These journeys to visit his People’s Worker Army were dangerous but necessary. He had to keep his officers motivated, some through fear and others through flattery. Also, his American workers were kept in fear through occasional glimpses of their own Great Leader, Ree—all had heard of his occasional slaughter of P.W.A. units that were unruly or in danger of being taken by that traitor, Taggart. Ree learned long ago that fear for one’s life was a wonderful way to motivate most workers, especially these lazy Americans.
As they drove through the quiet city, Ree thought about the people who had lived there. Once there had been nearly eight million in the city, but now it was hard to even visualize so many. It was nearly a third of his beloved country’s population, all crammed onto this tiny island. At most only three million remained, the rest having been enslaved in New Jersey, killed, or been eaten by their fellow Americans—his analysts said Americans were devouring twenty-five-thousand of their own people daily now!
But that number was a little high. His nemesis Taggart had several times seized the tunnels and bridges that allowed access to the city, and Ree’s scouts estimated that Taggart had gained upwards of ten thousand new refugees on each occasion. Forty thousand or so was small compared to the millions who remained, or even compared to Ree’s slaves and former-slave guerrillas in New Jersey, but even assuming half wandered away to live or die on their own, Taggart had still gained a corps-sized unit from his raids. The only blessing was that those few people didn’t come at the expense of the People’s Worker Army.
The tunnel entry came into view. It was named after an old American president who had, according to his schooling, crushed the hopes and dreams of half the nation and began the process of destroying the states’ freedoms, centralizing power and shoveling money into the hands of his capitalist-pig cronies. Ree hadn’t bothered to rename the tunnel—he enjoyed the irony of using the tunnel named after a warmongering American president to contain and control Americans, just as the tunnel’s namesake had done one-hundred-fifty years or so before. Ree considered himself a connoisseur of irony.
His heart rose now in anticipation. A minute later, leading to the tunnel entrance, his favorite creation came into view—a quarter mile of road where every street light had skeletal human remains hung and bound to the pole with barbed wire.
These were the bodies of the worst of the worst, those who embodied everything that was wrong with America and made it weak, degenerate, and corrupt. Bankers, Wall Street master traders, and of course actors and musicians and other willing tools of Wall Street oppression. So much wealth, invested not on making the nation great but squandered on making yet more money for those who had no need of more. So much talent, wasted with sloth and drugs and sex, and held up by a feeble-minded public as examples they should strive to emulate.
Ree once had those people in his prison camp, trying to re-educate them and tear away their blinders to see the truth, but almost all of them had resisted mightily. After Taggart had fought his way free of New York City, those prisoners had begun whispering about revolt, about hope Taggart would rescue them, about revenge. Ha! Revenge for what? He had tried to help them, but they were not grateful. That’s when he quit wasting time and resources on those people and just had them strung up. Their message had once been greed and violence and degeneracy, but now their message was “Keep Out.” They were more useful dead than alive, in that way.
Early on, Ree had hoped that, once their misguided idols were dead, his Americans would see clearly again and understand the great mission for them that Korea and others had offered when they attacked their country, but those hopes had been dashed.
Americans deserved no mercy, as far as Ree was concerned. Only those who would bend to the will of the People, through harmony with the intellect of the Great Leader, could be redeemed. Only those who would bear the yoke he placed on them would survive. The rest would be burnt like chaff after harvest time, or like those dead capitalists and entertainers he drove past now. Men like Taggart and those who followed him were just the last, dying gasp of Capitalism. They fought for corporate masters who were long dead or in hiding, just as America had always been hiding from the truth. The Worker, who held the true power, insisted on kneeling to the bankers and the singers. Bah.
The drive through the tunnel to what remained of his upstate New Jersey holdings was uneventful, and his driver was too scared to engage in small talk, afraid of Ree and of guerrillas, so Ree spent that time bored with his own thoughts.
