by G. R. Carter
Here goes, keep your focus, don’t miss. Only one shot at this.
The roar of the engine kept Phil from hearing the machine gun fire reaching out to stop his vehicle as it barreled toward the tank. Metal struck metal, but not enough to stop the bulky vehicle as it continued to gain momentum and kinetic energy.
Martin Fredericks came over the rise in one of the new Mark 3s flanked by others driven by Alex and Richardson. Fredericks watched in horror as he witnessed the Founder’s vehicle disappear into a blast of smoke, dust and fire as it made full speed contact with the New American tank. The old armored Turtle scored an almost direct hit to the side skirts, causing enough impact to slightly lift the heft of the massive metal beast. The left drive track came off as momentum carried it forward several more yards, finally grinding to a halt.
The Founder’s vehicle was a shredded pile of burning metal; clearly no one could have survived the impact or the aftermath. Fredericks watched helplessly as black exhaust smoke poured from Alex’s Mark 3, the young man’s vehicle charging the stricken tank. Screaming into his handheld radio, Fredericks pleaded for Alex to come back. There was no stopping the lust for revenge of the fallen Founder’s son.
He keyed his handheld that was wired to broadcast to all SDC vehicles: “All units, advance immediately. But avoid direct engagement of that tank! Work around both sides, and aim for any tall antennas anywhere you see them!”
Limited visibility out of the crew compartment of the Mark 3 required lowering the blast shields around the safety glass. Fredericks trusted the layered safety glass and metal cage to protect him against most caliber weapons. He needed to survey the battlefield, making the break in protocol worth the risk. Hours of training in the cockpit took over as he began to select and destroy targets ahead. Setting a course to follow Alex, he was able to rotate the turret to engage targets without veering the machine itself. He had been around the amazing M1A1 Abrams tank in the old American army, which was the most amazing weapons platform ever put on land. This was not even close to the same level of technology, but the concept remained the same. Get to where I'm going fast, and break stuff on the way.
The wounded New American tank seemed to be the only heavily armored vehicle the Grays had. Rapid-fire 20-millimeter cannons mounted beside Fredericks reached out from the Mark 3 and punched through the thin metal skin of the enemy vehicles with its shells. Thank you, Creator, for the abilities of the Wizards. Return fire thudded off of his armor and caused the shatter-resistant glass to spider crack, reminding him to also give thanks he was no longer an infantryman.
Several of the Grays' Humvees and trucks now burned along the field as the remaining Mark 3s joined the fight, interspersed with a dozen Snapping Turtles. The Turtles were faster, but Fredericks saw they were keeping their discipline, staying close with the Mark 3s to keep effective fire going down range. No need for friendly fire to cause any more damage than the Grays already had.
But nothing was stopping Alex, cornstalks and turf were flying underneath from his tracks as he drove his Mark 3 towards his dad’s ruined vehicle. Shells continued to fire out of the Mark 3's cannon, striking the tank over and over. Fredericks knew Alex possessed natural talent with the weapon, but he was amazed at how many times the shells found their target during the mad dash. Few shots went wide, even as Alex forced his vehicle forward at the maximum speed it would give him. Twenty-millimeter shells probably wouldn’t penetrate the heavy plate armor, but the softer metal of the long gun, machine guns and radio antenna were a different story. The shells shredded anything outside of the turret, then destroyed the drive wheels. The scarred tank sat helpless, awaiting its final fate.
An uneasy break in the fighting occurred as Alex’s Mark 3 reached the site of the collision. Time seemed to stop as though the grieving young man couldn’t figure out what to do next. He succeeded in his charge across the field but Alex was smart enough not to leave the safety of the armored canopy, though Fredericks knew that’s precisely what he wanted to do. Instead, the turret of the Mark 3 swung around and emptied its remaining shells into any Gray vehicle it could reach. Most of the Grays were retreating, even though numerically they still outnumbered the Allied forces three to one. The shock appearance of the Mark 3s, their command vehicles destroyed and main battle tank sitting useless took the fight from the remaining New America forces. Fredericks wasn’t sure if they would regroup and attack again. Or maybe use the force of the counterattack and the loss of so many of their vehicles as an excuse to withdraw completely, he considered.
