Blood, Sweat & Tears: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 5)

by G. Michael Hopf

  “No, you guys go ahead. I’ll see you tonight at the party?” Samantha asked.

  “Of course, sure, but, um, can I ask what happened?” Nelson asked, his patience being taxed, wanting to know the cause of the fight.

  Luke lowered his head and answered, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Nelson tried to make eye contact, but Luke wouldn’t look up. “You sure?”

  “Maybe later,” Luke said.

  “Listen, tough guy, there’s no reason to be embarrassed,” Nelson said.

  “I’m not embarrassed; I just don’t want to talk about it,” Luke said, his tone a bit snappy.

  “No worries, but if you ever wish to, please just hit me up,” Nelson said.

  Samantha put her arm over Luke’s shoulders and led him out. Once in the Humvee, Samantha asked the same question Nelson had, “What happened? I’d like to know.”

  “Like I told Nelson, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know you were hurt today, but I need to know, not because I’m being nosey, but if this has anything to do with Gordon or our position in this town, I need to know. If there are people that wish to hurt you because of who you are, they may want to hurt Haley too,” Samantha said, calmly explaining why he should answer in simple terms.

  Luke looked out the window, his breath fogging the glass.

  Samantha waited a moment and asked again, “What happened?”

  “Argh, you won’t stop, will you?” Luke protested.

  “Not until you tell me.”

  Luke resisted looking at her, but he finally confessed to what occurred, “Two boys were saying bad things about Gordon.”

  “Like what?”

  “That he’s a bad person, a murderer.”

  “You know that’s not true, don’t you?”

  Luke looked at her and brushed his long bangs out of his face. “Of course I know that. I know he’s killed people, but some people suck and deserve to die.”

  Hearing Luke speak like this was shocking. He had always been a more docile and sweet boy.

  “They kept taunting me and I kept ignoring them until they mentioned Haley.”

  “What did they say about her?”

  “They said she was a freak.”

  “A freak? Why would they say that?” Samantha asked, astonished to hear Haley described that way.

  “Haley told someone in class that Uncle Sebastian visited her after he died.”

  “I see.” Samantha sighed.

  “They started yelling, ‘Haley is a freak,’” Luke said.

  “And?”

  “I just exploded on them. I hit the first kid in the mouth, but the second kid tackled me. Next thing I know they’re both on top of me and…” Luke said but hesitated.

  Samantha could see he was emotional.

  “Other kids came around, but no one helped me. They laughed as the two beat me up. Next thing I knew they jumped on my arm. I heard it snap,” Luke said, his voice trembling.

  “I admire you for standing up for your family,” Samantha said, taking his hand.

  He flinched and pulled his hand away. “Look what it got me.”

  “I’m proud of you and Gordon would be too,” Samantha said, not one to chastise a child for defending the honor of a loved one. The world was different and fighting was a major part of it.

  “If Sebastian were alive, he would teach me how to fight.” Luke groaned.

  “When Gordon returns, he will; I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Stop bullshitting everyone, Samantha. I hear you lie to Haley all the time. You don’t know if he’s ever coming back.”

  Samantha recoiled from his statement and couldn’t let it stand. “You listen here, I have to tell Haley that. She’s a little girl. I can’t fill her mind with thoughts that her father may not come back. She’s not old enough to understand. I know she seems wiser than most six-year-old kids, but she’s still young. Also, I know you’ve been telling her stuff, stop that. I don’t want to hear you filling her mind with things. I know you got hurt today and I truly applaud you for standing up for your family, but don’t think you can hurt me or Haley just because you got hurt.”

  Luke grumbled and turned away.

  Sanchez pulled up at the school and cleared his throat. “We’re here.”

  “Just sit here and think about what I said,” Samantha sternly said as she got out.

  When the door closed, Sanchez cocked his head and said, “Hey, kid.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t help but hear things, so I’ll say it like this. Your mom is right.”

  “She’s not my mom.”

  “Whatever, she’s the next best thing to a mom a kid can have, and let me tell you, family is the most important thing in this world right now. I know she cares for you and you need to know things are bad out there.”

  “I know they are, I’ve been out there, okay,” Luke snapped.

  Sanchez spun around and looked at Luke. “Hey, kid.”

  “My name isn’t kid.” Luke glared.

  “Luke.”

  “By the way, aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?” Luke stated.

  “Here’s a four-one-one for ya, I’m not here to be nice, I’m here to keep your ass safe, nothing more, and your dad…Gordon would agree. Listen, I know you’re pissed off because you got your ass beat today, but let me tell you something, use that ass beating as a positive—don’t quit or ever give up. If you go back to school tomorrow and those kids come at you, fight back again even if they beat your ass again. Don’t ever quit and don’t ever show them they’ve beaten your spirit. Once they do, they own you.”

  “So that’s your wisdom, go back and get my ass kicked every day? Whoa, you’re like a philosopher.”

  “If you were my kid, I’d smack you in the mouth just for that comment. Fucking kids these days are only smartasses because they can get away with it. There isn’t fear that your actions will result in negative consequences. Let me tell you, this world is not the old one. If you think you can open your mouth like that out there, expect that it might get closed forever.”

