the ruined result of his actions. A lifetime spent following the chain of command came to a halt with the double homicide of two people he swore an oath to obey. Stillman wasn’t sure if it was the trauma of the still too-fresh street slaughter or the absurd rejection of New America’s latest offer that made the SWAT commander snap. Whatever reason, he needed to get the situation under control ASAP, before this guy completely lost it.
“Captain Ratcliff, we all understand why you had to do that,” he said calmly to the black-clad man standing next to him. Stillman could clearly see Ratcliff’s hand shaking, trying to holster his .45 that he wore as a sidearm when in tactical gear.
“Captain, we don’t hold this against you. Those two men were going to get you all killed. And Captain, one other thing,” Stillman said as the trembling man finally made eye contact with him. “If you hadn’t done that, I would have.”
A nod, and then a sweaty handshake sealed the unstated deal. Captain Ratcliff was now the chief of police, and Major Stillman was now the man in charge of all of Decatur. They stood for a brief moment beside the statue of Abraham Lincoln undamaged in the middle of the sidewalk. Lincoln had to go through the same thing, he thought. And he was regarded as the greatest president ever. This may not be such a bad day after all,
While still pondering his newest victory his Recon Scout leader reappeared with even better news.
“Sir! Those Shelby County thieves are back in town at the office complex down on the south side of the city. There’s quite a few of them, and the best news is I saw Martin Fredericks and the rest of his deserters with them!” the scout leader shouted over the top of the motorcycle engine.
No, scratch that, awesome day, Stillman thought. With almost his entire force here and ready to go, he’d be on top of the traitor Fredericks before he could escape back to the sticks.
“Captain Radcliff, I’m leaving you in charge here with your men,” he said to the recovering SWAT officer. “I’m going to leave a couple squads of my soldiers here to back you up so there’s no misunderstandings about you being in charge, okay? I just ask that you gather up any of the other city leaders who thought joining with us was a bad idea. Lock them in the holding cells. Unless they resist, you don’t need to do anything besides lock them up. Then, get all your people ready to make the move out to the base. It’s not safe for you to stay in this building anymore, and I’m sure your women and children would like a good night’s sleep. Captain are we on the same page?” Stillman demanded, trying to shake any cobwebs out of Radcliff that might still be fogging his judgment.
“I’m going to eliminate a major security threat to New America’s Reconstruction, but I should be back very soon,” Stillman assured him as he climbed back on board his Humvee. While his driver gunned the engine to make the quick jump to the south side of the city, he watched Radcliff regain his composure and turn and begin issuing orders to his SWAT officers.
Yep, he thought. Awesome day.
*****
Captain Fredericks, now acting commander for the Okaw Valley Self Defense Cooperative, stood surveying the same office complex parking lot where he first met a little group of foraging farmers. That was just weeks ago, but he already considered himself a soldier fighting for his adopted homeland. The people of the Okaw welcomed him and his men, plus all their families, with the warmth only small towns could give. Even though they struggled to take care of the folks born and raised there, still they welcomed these newcomers with open arms.
Thinking back now, he wasn’t sure where he intended to lead his group once they made their escape from the Decatur National Guard. He just knew that they couldn’t stay with someone who was a dictator and psychopath. Fredericks trusted the Almighty to lead them, and somehow He had led them here. All of the horror and strife he experienced around the globe prepared him for a greater good, he knew that now.
Fredericks doubted that many times throughout his life, but his doubts evaporated when the world changed just months ago. With the computers going to sleep and technology disappearing, he knew that some men he served with saw the Great Reset as a chance to remake a collapsed society in their own image. At first that seemed like a good idea, but he quickly recognized that their version of peace and safety came at the price of freedom. In his heart of hearts, he knew that there had to be a better way to survive.
He believed his experience could give the Okaw SDC’s farmers and small-town folk a fighting chance at survival in this crazy new world. Fredericks just needed to make sure he got the timing right; he didn’t want to lose a single casualty on any campaign, but especially here where each able-bodied man and woman had three jobs to do every day besides playing soldier. Fortunately, the SDC’s leaders had the foresight to understand that eventually the soldiers stationed in Decatur would be coming for them. This had to handled now, before the balance of power tipped completely away from the Okaw.
