by G. R. Carter
Alex closed the ledger book and leaned back in the luxurious office chair presented to him as a gift after the campaign to establish control over the city of Decatur. One of the junior officers now led an SDC salvage team and brought the chair to him as token of appreciation for the time they served together in the campaign to destroy the GangStars. The fancy piece looked out of place among the collection of ragtag office furniture on the loft. The chair probably once came with a high price tag, and there would be no way to replace it when it inevitably busted. He wondered briefly about the prior owner; probably dead of starvation or disease or maybe murdered by Ditchmen.
Millions of people once sat in chairs like this, working on computers in huge buildings. He was old enough to remember occasionally visiting the mega cities before the Reset, or watching shows about them on the Network. That old life seemed like a movie to him, and he didn’t burden himself with the nostalgia of his parent’s generation. Mom and Dad talked about their old life sometimes. Both admitted the age was far from perfect; in fact, they had been trying to build a simpler life for the Hamilton family when the Reset happened. In this world they were wealthy Land Lords, before they had been just struggling small town folk.
Alex and Sam sometimes wondered about a world where young people partied at night instead of securing fortress gates against robbery or death. People their age once traveled the world. They could blow off college classes to go to the lake on a sunny afternoon. The older generations spoke about youth with a far-off look in their eyes, as if they were going to burst into tears any moment. Now traveling a hundred miles seemed a dangerous dream. The area the Okaw Valley SDC controlled was huge, but then, twenty miles in each direction was a huge area for a small population. Blowing off an assignment here could mean the difference between survival and starvation.
The world the Hamilton boys lived in woke up before the sun, beginning the day by relieving a security detail or greeting the livestock so needy for the help of man. Alex admitted he enjoyed the look of approval the elders gave him when he finished his breakfast just as they arrived to start their day. Mom and Dad insisted that all Hamiltons lead by example. Ever since the completion of the Great Hall, everyone ate their meals together on the long tables, though often at different times. Alex longed for an occasional private meal with his family, but there was certainly a feeling of heimat that surrounded communal dining. Something the private family homes of the Old World apparently lacked.
Breakfast and lunch were both served in the Great Hall of the Schoolhouse Hill Fortress Farm starting at about 5 am and wrapping up around 1 pm. In the meantime, school for kids at the farm was also taught at the tables, as well as the occasional staff meeting for some particular segment of the farm. The Hamilton family invited several older folks to join them on the farm, something not considered by most Land Lords just looking for strong backs to help with chores. Phil and Anna valued education and believed that wisdom came with life experience. Gordon Steinbrink, the former Mayor of Strasburg, was a man tasked by them to tutor the youth teeming on the farm.
Steinbrink immigrated to America from Germany in his youth. He was a self–taught scholar in European history and a wunderkind in the art of metal machining he used to make his family one of the wealthiest in the county before the Reset. That wealth disappeared when the computers erased the spreadsheet digits that represented his life’s work, but GRAPEVINE’s actions couldn’t erase his lifetime of knowledge. As single-family homes became less practical, the entire Steinbrink family accepted the Hamilton’s invitation to join them in their prairie fortress. Ever since, the elder Steinbrink advised the family on fractured societal politics he studied in the tribal nature of European peoples. Though obscure, the relevance to today’s world gave the SDC an upper hand in managing the politics of small groups. Younger Steinbrink generations served by carrying on the family’s metallurgical expertise. Their engineering work proved invaluable for the growing fleet of Snapping Turtles and Mark 2 armored vehicles based at the farm.
Every residents morning, day and night revolved around the farm. And the farm revolved around the Great Hall. All day, the Hall only closed about an hour around 4 pm, reserving private time for cooks and servers to eat. The semi–quiet allowed final preparations for the most anticipated time of the day. Shortly after evening chores, the doors reopened to a roaring fire in the giant fireplace that dominated the South wall of the open space. Musicians assigned to play for the evening began their tunes while kitchen staff prepared the tables, making the workload lighter for all.
Excepting those on Night Watch, which was rotated on a weekly basis, all residents of the Fortress Farm were expected to eat together at the evening meal. A quick Chapel service was held, and then something resembling the Old World concept of a company meeting. As Land Lord of this particular Fortress Farm, Alex took the opportunity to distribute information, give encouragement, and make special announcements. After the common meal, the young people of the farm would Dance the Ring at least two or three times before heading off for final evening chores or bed. Homemade beer flowed freely, but the wise guarded against excess. Everyone knew that regardless of how bad your head hurt, your assignment awaited you in the next morning.
Old VCRs and the occasional DVD still played on Saturday nights in the Great Hall, giving a glimpse of that previous world. But once those broke, there were no replacements. Life reflected in those movies got harder to relate to all the time. Young people on the farms especially seemed to prefer the live music and dancing present almost every night in each farm’s Hall.
Heimat, Mayor Steinbrink instructed him. The word was German for a feeling of community and belonging, right here in this place they now lived. No word in the English language quite captured the concept…you just had to feel it. Symbols of wealth were tangibles a person held in their hands: your people, the food, weapons, even the soil itself. Not plush chairs like Alex sat in or the corner office where a captain of industry once reclined.