  “Can you please stop talking to me?” Luke complained.

  Sanchez saw Samantha coming with Haley but wasn’t done talking. “Listen, if you want to learn how to fight, come see me tomorrow morning before school and right after school.”

  “Why?”

  “Because tomorrow is your first day of combat training.”

  Mountain Home, Idaho, Republic of Cascadia

  Gordon stood before his company commanders. All were experienced Marines with many years of service. Having a mission was something these men thrived on, and soon they’d have another.

  Gordon had needed a night and the morning to make his decision, and he hoped it would work. The closer they got to Cheyenne, the greater the risk of aerial bombardment. So to minimize this threat, he had a plan of splitting his forces up into three smaller ones. This still might not stop Conner, but giving him three targets versus one just made sense.

  After his briefing, Gordon opened the floor for questions.

  “Sir, we have a month, maybe less, of food for my men. What’s the timing for resupply?” a young captain asked from the back of the room.

  “Yes, supplies, I should have mentioned that, so thank you for the question. Mountain Home has proven to be a gold mine. We will get your units resupplied tonight from the caches we’ve found. This includes water, fuel, parts and medical supplies on top of the food you’ll need. If there is anything specific you need, let Corporal Jones know.”

  “I could use a beer,” someone joked.

  Laughter broke out.

  “And a hot piece of ass to go with it,” another Marine hollered.

  More laughter.

  Gordon didn’t mind the joking and levity. These men deserved to let their hair down now and then.

  Another officer raised his hand. “Sir, you said that the refugees are heading east with us.”

  “Correct,”
Gordon said.

  The captain looked at his fellow officers and asked, “Aren’t we using them like human shields?”

  “Yes and no, I know it sounds horrible to say that some aspect of having them come along with us is for cover, but we’re also providing them security. We can’t take care of these people, and the best place for them to go is Cheyenne. We don’t have the resources, but the United States does. Does that help answer your question?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A short and muscular major stood up and asked, “Sir, you didn’t mention my company.”

  “Who are you with, Major?” Gordon asked.

  “Charlie Company, One One.”

  “That’s because I have something else for you. I’ll detail that after the briefing.”

  “Sir, that’s a bit unorthodox. It’s best we all know our individual missions,” the major suggested.

  “I don’t want anyone knowing just in case. What people don’t know, they can’t tell.”

  Some grumbling in the ranks distracted Gordon. Picking up that his decision to keep Charlie Company’s special operation secret was not popular, he said, “It’s not because I distrust you, it’s because I genuinely believe that as we go further east, the chances of us being attacked will increase as well as the chances that some of us may get captured. I don’t want anyone to spill the beans accidentally, and if they don’t know what the beans are, none can get spilled.”

  An officer in the front row blurted out, “But that sounds like you don’t trust us.”

  Gordon made sure to blunt that view. “Not true, not true. The war is more important than you, you, you, you and me. This is about winning our independence and nothing more, so don’t let your egos get bruised so easily, okay?”

  Several men nodded.

  Gordon wanted what he said to sink in, so he repeated his question only louder, “Okay?”

  “Yes, sir!” many of the men said in unison, most of them nodding their acknowledgement.

  “Good, any more questions?”

  A few more officers raised their hands and asked questions. Gordon promptly answered them until he had fielded every last question.

  After he dismissed them, he called the commanding officer of Charlie Company over. “Major Bergman, I know you have a ton of questions and I’m going to get right down to it. I’ve slated your infantry company for a special mission, one that is unconventional, but I know your men can tackle it.”

  Jones and John remained, but Gordon wanted time alone with the major. “Gentlemen, I wish to talk privately with Major Bergman.”

  They nodded.

  John said, “Have a good night.”

  “You too,” Gordon replied.

  Both men exited.

  “Where was I?” Gordon asked, fatigue showing on his face.

  “You have a special mission for my company,” Bergman replied.

  “Yes. So do you think you’re up for something a bit different?”

  “Sure,” Bergman said, curious as to what they were being tasked with.

  “I feel one way to defeat Conner is to keep him bogged down with internal problems, you know, domestic issues, local attacks, bombings, day-to-day harassment.”

  Bergman nodded.

  “I need your men to go into Cheyenne as refugees, it will be similar to how we penetrated the base here, but this will be on a much larger scale. You’ll leave tomorrow with a group of legitimate refugees; I have a few five-ton trucks waiting to take all of you. They’ll take you as far as Rock Springs, Wyoming; after that you’ll have to walk the rest of the way. We’ll provide you with food and water, but you’ll have to ditch some of your weapons before you enter the outskirts of Cheyenne. If you all bring in weapons, it will look suspicious. And you can’t take comms in, nothing. Make sure you see Jones for some civilian clothes. You can’t be wearing your uniforms.”

  “Roger that.”

  “How do you feel about this mission?”

  “Whatever you need, but I never thought after fighting insurgents in Iraq and Afghanistan that I’d end up being one. And I hope you understand that a large chunk, around fifty-five percent of my men, aren’t Marines but new recruits. I hope that you considered that when making your selection.”

