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

by G. R. Carter

  “Alex, you asked for the impossible. And once again, we’re doing our best to exceed expectations,” she said with a fake smile that left little doubt about her current state of mind.

  As he nodded and smiled, she continued. “I’ve got a few of the new twin-engine planes ready, and six mobile rocket launchers that should arrive any moment from the Magic Kingdom,” she said, referring to the headquarters of the Wizards. Mass manufacturing was completed at assembly plants around the Republic. But all prototypes were built on the grounds of what was once Celeste’s grandfather’s farm. “We’ve got the new light weapons for infantry also. Old Main’s militia is stopping by to pick them up and will set up behind the walls in Philippi.”

  Alex considered having that group join him here, but thought better. If they were in the town militia at this point, that meant there was a reason they weren’t mounted and rolling north with the reserve force he sent to break through to the New American capital. Too old, too slow, lightly wounded or some other ailment that kept them out of a mobile armor seat. Good people and plenty brave, but best to keep them behind the walls bolstering the defenses in case forces in the field failed.

  Alex intended to take his twenty-three Turtles – he still called them Turtles most of the time, the more formal names never really stuck – and lead a flanking mission around the group of invaders coming between his location and Decatur. That wasn’t nearly enough if the force was as big as observers said it was. But he hoped the shock and violence of his attack would convince the raiders to turn around and go home.

  “Now that’s useful,” he said, pointing to a low-boy semi-trailer pulling into the airport parking lot. Perched on the long metal platform rode another Mark 2 Rhino armored bulldozer. Every farm within contact distance provided vehicles currently armed or that had once been armed. The driver of the truck was a Land Lord who owned the Rhino and would drive it himself. Alex recognized Easton Stabler as he climbed out and saluted. They quickly shook hands and the newcomer nodded to Celeste.

  “Where would you like us to deploy?” Stabler asked Alex.

  “Stay loaded. Head west on Route 16 to Tower Hill. Only about a ten-mile trip. All Rhinos are going to fight there. Limited maneuvering room so you can slug it out with the bad guys. They’ll have to come to you instead of you trying to chase them,” Alex replied.

  “Ok, sounds good. Sheriff Olsen’s men will point me where to go?”

  “That’s right. They’ve already reported lead elements are in contact with the Sheriff’s outer defenses,” Alex relayed.

  “Any idea what we’re up against yet?” Stabler asked.

  Alex fought off impatience as he relayed the same information to the tenth different person. These were good people, leaving their own farms and families behind to answer his call to action. None questioned why, they just showed up. They deserved to be informed about what might cause harm to their person or property.

  “No, but all indications are it’s the biggest group of Ditchmen and Rateaters ever assembled. Remember when we ran that gang out of Decatur? Well, turns out that must have been an affiliate to the real base of power in Springfield. We let that area go thinking there was nothing left living there but savages. Figured they’d die out over time. Meanwhile, they must have been the ones organizing the raids on the Blackhawks out west,” Alex said.

  He was angry with himself for overlooking such an important piece of geography. The Blackhawk Confederation in what was once western Illinois and eastern Iowa repeatedly warned him that there must be someone organizing all the raids on their communities. Alex didn’t ignore their concerns but he had other things on his mind closer to home. Constant vigilance north towards New America and an obsession with defeating them caused a back door to be left wide open to the Republic’s capital.

  “I would have figured the Ditchmen to go after an easier target. If they’re organized like this, they could have easily taken out the Blackhawks. So the Grays stooped so low as to join up with a gang of bandits?”

  “I guess their hatred for us knows no bounds,” Alex smiled. “I need you to get to Sheriff Olsen as soon as possible. Thank you, Easton, for answering the call to defend the Republic.”

  “Fall before the crawl,” Stabler growled with a sinister gleam in his eye as he headed back to the truck.

