EMP Resurgence (Dark New World, Book 7) - An EMP Survival Story

by J. J. Holden

  Intellectually, Taggart understood the envoy was playing games. He had little patience for such nonsense. It was time for Mr. Lee to get to the point. “And just what sort of treaty did they ask for? It seems unlikely that they’d reach out to you under any circumstances, much less for help in a war that didn’t involve you.”

  “Indeed. That was also what we thought, but it turns out that we—and you—were wrong about that. It seems they gave the refugees more supplies than they could afford to part with, and so they would not have had enough to support themselves throughout the long winter.”

  “I would hate to continue this discussion under assumptions, Mr. Lee. So tell me, what was the nature of the agreement?”

  A faint smile reached Mr. Lee’s lips. “They requested many wagons full of supplies, particularly food. They made the argument that it would cost us less in both the short term and in the long run to support them now, helping them to fight General Houle, rather than to allowing Houle to win a foothold in the region. They pointed out that if that happened, the Northern Cantonment would then have to fight him directly. The argument made much sense, so we agreed to meet their request.”

  “So they asked you for supplies to help them fight their war against General Houle, and you agreed? It seems to me that you wouldn’t likely give them tons of supplies and food out of the goodness of your hearts.”

  “It made long-term sense.”

  “No one gives away what they have today for a promise of something tomorrow, not anymore,” Taggart said with a polite smile.

  Inside, he seethed. He had trusted the Clan and had viewed them as his most stable and reliable allies, yet now they were making deals with the enemy, if Lee’s word could be trusted. He dreaded finding out what the cost would be for the Clan, and he had the sinking suspicion that Mr. Lee wouldn’t be here unless his cantonment wanted something from him, as well.

  Lee frowned, leaning back and placing his hand on his chest. “You wound me, sir. Even North Koreans are capable of making wise decisions motivated by self-interest.”

  “So what does all this have to do with New America?”

  “They made it clear that the Confederation was a state within New America. It was their assertion that their debt would be met regardless of the outcome of that war. There was no specific date by which full repayment was demanded, which left it open for us to decide.”

  Taggart said, “I question the authority of the Confederation to make binding treaties in the name of New America, plus I won’t be bound by a treaty I haven’t seen.”

  “I have a copy of it here.” Lee reached into his suit coat inner pocket and withdrew a sheet of paper, which he unfolded and then set on the coffee table. “As you will see, the repayment date isn’t listed. It only says that repayment will be made at a future date agreeable to the Northern Cantonment.”

  Taggart read through the document once carefully, and to his dismay found that Mr. Lee’s position was indeed supported by the treaty, which had been signed by two Confederation envoys in the presence of several witnesses. Damn. But he wasn’t going to admit to anything. Not yet. He couldn’t let Lee win that easily.

  Taggart looked up at Mr. Lee and raised his eyebrows. “This still means nothing to New America. Sounds like you need to take this up with the Confederation. Not me.”

  “Since a member-state of New America was engaged in a war for its survival,” Lee said, “it can be reasonably assumed that New America has a vested interest in the well-being of that state, and therefore would support any steps it took in order to secure its survival.”

  Taggart hated being painted into a corner. The only reason he didn’t immediately dismiss the idea of assuming that debt was that the supplies had probably made the difference between life and death to the Confederation, and therefore the Clan. As the governor of the Confederation and his secretary of agriculture, Cassy’s loss would have been a tremendous blow. The loss of the Confederation would also have left Houle with a strong beachhead from which to threaten the rest of New America.

  Taggart glanced back at the document. “It says in this treaty that the specific items requested and their quantities are to be listed in an addendum. I don’t see that here.”

  “Of course,” Lee said, reaching into his pocket a second time and pulling out another folded document. “Here is the addendum, signed and countersigned by the Confederation envoys and witnesses.”

  Taggart clenched his jaw and reached for the paper, unfolding it.

