Fortress Farm Trilogy: Volumes 1, 2 & 3 (Fortress Farm Series)

by G. R. Carter

  “Since the defeat of the National Guard, we’ve spent a majority of our time attempting to settle the remaining residents into a productive routine,” Fredericks answered. “I know the extra men who came over after the Loyalty Oaths gave you a lot of extra mouths to feed, but without the extra boots on the ground, I think we would have to write off the whole city.”

  Clark and Phil nodded. They were initially shocked about the deal the cops and firefighters made with the now deceased Major Stillman of the Decatur National Guard. The Council of Mayors wanted to seal off the whole city, let it burn and then come in later to pick up the pieces. To save a long-term asset, Fredericks quickly volunteered to take responsibility of the city and integrate the rank-and-file National Guard troops into the SDC. At Olsen's insistence, each man gave an oath of loyalty to the Okaw in front of a large gathering including the Decatur men’s respective families. There was no way to ensure each man would hold the oath, but they agreed the potential benefits outweighed the risks. Fredericks assured the sheriff he would treat traitors to their oath as he would have treated traitors to his old country.

  Most of the soldiers, cops and firefighters were smart enough to know that Fredericks was a man of his word, and that trying to survive outside the city with no support meant a death sentence. The handful who refused the oath drifted off somewhere into the remote parts of the city, possibly to join up with the next item on the agenda: the criminals still controlling scattered neighborhoods.

  “GangStars,” Fredericks said, watching as the two leaders gave small nods of acknowledgement. Fredericks sent daily reports to the courthouse regarding the challenges and progress of Decatur, and he knew that both Phil and Olsen read and discussed every piece of information provided to them.

  “What do you propose we do about them, Captain?” Olsen asked over the reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Shall we make them an offer they can’t refuse?”

  “I do not believe we should try to integrate them, Clark,” Fredericks answered, no longer using the sheriff's proper title while in private. “These guys are hardcore. I think they’re going to run a racket wherever they are. Maybe if the leaders were gone, but I’m not sure how deep that culture goes. I think I proved I’m a believer in trying to rehabilitate enemies. I’m afraid that’s not an option in this case, based on the GangStar actions I’ve witnessed.

  “The Reset caused a lot of twisted minds to come out of the shadows. No more antipsychotic medication, no more fear of incarceration, really no fear of anything. I’m not going to tell you some of the stories we’ve heard about what’s going on in the neighborhoods outside our control.”

  Fredericks gazed out the window as though something was trying to force itself into his mind. He steeled himself and looked back into the present: “Me and my guys faced groups like this in the Sandbox. Some people just want to watch the world burn.”

  Phil smiled, slightly amused.

  “What’s so funny, Founder Hamilton?” Clark asked, a bit irritated.

  “Nothing’s funny. Just…that’s two great movie references in one day, and both are perfectly applicable to the world we’re living in now. No, it’s not funny, it’s deadly serious. Captain, what do you propose? We can’t commit an act of extermination just to flush out a few of the bad seeds,” Phil replied. “Kind of goes against what we’re trying to accomplish here, you know?”

  Olsen spoke up again: “Can we bring Pastor Hart or Father Steve in here to talk about it? I know both of them are behind us when it comes to self–defense. They say that’s Biblical enough. But what we’re talking about is going into an area actually looking for a fight.

  “Isn’t that what we did with the Decatur National Guard?” Fredericks asked somberly.

  The question hung for a moment in the silence of the room. Each man gathered his thoughts, considering the implications of sending their men into an ugly situation.

  “Yes,” Phil replied forcefully.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what we did with the Decatur National Guard. I’m not going to hide behind Pastor Hart or Father Steve. Those two have enough to worry about convincing everyone to attend the Unified Church services,” Phil answered.

  “Their job is to save souls. Our job…my job is to save lives. In the long run, we do that by smoking the GangStars out of their rat holes,” Phil continued, half-thinking and half-speaking.