  “Fall before the crawl,” Alex replied and turned back towards the Chief Engineer of the Wizards. “Celeste, please take that rolling death trap back behind the city gates,” he said, pointing to the landship that still sat idling. “I’m only taking vehicles into the fight that I know the capabilities of. And I sure don’t know what that thing does except make a nice fat target.”

  He sighed and said as much to himself as to his Wizard Chief: “That makes eleven Rhinos and a couple of Razorbacks to help Olsen hold Tower Hill. I just hope that’s enough.”

  *****

  Red Hawk Republic Capital

  Day of the New America/GangStar Invasion

  “There’s too many! Abandon the vehicles and get behind the walls!” Alex shouted above the roar of the guns and engines. A look of indecision passed over the crew members' faces as they pondered what leaving behind their precious vehicles meant.

  “There’s no time to open the main gates and get them through! Rig them for self-destruct and let’s go!” the Founder shouted at the top of his lungs.

  The few remaining Red Hawk warriors sprang into action. Exhausted, each man and woman reached down for their last measure of will to accomplish their Founder’s orders.

  Alex urged each one through the narrow opening wedged beside the city gates. The single-person entrance would only be open long enough to let them reach relative safety behind the three-story city walls. Finally, he entered himself, listening for the reassuring clank of metal being reinforced as the entrance was locked by the guards. He sprung to the staircase leading up to the ramparts at the top of the wall. Eight-foot wide platforms stood just below the parapet, holding every man, woman, and older child who could handle a weapon.

  As Alex reached the top and looked out over the open fields he was horrified. We’ve killed hundreds, probably thousands, and there seems like just as many now as at the beginning of the day. Mass hordes of men and vehicles converged on the city; black flags with a white ring the only markings to be seen. We’ve lost so much already and I still don’t even know who they are. He thought he recognized the symbol from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it. No matter, all that’s important is keeping them out of here.

  Alex spotted the first of the surviving Ditchmen reach one of the abandoned Turtles. As the savage climbed up the armored slope, Alex could clearly see the matted blond hair that strung down his back and tied up with some kind of vine or twine. Blue and blurry tattoos spread all over his arms and back like creeping ink vines. Two scraggly hands reached up with middle fingers extended, flashing them back and forth to the defenders above. Piercing eyes glanced up at the wall, meeting Alex’s own. The Ditchmen had a blue circle tattooed on his forehead, matching the symbol on the flags flying over the surging masses.

  Alex felt the hatred in the man’s eyes, like this fight was personal. Do it you SOB Alex thought as the savage opened the Turtle’s hatch. Instantaneously the vehicle erupted as explosive charges were triggered from inside. The bandit disappeared in a fireball that claimed ten others beginning to climb over the stricken vehicles. Something registered in their warped minds alerting them to hidden danger. Only a fresh batch of arrivals caused the second vehicle to be breached, leading to another dozen dead Ditchmen and a final lesson not to touch abandoned Red Hawk vehicles.

  Shots from the top of the wall reached out to mow down waves moving ladders into position up on the smooth sides of the metal and concrete walls. The sprinkler system engaged, spurting diesel fuel. Flames burst from the walls engulfing the ladders and the men who carried them. Intense heat rose from the base of the wall, causing survivors to stagger backwards.

  Heavy machine guns f
rom towers interspersed every thirty yards joined Civil War-style howitzer's firing canister shot to provide a crossfire kill box. The lines of outlaws wavered, unable to withstand the death coming at them from the city’s defenses. Without a single command the tide receded, leaving behind a carpet of dead and dying. The wall guns continued to fire on the retreating mass, until finally the range was too great to accurately find targets.

  An uneasy calm fell over the field as both sides considered their next moves. The city defenses were well organized thanks in large part to the designs of Paul Kelley, who heeded the council of his sister Nicole. Many of the same concepts she built into the updated defenses of ARK’s headquarters in old St. Louis influenced the design here. While Paul still held his original duties managing the biofuel refineries now dotting the Republic, Alex couldn’t let the engineer’s mind for details go to waste. So Paul drew up standardized plans to help each Fortress Farm and small town in the Republic get their defenses in order as quickly as possible.

