by John Barnes
“We should have realized that,” Jenny said. “The river was so high that on the way in we never even thought of fording it or stopping to build a temporary bridge. No shallow spots left, and it’s way up on its banks.”
“Exactly,” Duquesne said. “We were surprised too, but in present conditions, the Wabash flows at between three and four miles an hour, five to seven times as fast as normal. And although it’s full of trash, it has a deep center channel, and if they stay on that, they’re mostly okay. So they just floated all the heavy stuff on rafts, letting the guarding force run along the bank carrying nothing but a little food and water, and switching off between floating and running so they could literally sleep on the march. The force you left behind at Terre Haute probably didn’t have any idea what was coming till Lord Robert and his Daybreakers were right on top of them.
“So when we flew over Terre Haute, whatever hadn’t been burned before was burning now, and there was a huge encampment of tribals along the river, swarming with boats and rafts. We think he’s regrouping, but at this current speed, he’s only a day or so by river from St. Francisville, which is the closest landing to Pale Bluff.”
“Well, that answers the question,” Chris said softly. “We’ve lost the race before we start. We’re ten days from Pale Bluff, minimum; they’re only about three or four.”
“Ma’am,” Patel said, “the new officers are all comfortable, and they’re ready for their briefing in the pavilion tent.”
“Let’s get it done,” she said.
Duquesne said, “I’ve got nothing more to report than what I’ve already told you, and Major Southern can give better details and a clearer idea about things. If you don’t mind, I’d like to look up your dad and maybe talk some things over with him.”
“Sure. He’s that way, at the Quartermaster’s tent; he’s been doing a lot of our logistic and organizational work.”
“Thanks!” Duquesne almost sprinted away.
“Why is he so eager to see your father?” Chris asked.
“Well, purely personally, that beats me too, but it’s probably that he’s quite religious, and a lot of people who are like to pray or get a blessing from a particular person they think is wise or holy. Bret Duquesne kind of looks the handsome-playboy type but he’s what Daddy calls ‘solid Bible all the way down.’ When his father was killed in that accident, all of a sudden Castle Newberry went from being a bulwark of the secular types to square in the church’s corner. So, I’m guessing, Daddy’s been away for a long time, and the Earl of the Broad River, or the Satrap of Carolina, or whatever he’s calling himself probably feels a need to get caught up on the spiritual guidance.”
“I’m not going to quote any of this till I do a book, years from now,” Chris Manckiewicz said, “but you don’t sound quite like you used to.”
She sighed. “The last few weeks have been an eye-opener. I had no idea how many things were wrong with Jeff Grayson; I think if I’d married him but Daybreak had never happened, I’d never have had anything worse than a creepy feeling about him, which I’d probably have shrugged off as ‘Mama told me men were like that.’ And I might’ve just thought my father was a crusty old poop, but very sincere and after all we’re both Christians and he just wants what’s best for his daughter and… well. I found out so much was bullshit that I’m still sorting out what parts aren’t. It might take me a while, and I might be a little sarcastic about people who really just believe the same things I did a month ago. Especially Bret, because he’s so schizo about it all; he’ll be joking and laughing and kind of a dashing young heroic type, reminds me a lot of Quattro Larsen, and then somebody makes a slightly off-color joke or says ‘God’ or ‘Jesus’ as an oath, and he’ll lose it and go crazy rigid puritan, worse than Daddy. A couple months ago I’d’ve attributed it to his spiritual struggles but nowadays I just think he’s an unpredictable part-time dick.”
“Language like that will humanize you in the history, you know.”
“Like anyone wants to be human, or has the time.” She grinned at him. “Sometimes you just need to call a thing by its right name. Well, let’s get the handover to the officers done. After that I’ll figure out the rest of my life, or take a nap, or something.”
ABOUT THE SAME TIME. MANBROOKSTAT. ABOUT 11 AM EASTERN TIME. THURSDAY, MAY 7, 2026.
Jamayu Rollings had worked hard and consistently to thoroughly establish that he did not permit anyone to interrupt him, ever, during his just-before-lunch daily meeting with his daughter Deanna. Anyone with a really thorough inside knowledge of Ferengi Enterprises might have wondered why an hour-long meeting was needed every day for a company that consisted of a couple of warehouses of high-value salvage cataloged on index cards, an office with four clerks, and a largish yacht that needed a crew of three. But Rollings kept so much of his operations quiet and out of view that no one really knew how little administration Ferengi Enterprises needed or how simple things really were.
The real purpose was not to secure the non-existent meeting, but to make sure that no one who wasn’t family would ever walk in while they had the clandestine radio and the one-time pads out in view. The transmission from Pueblo to White Fang was exactly 500 words long, as always, so that if anyone was listening, a change in the length of the message would not provide any hints to the codebreakers.
Private radios were not exactly illegal in Manbrookstat. They were on the list of “Discouraged Activities,” and “participation in a discouraged activity” could result in being assigned to a labor gang or preventive detention, and every now and then a preventively detained person simply vanished, leaving behind only a name on the list of subjects about which unnecessary conversation should be avoided. But they were not officially illegal.