  “Many in our army are new recruits, there’s no escaping it, and I thought it best to implement them with the old Marine units. Having them in their separate or even segregated units might not have been as successful.”

  “I agree,” Bergman noted.

  “Get with Jones, he’ll get you everything you need.”

  “Roger that.”

  “If you’ve got nothing more, may I be dismissed? I have a lot to do.”

  “Yeah, go back and inform your men, but please make it clear that this operation is secret. They can’t whisper a word of this to anyone,” Gordon said.

  “Copy that,” Bergman said.

  “Good man.”

  Bergman stood up to leave but stopped short. “Sir, why my company?”

  “Your Charlie Company, you’re the best, that’s what I heard,” Gordon replied.

  Bergman’s chest grew a couple inches hearing Gordon’s answer. “This is kind of a suicide mission, isn’t?”

  “Doesn’t have to be, just create as much mayhem, confusion and problems as possible. Be creative in your approach. You have experience with dealing with insurgents, take those lessons and apply them.”

  “Sounds good. I hope to see you back in McCall one day,” Bergman said.

  “Me too, I’ll buy you a few drinks when I do.”

  Bergman exited the room.

  Gordon stepped over to a chair and fell into it. His body ached and his feet were throbbing. Sometimes he felt like he was twice his age. He leaned back and began to process everything that had occurred and came to the conclusion that he did have big balls, as Jones said. He was putting everything on the line; he had made deals that threatened his leadership and was about to embark on a mission east without knowing if they’d even make it. Dividing his forces was risky, but keeping them together could be worse. The move east was more about finding locations to hunker down and play wait and see. Conner knew he was at Mountain Home and it was only a matter of when they’d get hit there. He needed to scatter his men and place them where Conner couldn’t find them. If Bergman and his men were successful, he could then come out of hiding and attack the city. When that would be was unknown. He just hoped it worked because he also had to contend with Conner’s Marine battalions in Olympia. To call what he was about to do a Hail Mary pass was an appropriate name for it. For Cascadia the war had only begun several months ago, but they were already in the fourth quarter and the clock was ticking.

  Cheyenne, Wyoming, United States

  Conner was shaking from the excitement. From a large window in the conference room, he watched the people of Cheyenne gather near the checkpoints of the green zone. He estimated there were thousands. If this went as planned, he’d soon have the moral authority to do anything he wanted regardless of the opposition.

  Conner’s assistant, Heather, stepped into the room and advised, “Twenty minutes, Mr. President.” She left as quickly as she had arrived. He liked Heather; she was professional, prompt, courteous, and didn’t ask any questions that didn’t pertain to getting her job done; otherwise she kept her mouth shut. Plus she was easy on the eyes, something that was nice to have around.

  “I guess I better get down there.”

  His assistant came back into the room and informed him, “Your doctor called.”

  “Okay.”

  “He said it’s done.”

  “Good, let’s get this party started.”

  Conner walked through the corridors of the main governmental building until he found the exit on the ground floor. Flanked by his security, he exited the building and into the cool late afternoon air. He paused and took a deep breath. “Ahh, fresh air.”

  The roar of people talking, laughing and some chanting echoed off the concrete and
glass of the surrounding buildings. Apparently he wasn’t the only one excited about his speech but obviously for different reasons.

  Like a boxer who already knew he’d won his fight before the first punch was thrown, Conner strutted towards the raised podium. Flashbacks of the time months ago when he exited the tank ran through his mind. That was a powerful moment and he was confident this would be as powerful. He stopped just at the base of the stairs to the platform, took a deep breath and scaled the ten steps. Once on top he looked down on the masses gathered waiting to hear his pivotal speech. Some of them came thinking their resistance had won and he was there to capitulate, others came to see the man who had helmed the country since the attacks, and others just had nothing else better to do.

  He raised his arms and a roar followed. Intermixed in the clapping and cheers were boos and hisses. He reached into his coat pocket and removed a folded stack of papers and placed them on the podium. Opening them, he chuckled that they were blank, not one word was written because he didn’t need a real speech, all he needed to do was ad-lib until Schmidt’s men acted.

  In front of him were large sections of bulletproof Plexiglas. This was one mistake, as he wanted to give the image he wasn’t afraid and hiding. He cursed under his breath, but let it go quickly, as soon it wouldn’t matter.

  With his index finger he tapped the microphone and could hear it echo.

  He was ready, this was it. Leaning forward, he spoke, “Good afternoon, Cheyenne, good afternoon, America!”

  The people roared, again a mix of cheers and boos.

  “I want to thank you for coming. What I’m about to say will have a lasting impact on you.”

  Again the people sang out.

  Raising his arms, he motioned for them to quiet down. “Now if everyone could lower their voices.”

  They heeded his call for silence save a few who continued their boos and jeers.

  “I know not everyone loves me out there, but if you could respect the others who want to listen, I’d appreciate it and so would they.”

  “Dictator!” a man screamed.

  Conner couldn’t see the man, but when he searched, he could see the vast number of soldiers and security that encircled the massive crowd of thousands.