Finally he saw his compound ahead, the massive complex built in less than two months, around which he had expanded his holdings. It had let him gain the land he needed for his Worker Army. Not a fortress really, it was nonetheless well protected from ground attacks, but its main purpose was storage and processing. All the food he would grow would come through that building before being transported to wherever Ree wanted it. Much would go to his stronghold in New York City and more would go to feeding the Worker Army, but the rest would be used for the good of all the people, by bribing their neighbors to submit to Ree’s rule. For food they would join him peacefully, and then Ree would burn away their chaff just as he had with the rest of his American subjects so far.
They entered the complex and parked, then his driver opened his door for him and he climbed out of the car. It was a great car, but soon the fuel would spoil and it wouldn’t work anymore. At least, for now, it worked great for quickly shuttling him back and forth.
Ree strode to the briefing room as his driver sprinted ahead of him to alert people Ree was coming, although the whole base probably knew before he ever got out of the car. His personal guards trailed behind him.
Entering the room, he saw Pak Kim, the Major in charge of clearing out land for spring farming. Most of the base’s command staff must’ve been present, judging by the crowd gathering, even some of the ISNA leaders. They were mostly lieutenants and a couple of captains.
As Ree entered, the room stood to attention and Major Kim saluted. Ree returned the salute and walked to the podium while the others sat down. “Major, update me on the guerrillas. How fares the people’s war against the criminal Taggart and his capitalist servants?”
Kim stood again and said, “Leader, we are pleased to report that we have rescued half of our People’s Worker Army.”
“This helps us how?”
“By reinforcing the valuable areas and putting token strength in the useless areas, and diverting the Worker Army from those areas, we have saddled Taggart with unproductive land that he has to guard, without allowing him many additional recruits.”
Ree smiled. “Congratulations, Major. So we now have half the land we did, and twice the men per kilometer?”
Kim’s eyes went wide for a second but then he recovered. With a strong, steady voice he said, “Yes, my leader. We are well prepared for spring. Some of the People will starve before first harvests, but it is unavoidable.”
“I’m sure they are happy to spend themselves in the great cause of the People’s liberation.” Ree’s face was carefully expressionless. He prided himself on showing only what he wanted others to see.
Kim paused. He was probably trying to decide how Ree felt about that. Finally, Kim said, “Yes. It is a worthy sacrifice. Giving one’s self up for the good of the people is noble.”
Ree fumed inside. The major had really just tried to tell him Americans understood the need to sacrifice all for the People. That wasn’t at all like the Americans Ree knew. “Major, thank you. However, I believe there is a flaw in your logic.”
Kim withered under Ree’s stare. After a short pause, he replied, “Of course, my leader. I bend my will and my thoughts in harmony with your own. I would be honored to learn of my mistake, so that I can correct it.”
Ree favored him with a smile. At least the major could grovel properly. Ree counted to three in his mind and then said, “When the American workers get hungry, they will not welcome the chance to spend themselves for the greater good. No, they wil
l organize and rebel. A few here, a few there. Nothing we can’t handle. But it will divert our strength from the war with the American criminal Taggart. Nothing can be allowed to harm our great war against the capitalists.”
Kim nodded automatically, and bowed. “Yes, my leader. We will spread the workers out and try to find more supplies for them, to last until early harvests.”
Ree put on an expression of displeasure. Kim couldn’t meet his gaze, and Ree resisted the urge to smile at the idiot’s discomfort. “No, Major Kim. That will only require more of our troops to watch them, and there is no more food, no more supplies. We must make do, or do without.”
Kim bowed again. “What is my leader’s will?”
Ree grimaced. Kim’s incompetence was stunning. Unfortunately, he was popular with his troops and probably the best administrator and organizer Ree had ever commanded. Kim was necessary. So instead of just shooting him, Ree put on the face of the patient father explaining to a wayward child.
“Major, we can’t keep the Americans in the rear to starve, and we can’t spread them out to starve. Nor can we spare the fighters to guard the useless. The only solution is simple. You must mercifully exterminate the workers we can’t feed. Half of them, you said?”