Usually the message from the RRC in Pueblo was merely that their report had been received, with perhaps a question or two that James or Heather had about it. But today it concluded with an answer to an earlier question:
RRC Board has overruled us on request for active measures. No support unless&until events make clear revolt underway, resistance widespread, coup already planned, or other evidence. WF, HoG here: basically first steps all you. Board only willing to come in to back success, not initiate, fund, or plan. J/L/me badly outvoted. Sorry, please forgive.
JH append1p3: Situation here could change drastically if situation there did.
There was another brief, appended note:
No transmissions from noon till 11 pm Eastern on 10 May. Moon gun shot detected.
“So we’re screwed,” Deanna said.
“Sort of. Basically it means we have to stick our neck out, maybe take the chop, but if we start to win, then they’ll come in.”
“So do we do it, Pops?”
Rollings sat back. “Well, not this afternoon. I’ve got no connections I trust in the Special Assistants or the militia, so a coup is out. The Special Assistants know they’re dead if the regime comes down, so if anyone openly killed the Commandant, the SAs would butcher that person on the scene, at best, and maybe drag them straight to torture.”
“So…” Deanna leaned back and looked toward the ceiling. Rollings had always liked the way his eldest daughter “thought with her whole face,” as his wife described it. After a moment she shook her head. “Unless there’s something you haven’t told me about, we got no connections, zip, for a more covert kind of assassination. I don’t want to try to build a bomb that works right the first time, or cook up a poison, and I’m no sniper and no ninja, and I don’t think you or anyone else in the family is.”
Rollings nodded. “I’m afraid that in every education there are always some deficiencies.”
She made a face at him. “I hate that someday I’ll probably quote that and some people will think that meant you were laughing in the face of danger, instead of just couldn’t resist a silly joke. Oh, well.”
“Yeah, more seriously, that was kind of what I was hoping Pueblo might provide us—some clean, covert way to take him out,
and someone untraceable who knew how to use it. But the more I think about it the less useful their help would have been anyway. There’s a couple of hungry creepy types that would move right in after an assassination, and the idea is to get rid of the Commandant, not replace him with a clone or worse. So it’s going to have to be a revolution… or at least a revolt, maybe some serious rioting… and right now people are still pretty relieved just to have a roof and food. Any idea what we can get them to rise up about?”
Deanna said, “Well, somewhere back in one of those AP History classes you made me take, I remember the instructor said something about how riots often start on or around holidays. Next big one is Memorial Day—”
“Too soon, and back before, anyway, it was basically the start of barbecue and white shoes, they didn’t—hunh. And the next big holiday would be the Fourth of July. Matter of fact, it’s the 250th Fourth of July. Should have been one of the biggest of them all, ever, eh?”
“Wasn’t it just another day to eat yourself sick and watch fireworks, back before, for most people anyway? Isn’t that what it’s going to be this year, except with less food and even less fireworks?” she asked.
“What if the Commandant decided to put the Fourth of July on the Discouraged Activities list? Threatened to punish people for celebrating it? Maybe even sent cops to break up a celebration?”
She started to grin. “He’d have to be crazy or stupid.”
He was grinning back. “Well, we already know he’s crazy. Maybe we can give him some help with the stupid. And here’s another thought; we have a blackout day coming up in three days, and that means lots of people on the street with nothing to do. Suppose we help them find something.”
ABOUT THE SAME TIME. ARMY OF THE WABASH ENCAMPMENT AT WEA CREEK. ABOUT 12 PM EASTERN TIME. THURSDAY, MAY 7, 2026.
Jenny Whilmire Grayson and Chris Manckiewicz had just finished walking through the Order of Battle, identifying the most in-over-their-heads temporary officers, the best and worst performing units, where each unit was right now, and a bit about what each unit had endured recently. They’re all nodding and I like the way they take notes and ask questions, Jenny thought. Sure, it’s only been “my army” for a couple of days, but I want to hand it to people with some idea about how to care for it.
Chris was explaining that the Fourth Washington Volunteers had been surprised on their flank by the pipe-and-fuse muskets. “In that first volley they lost half of one company, all from Pullman, Washington, people who knew each other well. They’re all putting off grief but there’s a world of pain there, and you’ll want to keep an eye on it. Now, turning to the artillery, you have three batteries that didn’t even—”
An unmistakable chuffing raced up into a drumbeat, then rose to a rumble outside: a very large engine starting up slowly. They all stared at each other for a moment, then rushed out of the big tent en masse.
The NeoGoliath was already rolling along Indiana 25, gathering speed into the wind, Chris, Jenny, and the officers crowded together, gaping, its spoked, iron-tired landing wheels on their double-bowed axles lifted from the roadway. The tail wheel came up, and the NeoGoliath was airborne and on her way. NSP-12 turned south at once, as if afraid or ashamed to let the officers look more closely, and began a steady climb into the sky.
