The man’s clear logic and good sense left Carl feeling a bit brighter about his future. The rest of the short journey was made in silence. A few minutes later they arrived at a nondescript house with boards over all the windows. It looked abandoned. The guards led him around back, then up through the back door. If they were going to ambush him, the tunnel would have been the place to do it, Carl figured, so he was alert but not fearful.
Inside at the kitchen table sat two men and a woman. Carl recognized her. “Mary Ann, I thank you for your hospitality and protection.” He bowed slightly, as was appropriate since she was leader of the entire Kodiak Band.
The woman grinned at him. “Carl Woburn, hero of the dark days. I’ve heard of you. Somehow I expected you to be a giant, muscled barbarian.”
“I get that a lot. But I assure you, I’m at least fit for duty.”
“I’m sure you are. You know why we agreed to meet you, of course.”
“Yeah,” Carl replied. “We both don’t like this Diamondback plot, nor the Empire, and we want revenge for our true Speaker’s murder.”
Mary Ann nodded. “More or less. But more than that, too. You were instrumental in ending the neighborhood wars before Liz Town was established. You could have been the Speaker and you turned it down cold. You were one of Adam’s most trusted advisors before your ex-wife whispered poison in his ears.”
Carl shrugged uncomfortably and said, “That’s all true, more or less. May I ask the point of bringing all that up?”
Mary Ann eyed him for several seconds, long enough for his feeling of awkwardness to intensify. Carl shifted his weight to his other foot. Finally she continued. “I want you with us, Carl. Openly. The future of Liz Town is at stake. Do we become Empire slaves, or stand as proud equals in the Confederation? Some of the Bands are strongly opposed to this new Diamondback usurper.”
“What can I do? I’ll do anything to help if I can, but I’m exiled and under a secret death sentence. Pamela has confidence that if they can put off the vote long enough, the Empire will arrive, the issue will be moot, and she’ll be rewarded. That’s all she’s really about. She’s made Diamondback their quisling and we’ll all be stuck with that asshole at the top.”
Mary Ann pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed. “Stop being defeatist. We four packs outside the Diamondbacks outnumber them, if we can just get our shit together. You’ve pulled that off before, during the neighborhood wars. The Empire’s biggest supporter besides Diamondback right now is the Wolverine Band, and they’re not married to the idea—they just want to be on the winning team. They know Pamela’s pet candidate is an asshole and I doubt they want to be under him any more than we or your Wolves do.”
Carl thought about that for a moment, then said, “If we can make it look like Diamondback is going to lose, their lukewarm supporters will flip sides like they did last time.”
Mary Ann nodded, but her face twisted into a snarl as she spit on the floor. “Wolverines, forever going whichever way the wind tosses them. Bah.”
Carl couldn’t argue. No one much liked or trusted the Wolverine Band. “That leaves only the Pumas as a wildcard.”
Mary Ann said, “They’re not much of a wildcard. They’ve said that if we can put up a good candidate to oppose the Empire and Diamondbacks, and if we can get the Timber Wolves openly on our side, then they’ll join us.”
“So what should I be worried about?” Carl replied immediately. Nothing was that easy in this world, not anymore. And assurances of the “don’t worry about it” type always pegged his suspicion meter.
She replied, “Diamondback and Wolverine will have heard of all this by now. Diamondback will already be gunning for me, maybe Wolverines too if they’re more committed than I think they are. I want you to do for me what you did for your Alpha—keep me alive. We’re pushing hard for a quick election, beating the Empire to the punch, but if they kill me first, it won’t matter. There won’t be time for anyone else to step up and win.”
Carl studied Mary Ann for a moment. She didn’t show any signs of fear, only a cold acceptance of reality. Acceptance and determination. “I assume you have a plan.”
“Bright boy. I do indeed. I have this safehouse, as so many ranking Liz Towners do. Mine’s been set up over time by the only half-dozen people I’d trust with my life, all of whom are here with us now. Stay here with me. If things go sideways, I believe you can get me out alive, and I know you have hideouts in the wildlands, contacts out there. People who can help you.”