Kim said, “We have a million and a half workers. Nearly half are unsupportable.”
Ree smiled at him. “I commend you on your knowledge of our supply situation. It is why I value you as I do. Very well. Take four-hundred-thousand of the Worker Army and exterminate them. Don’t use bullets—we can’t afford to spare so many for this.”
Kim didn’t reply for a moment, and Ree could see from the faraway look in his eyes that he was thinking of solutions. Then Kim looked up and smiled. “Yes, we can do this. We can put them into railway cars, telling them they are being relocated. They will go quietly. Once in the cars we can use our defoliant spray to quietly and quickly end them. It will be terribly painful to sacrifice so many workers, but such is the price of victory for the People, my leader.”
Ree was surprised, though of course it didn’t show on his face. He hadn’t thought of that. “You see? With some thought, you have brought your will in line with your leader’s. I commend you in front of all these officers. We have many canisters, enough to balance our numbers. Please begin immediately.”
Kim bowed and Ree saw he had a faint smile of pride. It was a weakness, but a useful one.
Ree turned his attention to the others present and said, “Thank you for your attendance, everyone. Kim, see me to my quarters so we can discuss some other issues. Everyone else is dismissed.”
The major escorted Ree to his quarters and the ensuing conversation was friendly and light. Inside, however, General Ree seethed at the need to kill so many otherwise valuable workers. Once his plan to deal with Taggart was finished, he’d oversee the collection of new workers from among New York City’s survivors, so it wasn’t a total loss, but it was damn inconvenient and his goals for spring planting would have to be revised. Oh well—such was the burden of leadership.
- 12 -
0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +216
CAPTAIN SAMUEL PEASE stared at the written orders with a wide grin on his face. Finally, he was going to war! Okay, not real war, but the kind of guerrilla war the Midwest Republic so excelled at. Samuel had an itch to scratch, having not had the chance to enjoy some ultra-violence in quite a while. Hell, Brett seemed about ready to kill a few of their own troops just for something more to do than endless pedaling across empty miles of nothing.
Brett tapped his foot nearby. “Dammit, Sam. What’s it say?”
“Captain Pease, please. There’s people around.”
Brett laughed aloud. “Fuck them, Captain. So? What does it say?”
Samuel let out a long breath. Brett was an irritating shit sometimes, like an angry Chihuahua bouncing and barking at the end of its leash. But when chips were down, he grew into a Rottweiler. “I’m getting to it, give me a damn minute.”
He had already read the orders, but for another thirty seconds—as long as he thought he could push it—he stared at the page pretending to read it.
“Sam, I’m gonna shove those orders up your ass if you don’t tell me what they say!”
“That would make it hard for you to read them, wouldn’t it?”
“Fuck you, asshole. You know I can’t read much. Rub it in, you gotta sleep sometime.”
Samuel grinned and looked up. “Oh fine, I’ll tell you. They’re taking off our leashes. We get to pedal our asses into this ‘Confederation’ and start tearing into those assholes. It looks like me and my ancillaries get to have a lot of fun, coming really soon to a Confederation near you.”
“Abso-muthafukkin-lutely,” Brett said, louder than he should have, and slammed a fist into his palm. “So… what the hell is the Confederation?”
“I see you slept through briefings again. You are a lazy piece of crap, Brett.”
Brett only grinned. Of course he had slept through briefings. They were boring to Samuel, too, and everyone was always exhausted while on the march. Or bike. Or whatever.
Samuel said, “Fine. You remember hearing about the Clan, right? They killed our diplomats, so now it’s time for Plan B? Well, the Clan made some allies with their neighbors, got together and made a Confederation. The briefing said it was Elizabethtown, Lebanon, Cornwall, Lititz, Manheim, Ephrata, and the Clan itself. They’re close to some dink-shit village called Penryn.”
