Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection

by Henry G. Foster

  Nestor shouted, his voice carrying far, “Listen up. We got a rail station under attack two miles out. Third Squad, ride like hell to the station and reinforce them. Ride like hell, but approach carefully and ambush the Empire bastards from behind if you can. Everyone else by platoons, flank the attackers east and west. They’re on the north face of the station about a hundred yards out, backed by forest. Hit them from both sides, and don’t let them get to those woods. First Squad, you’re with me. Second, stay and guard the camp. Go, go, go!”

  There was a flurry of activity as his people threw saddles on horses and grabbed weapons. They’d leave their gear behind, defended only by ten men and women, while the other ninety or so Night Ghosts showed the Empire how it felt to be on the defensive.

  In two minutes the Night Ghosts were riding hell-bent for the station, the twin columns of Second and Third Platoon stretched out before him. His own First Platoon’s third squad was far out in front, aiming for the station itself. Nestor brought up the rear with his first squad. He liked to be in front, as the commander, but he often had to bring up the rear to make sure his units were deployed the way they should be.

  Minutes later, he crested the low, rolling ridgeline and began the descent toward the station. Ten of his people were dismounting within the rail station’s parking lot and rushed into the station itself. Then the rest of his forces reached the parking lot and dismounted. Half gathered at either end of the station and prepared to rush the enemy to the north. He’d have liked to just ride through them like the old movies, but with modern weapons, cavalry was mostly back to just being for transport. Like knights of old, they often dismounted before a battle began in earnest.

  From his vantage, he saw his two units rush out, moving from cover to cover. With railway cars, sheds, and other debris, there was plenty of cover available. After exchanging low-intensity fire for a minute, the twenty or so enemies began to fall back toward the woods in an organized way, but every time they popped up, one or two fell to Night Ghost bullets. Then they broke and ran, and the Night Ghosts pursued. Nestor grinned—there was no way his people would let these bastards escape. They surged forward, whooping and yelling. The people in the rail station cheered.

  Nestor turned to Ratbone, smiling, and opened his mouth to say something witty, when a huge volley of fire erupted from the tree line. Nestor’s head whipped around, and his mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. It seemed like half his people fell with the first volley. The rest went prone or took cover and began to return fire at the unseen enemy in the tree line.

  Then he heard intense firing break out in the station. He frantically struggled with his binoculars, but got it zoomed in through the station’s south-facing plate windows. His jaw dropped. The “Clan” defenders had opened fire on his squad inside. They fought back but the other side had surprise, and his people fell quickly. It was all just a trap.

  Out in the field, despite being in cover, Nestor’s remaining people were also dying. And with only ten people with him, there wasn’t a damn thing Nestor could do about it. “Ratbone, get the squad ready. We’ve got to get back to camp, pack what we can take and burn the rest. They’ll be coming for us.”

  Ratbone snarled. “We’re just going to leave them down there to die? What the fuck!”

  Nestor clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He definitely understood Ratbone’s feelings. “If you think you can save them with the ten of us, I’m game. If you want to save what can be saved to fight another day, I’m fine with that, too. What do you all want to do?” Nestor asked, looking around at his squad.

  Slowly, first one and then another reined their horses toward the south and rode. Ratbone was the last of them to go, jaw clenched in rage. Nestor debated just riding into battle to die, but at last he decided he had a responsibility to those who could be saved. He, too, turned south and rode hard for camp.

  Today was a very bad day, the worst in a long, long time.

  * * *

  General Ree wanted to throw things. He wanted to shoot the soldier in his makeshift office. But Ree never showed his emotions unless it was planned. To the soldier standing before him, he must seem preternaturally calm.

  Ree said, “What were our casualty levels?”

  “My leader, estimates are between seventy-five and ninety percent. Taggart took no prisoners, sir—those are fatalities. We have recovered between five and ten percent, and most of them had been wounded early in the battle while they were still able to retreat.”

