New America 02 - Resistance

by Richard Stephenson

  “When you factor in the guardsmen and current active duty from the old army, just shy of four hundred thousand, but that’s not all when you take into account the sympathizers in the UAE.”

  Howard was really starting to like this plan. “What’s the estimate on that?”

  “It’s hard to gauge, really. Before the UAE locked down our borders, we had waves of people fleeing into our territory. Max and his people managed to interview the majority of them. I’ll let Max fill you in.”

  “I wish I could give accurate numbers, but Richard’s right. The vast majority of people who fled into our territory spoke longingly of their family and friends and about their hatred for the UAE. They begged their loved ones to make the journey to the PSA, but they all had too much to lose. Some feared death or didn’t want to risk the lives of their families. Others were too complacent, not willing to leave the security of their homes. The idea of becoming a refugee in our territory didn’t appeal to some, so they stayed put.”

  Howard stared at the wall, his brilliant mind was racing. “I wouldn’t factor sympathizers into any plan you’re making, Richard, at least not until we invade California and can make an assessment of how large the resistance will be.”

  “That was my plan as well. If half of what we’re hearing is true, all the sympathizers need is a fighting force to rally around. I plan to give them one.”

  “How long before the invasion?” asked Max.

  “We’ve secured two cruise ships, and they’ll be loaded up with troops and supplies within a week. The third one is turning out to be a problem.”

  “Why? Is she not seaworthy?” asked Howard.

  “She’s seaworthy. The problem we’re having is the five hundred people who have taken up residence onboard. They’re refusing to leave until we can find them a place to live.”

  “You’re shitting me,” said Howard.

  “I wish I were. They’re living in luxury compared to most. We’ve tried relocating them, but they disapprove of the new accommodations.”

  “What about Senator Wilson? Is he able to do anything?” asked Max.

  Richard rolled his eyes and chuckled. “The good senator is on their side. He firmly believes the military has no right to forcibly relocate citizens.”

  “I don’t give two shits what Senator Wilson thinks. These aren’t fucking Native Americans being moved to a reservation! Much more is at stake than some spoiled crybabies living on a luxury liner. If you can relocate them to adequate shelter, do it. Do it by force if necessary.”

  Richard and Max exchanged surprised glances as Richard turned to Howard. “I must admit, Howard, I’m shocked to hear you say that. The political fallout is going to be enormous.”

  “I know. Let me be the bad guy. It’ll give me and Senator Wilson something to talk about next week.”

  “Careful, Howard. You start using the military to strong-arm the population, and people might think you’re the next Simon Sterling,” said Max.

  Howard snapped. When he got angry, there was no gradual ascent into rage; it was as if an internal switch was flipped in Howard’s mind. “How dare you! After all I’ve done and all the suffering I’ve endured at the hands of that madman! He killed my best friend and stole my house! You have the nerve to compare me to a dictator, a mass murderer!” Howard’s face reddened, the veins in his forehead pulsating to the rhythm of his pounding heart.

  Max was completely shocked; he had never seen Howard so angry. His first instinct was to become defensive and blame Howard for overreacting. Once he saw how deeply he had wounded the man, he changed his mind. “Howard, very poor choice of words. I’m deeply sorry. I was only trying to advise caution. I understand your line of thinking, but the people do have rights; this could potentially escalate into a major problem. If even one soldier harms a single person on that boat, you could have a riot on your hands.”

  “What would you have me do? Renovate a Hilton for these people and give them room service? You have a better option, I’d love to hear it.”

  “Howard, you should only use force once you’ve exhausted every conceivable option. If you told them the reason, explained what’s at stake, I think they’d go willingly. You’re going to Seattle anyway. It’s worth shot.”

  Howard and Richard exchanged knowing glances. Howard looked back at Max with a wicked grin. “Looks like you just volunteered to go with me. Feel free to bring your lovely wife.”