  “Commander Fredericks, and that’s your title now, by the way, I want you to draw up plans for the operation. As big as you need…if we have to call in some Turtles form the safest interior Fortress Farms, we’ll do it. Clark, have your deputies type up the order and I’ll sign it today.” Phil’s voice got louder and sterner.

  “I want that flag painted on each vehicle, do it by hand if you have to. You get to the first big GangStar nest you can find, and you demolish it. Pound it from afar if you have to. I know you’ve been separating the SDC into different units, and that’s a great idea. Make sure you get men from each unit into the action. Make veterans out of them. We’re going to need men who have seen combat soon enough.

  “Let a few GangStars escape from the first batch, they’ll pass the word about what happened and maybe others will give up. You will accept their surrender, and then give them the option of a one-way trip to Gray territory or jail in that prison on the west side of town. I won’t have them disappear from our lands just to resurface against our allies. If you come across children who can be saved, you will accept them and we’ll figure out a foster system on the farms. The same with any women who were kept against their will. I will leave that as a case-by-case decision for our field commanders. If anyone under your command is uncomfortable making that call, I will do that for them,” Phil concluded.

  “And any men who want to join us?” Olsen asked his friend.

  “No. I can’t see anyone who wanted to live a righteous life still hanging with these animals. There has to have been a hundred chances to escape. No, the men left with this GangStar group will have done things by now that leave them condemned in my eyes. I don’t suspect many will surrender, anyway.” Phil was stone-faced, matching his disgust for people who preyed on the weak.

  “So, Commander, your orders are to kill anything that flashes that symbol, understood?” the Founder of the SDC concluded, referring to the upper case G with a star in the middle that all GangStars displayed.

  “Understood, sir. I’ll have a battle plan completed by tomorrow morning. With your permission, I’ll take Alex with me. I assure you he’ll stay back from the front line action. But if he’s going to be an SDC officer someday, he could stand to see how a plan goes into place,” Fredericks said.

  “Eric, too, Commander,” Phil replied. Eric was the sheriff's eldest son, a phenomenal athlete who would have played college football in the Old World.

  Olsen smiled at Phil, “Thanks, Phil. I appreciate that. He’ll be thrilled at the chance.”

  Eric Olsen was already serving his SDC rotation on one of the frontier Fortress Farms near the furthest northern territory allied with the SDC. He was a bright young man, and gifted in leadership. Olsen and Phil often spoke about Eric and AJ, no, he said I have to start calling him Alex now, serving together. Assuming that they would be future leaders of the SDC together, this would be a great chance to work side by side.

  “Done. Sheriff Olsen, Founder Hamilton, if you’ll excuse me, I have some plans to make.”

  Fredericks exited the door briskly as usual.

  “Finding him was a miracle, you know?” Phil asked rhetorically.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Olsen replied. “We’ve got to set him up with someone. This country’s going to need more of him.”

  “Is that how we think now, Clark? Genetic replication for the good of the country?” Phil could barely contain his laughter at the absurdity.

  “Maybe. Think about it, Phil. Our kids aren’t like us already. Just a couple of years gone by. I don’t know if it’s goi
ng through a traumatic situation... I know each generation talks about how they can’t relate to their kids. But with us, I mean, they’re really not like us. They talk about fighting the Americans. They’re going to inherit castles and estates. Castles, Phil!” he stressed.

  He continued: “We’ve got armored vehicles patrolling the countryside, and we’re using an army to root out bad guys in a suburban neighborhood. I mean, do you ever stop to think of how absurd all this is?”

  “Every day, Clark. You know that. I was trying to make that point when you forced me to become dictator earlier, remember?” Phil shot back.

  “I know, I know. It just really gets to me sometimes. If the Catholics and Lutherans and the Baptists and the Methodists are all getting along…that has to prove we’re in the End Times, right?” Clark joked.