  Ree nodded. “Very well, soldier. Leave the papers on my desk. You are dismissed.”

  The soldier left hastily. Thankfully it had been one of his own Korean troops to deliver the news of Taggart’s ambush, rather than one of those disgusting, smelly Sandies. No unpleasant odor remained in the office to offend him.

  So. Taggart had somehow caught wind of his troop movement and had managed to deploy in force, coordinating a complex battle plan with only runners to pass along orders. Americans had no style, but they were effective. Maybe because war was nothing but chaos, and the American military had always operated in such chaos every day. It was a miracle they functioned at all, but instead they could be surprisingly effective. Damn Americans. Plans were meaningless when one fought Americans, if they had a good leader.

  Ree considered his options. Firstly, with almost a quarter of his troops either dead or injured, he no longer had an overwhelming advantage over Taggart. A smart commander, which Taggart certainly was, would shift to the offensive sometime soon. Ree snarled. He hated fighting defensively.

  Maybe he didn’t have to wait. He still held the advantage of numbers, though not decisively. But if he could strike fast, hard, and with a bit of surprise or just plain luck, he could defeat Taggart piece by piece, like dominos falling. Crush a portion of Taggart’s forces, put him firmly back on the defensive. Maybe a drive toward Hackensack? He’d have to think on this. But there was no way he was going to let Taggart keep defining the operational tempo of this war. It was time to show Taggart that the tiger still has his claws.

  Ree shouted for his aide, who came in and stood at attention. Ree said, “Get a SitRep from each of my division commanders, the latest reports. And tell them to stand by for orders. Tell them, ‘the tiger prowls.’ They’ll know what it means.

  When the aide saluted and left, Ree allowed himself to smile. The coded command meant taking off all their leashes, all the restrictions. It meant total war. Taggart would soon learn that winning that battle had been a terrible mistake for his people. It would cost him dearly.

  - 16 -

  1445 HOURS - ZERO DAY +242

  CASSY SPOTTED ETHAN coming outside from her house HQ. The easiest tunnel to the bunker was hidden beneath her stairwell, so Ethan’s emerging from the house when he hadn’t been seen going in wasn’t unusual. She waved at him, and Ethan headed toward her.

  “What’s up?” Cassy asked when he drew close.

  Ethan craned his neck to look around. “I’m glad I got you alone. Got a minute?”

  “Yeah. What can I help you with?”

  “Well, I got in touch with Liz Town, finally. You’ll never believe what’s going on.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed, and at his sides, his hands closed into fists.

  Cassy had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Ethan wasn’t usually the angry type. He went with the flow on most things. “I would guess it’s bad news?”

  “More than bad. Liz Town’s new leader is only temporary until they have an election, but he or she is—”

  Cassy interrupted, “He or she? You don’t even know which? Who is in charge over there, Ethan?”

  Ethan looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “They wouldn’t tell me. They cited ‘internal security reasons’ for that. Can you believe it? But that’s not what’s important.”

  “That doesn’t even sound like Liz Town.”

  Ethan ran his hand through his disheveled hair. “Cassy, I hate to say this but they’re pulling out of the Confederatio
n—”

  “What? How could they do that?” Cassy said more loudly than she had intended. She lowered her voice and continued, “Don’t they realize that without the Confederation, the Empire will chew them up and spit them out?”

  Ethan shrugged. “You and I know that. They seem oblivious. But they haven’t withdrawn officially and maybe not permanently. They said they’re having internal problems. They can’t deal with anything else right now, and their resources are stretched. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re back to fighting block wars.”

  Cassy nodded. “If they had a coup, Liz Towners aren’t the sort to sit back and let that happen.”

  “Maybe not. But the Empire is already here. Their terrorist infiltrators are all over the region, creating fear and chaos. You can bet the rest of the Empire show up soon.”

  “So you think the Empire may have had some influence on the new leader to back out?”