“Well,” Chris said, “there goes your ride, Jenny. I was planning to stick around with the Army of the Wabash, but it would have been nice of them to offer me a choice. I wonder—”
“Let me think, Chris. I don’t see—”
Patel approached her, saluted, looked embarrassed because he wasn’t sure he was supposed to do that in front of officers, and handed her a folded sheet of paper.
She opened it and read:
My dearest daughter,
The Earl of Broad River has told me of the situation in Athens, and it is grave indeed. The leadership of the National Church, both within itself and as the Christian body that must guide our nation through Tribulation, is in the gravest peril, and it was urgent for me to go there and use the talents with which the Lord has blessed me to ensure that the outcome strengthens the hand of our Lord and King.
How I wish that I could count on your support at this dark and terrible time, or that I could say in my heart that after all, you had only just lost a husband in a terrible murder, and therefore must be excused. But I am afraid that I cannot afford, in so dire a situation, to be less than honest with myself, with you, or with the Christ whom I hope we both serve: you have shown far too little willingness to submit, far too much drive toward your own goals.
You have in fact said that you do not even believe we are in Tribulation, despite all the obvious signs, and you have not only expressed ideas and goals contrary to church teachings but you appear to be willing to endorse those who would re-secularize our government, just as if the terrible lessons of the last year had never been learned.
So with so much teetering on the brink in Athens, to be blunt, Jenny, though you are my daughter and I love you, God’s Own Nation cannot afford to have you anywhere near its capital until proper authority is re-established.
In Christ,
Daddy
She turned to face Chris and the officers, and with her voice even and level, priding herself on never falling into sarcasm, she read the whole letter aloud, and when she finished, she said, “Now, are you all a part of whatever my father was talking about, or if you are not, can you tell me what the fuck it is?”
Colonel Irwin, the seniormost officer with them, said, “Well, ma’am, we’re mostly here because we’re not a part of it. At least that’s what I think, anyone else?”
All the other heads were nodding.
“Well, that’s the start of an answer. Part of what?” Jenny said.
“I guess it started back early in the Ohio Valley campaign, ma’am. Your dad, he, uh, well, he thought he was being excluded from a lot of decisions. Like he wanted to spare a lot of lives and get preachers in here to convert the Daybreakers, he thought you could kind of pray them out of it or heal them like they were possessed or something, and he wanted the Board to order General Grayson to try to do that, he thought that… well, he thought the massacres were un-Christian. And he wanted the Board to remove General Grayson as the NCCC, he was arguing all the time that they had the power to do that if they wanted, and a lot of different things. But he was the leader of the Church side of the Board, and General Grayson was more the leader of the Army side, and not only was there already kind of a balance, but nobody really wanted to stick their neck out and make big decisions with the main guy on each side so far away, especially not with it being a war and all. So… this is kind of embarrassing… well, to put it delicately—”
“Please don’t put it delicately,” Jenny said. “I have feelings about this because we are talking about both my father and my husband, but I really need to know what’s going on.”
Irwin’s lips pressed together, and he said, “Two days ago when we received word that your husband had passed on, and the army was surrounded, some of the Church people made a really big move; they tried to vote about half the military officers off the Board and replace them with ministers, they were going to declare their independence as a Christian nation, declare peace with the Lost Quarter tribes, and call the Army home.
“Well, that didn’t set well with the Army, and it turned out there were a lot of people that didn’t want the nation to be any more Christian than it was, so there were protests and demonstrations outside the government buildings in Athens, people demanding to stay in the US and backing the Army against the Church, and the Army was called in from Fort Benning to break them up and most of us here were among the group that refused the order, said it was against our oaths. And it was starting to look like a real revolution against the National Church, in Athens, a lot of officers muttering they didn’t like Graham Weisbrod or liberals or the Provis much, but now that General McIntyre is President up there, they’d a lot rather be dealing with a gay three-star
three thousand miles away, than with a bunch of ignorant-ass crazy preachers right on top of them, if you’ll pardon my putting it that way.”
“I’ve been having similar thoughts,” Jenny said, smiling a little.
“So things were hanging in the balance, with the old Board and the Church holding most of the government buildings in Athens, and the crowds outside chanting for ‘Restore the Constitution!’, and churchers and rebels fighting each other everywhere. Most of us in the Army were figuring the rebels would win and invite us to restore order, sometime in the next few days, and we needed to stay out of it, because that’s what we’ve been trained to do, stay out of civilian politics.
“Well, but here you were surrounded and without officers, so let’s just say many of us were worried about you. Then that Bret Duquesne, you know, he’s nothing like his dad who was the biggest independent on the Board, well, Duquesne offered to fly twenty officers up here, and naturally the ones that were in favor of reunification and winning the war with the tribals were the ones who volunteered. And I am seeing now that we have possibly all been had, ma’am, because we all thought he’d be taking you back there, because our side could sure use someone to rally around—actually both sides could—and now Duquesne has maneuvered things so we’re up here, you’re up here, and the Reverend Whilmire is down there.”
Jenny nodded. “Pure Daddy. Political from the ground up but he always thinks he’s doing it for God. Well, the Army is almost ready to move, and we have the assignments worked out, so is this the place where we all shake hands and you go to your different commands?”