  Lee continued, “As you can see, it’s a significant quantity. It wasn’t easy to gather everything they requested and deliver it, especially not in such a short order, but time was of the essence. I don’t know why they didn’t come to you for this. Perhaps you lacked the supplies they needed?”

  Taggart stared at Lee, unblinking. He probably still lacked so many supplies, but if Lee became convinced of that, then they’d be at war in a week, if not less.

  “In any case,” Lee continued, “we would rather have the Confederation on our border than General Houle, especially if we have bought some peace from them by doing so.”

  At last, Taggart said, “So what is it that you’re asking?”

  “Now that spring is here, and you have begun harvesting the early crops and planting more, the Northern Cantonment is asking for those supplies back. The Confederation obviously lacks the ability to repay this debt, given that they are still rebuilding from the damage done during the war.”

  Taggart took a deep breath. The first war debt of post-America, and it had fallen on his lap. There was no way he could repay such a sizable debt right now nor could he really afford renewed hostilities with the Northern Cantonment. Not when things were so up in the air with the Maryland invaders, not to mention the situation in Philadelphia. The only option, then, was to buy time.

  “Mr. Lee, I thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’m sure you’re a busy man, too. That being said, I can’t just commit to repaying this until I’ve had a chance to study its effects on New America.”

  “Of course. How much time will you need?”

  “Well, I need to gather data on our stockpiles, our transportation capabilities, and other relevant details. I require, let’s say, three months to gather this information. Only then will I be able to tell you whether New America can honor the Confederation’s debt.”

  Lee’s face became a rigid, iron mask. “That isn’t acceptable, Mr. President. I’ve been advised that we have no issue with waiting for the results of your study, but no more than one month.”

  “And if that’s not possible, or if we find we’re unable to meet your request?”

  “If one month isn’t acceptable, or if your answer is no, then the Northern Cantonment will have to consider alternative means of ensuring this debt is settled.”

  Taggart felt trapped. If he blatantly said no, then he risked open conflict with the invaders to his north just as things were heating up to his south. But he wasn’t going to promise anything either. “As the President of New America, I am officially telling you that we acknowledge your position, and we find that one month is at least enough time for us to gather preliminary information, and to contact the Clan and Confederation leadership to obtain more details about the treaty and your interaction with their envoys.”

  At this point, Taggart hoped that Lee would accept the possibility of a resolution rather than choosing to go to war. At best, he hoped to avoid escalating border tensions, but avoiding more open warfare would be good enough.

  “Very well,” Lee said as he stood. Taggart rose to his feet as well. “I will return in thirty days, though, I sincerely hope for all our sakes that you will have completed your studies and can commit to fixing this. It’s in everyone’s best interests.”

  Taggart nodded and shook Lee’s hand, then escorted him to the door and closed it behind the departing envoy. As Taggart returned to the couch and sat, he called out for Eagan—he needed a stiff drink. When Eagan came out of the side offic
e, Taggart said, “Whiskey, please. I assume you heard all of that?”

  Eagan wandered to the bar and poured a tumbler. “How could I not listen in? Far too interesting to respect your privacy, sir.”

  “Of course you were eavesdropping, why I do I even ask?”

  Eagan handed him the glass. “I’ll immediately put out word to gather the information you need, so you can at least make an informed decision.”

  Taggart let out a long, deep sigh. “So…Jaz and Choony. You think they were involved?”

  Eagan moved to the other side of the table and sat in the chair recently vacated by Lee, and leaned forward. “There’s no way they knew about this Confederation deal with the ’vaders. If they had, they would have brought it up by now. I mean, they’ve been here all winter, right? I suspect they were just out of the loop.”

  Taggart nodded. That made sense, especially since those two had been running around the countryside acting as Clan envoys since long before the war against the Mountain. “I tend to agree. Let’s not mention this to them until we hear back from the Clan. Which reminds me, I need you to send someone out to Clanholme to get their side of the story.”