When Fredericks had been tipped off to Major Stillman’s plan to hit the police headquarters, he knew that was the opportunity to set their plan in motion. Stillman would have almost his entire force together, so the SDC wouldn’t have to worry about any remnants of resistance from Decatur once
his main force was dealt with.
Lacking many experienced troops himself, Fredericks designed a simple plan to defeat Stillman and his loyalists. It was a plan that worked on half-trained soldiers who hadn’t fought in the difficult places he had. Since the National Guard based at Decatur contained a mix of washouts and bureaucrat types just looking for an easy paycheck, they wouldn’t be looking for a trap designed by professional soldiers. Stillman held just the kind of hatred and rage Fredericks could use against him. All he had to do was provide good enough bait and have courage to set the hook, and Stillman would come straight to him.
The real soldiers assigned to Stillman would come to join the Okaw SDC once their families were safe; Fredericks made sure that information got to likeminded sympathizers not able to safely make the jump to the Okaw yet.
Fredericks had six Snapping Turtles with him here in the parking lot. The modified armored trucks and their crews were making a lot of noise, acting as though they were another salvage crew coming to finish up where they left off when Fredericks first met them. The sympathizers Fredericks had in the National Guard ranks dutifully reported their presence back to Stillman, and added the irresistible bait - Fredericks and the rest of his men were with them. There was little doubt about what Major Stillman would order next. Bristling with embarrassment from the escape of the Ten-Vets and the surprise skirmish loss to the SDC, the leader of the Decatur force pushed every available vehicle he commanded down the parkway towards the office complex.
Seeing the lead elements approach his position, Fredericks ordered the men in the Turtles to immediately retreat from the office park, down the frontage road toward home as quickly as possible.
Over the next few miles they let the pursuers get just close enough to lose pursuit discipline and open fire at the armored shells of the Snapping Turtles. With their blood up and lust for revenge overriding training, the Decatur group screeched around a blind corner to come face to face with two giant camouflaged metal nightmares sitting just a few yards away, blocking the road. Fredericks allowed Alex Hamilton to pilot one of the new armored bulldozers, or Mark 2s as Okaw’s Wizards named them, with Phil retaining command of the other.
The SDC’s most experienced men, as well as the remaining Ten-Vets took up positions above and below the elevated road, executing a perfect ambush on the Decatur forces. Stillman’s haste and hatred led his troops into the teeth of a crossfire. Smoke billowed as the lead Humvees and trucks locked up brakes in a screeching mess, each vehicle veering in an attempt to avoid running into the next. Weeks of chasing mostly unarmed civilians led to sloppiness, and almost every vehicle had been following the others too closely. Some made contact, others swerved off the road down into the culverts, barely missing some of the Okaw troops hidden in the multitude of abandoned vehicles that now littered the city.
Before any of the National Guard officers could regroup, heavy weapons fire raked the vehicles side to side. Okaw SDC troops with the best aim took out the lead drivers first. Unguided Humvees and trucks in the middle of the column rolled to a stop to the left and right, as soldiers poured out to what they thought was safety.
Under a hail of bullets from all around, men began to fall to each side of the vehicles. Officers at the rear of the column scrambled to figure out what was stopping the lead vehicles, when four more armored beasts appeared behind them. A few brave (or shell-shocked) men managed to get shots off at olive green and tan mottled nightmares belching black smoke and crunching underneath anything that got in the way of the grinding tracks. Light caliber weapons merely ricocheted off the heavy steel plating welded over the driver’s seat of the Okaw Mark 2s, leaving barely a scratch. In reply, twin mini–cannons spat fire towards the encircled Decatur men.
Experiencing the terror of combat and the futility of their weapons to penetrate armor, most of Stillman's soldiers quickly succumbed to fright, throwing down their weapons and throwing up their hands. Witnessing men cut down in a bloody heap took a bigger mental toll than physical. Inexperience, added to the sudden shift from a pursuing predator to helpless prey, became too much to bear, and in less than five minutes, thirty vehicles and three hundred National Guard soldiers and their auxiliaries were either captured or killed.
Okaw troops secured the remaining prisoners as Fredericks interrogated each one himself, identifying who he thought would be a security threat. Some he knew to be good soldiers just trying to figure out who represented legitimate authority in this fallen land. Once he had been through the living, he began inspecting the dead. Towards the front of the line of vehicles stretching back nearly a half mile, he approached a command Humvee with the large whip antenna tied off at the back bumper. Pushing back an involuntary smile, he did his best to objectively inspect the familiar face in the passenger side seat. Major Terry Stillman, Commander of the Western Sector of New America, stared eternally forward, eyes wide with surprise and chest soaked in crimson.