The recent resurgence in religion also reflected the change in attitudes. People recognized the hand of the Creator in a plant arising from the soil, exploding from tiny seed to become a factory of nutrition for their loved ones. You could see the miracle of life when a new calf was born. You could also see the evil of Lucifer the Enemy in the destructive aftermath of a deadly Ditchmen attack. There was no luxury here in this life, no Heaven on Earth. Survivors could grasp a better life in Heaven in contrast to their daily toil.
All except the very young or the very new residents remembered the 2 am Ditchmen raids against farmsteads. Sneaking in through the farm tile creeks and drainage ditches that spread like arteries throughout the fields, the bandits appeared as if from nowhere. Raiding and pillaging whatever or whoever they could carry, Ditchmen were universally feared and despised among the residents of the frontier farms.
The area surrounding Schoolhouse Hill itself held few uninvited guests at this point. Concerted efforts to remove the undergrowth that gave Ditchmen daytime cover yielded fast results. As the farm and county population grew, so too did the cultivated acres being tended. Daily activity pushed the Ditchmen further out until they were squeezed by overlapping pockets of civilization.
The two-legged predators still possessed the craftiness of men, though, and occasionally surprised an unwary guard. With so many millions of acres making up SDC territory, not all Ditchmen nests could be effectively rooted out. The Night Watch weren’t enough to hold off a large raid by themselves, even with the walls and the concrete fortress. They numbered just enough to delay an attack until the entire levy of farm militia could be mustered. Every resident was required to keep a weapon beside their bed. This Fortress Farm likely was one of the safest places in the New World, or at least this part of the country. But complacency led to sloppiness, and sloppiness would still get you or your family killed.
Over the howling wind so common on the prairie, Alex could hear Samuel stomping up the wooden stairs to discuss the duty roste
rs for the week. Both brothers were ready for Sam to take over day-to-day operations of the farm when Alex began his officer training. The SDC wasn’t so big yet that the Founder’s son, or any county leader’s son, could miss the duty all young men and most young women were tasked with.
In actuality, only the children of Land Lords were absolutely required to serve. All adults of the county trained for the militia, but only families who might spare an extra person like the owners of the Fortress Farms were required to provide the soldiers necessary to have a standing force, a force that could respond to threats to SDC security. Common threats varied from Ditchmen attacks, to raiding probes from the Grays, to even animal attacks.
Predators had evolved in the New World. Defenseless animals, two-legged and four-legged, provided plenty of food and emboldened the hybrid lions and coy-wolves to invade territory once thick with men. Both of these dangerous pack animals were more than just a menace to priceless livestock and the wild deer population that provided a large part of the protein to the survivors of the Reset. These creatures were also highly intelligent and utterly fearless. They avoided large groups of humans and the weapons protecting them, but lone foragers or guards were irresistible targets. Locating and eliminating colonies of these predators provided excellent skirmish practice for the SDC while providing an invaluable service to all the farms.
Learning to follow orders while on duty also provided Land Lord sons and daughters a rare lesson in humility. Children of those who survived the Reset in positions of leadership were growing up with dozens or even hundreds of people looking at them as a mixture between boss and king. Land Lords owned the Fortress Farms, and all Tenants worked for them until the time came to break off and form their own farms in the unclaimed territories.
In contrast, heirs to the Fortress Farms rotated into the SDC as low men (or women) on the totem pole. Duties included digging field latrines, kitchen duty, and cleaning weapons for senior officers. Peeling potatoes kept in check any egos that came with inheriting a farm based on parentage.
The Hamilton children were lectured repeatedly by their parents, Uncle Clark, the Wizards, and the Ten Vets about the dangers of succumbing to a feudal system after the surviving founders eventually passed away. The brothers were tutored in the Great Hall by Mayor Steinbrink about the dangers of elite classes controlling a society. Elites were blamed by most of the SDC founders for the collapse of the Old World. Too much power and money concentrated in a few who lost sight of their responsibilities. A return to a true constitutional republic was the goal of the founders of the Okaw Valley, a goal they hoped their children would realize some day.
“Once the goal of staying alive was accomplished,” Alex and Sam had joked privately.
Much of the Okaw Valley population still lived in the School Shelters and fortified Churches in town. These were craftsmen as well as factory workers producing the parts needed to assemble the Mark 2s and new Mark 3s. Just as important, they built tools needed to keep the Fortress Farms operating efficiently to feed for the growing population of the county.
Alex, Sam and their peers throughout the young Land Lord class were well aware everyone in their county provided a necessary service and earned their Quarter-bushels. If they made the mistake of forgetting, the Chaplains assigned to each and every unit in the SDC were there to remind them: “Golden Rule, Golden Rule, Golden Rule…”
Honestly, different governmental structures were all hypothetical to younger folks. Alex and the rest understood only what they experienced. Everyone in his peer group knew that someday he would take over his father’s position as head of this farm. Since Phil was also considered the Founder of the Okaw Valley SDC, everyone naturally assumed Alex would take over the leadership of that someday, too. His advisors may not like it, but that’s what most Okaw residents seemed comfortable with. The workers on the farms felt the same way, Alex was sure. Hereditary titles were just human nature, and dominated the societies his parents forced him to study.