  Eagan pulled out a pen and notepad and wrote a quick note to himself. “Well, at least we have a month to figure this all out. Hopefully that’s enough time to deal with our situation to the south.”

  Taggart furrowed his brow. “Yeah, and maybe we can figure out why the southern invaders are putting so much pressure on our border. I had thought the situation was stable, not only because winter made it impractical to keep the war going, but because we’ve expanded far enough south now so that we have a stable border with them. I’d like to keep it that way, and hopefully add Philadelphia to the list of people we have a stable border with.”

  Eagan frowned and said, “I thought we were trying to get them to join New America? I mean, I understand they’re dragging their heels, but I’m still hopeful. They should prefer an alliance with us to one with the people they’re fighting against, even now.”

  Taggart shrugged. “Perhaps. But it seems to me that, in this new day and age, people are more pragmatic than they are patriotic. They’ll do what’s best for themselves, and I can’t say I blame them. That’s all anyone can do these days, if they want to stay alive.” Taggart downed his whiskey in one gulp. “Stupid people don’t survive anymore.”

  - 10 -

  1400 HOURS - ZERO DAY +621

  NATE RUNKE STOOD within the command post and stared at the huge, laminated map, spread out on the table, covered in grease-pen notes and symbols. In the distance, he heard a continual barrage of light mortar fire, the result of his own huge push to fabricate those oh-so-effective weapons of war.

  When he ordered their production, some of the other commanders had given him a lot of pushback. They had argued that those resources could be better used elsewhere, but he was The Dude, now. This was his show, and he made the rules.

  He didn’t particularly enjoy being in charge, but he was certain that he was the most effective choice for the position. History had proven him right. His forces had taken over, his strategies had pushed the enemy back, and his leadership had liberated Philadelphia. Given his successes compared to theirs, he hadn’t hesitated to ignore his fellow commanders’ advice when they pushed hard to put resources elsewhere. He had continued diverting resources into mortar production, and now they were seeing the results. As with every other issue so far, he had been right about the mortars.

  Now, on the day of the largest push against the invaders so far, message runners had been coming in and out of his headquarters all afternoon delivering good news. Everywhere, the enemy was falling back. Nate’s forces had secured access to the lightly forested area southwest of the city—the last bastion of enemy resistance—and were fighting their way to completely outflank the enemy. They had nowhere to hide, now. They weren’t safe anywhere, and he had no intention of letting them catch their breath.

  There was no frontline anymore, Nate thought with a grin. Instead, his troops were becoming fully interpenetrated with the enemy’s. He felt confident that by dinnertime, the war would be over—at least for Philly.

  Two hours later, just as Nate had suspected, an enemy envoy was dragged into his command post. Nate saw he had been stripped to his skivvies and sported several fresh bruises on his chest and face. Clearly, his guards had gotten over-enthusiastic with their questioning. Nate felt slightly surprised that it didn’t bother him. The last two years of slavery and war had changed him, as it had changed everyone.

  He turned to face the envoy, who had been shoved roughly to his knees on the floor, and waited. The now-prisoner spent a couple of seconds getting himself adjusted on his knees, regaining his balance, then looked up at Nate and met his gaze directly. He was clearly Korean, and he bowed his head for a moment before saying, “I have been instructed to deliver a message to the one who is called Nate Runke, commander of the rebel forces.”

  Nate stared the envoy in the eyes for several seconds, then began to slowly walk around him clockwise, his pace slow, and his eyes roved every inch of the man. Not only was he gaining the measure of the envoy, he was also using an old psychological trick he had once seen on a TV episode, where standing behind someone created a position of power and caused the other party to feel a lot of anxiety. Hopefully, it would put the guy off balance and establish dominance.

  It took Nate about twenty seconds to finish his circuit around the envoy, ending where he had started. He met the man’s gaze again, then slowly nodded. “I am Commander Nate Runke. I assume you’re here to negotiate your unconditional surrender. For your sake, I hope so.”