With barely a bullet hole to fix and a few non-life threatening injuries, the Okaw Valley Self Defense Cooperative had just won their first real battle. The heavy equipment and food production plants of this former manufacturing hub, along with military hardware and vehicles, were now theirs. New America would find their Reconstruction plans a little harder to accomplish, at least as long as they faced the Okaw.
New America
Darian Walsh shifted uncomfortably on his seat underneath a modified desk, looking over stacks of reports. His injured leg was extended out over a folding chair, a pillow relieving some of the extra pressure from bandages and swelling. Sitting on his butt in a hospital bed left his still fit middle-aged body brimming with excess energy. Random waves of nausea hit him as pain pulsed through his surgically repaired limb. The skin itched underneath, challenging Walsh’s considerable willpower to prevent him from scratching the healing wound.
No field exercise for three weeks! Might as well be in a wheelchair for all the good I’ll do the Legions, Walsh moped to himself. He guarded his emotions in the presence of his men, trying to provide reassurance. But being honest with his private thoughts, he couldn’t remember feeling depression like this.
Walsh’s mood at least took some comfort that overall, the battle for West Lafayette was a success for his Reconstruction Task Force. New America grieved the loss of the fine young men he took so much care in training. And Centurion Ramirez was a good man and a good leader. They had served two tours together in the Sandbox and he’d specifically requested Walsh's command before the Reset. He’d have a statue in Memorial Stadium for the next recruits to train beside.
But I have to eventually put them in harm’s way, that’s what they’re trained for. And each man who saw combat will never look at life the same way. They’re hard now. Bloodied.
To help offset the loss of his men, West Lafayette appeared to be a solid prize. The well-trained defense force New America’s Legions battled turned out to be well armed, too. Walsh’s armory initially contained enough front-line battle rifles for the first few hundred Guardsmen. However, as his forces grew, New America’s supply experts patched in confiscated private and police weapons next to standard-issue equipment. No one in West Lafayette’s defenses remained able or willing to admit the source of their armaments; Walsh didn’t care as long as those weapons now resided with his troops instead.
The city also yielded an abundance of food stores – canned, dried and raw grain. Being the home of Purdue, one of the finest agricultural universities in the world, plus being situated in some of the best farm ground in the world, made the western Indiana area a prime source for food. Regardless of the losses, Walsh remained confident some of that expertise would soon begin helping New America reach self–sufficiency in food production. By the end of winter, he doubted there would be many well-stocked cities like this one to assimilate. The map of reconstructed territory hung from an easel placed across from his desk, showing cities already assimilated in various stages of organization. Red for low organization, others in orange,
blue or green depending how well they were doing. Outside of the area controlled by New America, the latest information obtained on other communities was reflected by status tags: good, fair or poor. Most of the map fell into the latter category.
Walsh busied himself reviewing recommendations for new Squad Centurions to replace those he lost in the battle, as Captain Tyler Eckert approached in ready posture.
“At ease, Captain. You know you can relax when it’s just you and I,” Walsh said without looking up.
“Thank you, sir. But I’m afraid the news I have isn’t going to allow relaxation for either of us,” Eckert said. His North Carolina upbringing showed in his voice when delivering bad news. Walsh believed he did it unconsciously, as though a little bit of home might soothe what he had to deliver.
“Must be pretty bad, Captain, considering what we’ve been through this week,” Walsh said. He looked up now from his papers. Eckert continued to look ahead, not down into Walsh’s eyes.
“Sir, we have received word that New America forces under Major Terry Stillman have lost Decatur. Major Stillman successfully defeated the city’s police holdouts in the morning, bringing all municipal groups under his command. However, he was then drawn into an ambush with another force shortly after. Major Stillman was killed, and all loyal New American troops were killed or captured.”
“You’re right, Captain Eckert, that is bad news.” Walsh sighed. The Commander of New America whistled softly, considering what the loss of their entire Western Front meant. Not that there was much progress being made there to achieve Reconstruction, but at least Stillman was holding the territory until Walsh could make his own gains toward Indianapolis.