One thing Fredericks did know… the Founder’s action delaying the surprise attack left the Alliance troops the time needed to dig in on this ridge. Raptors were surely scrambled and searching out targets. Rage and desire for revenge would add an extra edge to the troops filling in around him. Phil Hamilton’s sacrifice saved this town, his men, and his sons. The Alliance the Founder created now formed a solid rock the Grays, New America, would break against if they tried another attack.
Task Force 2 Assembly Area
Colonel Darian Walsh, Supreme Commander, Reconstruction Forces of New America, unconsciously shifted weight from his injured leg. The never healing wound radiated pain throughout his body, the constant throb offsetting the joy of his greatest victory during the quest to reconstruct the United States. Today’s let down would be another to counter any success he had in the past.
From an elevated wooden platform he overlooked the muddy vehicle yard used to assemble his Task Force 2. Or what’s left of Task Force 2, he thought dejectedly. Over one hundred vehicles of all shapes and sizes left this yard just days ago; now he was looking at about half that number. Many that did return arrived battered and scarred. Guardsmen disembarked from their vehicles as they rolled to a halt, while the few surviving Squad Centurions made their way to Walsh’s platform. Walsh could see the anxious look on their faces as they approached.
Really seen the elephant this time. Not just a couple of dozen townspeople firing back with hunting rifles, they’ve now faced trained killers, Walsh thought.
New America Task Force 2 just faced their real first combat as an independent group, and clearly the results weren’t good.
Even with my only tank along for support, that couldn’t make up for their inexperience. I thought for sure that machine alone could break the enemy. I’ve got the reports, but I just can’t understand what happened…
“Colonel, I am working on final casualty figures, but right now we estimate that we lost thirty-one vehicles destroyed in the initial conflict. Another twenty either destroyed by enemy aircraft or damaged enough to be abandoned along the way home,” Senior Squad Centurion Alphonso Baker reported. Baker remained the most senior officer still alive. He stood at attention, his face wrapped with bandages covering a deep cut from impacting metal.
“And our men?” Walsh asked.
“Over two hundred dead or missing and presumed dead, Sir.”
Walsh knew the number would be bad; still, the facts hit him like a sledgehammer.
Over half my irreplaceable vehicles, and almost half the Task Force’s men I’ve spent so much time training. I can’t get too afraid of losing them or we’ll miss the chance to reunify what’s left of this country. But that’s twice now I’ve blundered without the right information.
“Centurion Baker, you and your men fought bravely. You could not have known you would face combined armor and air when the attack was launched,” Walsh assured the young man. “Each of your men will receive a Distinguished Service Ribbon, and each Legion engaged will receive a Silver Eagle for their unit emblem. Your nation is grateful for your service and sacrifice. We shall hold a ceremony in Memorial Stadium to announce the honor.” Walsh watched as the young man straightened a bit, the approval of his commander giving him renewed strength.
Walsh continued: “Tell me everything about the tanks and the aircraft you witnessed. Leave no detail out, please. It’s important.”
Red Hawk Republic
&
nbsp; Alex took a deep breath and looked down at the table. He stood where his father and Sheriff Olsen spent countless hours planning and making decisions that impacted the people they were responsible for. The Founder’s Chair; he repeated in his head several times. From the time Alex had been a teenager, his dad and Olsen were thrust into leadership. That same Olsen now sat just to the right of Alex, patiently looking at the young man he helped guide and raise.
Alex raised his eyes, first looking at his younger brother Samuel then his friend Eric Olsen, the sheriff's oldest son. The two young men stood resolute at the back of the long conference room that once held zoning meetings and heated discussion over municipal dog leash laws. The irony and absurdity struck Alex. Most of what he personally remembered of the Old World revolved around school and sports. Now this former county courthouse would be the capital of a new country, home to heated discussions about form of government and battle plans. Instead of arguing about who would make a better quarterback for the high school football team, decisions here would cause the life or death of entire communities.