  The envoy bowed again, saying, “Yes, sir, I am. The rightful commander of the city of Philadelphia, a holding of the Eastern Cantonment, has determined that his situation is untenable. Although we could cause you great harm and many losses before the last of us fell in battle, the end is now inevitable. He would like to know your terms.”

  Nate laughed out loud, but it was forced. Just a little bit of theater. “Well, it’s good that your leader can see the plain, simple truth. He has lost. Philadelphia is mine. The only question now is whether he and what’s left of his soldiers die before I complete my victory.”

  The envoy clenched his jaw, but nodded. He didn’t respond, apparently content to let Nate lead the conversation now that his purpose had been stated.

  “My terms are simple. All remaining invasion forces in and around the city must leave immediately. They will not bring their weapons or ammunition, and they will not bring their food or other supplies. Their equipment and gear will also remain. They will be allowed to leave with the clothes they wear and personal effects, nothing else. If your commander will meet these conditions, then I’ll agree to a seventy-two hour cease fire.”

  The envoy didn’t flinch or break eye contact. “What must we do with the materials we leave behind?”

  “Your forces will gather them into a single, convenient location and leave them there before you march south forever. My observers will be everywhere and if any are harmed, I will kill two of you for each of mine who are injured. I’ll kill one of your officers for each of my men who is killed. And in the end, I will kill every last one of you bastards who remains after the seventy-two-hour cease fire ends. Those are my terms, and if they are not met, then you’ll die.”

  The envoy bowed low and brought his forehead almost to the floor. From that position, he said, “It is well. The rightful commander of Philadelphia agrees to your terms. And by the way, he has instructed me to tell you that you have his word of honor that we will comply.”

  Nate took one long step forward, then snapped his right foot forward, smashing it into the man’s jaw. The envoy flopped over, grabbing his face and crying out in pain. Nate said, “Your commander has no honor. My guns will make sure he keeps his word far more effectively than his so-called honor. Now go. And if you are not all out of my city in three days, not only will I exterminate your forces
who remain, we will chase the rest of your bloodied lot and ride you into the ground, sparing none.” He waved his hand at the envoy dismissively, and his two guards grabbed the man roughly by each arm to drag him limp and dazed out of the command center.

  Nate smiled, hoping it took the man a few minutes to regain his footing after a blow like that. It felt good. Part of him wished they had refused to leave so he could enjoy the feeling of killing more of the bastards. Sadly, life had put him in a leadership position; he had to put aside his own desires for the welfare of his people. Also, he had other plans to occupy his time for the next few days.

  * * *

  0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +625

  Nate stood in the copse of trees, and he was surrounded by his command staff. His HQ consisted of several pavilion tents set up in a clearing, with his personal tent set dead-center. Nearby, he had two desks with old-fashioned typewriters on them, each manned. That would be how orders were relayed if the rudimentary flag system he had created proved inadequate. In that case, he had a dozen runners standing by to carry typed orders to his subordinate commanders, who would then relay down the chain as needed.

  The problem with that method was that it could take five minutes or more for his orders to go into effect, assuming they didn’t ask for clarification and there were no interruptions. The flags were much faster, but the distance he could deliver orders with them was pretty limited. He made a mental note to work on a more complex semaphore system for the future.

  Beyond the trees, in the vast fields surrounding the Gap, he had three of his sub-commanders and their units arrayed in a semicircle south of the town. For this mission, all the soldiers had shaven, there were only men in the frontline units, and he had ordered black face paint on every soldier. They wore stolen North Korean uniforms.

  The Gap was the newest Clanhold, from what he had learned, and was still being reconstructed. That meant tons of supplies lying around, most importantly food. It was all sitting deliciously in a warehouse on the south side of town. Today’s raid had one objective: seize as much food as they could and escape without revealing their true identity. He wanted the North Koreans to take the blame for this.