  Max massaged his aching knee. He wanted to get some fresh air and see the sun, but this wasn’t what he had in mind. “Son of a bitch.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Regional Governor Roberto Jimenez was furious. In his time governing the former states of California, Nevada, New Mexico, and Arizona, he had never been the victim of a major attack from The Silent Warriors. Keeping his region secure was his primary focus. While other regional governors concentrated on rebuilding the infrastructure or maintaining law and order, he thought only of security. The Pulse had not affected his region, so there was no real need to focus on a broken infrastructure. He honestly didn’t care if the people in his region robbed each other blind or murdered each other. As long as The Silent Warriors didn’t give him a black eye in front of the other regional governors and, more importantly, the president, he was happy.

  The destruction of the Golden Gate Bridge left him with a gaping wound, visible to the entire country. He was certain to be the object of scorn, ridiculed by all the regional governors as well as President Sterling. Roberto was not looking forward to speaking with the president and had been putting it off for as long as possible. His first two attempts at keeping the president at bay were successful; he simply instructed his assistant to tell the president he was hard at work getting to the bottom of the disaster and would contact him soon. The time for stalling was over; he had no choice but to report to President Sterling.

  Roberto was not a young man nor was he in good health. The seventy-four-year-old had been confined to a wheelchair for many years as a result of his battle with multiple sclerosis. He had little doubt as to why President Sterling had assigned him to this region. It was the most stable and provided little daily stress. It was the right call because hearing the news of the attack nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. Once he calmed down, Roberto summoned the commanding officer of the San Francisco militia and shot the man right there in his office. The corpse was hauled out, and terrified maids spent the morning cleaning the pool of blood from the threadbare carpet in front of his desk. The grouchy bastard grunted and waved the maids from the room. They were more than happy to oblige. With a few quick keystrokes, the holographic display before him sprang to life. Seconds later, the President of the Unified American Empire was glaring at him.

  “Explain yourself, Mr. Jimenez.”

  “Mr. President, our investigation is still ongoing.”

  “Do not stall me any further, Roberto. In the future, when I attempt to contact you, do not use your assistant to dismiss me. You forget your place, my good man. I am in charge of this empire and you serve at my pleasure. If you ever disrespect me in such a manner again, the outcome will not be pleasant, I assure you.”

  “Mr. President, I didn’t feel it necessary to waste your time until I had something solid to report.”

  “You waste my time, Mr. Jimenez, when my repeated attempts to contact you go unanswered. Tell me what you know.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. We know the identities of the men involved. All are American citizens; their parents, however, hail from countries in The Great Empire of Iran.”

  “Are their parents American citizens?”

  “Most of them, yes, Mr. President. They were granted American citizenship in the late 90s. They managed to cleverly mask their heritage and passed themselves off as Spanish.”

  “Have you located them?”

  “Their parents? No, Mr. President, we haven’t made it a priority.”

  “Make it a priority. I have no doubt their parents were complicit in their training. On
ce you’ve located them, execute them…” President Sterling’s lips curled in a sinister grin. “…publicly. Give your citizens some semblance of justice.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. I’m sending the order now.” The command was issued with a few hasty keystrokes.

  “Tell me about the attack.”

  “We’ve been able to trace the vehicles back to two men we believe to be the ringleaders, both veterans of the United States Army. It would explain how they managed to get their hands on the ordinance they used. The Golden Gate Bridge suffered catastrophic damage. The framework remains intact, but the road spanning the bridge was ruined beyond repair. It will take years before a vehicle can cross it.”

  “Roberto, I want you to be frank with me. What measures could have been taken to prevent this? If The Silent Warriors are bold enough to start attacking targets in our most secure region, we need to do whatever we can to prevent it from happening again.”

  “That’s just the problem, Mr. President. My region may not have been struck by The Pulse, but that doesn’t mean we’re the most secure region. Just because we have electricity, running water, and a stable infrastructure doesn’t change the fact that our resources are being slowly stripped down to nothing.”