  A cheer rose up from the city’s defenders as the Greenfield Shield rose up from each and every gun tower along the bulwarks. The original flag of the Okaw Valley Self Defense Cooperative, the predecessor of the Republic, still served as the flag of the capital city itself. A trademark of the Republic was that each community that joined got to keep its own symbols. Alex couldn’t think of a better rally point than the emerald banner made famous by his father.

  Cheers turned to gasps as people began to point towards the field in front of the gates. Sun sparkled off of metal as half a dozen gray towers crept toward the city walls, pushed by large trucks or tractors. The towers had ten-foot tall tires on each of the four corners, spread out evenly enough to maintain the balance of the sloped rectangles that appeared to be at least forty feet tall.

  Alex mind raced as he considered the options. I shouldn’t have abandoned the Turtles, he cursed to himself. And now there was no way to get the vehicles back without setting off the self-destruct charges. With some time they could disarm the charges, but he estimated the towers would be at the walls in less than five minutes. Think, man! Think!

  His vision was distracted by the flash of a Talon, one of the new twin-engine bombers the Wizards were developing. Smoke poured from the nose, and Alex worried that a stray bullet from the massed army below found its range. Relief settled in as he realized the smoke belonged to the new Gatling gun mounted underneath the pilot’s compartment on the experimental craft. The relief then mixed with delight as one of the mobile towers ground to a halt; fire and smoke rising from the vehicle pushing it forward. A mighty cheer rose from the walls…and then just as quickly died out as the Talon banked and flew over the city, waggling its wings in salute to the defenders. One pass, and the ammo is gone, Alex thought. I guess that’s why they call them prototypes.

  Now he had to deal with the remaining towers. Once the Ditchmen leaders sensed the towers were close enough, they sent their less-disciplined savages forward once more. The filthy masses surged at the walls, again trying to set ladders even though the safer towers were just moments behind. Something I’m missing here, Alex thought. This doesn’t make sense, even for a mass mob attack. His mind raced, calling up lessons taught to him by Martin Fredericks and Gordon Steinbrink in his military history classes. Sandbox tactics, Alex thought. Fredericks said the Jihadis would use distractions before hitting them with a…

  Alex watched in horror as a six-wheeled transport broke from the Ditchmen positions and headed straight for the city gates. Black exhaust smoke poured from the exhaust as the massive vehicle tried to make the hundred-yard dash before the city defenders could stop it.

  “Kill that truck! Extra bracing at the gate!” Alex shouted, sprinting down towards the metal stairway that switched back and forth down the wall. The shouts went unheard over the screaming and shooting. His eyes flicked back and forth, finally landing on the landship Celeste had placed behind the gates just as Alex commanded.

  Alex jumped into the driver’s compartment, searching for the switch to fire the engines. Only a moment passed – the Wizards were famous for labeling every switch and knob in their creations, something about keeping dumb jocks from screwing up their masterpieces – and he had the vehicle running. He slammed it into gear and lurched toward the city gates, positioning the vehicle parallel to the wall just as a massive truck bomb exploded from the other side, jarring the metal plating and pushing in the seam holding the doors together. The multi-ton landship shifted with the force of the blast and the weight of the massive gates, but held firm just a few feet past its initial resting point.

  Instead of an open area to surge into, the Ditchmen found a narrow opening sprouting twisted metal that sliced invaders like a reaper's scythe. Waves behind pushed the first attacking berserkers into the opening where they were met by a pack of Guardian dogs, joined in attack by their human handlers. The unimaginable horror of sharp fangs meeting rusty blades turned the entrance into a pit of bloody muck.