Carl closed his eyes for a moment, thinking, but the decision was really pretty easy. “Alright. If you oppose Diamondback and the Empire, then I will support you. My people will support you. But first we have to keep you alive, and I need to set up contingency plans. I’ll need a Kodiak disguise and maybe a helper in case of a challenge.”
Mary Ann nodded to one of her companions, who headed upstairs. She said, “Done. We’ll replace those wildlander clothes with our boots and jacket, get you a brown hoodie, and the right rags. Bandanas make the man, you know. Wear them wrong, you’ll give yourself away.”
All the Bands wore black boots, black leather jackets slashed with different paint colors, and a bandana or two, usually around the neck and either wrist or ankle. How they were tied, where the knots were, even how they were folded or turned to the side, all those details were a secret handshake that mattered. With the right disguise, he could go anywhere in Kodiak territory unmolested and, with the hoodie, unrecognized.
It was a start, at least. Carl gritted his teeth. Finally, he had a glimmer of hope for some payback. He swore that by the time this was all over with, Pamela would die by his hand, preferably while begging. But everything in its time. First, he had to organize himself around this new plan. Damn, it felt good to have one again.
- 15 -
1800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +226
TAGGART SAT IN front of the tiny laptop monitor and waited for the connection. The process of finding VPNs, connecting, moving on, connecting elsewhere—masking the signal path took time. But when it finished, he was rewarded with a ding from the laptop and a video conference screen popped up. Cassy was on the other end, and she looked startled to see him.
“General,” Cassy said, regaining her composure, “what a pleasure. I expected Eagan. How are you today?”
Taggart said, “Well enough. I’ll turn you over to my Sergeant Major shortly, but first I wanted to share some news with you.”
“By all means, General. Go ahead.”
“Feel free to call me Taggart if that’s easier.”
“As you wish.” Cassy’s mouth turned into a faint smile at the corners.
“We just concluded our largest offensive to date. We lured and engaged a significant portion of the New Jersey invader forces near the Hudson River.”
“You’re still here for our regularly scheduled conference, so I assume it went well?”
“Yes. We are still mopping up patches of resistance. Overall, though, we reduced their combat effectiveness to below the point of unit cohesion.”
Cassy stared at the monitor, looking blank but expectant. Taggart suppressed a sigh. “In other words, we killed most of them and the rest scattered willy-nilly.”
Cassy almost clapped. “That’s great,” she said. “Any idea what’s next for New America?”
“Even though we just got a lot closer to having parity of force with the invaders, they still have plenty of troops left, so don’t celebrate too much. Also, because we had them nearly enveloped, the lucky few survivors had to flee to the west and were unable to exfiltrate to safety.”
“Does this affect us over here?”
“Maybe. Over the coming few days, you may see small units ranging from lone stragglers to ad-hoc platoons drifting through Confederation territory. You’ll want to alert your people.”
Cassy nodded. “Thanks for the warning. We will let them know. We’re facing increasing pressure from the Empire here, by the way. That battalion you sent us could wel
l be the difference out here, so thank you.”
Taggart smiled at her and said, “I hope they do make a difference. It does me no good to battle myself to exhaustion out here defeating General Ree, only to get mopped up in detail by this Empire you face. General Houle and I are going to fight a proxy war through you and the Empire, it seems.”
“It can’t be helped,” Cassy replied. “And we’d rather fight the Empire with your help than without.”
“How are my boys and girls doing? You keeping them busy?” Taggart asked, holding back a yawn. He was certain the deep, dark circles under his eyes must have him looking like a meth addict right now.
“They’re well. We set one company up here, the HQ company. The other two are split between Manheim and Lititz. They conduct their own scouting operations, but report to Michael Bates, our version of the Secretary of Defense. He tells me they’re doing a great job.”