Feeling lonely in the room full of people, eye contact with Samuel gave him the resolve he needed. They weren’t particularly close before the Reset killed off their old way of life. The two held different interests and goals. Growing into manhood, though, they discovered a bond only brothers possess. Seeing combat together added steel to that connection. Their father’s death left them relying on each other; none would ever question their loyalty to one another again. Their mother, Anna, declined attending this meeting. She and the two Hamilton daughters hid their grief, busying themselves with the details of the Founder’s upcoming formal funeral.
Julia Ruff sat next to Clark Olsen. Okaw Valley and Old Main College already had an agreement; in fact more of a merger of equals than what Alex intended to propose to the other communities today. That merger was further solidified by the stunning young woman sitting next to President Ruff, her daughter Rebekah. Since a brief introduction, Alex and Rebekah took every available opportunity to see one another. Weekly mail service between the two communities filled in the times when no official business excuse for meeting could be found. The courtship had been brief, but already Alex had proposed marriage, and she had gladly said yes. The ramifications of the eldest children of two allies getting married escaped them, but not their surviving parents.
Alex worked his way around the room, briefly making eye contact with each man and woman seated at the oak table. The leaders here represented a cross section of the independent societies that sprouted up after the Reset. There were dozens within a few days’ drive of here, most no more than a small collection of easily defended buildings. Among these groups, ditchmen were still a daily threat. Smaller communities without some form of standing defense force were lambs waiting for the slaughter. Even with the plan Alex had in mind to propose here today, he couldn’t promise anyone they’d soon be free of those threats.
“Allies,” Alex finally began. He and Olsen had discussed for thirty minutes how Alex would address this group, and they had finally settled on this word.
“Allies and friends, I’m honored you gave me this time. I wish the circumstances were different, and the reason more joyous for our gathering. But we use the opportunities the Creator gives us for fellowship, never knowing when we may see each other again.
“I know many of you have traveled a great distance for these meetings. And that you have stayed at your own expense to pay respects to the man I simply knew as Dad,” Alex paused, keeping the emotion deep inside him. Crying would have been understood, but these were hardened people who had seen more death and destruction than any American witnessed in 200 years. Even those living through the wreckage of the southern states in the last civil war almost two hundred years ago didn’t face the same dangers. Alex needed to show resolve; there were no more hug-it-out sessions with New World men.
“While my family and I shared his blood,” Alex continued even stronger now, “you shared his vision in your souls. A vision for an island of sanity in a sea of chaos. Originally, that led to the creation of a Fortress Farm envisioned by my mother, Anna. The plans were improved and perfected by hundreds of Land Lords wherever the idea took root. Then, the concept of Fortress Farm spread to communities outside of our Self Defense Cooperative until whole swaths became safe for good folk to go about their daily tasks without the constant fear of ditchmen and Rateater demons who would take both their goods and their lives. We have been protected by a group of men and women who used whatever Old World tools they could modify to fit the circumstances. Armored trucks, armored tractors, weapons recreated from the Archives…all of you have helped develop and perfect the creations of our Wizards.
“Our focus has always been to defend our people, not to conquer others nor put others to the sword to take what was rightfully theirs. We strive to live peacefully, not just because we believe the Creator will hold us accountable for our actions, but because we are a good and decent people longing to enjoy our families and the fruits of our labor.
“But my friends, we have learned the hard way that some choose to use Old World customs, to force us to comply with their vision of what tomorrow might be. They believe we common folk exist for their use. Not to worship the Creator as we see fit, or to create our own farms and trade as our heart leads us. No, to them we exist to be used and then discarded if no longer useful.
“So we retain the mission of you and my father: to remain a fortress, standing strong against the daily storms of life, whether caused by man or by nature. A true shield against evil.”