  Still trapped in the wrecked landship’s driver compartment, darkness washed over Alex’s mind. I couldn’t hold on, Dad. I’m sorry, I really tried. Please forgive me. He thought about Clark Olsen, fighting for his life while surrounded by Ditchmen and probably already dead. He thought about the Fortress Farms trying to hold on up north, hopelessly outnumbered. Then Rebekah and their children flashed through his mind. Please don’t let them suffer because of my mistakes. Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. As he repeated the prayer, Alex felt as much as saw a shadow pass above him. Then another as the sun itself was blocked by massive shapes quietly gliding through the crisp winter sky. He held on, wondering what it all meant. Then his consciousness faded and the shadow became night.

  Chapter Six– Red Hawk Rising

  Lincoln City

  New America Capital

  One Day after the New America/GangStar Invasion

  Martin Fredericks lowered his field glasses for a moment, allowing his eyes to regain focus of his immediate surroundings. Instinctively, he turned around to make sure the long snakelike column of armored vehicles remained behind him. Satisfied once more, he raised the field glasses again, this time to make a final decision on what to do with the New American fortifications that lay in front of him.

  “Force of fifty. No heavy weapons. No heavy armor, sir,” Fredericks' aide informed him. The young officer was the oldest child of one of his fellow Ten Vets. She was coming of age in a world strange to him, but apparently quite natural to her. That they sat on what once served as a busy interstate allowing commerce back and forth between American cities didn’t register with her. In her mind, there were enemy soldiers right ahead and her task was to kill them in the name of her own people. That there might be young people on the other side of those fortifications who thought the same way meant nothing to her. The Grays weren’t another sports team to be beat in basketball; they were mortal enemies to be removed at all costs.

  Fredericks sighed at the thought, knowing they had to end this war now. Alex, Rebekah and all the leadership of the Republic agreed that if the conflict didn’t end soon, future generations would consider this a blood feud. They’d still be fighting over clumps of black land in a hundred years without anyone still around to remember what started the fight in the first place. Those who remembered America as one great nation, whatever her faults, would at least try to stop that.

  Signals kept coming from one of the many observation balloons he had hovering over the New American capital city. No sense in being subtle now, the Grays all knew Red Hawk “barbarians” were at the gates. He laughed as he thought about the propaganda posters they found on the walls of the firebases captured on the trip north to the capital. Pictures of demon-looking hawks swooping down and snatching children away from frightened mothers. A caricature of Alex burning the homes of New American families while using the Stars and Stripes flag as kindling. Fredericks had intelligence officers collect a sample of each for his report back to the Repub
lic senate when it assembled next month.

  “Sir, more air recon reporting…signals say no heavy armor heading in this direction. No contiguous walled areas, either. Just some random firebases spread around the outskirts of the capital,” the young lieutenant reported.

  “I sort of suspected this. But somehow I still can’t fully believe it,” Fredericks muttered.

  “How’s that, Commander? Believe what?”

  “We’ve all had years to build walls around what we want to protect. Survivors I mean. After the Reset our main concerns were food and security. Walls mean security right now. At least until artillery and air power become dominant again. But for now, defenses can hold when you’re vastly outnumbered if the attackers have to climb walls to get to you.”

  Fredericks suddenly felt a sense of dread, thinking about his countrymen in Tower Hill and the Red Hawk capital of Philippi. He prayed his theory was correct in those instances. Have to clear my head, get to the mission, make their sacrifice worth it.

  He continued aloud: “Walsh has been so focused on his offensive wars that he neglected to build defenses for his own capital. Real defenses, I mean. Apparently he’s emptied the place of every able-bodied soldier for the gamble that he can beat us right now. So all that’s left are the very young, the very old and probably the very wounded.”

  “But sir, isn’t that what the Founder is doing right now? Aren’t we in the exact same position?” the lieutenant asked sincerely.

  “Yes and no. War is a gamble. I mean, it’s always a gamble, you never know what’s going to happen. The Founder hedged by making sure any attacking force would have to fight for every mile. Our air power makes a difference, but the real keys are the Fortress Farms. If the Grays bypass them, the militia of each farm will harass the flanks and cut lines of communication. If the Grays attack them, they have to spend time organizing a costly assault on each one. That time allows us to organize our own counterattack,” Fredericks replied.