Taggart nodded his approval. Cassy was smart enough to use his battalion before the big battle, and to spread them out. It was best not to have them all in one place, but close enough to rendezvous with each other if needed. “Alright, I’ll turn you over to Eagan now for your permaculture thing. Thanks for your time.”
Taggart climbed out of the chair and Eagan slid into it as he walked out, heading toward his War Room for a more local update.
The war room desk had new intelligence reports in a thin stack. Taggart rifled through the reports, skimming them. Eighty-five percent enemy fatalities, ten percent more wounded. Five percent had escaped to the west, unharmed. It was an unmitigated success by any definition, but the fighting had cost him ten percent casualties among his own troops. Most of those were wounded, rather than fatalities, but they wouldn’t be combat-effective again for weeks, if ever. He’d need to make time to thank them personally.
He regretted their pain, their losses, but it was necessary. He consoled himself with the knowledge that their sacrifices had not been in vain—Ree and his Islamist lapdogs were now greatly reduced, almost to the point of parity with Taggart’s troop strength. Taggart’s lip curled back as he considered the options opened up by his tremendous victory over Ree’s forces. Not for the first time, he wished he could meet that man. Meet him, talk to get his measure, and then slit his damn throat personally.
* * *
1000 HOURS - ZERO DAY +230
Samuel sat on his bike maybe one hundred yards away from the carnage just ending, along with two of his troopers. Brett, of course, was enjoying himself over there with the rest of the troops and playing with the last survivors of the little fortified homestead. Not fortified enough, apparently. Soon, those survivors would be dead, too. Samuel himself stayed out of it, because he had noticed that the troops didn’t play as hard when he was there. They mostly left it for him and Brett. Samuel wanted them all to get a chance for some real recreation because it bonded the unit together more tightly.
Samuel’s other troops, those not playing around, were busy looting. When they were done, he’d mark the place on their map and take notes on what supplies he had to leave behind. Intel for his masters.
He overheard one of the two nearby troops complaining about not getting to join the fun, and laughed out loud. They turned to look at Samuel, and he said with a grin, “You got to have fun last time. Stop bitching. You know you all have to take turns. Just not your lucky day.”
One nodded, but they stopped talking. Samuel turned back to the scene, and heard screaming. That’d be whoever was left getting toyed with, of course. A satisfying sound.
Then Samuel heard a faint whining noise, or rather, more like a buzzing sound. He looked around but saw nothing. He scanned the sky, but still nothing… Oh, wait. There it was—but what was it? Something flying. But then something glittering and metallic dropped from the dot in the sky. A second later, a small orange parachute opened up, slowing its descent.
Samuel tracked it until it landed, a mere couple hundred feet away. He turned to the two troops with him. “Well, don’t just stand there. Go get it, and bring it here if it isn’t a bomb.”
The two exchanged looks and then pedaled toward the object, and Samuel resisted the urge to laugh. The looks on their faces when he’d said “bomb” were absolutely priceless. Shortly, the two came pedaling back, looking rather too excited. When they came within earshot, he gave them the thumb-up sign and shouted, “What the hell are you two morons smiling at?”
Pulling to a stop in front of him, they both began babbling at the same time. Irritated, Samuel held up his hands. “Shut the hell up. One at a time. You, go,” he said, looking at the man on the right.
The other trooper looked disappointed, but the one on the right said, “Captain, I think that was a drone! It dropped a big metal cylinder—we can’t even lift it. It had a cap and we unscrewed it, and guess what?”
“Idiot. What?”
“It had a couple M4 rifles and a boatload of ammo! Also, a sealed envelope.” He pulled a simple white envelope out of his back pocket; it was pretty damn thick.
Samuel took the envelope and saw that on the front, his name was written. Or printed, rather. That was interesting. He opened it and took out the contents.
There were a half-dozen folded, thick-papered images that had been printed out. They showed a large group of people apparently attacking a homestead, the homestead burning, and finally, the group riding off on horses. It looked to be about a hundred people or so.