  Religious freedom was protected in the Okaw, but from here on, the green and silver frocked pastors of the Unified Church would serve as Chaplains of the SDC. There just weren’t enough trained pastors to go around, and it was agreed that trying to support more than one Church per community would be against the goal of serving God’s people.

  A very basic set of Belief Pillars that all could agree on was drafted by Father Steve and Pastor Hart. Everyone was allowed to believe whatever they wanted in their hearts, but in the Unified Church the pastors agreed to keep to the Pillars. The Belief Pillars also helped remote frontier Land Lords who were unaccustomed to leading church services for their Tenants and families.

  Phil’s train of thought was interrupted when one of Clark’s deputies knocked and entered.

  “Sirs, there is someone here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Okay, Deputy. Send him in.”

  Phil and Olsen rose to greet the Mayor of Scottsville, a small town nearly forty miles away from where they currently sat. The town was far outside the SDC’s patrol range, with several miles of bandit territory between the two.

  They met the man once at a gathering of towns from the frontier. Phil remembered him vaguely, and they skipped the formalities.

  “We need to join the SDC immediately,” the man said in a huff.

  “Mr. Mayor, I’m sorry, but I’m just not sure how we can help. We're having a pretty hard time taking care of our own at the moment.”

  “But we need someone to defend our town, and we don’t have the equipment or the manpower.”

  The Mayor was a short man, with glasses and an odd habit of still wearing a tie every day. A year past the Reset, most adults were dressed in patchwork clothes, and anything resembling dress clothes would be reserved for church or very special occasions. Phil didn’t hold the man’s attire against him; he just thought it was strange. But by all accounts, the mayor was a competent man who worked very hard to help the people of his town.

  Besides, odd folks were in no short supply these days, Phil reminded himself.

  “Mr. Mayor, you understand that we don’t have a standing army, right? We have a citizen militia, who can be called up on short notice. Okaw’s SDC only has fifteen citizens who work on defense issues full-time. And frankly, I just can’t spare any of them,” Phil explained. No sense letting an outsider know about Commander Fredericks and the new units created from National Guard converts. Communities outside of the protected areas heard of the progress being made here, and they hoped that the SDC would become like 911 for them. How could a fellow American turn down a distress call? Isn’t that what made our people so famous around the world?

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor. We just can’t help you right now,” Phil told the man. Maybe, when we’ve got Decatur solidified, I can send something up to help them, Phil hoped to himself.

  Scottsville's Mayor looked at the two men dejectedly. As quickly as he appeared, he faded back through the door.

  “We just can’t do it right now, Phil,” Olsen said to his friend. “We’re not superheroes; we can’t be everywhere at once. Maybe someday.”

  “I know, Clark. I just hope for some of these folks there is a someday.”

  The exception to their policy was Old Main. The city and the college that shared its name had been immensely helpful to Shelby County’s efforts to create self–sufficiency before GRAPEVINE turned out the lights on everyone. The original Shelby County Cooperative turned to Old Main College staff for help with the biofuel program. Shortly after the Great Reset, the two communities reestablished contact and had been communicating frequently ever since.

  Julia Ruff, the ex–Senator now leading Old Main, convinced her faculty that the Okaw Valley SDC was there to cooperate, not to conquer, in contrast to New America. Phil and his leadership were allowed access to the college and to meet with the staff, the council and to speak in front of their representative body, the House of Neighbors. In just two short days they had a trade agreement for Shelby county soy diesel in exchange for production of Mark 2s at the college’s diesel tech shops.

  As part of the agreement, the railway connecting the two communities was being cleared and maintained. Grain, fuel, people, and Mark 2s were already starting to move between the cities since Okaw’s Wizards converted an old diesel train engine to soy diesel. The train would eventually run once a day in each direction. Both Old Main and Shelby County would provide regular security patrols to keep bandits from roaming the area between them known as the Flats. The Wizards welcomed the input of the college faculty to improve the Mark 2 concept even as units were completed.