  “Elaborate, please.”

  “I fully understand that The Pulse Zone is in desperate need of every available resource we can give them: fuel, spare parts, food, water, working vehicles, medical supplies. I have no objection to that. We’re living in the lap of luxury compared to the East Coast. The problem I have is that more and more of my troops are being redeployed to The Pulse Zone. I’m working with a skeleton crew that barely manages to secure checkpoints and vital areas. I don’t have the manpower to maintain law and order, and I damn sure don’t have enough soldiers to conduct investigations and round up suspected terrorist cells.”

  “Did you not think it prudent to bring this to my attention earlier, Mr. Jimenez?”

  “To be blunt, Mr. President, I have. You instructed me to work out my problems with Regional Governor Butler. You basically gave the man free reign to do whatever it takes to get The Pulse Zone back up and running. Jackson is an arrogant little turd that wouldn’t budge on a damn thing. He thinks his region is the only one that matters. He told me my region can go to shit for all he cares.”

  “Jackson said that?”

  “His exact words, Mr. President. He’s cocky and dangerous, in my opinion. I strongly believe he’s stockpiling resources and manpower for the day when The Pulse Zone is fully functional. He wants to come out on top. I’m certain he’s planning something.”

  “A bold accusation, Roberto. What do you think he’s planning?”

  “I’m not sure, but what I do know is that many of the resources I’ve sent him aren’t being utilized. He keeps asking for more, and when I refuse his requests until he can provide documentation for what he’s done with my previous shipments, he goes behind my back and lies to you. Your office sends me direct orders to un-ass my goods. I don’t like it all.”

  “How long has he been doing this?”

  “Six months at least.”

  “Again, Roberto, why not tell me?”

  “With respect, Mr. President, he’s your golden boy, and I don’t want to make enemies out of either of you.”

  “Well, Roberto, I will admit that I’ve made his region a priority over yours for obvious reasons, and it seems we’ve all suffered for it. Losing the Golden Gate Bridge is a huge blow. My mistake was thinking The Silent Warriors wouldn’t be so bold to attack us out in the open. The darkness and chaos of The Pulse Zone seems to be the perfect breeding ground for those cowards. I’m going to get to the bottom of this; I can assure you that this concerns me a great deal. I feel I may have given Jackson Butler too long a leash, and now it’s time to rein him in a bit.”

  “Whatever I can do to help, Mr. President, just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Roberto. Now I’m afraid I must change the subject and impart some bad news.”

  “I’ve had plenty today, Mr. President. I doubt a little more will faze me.”

  “I’m sure everything you’ve been dealing with today has kept you quite preoccupied. My earlier attempts to contact you were not just to inquire about the attack. I regret to inform you that Regional Governor Weygandt was killed this morning.”

  Roberto was speechless. Jim Weygandt had been his friend for over twenty years. When Roberto was the director of the CIA, he relied on Jim to provide him with the resources to carry out covert ops around the globe. “How?”

  “He was rear-ended by another vehicle, and his car was sent over a bridge. Everyone is in complete shock over this terrible tragedy. I’ll be forever grateful for his role in building the Unified American Empire. He will be missed.”

  “When’s the funeral?”

  “Soon. I’ll send you the details. I’m truly sorry for your loss, Roberto. I know the two of you were very close.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. Is there anything else?”

  “No, Roberto, I’ll see you at the funeral.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Benjamin Black sat in his office overlooking Disney World’s Main Street USA. He enjoyed the quiet solitude of his office because he could deliberate over the day-to- day operations of his territory. The theme parks and resorts under his control covered forty-seven square miles with a population closing in on six thousand. Ben controlled a paradise in the middle of the Florida wasteland. Eighteen months prior, Hurricane Luther had destroyed much of Florida during the most powerful hurricane the world had ever seen. The category five storm came ashore not once, but four times, each time a little stronger than the last. With the collapse of the American government, the state of Florida found itself in the same shape it had been following Luther’s brutal punishment.