Next was a printed letter, addressed to him from some colonel, under the authority of General Houle, Commander-in-Chief of the United States. Whatever. Those Mountain boys were sure fond of fancy titles and patting themselves on the back… Samuel spit into the dirt next to him, then read the note.
“What’s it say, Cap?” asked one of the men with him. “Can I read it?”
“Maybe if you could read,” Samuel said. “Hang on.”
Samuel finished reading, then let out a low whistle. “Seems the Mountain Boys have a problem they want us to fix. Why the hell would they waste all that time and energy sending out a flippin’ Predator to deliver mail? Or whatever it was. Must be an important mission, but it sounds stupid.”
“Dammit, Cap. Just tell us, already!”
“Fine, fine. It’s like talking to my kid nephew, jeeze. So, it seems there’s this group called the Night Ghosts, and they’re messing with our program, finding and killing way too many of the Empire forward bases. You know, the ones that look like normal settlers? Well, we have to go find ’em and kill ’em.”
Samuel considered just ignoring the mission since it didn’t come from his own chain of command, but hell—if the Mountain would send a damn drone to deliver a message, they might send one to deliver something else, like a missile, though he wondered why they didn’t just hit these Night Ghosts with some missiles. Probably they were harder to replace than Samuel and his troops, the bastards. Then he remembered the op in Cincinnati—the Republic had bent over backwards to please General Houle. Samuel decided the Republic itself might string him up if he disobeyed. Every scenario for ignoring these orders was risky, and besides, Samuel never did shrink from a fight.
“Well,” Samuel said, “it looks like they got about a hundred people on horses. We got a few more than that, on bikes. I never cared for even odds, so we’ll have to rig an ambush.”
Samuel stepped off his bike and opened his map, laying it on the ground. Based on the satellite images, he found where their raid had occurred. It was maybe ten miles away. The letter had said they were just loitering in the area. And then as he gazed at the map, an idea struck him. Not far from the enemy’s suspected position lay a rail station. Those were a priority target for the Empire anyway, but maybe he could use it for more than just a mission objective. He’d have to lure them into a trap to improve his odds a bit, but that station could be just what he needed to accomplish that.
As Samuel studied the map and ran various plans through his mind, one struck him that made all the rest fall away. “My god,” he mut
tered, “could it really be just that easy?”
The more he thought about the plan, the more he was convinced it would work. “Brett,” he hollered, “get our people ready. I have a mission for you all.”
“Good. About damn time. I’m bored already.” Brett thumped Samuel on the shoulder. “What are we going to do?”
Samuel said, “It’s insanely simple. That’s how I know it’ll work…”
* * *
0745 HOURS - ZERO DAY +231
Leaning against his saddle, which he’d removed and put on the ground, Nestor savored hot black coffee, a rare treat they’d looted from the last Empire homestead they’d found, along with enough supplies to support an entire company. Coincidentally, he had a company. It was a stroke of luck to be able to resupply in the field instead of having to go to Clanholme, which would have wasted a couple of days.
Then, in the distance, he saw two riders approaching fast, leaning far forward as their horses sprinted. His scouts returning. Nestor set his coffee down and climbed to his feet to await them. When they arrived, their horses were frothy and worn. Nestor ordered two of his people to take the horses for water. When they could, they walked the horses for a cool down, gave them a carrot or two to munch on as a treat, and brushed them. It was a way to say thanks—someone had told him it’s important to keep a willing horse happy. Then he turned to his dismounted scouts.
“Report,” he said simply.
“Nestor, there’s a railway station a couple miles from here, under attack! The station flies the Clan’s colors. About forty enemy, pinned down a hundred yards from the station. Twenty people in the station holding them off.”
Nestor frowned as the man continued to lay out the situation and the terrain. It must be more Empire infiltrators. That railway station was important if the Clan had twenty people defending it. No one told him why they were important, but he was pretty sure it would be best not to let the Clan defenders lose the station.
Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection Page 19