Here goes the crazy part. Clark, Sam, even his mother all agreed this was the next logical step to secure their future. But suddenly Alex felt mentally tired at the ramifications that would follow this proposal. How could someone like me pull this off without Dad? Even all the great people he was surrounded by now would have trouble doing this, why did he think he could do it? I’ll try, Dad. I’ll try till my last breath.
“Allies and friends, I propose that we face these storms together. Not just as good people facing a common problem, but as brothers and sisters in a common future. That we become as one people, much like the ideals of the empire that once stood on this soil not so very long ago.”
That had been a controversial idea for Alex to include. Sam endorsed the reference, but Olsen and Anna still found the memory of the old America too raw to mention. Plus, the reference to the country they grew up in as an empire touched a nerve, that’s not how they chose to remember the United States. He promised them he’d leave it out, which explained the glare that he felt from Olsen once he uttered the words. Oh well, won’t be the last time I make my advisors cringe.
“Today I propose that we formalize our relationship. A marriage of neighbors, each represented by a seat at the decision table. An alliance in its truest form. One that respects the different paths that we take to the Creator, and yet one that includes a few core principles that free people can agree on. So that our relationship is bound not by our current affections for one another, but by a solemn oath. An oath that transcends friendships and is forged in steel and stone and land and water. Strengthened by generations to follow. So that only in reference to the past do we consider each other as different.
“This alliance will exist with one mission at its very root: that free people shall choose their own destiny, and use those choices to prosper with pride, each according to their own willingness or skill. To rely on the Creator Himself to decide if we as a society prosper because of each individual’s success…not because overseers wring the last ounce of will out of the soul of their citizens. Will you join me?”
He paused briefly for effect. “This will be a hard road. We will disagree with one another. At times we will wonder if we made the right decision to bind together. Seldom in human history have men worked together for the good of others. Instead, they struggle for influence and power all for the sake of pride.
“Brothers and sisters, I honestly
tell you I have no pride today. The man who was my father, my Founder, my mentor and the Lord of my Land now sits with the Creator. And for the first time in my life, he left no To–Do list when I woke up this morning!”
Chuckles and outright belly laughs broke out among the crowd. Anyone who once worked with the Founder knew the infamous To–Do lists he and Anna both assigned.
“But I know in my heart what the Founder would have me do as a Tenant of his land,” Alex continued, bringing the focus back to the task, “and I know that many of you have lost loved ones since darkness came against us. In fact, many more than just my father lost their lives in the recent battles against New America. Those people were just as critical to their families, to their towns and farms, as my father was to mine.
Alex began to crescendo: “If I may be so bold, I claim that your lost loved ones would say the same thing as my father. Do not cower as sheep surrounded by wolves. Become the predator that stalks the evil ones. Be as the Red Hawk and strike the serpent. The serpent that sneaks around to attack the unsuspecting and the weak. Strike that serpent before it can reach your nests, even though you risk being bitten in the task.”
Now for the part that he had not discussed with Olsen or his mother. Only Rebekah, Eric, Samuel and Martin Fredericks knew what he intended to say next. The crucial part that he thought would be most critical to forge this new alliance in iron. To make the bonds inseparable.
Dad said give people something to fight outside the walls and you keep everyone inside from fighting each other. New America fits that task just fine. Deep breath.
“But what of the next generations? When we meet the Creator, will our argument be ‘we survived’ when called to account? Or will it be that we tried to help even those yet unborn? To use the talents given by Him through the sweat and toil of our Founders, to be a rock that tyrants break themselves against? To use our resources to go forth and root out evil where it exists? To brave the serpent’s nest and fight there, instead of waiting for the day when he will strike our own soil again? To take up the sword and the Greenfield Shield, to boldly show the evil of this world that free people will not allow them to prey on the weak and the peaceful? To use the sharp edge and hardened armor we have gained through our struggles against cowards who attack those less able to fight?”