  Walt Disney World, with all her theme parks and resorts, was not spared by Luther. Most of the rides were destroyed, and the majority of the buildings were uninhabitable. Ben wasn’t worried about any of that; what drew Ben to the Magic Kingdom was the security it offered. The theme parks had a perimeter fence around them and Ben saw the advantage. His oasis in the wasteland attracted the hungry and the frightened. The stability Ben offered brought fierce loyalty. He was considered a savior; his people loved him like a father figure. He was doing a fine job running his community, and the UAE saw fit to leave him to it. They sent a weekly patrol to his front gate to trade intelligence and inform Ben of new laws enacted by President Sterling. These so-called laws were nothing more than President Sterling stripping away civil rights.

  While the citizens of Walt Disney World deified Benjamin Black, they had no idea that his primary mission in life had nothing to do with their care, but rather with the destruction of the Unified American Empire—piece by piece if necessary. When the UAE showed up on his doorstep looking for persons of interest, he ushered them in and gave the appearance of cooperation while his trusted freedom fighters subverted the UAE’s tyrannical efforts. Ben sent out guerrilla units to raid small UAE camps and ambush convoys. He even managed to nurture a network of spies that fed him valuable intelligence.

  Ben had spent all morning dealing with the incident involving the slave traders. Their bodies had been buried and their weapons and ammo found a proper home in the armory. The eighteen-wheeler was a welcome addition to the motor pool. The former slaves were still undergoing thorough examinations in the infirmary. None of them had serious injuries, though a few were severely malnourished and a handful had dysentery. Ben’s most challenging problem, however, involved one of the children. The girl’s name was Chrissy Dupree, and she had no one to care for her. An elderly woman with dementia thought the girl was her granddaughter, but Chrissy eventually told Ben the truth about the situation. The woman would have to live in the infirmary full time, and Ben would have to find a family willing to take care of the girl.

  Ben reached for the radio on his desk. “Jessica, what’s your location?”

  After a few s
econds, the radio crackled. “I’m at the Wilderness Lodge doing a security check.”

  “Lunch?”

  “Sure, I’m starving. I’ll head over now.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Ben’s top lieutenant was in his office. The two spread their meager brown-bag meals on a table littered with stacks of paper and a large map of Florida. The map was the focus of their meeting.

  “I just got this last night. Take a look at it,” Ben said as he handed Jessica a thick manila envelope. As Jessica was reading the report, Ben elaborated. “The latest scout team found a major food distribution center south of Miami, right here.” Ben pointed to the map. “For the most part, it hasn’t been touched; it appears that a few scavengers have picked it over, but the bulk of it is still there.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Ben said. “The UAE has a large base set up less than ten miles away. If they catch us emptying out the warehouse, they’ll no doubt stop us and confiscate all of it.”

  “Fuck the UAE. We’re more powerful than they are.” Jessica had been with Ben since the beginning. When Hurricane Luther roared into town, Jessica found herself at Ben’s Jiffy Lube and rode out the storm in the pits beneath the garage. Ben liked her because she was smart and charismatic enough to convince people to do just about anything she asked. She also had the best bullshit detector Ben had ever seen. What Ben valued most about her was that she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot someone between the eyes if she thought for one second they meant her harm.

  “Slow down and think. Yes, we are more powerful on a local level. Regional Governor Prince cries for help and Sterling can triple her force in under a week. They could wipe us out. Do I need to remind you of what we’re doing here? Much more is at stake than a warehouse full of food.”

  “You’re not seriously thinking about forgetting this place? It could increase our food stores for months! And don’t you dare lecture me about what we’re doing here! You sit up here in your comfy office blowing Mickey Mouse while the rest of us are out there getting our hands dirty and seeing the most horrible things.” Jessica closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that food is going to run out at some point, and I have no idea what magic rabbit you’re gonna pull out of your ass when that happens.”