In his studies with Mayor Steinbrink, the one segment that stuck with Alex the most revolved around the creation of the German state in the 1800s. Crafting a common identity out of numerous smaller kingdoms, the Prussians forged a greater empire. Not unlike the old America accomplished with her numerous states, but without the confusing extra layers of government competing with one another for resources. Maybe he’d run that by Mom for her opinion, or even Uncle Clark when he saw him next week.
Samuel’s steps finally reached the office, and he stepped into the room smiling while pitching an apple at Alex’s head. Alex caught the fruit one-handed and took a bite with a look that taunted Sam to try again. Apples were one of Sam’s prized possessions, grown in a large orchard just outside the walls of the Farm. Alex loved the farm and everything about it, but Sam could actually feel the land. The brothers formed a perfect balance, both knowing that Alex couldn’t escape the gravity of being the Founder’s oldest son. Soon he’d be pulled into the governance of the SDC, and there’d be no turning back. Sam had less than zero interest in such things, and made it clear to his parents and anyone else who would listen he wished to be right here on the Farm, regardless of what they wanted out of him. Sam’s natural abilities for the SDC’s most pressing issue, feeding its people, allowed him the luxury of disobedience on the matter.
Sam’s other ace resided with the Wizards. Sam was the unofficial liaison between the Farms and the academy of engineers that continuously invented new weapons and tools to keep the Okaw one step ahead of the darkness surrounding it. On the rare times when Sam left the Farm, he could be found in the Wizard factories. The nearly ten-acre complex produced prototypes and updates to be replicated at the former Caterpillar tractor factories in the northern reaches of Cooperative territory. Every available laborer and Wizard Apprentice spent their waking hours in those factories, fitting out farm tools and weapons for mass-production. Since the victory of their forces over the Decatur National Guard, the hub of industry, commerce and technology for the SDC seemed to migrate there.
The strong backbone of the SDC would always be the Fortress Farms. However, the newly acquired factories, salvage and manpower that came with those industrial sites helped solidify the future against the storm building on their eastern border.
Spies had confirmed that New America, or what the SDC and her allies commonly referred to as the Grays for the camouflage pattern they wore, continued to build strength. Using the flag and emblems of the old American empire, the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle filled small towns and frontier farms with dread wherever they appeared. Apparently New Americans believed in what they referred to as Reconstruction. Alex and Sam’s tutors explained what Reconstruction meant 200 years ago after a different war on this same continent. This didn’t sound any less unpleasant. In essence, the choice was assimilate or die.
Alex could see the sorrow in the eyes of the elders when his generation spoke with disdain about the “Americans.” There was no doubt that until the new generation was completely in charge the older folks would still consider themselves Americans just trapped in a nightmare. Even with constant lectures about what the symbols of America originally stood for, Alex and his peers were citizens of the Okaw, and loyal only to each other. The Americans were a menace to be feared, and someday defeated.
American citizens traded their family’s freedom for some food and security. Once that red, white and blue flag flew above your town or farm, all decisions were made from the Grays' Capital near Illinois University, just 75 short miles from where Alex now sat. Any dissent and you received a visit from soldiers clad in urban camouflage; detention camps or worse was the end result. Alex held no contempt for the conquered peoples. Though young, he was not one for strutting around to brag about dying for honor. He didn’t want to think about what it was like to make a decision between feeding his family and being a free man.
All he could do was help the Okaw Valley defend their home from evil like the Grays. Preserve his Heimat. The SDC had
the luxury of allied communities and Fortress Farms all the way west almost to Springfield and the Free Cities of Little Egypt to the south. They were already trading biodiesel to them for fertilizer and other salvage items from their river ports.
Recently the Founder – no, that’s Dad – negotiated a trading partnership with an organization called ARK in what was the former city of St. Louis. Fortunately, one of the leaders of Okaw Valley discovered his sister survived the collapse in St. Louis, and she happened to be one of the leaders of ARK. ARK was not exactly a free society, which led to a great deal of debate among the Founders about trading with fascists. Whatever that means, Alex chuckled as he thought of his parents' strange ideals. But ARK seemed to want peace, and the family connection made the two very different groups trust each other a little more. The agreement was really a trade and non–aggression pact, allowing the Okaw to focus their defenses north and east.
In addition to the threat of the Grays to the east, word was filtering in about a strong force arising in the former city of Chicago. Almost twenty million people once lived there when the Pullback established the city on the lake as Regional Capital of the Upper Midwest. Resources and people for hundreds of miles around poured into the city, sucking the life out of the smaller cities and towns nearby. After GRAPEVINE plunged the world into darkness, the implosion of metro areas like Chicago was indescribable. Mobs that managed to escape the inferno that befell the city overwhelmed densely-populated refugee camps in the surrounding area. Those who survived the initial hell moved out into the countryside like locusts, consuming everything in their path.