  Ethan said, “I think it’s plausible. Though at this point, we can only hope they have a vote soon, and that they elect someone else to be their Speaker. But they won’t have the election until there’s only two clear front-runners. Maybe not at all if the Interim Speaker is strong enough to just take over.”

  Cassy pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. “Ethan, is there anything you can think of that we or the Confederation can do to help resolve the Liz Town situation?”

  Ethan paused to think. “Well… I can’t think of anything. Maybe if we had a show of strength, like a victory over the Empire that we could spin into some huge moral victory. That might give a solid boost to the Liz Town loyalists and their candidate.”

  Cassy was silent for a long while. Finally, she said, “Call a meeting. I want envoys here from every group, no matter how small. Like a town hall meeting. We have to figure out what to do next.”

  * * *

  1800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +244

  As the sun lost its mid-day intensity, Frank sat outside the chow tent with his tray. The fresh air and warmer temperatures were a welcome relief from his day spent overseeing the Clan’s preparations in the Jungle for planting.

  Some of the beds were already planted, in fact. Many of the fields around Clanholme were being sown with thousands of the clay seed-bombs containing a wide variety of seeds, both for food plants and others—pollen producers, nitrogen fixers, biomass accumulators, the list went on. Many would have been considered weeds on a normal farm, but with Cassy’s wild ideas on farming, they were just part of the ecosystem.

  Her ideas had proven themselves so far—they got results. She got as much food per acre as the best pre-EMP commercial farms, although it took far more effort to harvest than did a thousand acres of one crop in neat rows. Well, even that wasn’t true anymore—not since the EMPs had destroyed the infrastructure and most of the machines needed for mechanized harvesting became scrap metal.

  The Winter Wheat and a couple of other spring crops were almost ready to harvest now, and then there would be so much good food he wouldn’t know what to do with it all. That would be on top of the year-round salads they were getting from the cold frame beds. As farm manager, he’d have to figure out something. Cassy’d probably have some ideas.

  They’d plant rice shortly, as well as Spring Wheat, though not in the same place the winter stuff was ripening. That would lead to plant disease, so it was important to alternate wheat and rice with other species of plants. But he was mostly looking forward to the fruit coming in—anything but apple cider! He never thought he’d be tired of cider, but months of drinking either that or water…

  Frank’s musing was interrupted when he heard a bit of a commotion over by the guard tower and hobbled over with his crutch to see what was going on. As he got closer, he saw two wounded riders being helped off their horses. They weren’t Clanners, though. When he drew close, he saw their small face tattoos—a simple one-inch skull by their left eyes—and realized they were Night Ghosts.

  “Get water, and fetch Sturm. You, get Michael here pronto,” Frank said, his voice commanding. “Lay them down.”

  Once the two men were on the ground Frank began examining them. One had a bullet that had passed clean through his left arm, probably shattering the bone. Without hospitals, that one might require amputation. Frank thought of when his own foot was cut off and cringed.

  The other had an entry wound on one side of his abdomen, but no exit wound. It might be a flesh wound, or it might be fatal. Sturm would be able to tell. At least he was conscious though, which was a good sign. “Relax, friends,” Frank said, “help is on the way. You’ll be fine, everything will be okay. What happened to you?”

  The one with the wounded arm was pale and sweaty, probably in shock. The other man answered, “We found a rail station getting attacked by Empire bandits and went to ambush the attackers. The whole thing was a setup, though. We were the ones who got ambushed. More than a hundred of them.”

  Frank nodded. “Okay, son. You’re okay now, though. Did you see Nestor?”

  The man closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was strong, though. “No, sir. I have no idea if he’s alive or dead.”

  “Alright, son. You just relax. Help is on the way.” Frank stood, and saw Sturm running toward them with her emergency bag. Cassy was right behind her.

  When Sturm drew close, he said, “Two gunshot wounds, one through the arm, the other abdominal with no exit wound.”

  Sturm nodded and crouched down to attend the wounded, and Frank walked toward Cassy. When she came to a stop, he told her about the ambush, and that they didn’t know if Nestor was alive.