Brett’s grin faded a bit. “I mean, we’ll still have a great old time, but that sounds like we’ll do some real fighting. That’s not as much fun.”
Samuel nodded. “Yeah, but we’re not trying to conquer all that, we’re just raising hell and having our kind of fun. Creating chaos and confusion in the operational area, as the bosses say, and messing with their trade and supply lines. Then our real army comes in. We mess ’em up, the army cleans ’em up. Works every time.”
“Maybe they got some bitches in them places, too.”
“Probably,” Samuel said with a leering grin. He waggled his eyebrows and said, “I bet you one gold Rep I can get my first bitch to scream louder than yours. And she’ll like it.”
Brett punched Samuel in the shoulder. “Aww, look at you, all brave and shit. You’re going to lose that bet. Yours is only gonna scream with pain, but mine’s gonna be all like, ‘oh daddy, you’re the greatest and your junk is huge.’ ”
Samuel laughed hard, then, and gasping for air he said, “You are such a dreamer. I bet she does shout that out, but only because you’re going to bribe her with food. Bitches will say or do anything for food.”
Brett smirked. “You didn’t make that part of the rules, so yeah. Shoot, I’m so hungry I’d blow a donkey for a quesadilla.”
Samuel let out a loud sigh. “Man. Why do you always bring up Mexican food? I’d kill your mother for the Dinner Special platter from Los Amigos, a great little joint around the corner from my mom’s house.”
Then Samuel grew quiet, frowning. Damn. Now he was thinking of his mom, and how pissed and hurt he felt when he finally got to her house after hundreds of miles on foot, only to find the neighborhood burnt down and his mom’s blood and intestines decorating her kitchen. She was the best damn woman in the entire frikkin’ world, and none of those other bitches he had met came close to the angel his mom was.
Brett put his hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “Sorry man. Reminded yourself of your mom, huh? I know you’d rather have her back than even some homemade Mexican buffet. But at least she went quick, and didn’t have to live through all this crap we gotta deal with.”
Samuel nodded. Brett was right, and anyway there was nothing to do about it now. “Yeah, thanks, man. You’re a great friend. But hey,” he said, brightening, “at least we have a job to do now, and you know what they say about doing what you have to do.”
Brett said, “Yeah. ‘You might as well enjoy it.’ Might as well take the good with the bad. When do we move out?”
“First
thing in the morning. By noon, we’ll be in the Confederation and no more goddamn leash holding us back. Once our army comes in and takes over, we got a channel to all that food we heard about in New Jersey, not to mention flanking those invader assholes up in northern Pennsylvania. But you know what? I think all this raiding is gonna be like therapy.”
Brett nodded and gave him a wan smile. “Totally. Cathartic, even. You and me, kicking ass and taking names.”
“Stop pretending you know what ‘cathartic’ means, you ignorant fuck.”
“Whatever. I got one gold Rep that says I get the first Clan kill between us.”
“You’re on,” Samuel said glumly. “Maybe winning one of your Reps will make me feel better.”
“Dream on, Sam. You never get the first kill. I wonder what I’ll spend your money on…”
* * *
Nestor held the bandana over his mouth and nose to shield himself from the acrid smoke of burning wires, insulation, and a million toxic irritants. The four houses on the homestead cast red and yellow light onto everything, overpowering the overcast day’s sunlight. This was the third Empire settlement in as many days, and he had destroyed them all to the last person. On this third one, he hadn’t even had to let the Other take over to get it done. It was becoming routine.
Thinking of the Other brought him back to thoughts of his daughter, his little pumpkin. She had been the only light in his life after his wife died in an accident. He still believed that one was an accident, that the Other hadn’t taken over and killed the love of his life. But as for his daughter… he could no longer deny it. They had been right to put him in the asylum, after what he had done to her. Nestor shuddered and felt a wash of nausea crash over him as flashes of the dream he’d had came back to him.
Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection Page 16