  Just this week, Phil had received word that the prototypes for his pet project, the Mark 3, had been completed. Mark 3s would be true purpose-built fighting machines. Even with prototypes complete, production couldn’t be completed over night. The Okaw and Old Main were friends, but SDC leadership all agreed they’d keep their secret weapon a secret for now. Old Main Faculty still considered the SDC a bit too aggressive instead of just being a defensive force. The Mark 3s might cause that argument to start once again; Mark 2s were still considered a farm tool that could be used in defense.

  Once the main soy crop was in next spring, the old Caterpillar production lines in Decatur would be changed over from Mark 2s to Mark 3s. Old Main could continue to produce Mark 2s themselves. Most bulldozers had been salvaged from the surrounding area anyway. Without the Mark 3, they would have to start converting farm tractors. While many farm tractors already served as the chassis infamous Turtles, taking away food production machines now seemed a terrible risk to the future if better options were available.

  The college library had been a true asset, one that Phil believed Julia and her faculty took for granted. He had spent several hours in the Archives over the past year studying how late 19th-century Americans built the greatest agriculture and industrial empire in the history of the world. He came to believe that such libraries and archives should be protected at all cost, just as much as the Greenstem refinery or the schools or the grain elevators that made up the backbone of the Okaw. While that raised a few eyebrows among his warriors, such talk endeared him quickly to the Old Main faculty. On salvage missions, books of every kind were now included on “pick lists,” lists of items designated for retrieval whenever located.

  Former schools were always a top source of a salvage teams’ pick list. Packed with a wide array of useful material in the cafeteria, boiler room or gymnasium, a school was worth a look no matter where they happened to find one. High schools and technical institutes were particularly helpful for science and industrial supplies. Elementary and junior highs still yielded great items, and every once in a while canned food turned up in a cafeteria or locked storage room. By this point nearly every empty building within a day’s drive had received at least one visit.

  Those easy successes were fewer now; the emphasis turned inward to solidify the SDC’s accomplishments. With a large ally like Old Main to help, and new Fortress Farms being added every day, Okaw’s SDC just didn’t have the resources to help everyone who needed it.

  Now the newly “elected” Founder of the Okaw Valley Self Defense Cooperat
ive found himself making life-and-death decisions for the second time today. Both times, he faced the men he was sending into harm’s way – not a signed order to be delivered via courier but looking a man in the eyes and sending him to an uncertain fate. He only hoped he hadn't condemned the people of Scottsville to a horrible death.

  Chapter Seven – Shield of the Okaw

  Headquarters – Okaw Valley SDC Wizards

  One Year and Six Months after the Great Reset

  Samuel Hamilton, the Founder’s younger son, parked his World War II-era jeep just outside the largest building in the sprawling complex holding the Wizard Academy. The rows of reconstructed metal buildings brought here from around SDC territory left enough space for gravel lanes, allowing large equipment to wind in and out. Each structure appeared as a bee hive, with workers filing in and out of overhead doors opened to expose the contents to the cool wet weather. Despite the temperature outside, heat came in waves from inside the large buildings. The only solace was a near-constant breeze in this part of the country. Workers utilized every door that could swing up or out to capture the air movements through their work space.

  Sounds of engines and the clanking of tools forcing their will on metal ricocheted off the walls of the buildings. Sharp dings and clunks bounced back and forth, landing in the soft ear tissue of those not wearing protection, though few workers ignored the squishy plugs or plastic eye goggles provided in every work space. New arrivals quickly met those who had once let their guard down. Missing eyes and fingers provided examples that this was no game, object lessons of what happened when metal bit into soft body tissue.

  The Wizard Academy began life as one machine shop on one retired engineer’s farm. Since then, a new building arose approximately every month. As the population of the Okaw Valley SDC grew, anyone deemed more valuable to the Wizards than to the Farms came to live and work here. The hours were infamous, and the burnout rate would have been atrocious if every day wasn’t a literal matter of life and death for the little cooperative trying to stay alive in a sea of chaos.