  “Dammit,” she said. “This isn’t what we need right now. We need a strong victory to shore up Liz Town.”

  Frank listened carefully while Cassy told him what was known about Liz Town’s situation, and Ethan’s idea. He nodded, but didn’t interrupt. When she finished, he said, “Yep, this is bad timing. Let’s not tell Liz Town.”

  Cassy said, “Tell Michael to send out scouts, get the location from the wounded over there, and search for more survivors. And find out who led the ambush or where the ambushers are now. If they could take out the Ghosts, we need to deal with them. Last thing we need is that kind of force wandering around Confed territory.”

  “You got it. I’ll tell Ethan to alert the other Confed members that there’s a company-sized unit raiding around here. The Gap is probably the closest, besides us, since the riders came in from the south.”

  “Good idea. We need to get scouts out like a swarm of bees, and put some units on standby. Let me know right away if we find any more Night Ghost survivors.”

  “Of course,” Frank replied, then turned to go find Michael. There was much to do now, and it was all bad timing. Spring sowing was almost on them, and now this… Worst of all, the drain on time and resources would probably only get worse as the weather improved.

  * * *

  2145 HOURS - ZERO DAY +247

  In the shell of a restaurant deep in Kodiak territory, Carl stood behind the impromptu stage where he’d be unobtrusive. He, three guards, and Mary Ann had left the safehouse with the Kodiak leader disguised as just another Kodiak. Two other teams had also left, all wearing the same clothes. After making sure they weren’t followed, Carl’s group had made their way to this meeting of the resistance, trying to drum up support for Mary Ann as the new Speaker of Liz Town and reinforcing her anti-Empire position.

  The town hall-style meeting was a terrible risk for Mary Ann, Carl knew. Coming and going were the most dangerous, but even though the Interim Speaker probably wouldn’t attack the meeting outright, that wouldn’t prevent an assassin from slipping in. Carl kept alert, eyes roving the crowd and the doors for danger. The windows were blacked out, so at least a sniper wasn’t likely while she was inside. Getting her back to the safehouse without being followed, or worse, attacked, would be the toughest problem.

  The meeting went on for two hours, Mary Ann talking to the packed crowd and answering questions, not all of them easy ones. S
he handled it like a pro, though, and Carl felt confident she had won them over by the end. Almost all the people present vowed to recruit one other person for the cause of resistance, as well.

  When everything wrapped up, Carl approached Mary Ann from behind and whispered, “Time to go. We should make a break while everyone is clearing out of here. It’ll be harder to identify or follow you if we leave with everyone else.”

  Mary Ann didn’t cringe when he said that. She only nodded and said, “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

  As the crowd dispersed, Carl and the other three guards led her out the restaurant’s front door with everyone else, forming a tight circle around her for protection. Once outside, Carl looked around for any threats. The area was dark and mostly uninhabited, but Kodiak Band had claimed it and walled it, so at least it was not in the wildlands outside the walls. Once free of the crowd, which was dispersing rapidly in all directions, they led her in the general direction of the safehouse, though not directly. He and the guards spread apart a bit, hoping to disguise that they were a group. Carl walked with Mary Ann, two other guards walked together twenty feet behind and to the left, and a fifth guard walked alone in a slightly different direction that would still keep him in eyesight most of the time.

  Carl angled a bit to his left, heading toward the deep shadows of an alley. He couldn’t see the alley from where he was, but he had seen it on the way to the meeting. The other guards would take a slightly different path and would be out of sight, but only briefly.

  As they reached the derelict, debris-cluttered alley, Carl had the fleeting thought that Mary Ann was smart to go with him on this part of the journey. His life was now firmly intertwined with hers, and unless he wanted to live out in the wildlands as an exiled fugitive, he had to keep her alive, too. Her other guards were maybe less motivated, but he trusted her judgment when she had picked them. She knew her own people best.